16 McKenna
McKenna
When I pull into a parking spot, shielding my eyes from the morning glare, I realize I’m still grinning like an idiot. I haven’t
responded to the text Beck sent after we bumped into each other, but every time I think about it, I end up with a goofy smile
on my face. I keep reminding myself there’s no room in my life for something serious. There’s really, really not. But maybe
it doesn’t have to be that serious with Beck. All he asked was if I’d want to grab coffee. It’s totally possible he just wants
to talk about Leo.
Except I saw the way he looked at me at the restaurant, and I’m fairly certain he wasn’t thinking about his brother. Before
I can stop myself, I type out a quick response:
Sure. Time and place?
Then I grab my swim bag from the backseat and head toward the pool.
Now that the kids have gotten used to his picture schedules, Leo’s no longer lugging in the big poster boards.
Instead he’s been creating digital versions of the daily schedule.
Each afternoon, I send him an email with the next day’s lesson plan written out, and then he creates a digital presentation to show the kids on his iPad.
Much like their neurotypical counterparts, the kids are happy to look at screens for as long as we let them.
I’ve been tempted to add a note in one of my emails to Leo about what a great job he’s doing, how impressed I am by his dedication.
I’d love to tell him how I never knew anyone with autism before and how much he’s opened my eyes about kids with special needs.
But we’ve built a nice rapport, and I don’t want to get weird on him and ruin it.
I take the last sips from my coffee and toss the paper cup into the trash while Leo arranges his belongings with military
precision in one of the cubbies outside the shed. When he rests his iPad on top of his backpack, I assume he’s finished with
his usual routine. But then he reaches into the pocket of his trunks and extracts a silver whistle that looks just like mine.
He loops the thin cord over his head.
“Hey, twinsies.” I smile, reaching to where my own whistle hangs against my chest and holding it out toward him. “I like it.”
“Leo!” Lindy yells as she and her mother walk through the gate. Mrs. Ortega puts a finger to her lips, shushing the girl.
Normally I would shout back not to worry, but the twenty-ninth annual women’s club challenge tennis tournament is beginning
in thirty minutes, and the club is already teeming with members. I’m not used to so many people milling about during this
hour of the morning, cutting across the pool patio on their way to the courts.
Lindy hurries toward us at the shallow end, pulling off her terrycloth cover-up and dropping it carelessly onto the concrete
before heading to the pool steps.
“Hold on, Lindy,” Leo says. “I know you know where you’re supposed to put your dry clothes. And you know I know you know, so now I know you’ll put it where you know it’s supposed to go.”
Lindy stops in her tracks, dutifully turning around to retrieve her little dress and take it to the peg wall above the cubbies.
As I chat for a moment with Mrs. Ortega, more women walk past the pool deck toting large tennis bags across their tanned shoulders.
Christine Thomaston, the mother of one of my mini-camp students, gives me a little wave.
As my other students arrive and make their way to the edge of the pool, Leo grabs his iPad and begins the day’s instructions.
As the kids listen, their eyes are fixed on his demonstration. If I’m not mistaken, Matthew, my nonverbal student, is even
nodding along as Leo talks. The amount of progress we’ve made in just a few short weeks kind of blows my mind. I can’t believe
now that I didn’t want to do this when Kathleen first suggested it. These lessons may just be a moment in time to the kids,
but to me, they feel so much bigger. As I continue watching them, my heart really feels like it’s swelling. Maybe that’s why
I act impulsively a few moments later.
As soon as the kids have ambled into the water, I call their attention back to me.
“Hey, Marlins, you’ve all been doing so well.
” I look from Lindy in her iridescent goggles to Rohan and Matthew, then to Johnny with his wild curls, and finally to Elias, who’s tapping the surface of the water with his finger over and over.
Rohan is the only one who meets my eyes, but I’m used to that now.
“How about we mix things up today?” I glance at Leo, who’s still making his way down the steps.
His eyes widen in surprise at my words, but I nod at him to let him know I’ve got this.
“After the four minutes of warm-up kicking on the wall, why don’t we do kickboard races across the width of the pool? ”
It’s a complete departure from what Leo told them we were going to do. But the kids have been really well-behaved for the
past few sessions, and I can see how hard they’ve been trying to learn. I think they’ve earned themselves some fun, and I
want to give that to them.
