On the Spectrum by Jennifer Gold

Author:Jennifer Gold
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Second Story Press
Published: 2017-08-30T20:55:13+00:00

Chapter 15

Dad didn’t notice the backpack until the next morning. “Superman?” he asked, surprised. He picked it up and studied the large plastic “S” adorning the front.

“Alastair chose it,” I said firmly. I stepped into a pair of silver ballet flats. It was, at long last, a nice day, and I was eager to wear something other than boots. I’d also finally been able to don a summery dress, albeit with a jean jacket. Still, it was nice to discover I still had legs.

“Right, and you had nothing to do with it.” Dad raised his eyebrows and leaned against a beam, his arms crossed against his chest.

“Dad.” I sighed, leaning in so that Alastair, next door in the bathroom, couldn’t hear. “The kids at school make fun of him. He needs to fit in better. Isn’t that why I’m here? To help Alastair?”

Dad frowned, and the little lines around his eyes creased with worry. “I didn’t realize it was that bad,” he said, sounding upset. “Maybe Mag and I should talk to the school. Mag did go in to talk to the class about the autism spectrum and being sensitive. Maybe it’s time for another visit.”

Oh, my God. I stared at my father in abject horror. “Mag went into the class? With Alastair there?” I put one hand against the wall for support.

“Yes, why?” He looked puzzled at my expression

I closed my eyes, massaging my left temple with my free hand. How could anyone not understand the social suicide that was having one’s mother come in and give a lecture on any topic? Just having my mom come on a field trip would have been enough to make me feign a fever, and my mother was a beautiful celebrity. I tried to explain this to Dad.

“Mag wouldn’t understand that,” he admitted to me. He riffled through the coat rack for his own jacket and shoved it into his worn messenger bag. “She won’t understand the Superman, either. She thinks Alastair should be who he is, and the other kids should accept him.”

I felt angry. “Alastair has enough to deal with without having ugly shoes and a massive backpack,” I snapped. “The least you can do is try to make him cool.”

I could see in his eyes that he was listening intently and contemplating what I had to say, but I could also tell he was conflicted. “Mag won’t like it,” he admitted quietly.

“I’m not saying he shouldn’t be himself,” I said, bending to reach for my own bag, a vintage pink leather purse I’d bought for myself yesterday in the Marais after lunch. “He’s a great kid. But there’s nothing wrong with making an effort to be liked and to fit in. When he’s an adult, you won’t be there to protect him. He needs to figure out how to function socially.”

Alastair appeared in his slicker and new shoes. “I’m ready,” he said, reaching out for his new backpack. “Is Michel here yet?”

“We’re meeting him downstairs,” I said, feeling my cheeks go slightly warm at the mention of Michel in front of my dad.

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