Page 5 of Role Model
“Um,” I say, and I wince as my voice reverberates around the room. “I’m not supposed to talk about my mum’s job.”
“No, of course not,” Dr Mars whispers frantically. “Talk about being autistic.”
“I–what?”
I look out at the other students. The sixth formers all look enormous. They sit at the back, tall and frightening, watching me with impassive faces. Their arms are crossed and the idea of telling them all about being autistic is completely horrifying. I’m not ashamed or embarrassed of it but it’s private. It’s personal.
I don’t want them to laugh at me.
I don’t want to talk about anything, let alone being autistic, in front of these people. Some of these kids still use it as an insult, freely and happily.
19“Would you say it’s your superpower, Aeriel?” Dr Mars pushes gently, beaming at me and nodding in encouragement.
Not exactly. And even if I did, that’s something only I should get to say. Not her. Not people who don’t understand.
“I was diagnosed in Scotland, where I used to live,” I say, only able to state facts about it. “My older sister, Felicity, is ADHD. I think my younger brother, Gideon, is as well. I guess it runs in families.”
Snickers break out across the room and I realise I’ve said something wrong. This happens a lot, I always say things that make adults laugh and other kids roll their eyes and I do it without meaning to.
I suddenly feel all of the noise and the chatter from the last few days. It raises up inside of me and I can’t push it down, like I normally would. My hands are sweating and the lights are too bright. There are too many eyes on me, I can’t take this many people looking at me. I can’t bear it.
I feel like my soul is inside out and they’re all giggling at it.
I feel a stinging sharpness in my ears and the overwhelming urge to sit down.
Then, everything goes black and all I can hear are20shouts and gasps and then nothing at all.
*
I wake up in the tiny room next to the ground floor toilets. Mrs Elliot, the school nurse, has put me on one of the two beds in her small sanitorium and there’s some orange juice in a carton next to me.
“Mum, she’s awake!”
I look over. A boy in my year is sitting on the other bed, looking entirely healthy. He’s tall and has dark hair and features, with a face that is so cheerful, he looks like he should be one of those kids you see in the Christmas adverts.
“You fainted on stage,” he tells me.
Humiliating. “Thanks.”
“You probably already knew but, in case you didn’t.”
Even more humiliating. “Uh huh.”
“I’m Txai. I’m another one of Dr Mars’ ‘special kids’. But she’s never succeeded in dragging me onto that stage. Probably because she knows I’d turn into a honey badger.”
I suspect he means that he would fight back. I wonder why I didn’t do that.
“Txai,” Nurse Elliot’s disembodied voice comes21from the direction of her office. “Let her recover in peace, please.”
His name is Txai. I’ve seen it written down before, but never pronounced. Tee-shy. I’ve never met a Txai before.
“Are you feeling okay?” he stage-whispers to me.
No. “I’m fine.”
“It was an amazing faint.”
“Thank you.”