“Hooray!” Johnny shouts with delight, and I’m gratified by his response even as I notice both Matthew and Leo flinch at Johnny’s
loud volume. “I’m fastest!” he continues. “Yay, races!” Then he repeats himself, turning the words into a chant. “Yay, races!
Yay, races! Yay, races!”
It only takes a moment for Lindy to chime in and start hollering the words along with Johnny.
“Okay, okay.” I raise my arms, trying to get their attention and quiet them, but they persist, ignoring me.
“Yay, races! Yay, races! Yay, races!” They’re bouncing up and down in the water as they chant, creating small splashes with
each jump.
Matthew’s face twists in annoyance at the growing racket. He smacks his hand through the water toward Johnny, clearly intending
to splash him, but the water hits Rohan in the face instead.
“Hey!” Rohan shouts at him. “You can’t splash me. He splashed me!” He turns and looks up toward me. “Miss McKenna, tell him!”
Before I respond, Matthew covers his ears and turns his back to all of us, just standing there in the shallow water, waiting
for all the noises to stop.
Then Rohan whacks his hand into the water like Matthew did, sending a forceful splash wave back toward Matthew. It douses not only its intended target, but Elias as well.
The kids know intentional splashing isn’t allowed, and I need to say as much to them, but it’s hard to focus as Lindy and
Johnny continue in chorus, “Yay, races! Yay, races! Yay, races!”
Elias has his hands over his eyes and is shouting now too. “He got water in my eyes. I need a towel! I need a towel! Towel!
Towel! Towel!”
At the growing cacophony in the pool, Leo hurries back up the steps, and I assume he’s getting the towel for Elias. But when
he reaches the top step, he grabs the whistle hanging around his neck and blows so forcefully that everyone is startled into
silence. All eyes land on Leo. Unfortunately, as soon as Johnny understands where the shrill sound came from, he immediately
resumes his chanting. Lindy follows suit, and Elias starts screaming for his towel all over again.
“Yay, races! Yay, races!”
“Stop it! Stop!” Rohan shouts at them. He turns toward the steps and starts climbing out of the pool.
“Wait, Rohan!” I call after him. “Where are you going? It’s still pool time!” I turn back toward the water. “Lindy, Johnny,
you have to quiet down. Quiet down!”
The pandemonium is only growing, and I don’t know what to do. Just when I thought I had this whole teaching thing down pat,
I’ve completely lost control. As I open my mouth to try another tack, I see Leo grab for his whistle again.
“Leo, no!” I call out from where I’m still standing beside the pool.
The piercing noise will only aggravate Rohan, who is now out of the pool, pacing in a frantic circle while also rocking his upper body back and forth.
I want to hurry over to help him, but I still have other students in the pool.
Even with the lifeguard watching from his perch, I can’t just leave them in the water.
Leo pays me no heed and blows his whistle again, holding the note this time to prolong the awful screech. In response, Rohan
emits his own shriek of despair and then hurries to a spot between two chaise longues. He collapses into a crouch on the ground,
and with his hands over his ears, he resumes rocking back and forth as though he’s retreating into himself to cope with the
chaos around him.
“Okay, that’s it!” I shout at the others. “Everyone out. Right now!”
Johnny and Lindy suddenly quiet and look at me with what appears to be genuine surprise on their faces.
“What about the races?” Johnny asks.
“Not now. Out!” I command. “And, Leo!” I turn to where he’s still holding the whistle poised near his mouth. “No more whistle!”
My tone may be too harsh, I realize, as Leo rushes away from the pool and hurries to his bag at the cubbies. After a moment
of rummaging, he pulls out his noise-canceling headphones, places them on his ears, and drops down into the closest patio
chair. It’s surprising that with his own noise sensitivity, Leo would have blown the whistle like that at all. But I can’t
spend time trying to figure that out now, as I still have a situation on my hands.
“You four, let’s go,” I tell the others.
As the other children march out of the water, I grab a towel from the stack sitting on the closest chaise and hand it to Elias, who immediately brings it to his eyes.
As soon as I have the children seated beside the pool, I hurry to the cluster of chairs where Rohan is still huddled on the ground rocking. I lower myself down beside him.
In the gentlest tone I can muster, I tell him, “Everyone’s out of the pool now, Rohan. We’re all quieting down.” He doesn’t
remove his hands from his ears, but he does stop rocking. I spin my head to make sure the other kids are still where I’ve
left them, and thankfully they are. But I also notice Christine Thomaston and Ainsley Lowell standing at the opposite end