Chapter Twenty-Four September 3
Chapter Twenty-four
It’s the first day of school and I’m kind of excited to start eleventh grade with a boyfriend, though it sounds so shallow that I’m almost embarrassed to admit it.
I always believed I was above that vapidity.
Clearly, I’m not. I’d only convinced myself that those things didn’t matter when they felt out of reach.
Theo wanted to drive me to school today, but I told him it would be better if I went with Andie since we haven’t seen each other that much lately.
The entire ride, I listen as she whines about the end of summer and how sad she is that Kiefer goes to another school.
I’ve missed listening to her complain about things that we both know are trivial but feel huge. And I’ve missed her.
Andie has always been careful not to leave me behind when she has a boyfriend, even including me in her dates.
Now that I’m with Theo, it’s important for me to continue to be there for her.
It was easy in August to split my time between Andie and Theo because she was at her family’s cottage for a good chunk of it or hanging out with Kiefer.
And I was on babysitting duty for most of the month.
I’m still not sure how she really feels about me and Theo together. There was a moment where they almost…well, who knows what might have happened. But if she told me to break up with him, he’d be history. She comes first.
Is any guy worth all this anxiety?
If I’d been asked this question two years ago, I would have said no.
If I’d been asked this a year ago, I would have said yes, if the guy was John Brody.
Faced with the same question now, I’m not so sure.
“Hey, Andie,” I say as she pulls into the school parking lot. My heart races as I spot John’s parked car next to us. It’s been over six months since we last spoke. The night of the winter storm.
“Yeah?” she says. She pulls down her visor to check her reflection in the vanity mirror, then scrunches up her face and grabs her makeup bag from her backpack. “I look like shit. Do you want something for that?” she asks, nodding to my fat lower lip.
“It’s fine.” I run a finger over my mouth and attempt to swallow the knot in my throat. “I have to tell you something.”
“What is it?” she asks, applying her lip gloss. She inspects her sunburnt skin. “Ugh, I’m peeling again. You’d think the melanin from my mother’s side would save me from this.”
“Things went pretty far with Theo last night.”
She whips her head at me and cracks a smile. “Did you sleep with him?”
My jaw clenches as I take in a breath. “No. But just about everything else. I got this fat lip from tripping over my feet as I ran out of his house after his mom got home. Do you think he thinks less of me now?” It’s such a black-and-white question, but sometimes—often—my autistic brain needs to ask direct questions to get direct responses. Anything else is too confusing.
“Oh my god, Lennon. No. And if he did, well, fuck him.” She closes her lip gloss and tosses it back into the makeup bag before shifting to face me. “Did he say anything to make you feel that way?”
I twist my fingers through the hook of my backpack. “No, but it wasn’t…” I swallow. “I didn’t really enjoy it.”
Andie sits, quiet, her green eyes downcast. “It can sometimes take a bit to find your groove together.”
“It didn’t with John,” I say softly.
“Oh, sweetie. Are you still hung up on him?” she asks, lowering her head to meet my eyes.
“We don’t talk anymore. And I really do like Theo. But it’s not the same.”
“Give it time,” Andie says. “And if it still doesn’t get better, then maybe it’s less that Theo doesn’t know what he’s doing, and more that your heart is not in it.”
The cold, hard truth I’ve been trying to push down. Leave it to Andie to see through me.
We’re silent as more cars pull into the parking lot, followed by doors slamming, horns honking, and music suddenly cutting out along with engines.
She glances over my shoulder, then back to me. “Does John know about you and Theo?”
“Theo said he’d tell him. Do you think he’ll be cool about it?”
She seems lost in thought for a moment. “I think he’ll play it off like he doesn’t care, but deep down he’ll be devastated.”
“But John’s the one who ended things.”
“Only because he didn’t see a future where the two of you could be together. Not because he didn’t care about you.”
I suck in my lips, then wince at the pain.
I’ve already bitten off the scab three times due to nerves.
It will never heal if I don’t leave it alone.
Mom seemed to buy my story about tripping on Main Street last night and landing face down on the ground.
It was partially true, I guess. After getting home from Theo’s I headed straight to the shower to scrub the night off my skin, and I lay in bed fighting off tears, unsuccessfully, until I fell asleep.
“Come on, let’s go in,” she says, offering me a reassuring smile.
