QUACK

The Spinning

“Happiness, hit her like a train on a track

       Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back.

              She hid around corners and she hid under beds

                        She killed it with kisses and from it she fled.”

                                                -Florence + the Machine

THIS CHAPTER IS FROM SASHA'S POINT OF VIEW

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It’s been two weeks after the cafeteria incident. Both Ethan and Jem’s suspensions have been lifted, albeit a little too late. Jem missed his game, and for me, like before, Ethan is impenetrable.

Despite the fact that I have been spending most of my free time with Ethan trying to forge a bond and cutting the ones I already have with my friends, he doesn’t care. I think with him, it’s an eye-for-an-eye thing. I can’t imagine how that’s going to work, though.

I am in the office of the Reach Out organization, trying to come up with a way to get people to help in the Soup Kitchen this coming weekend. Apart from that, I have three freshmen I have to tutor in algebra. I am looking for a way to escape this unnecessary torture: I freaking hate algebra.

Mrs. Coolidge walks in with Ethan, who predictably refuses to make any eye contact. I greet the both of them anyway.

“Hi, Sasha. The SpecEd teacher, Mrs. Danver, her water just broke,” Mrs. Coolidge says as she shepherds Ethan to an empty seat. “Ethan had a little episode because of the blood and the fluids, so while the janitor is cleaning up in the multi-sensory room, is it okay if I have him bunk with you for the afternoon?”

I look towards Ethan. “Yeah, sure,” I say, nodding at Mrs. Coolidge. “If it’s okay with him, I don’t mind.”

Mrs. Coolidge nods. “Alright, then,” She says, turning to Ethan. “Get settled in here, Ethan, and then I will come and get you when the multi-sensory room is all cleaned up.”

Ethan says nothing, choosing instead to stare at his books, rocking himself back and forth.

Mrs. Coolidge walks towards me. “He doesn’t like being touched when he’s busy…” She turns to him for awhile. “Well, actually, in general, he doesn’t like being touched… He’ll come to you when he needs help. I think he’s a little frazzled because he’s not in his usual room—“

“Yeah,” I agree, “they don’t like their schedules being changed, their routines being disturbed.”

“’They?’” Mrs. Coolidge asks.

“Aspies,” I respond. “People with Asperger’s. I read up on Ethan’s condition when Mrs. Courtly had me look after him.” I smile at the older woman reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it, Mrs. Coolidge… I got it.”

When Mrs. Coolidge leaves, I go over my students one by one. I could tell that none of the freshmen want to be here anyway, so I tell them it is okay to leave. If anything, that’s all they are waiting for. I watch as they scramble over each other to hightail it out of the tutor center.

Ethan doesn’t show any concern when there is only me and him inside the room. He just sits there, rocking back and forth like a pendulum.

I look at the book open in front of him. It is something about making friends and socializing with peers. I feel like hurling the book out the window. The writer, some hokey psychologist, probably had it easy when he was in high school.