I nod and sigh as I step out of Andie’s car.
“He’s just a boy, Lennon,” she says as we walk hand in hand past John’s car. “He’s just a boy, and you are the sun, and the moon, and the stars.”
I squeeze her hand. “I love you.”
“I love you more,” she says with a smile as we head into school together.
Homeroom goes slowly. I forgot how tedious the first couple of classes in the new school year can be.
The teachers look bright-eyed and well rested as they excitedly share the syllabus.
Turns out that not only do I have to take Calculus, I have to do it at eight-thirty in the morning.
Thankfully I have Music second period to recover from this dad-inflicted trauma.
Mrs. Morales insisted I continue taking her music class even though I can’t really play the piano all that well.
She says my singing voice is raw (a nice way to say mediocre).
But she says where I really shine is in my songwriting skills, and she wants me to work at learning music theory.
It feels nice knowing someone thinks you deserve to be heard.
I choose a seat at the back since my focus isn’t on learning how to play an instrument.
Familiar faces trickle into the room, greeting one another with smiles and hugs.
By now I know everyone in my grade, but only on a superficial level, and it’s starting to show as they all seem to have this bond and closeness that I don’t share.
Growing up, it was easy for me to identify my autism as the reason I so often felt like an outcast. But sometimes, I wonder if I’m just as much, if not more, to blame for the distance between me and my peers.
It takes effort to get to know people. Maybe part of the problem is that those I do put forth the effort toward consume all my focus, time, and energy.
I open my backpack, searching for the new notebook I bought specifically for Music class.
I didn’t write as much this summer as I had hoped to, but last week I had some free time and started messing around with song lyrics.
Theo and his mom were beginning the painful process of clearing out his father’s belongings.
I decided to give Theo space as he worked through that difficult milestone in his grief.
He wanted me close by regardless, so I hung out in his backyard, writing.
My attempts at writing lyrics were awful at first. I was rusty.
Writing is a skill that improves with consistent effort, and I hadn’t been consistent.
Once I allowed myself to open up, awful transitioned into cheesy.
But the last few verses I’ve written have been soul-baring.
The muse was gone for awhile, but it feels like it’s back, or possibly just around the corner.
“Mind if I sit here?” a deep voice asks.
I look up to find John standing next to my chair. I force my mouth shut and nod, probably a little too aggressively. He smiles before taking the seat to the right of mine. He leans back, smirking as he watches me get my notebook and supplies all lined up.
“What?” I ask, squinting back at him.
“You’re such a type A.”
“Old habits,” I say, letting my gaze linger a second too long. His hair is a bit shorter now. Styled. It appears even he made an effort on this first day of school. His last first day of high school. A pit grows in my stomach at the thought.
“How was your summer?”
He shrugs. “Not bad. My sister was home for most of it and we took Mikey all over Toronto whenever I was off work. Wonderland. CN Tower. The aquarium. All the touristy places.”
“Just you and Val took him?” I ask, digging delicately for answers.
“My mom too.”
“What about your dad?” I can’t help myself. I need to know.
“He wasn’t around this summer,” John says.
“Oh.”
He straightens, then clears his throat. “For a good reason. He’s in rehab. Two months down. One to go.”
“Wow. Wow,” I say again, shaking my head as I take in his huge news. “How’s he doing?”
John’s eyes glisten. “Really good. We visit every weekend, all of us, and he’s like the dad I grew up with. But I don’t let myself get too excited. Sometimes I think it’s better this way. Him there, where it’s safe, and we get our fill on weekends.”
“That wouldn’t be fair to him, long term,” I say, lifting my gaze to meet John’s. “You have to trust him eventually.”
“Yeah.” He nods.
“But it’s still scary. I get that. There’s a lot riding on this. Can I ask how you were able to afford three months of rehab?”
“Did anyone ever tell you that you should be a journalist?” He smiles sweetly. “It was subsidized by the government, and I’ve been working a lot.”
“I guess that’s why I never saw you this summer.”
“Yeah.”
We both know his work schedule was not the reason we didn’t see or talk to one another.
Before I can ask John more questions, Mrs. Morales walks in and claps to get everyone’s attention.
John and I face the front of the class, and a sense of calm, one that has been missing for months, takes hold of me.
The humming in my head settles and I let out a breath that I’ve been holding for what feels like… seven months.