Just A Little Different

Prologue

"This is Krystal, everybody. She has autism and doesn't speak, but please accept her and help her." The teacher said behind me, and I watched fearfully at their reactions. Most laughed silently, smirking, while others made quick eye contact, smiled, and looked away shamefully.

I was expecting this.

I was used to this.

To the cruel faces.

The mean jokes.

The cooing, fake voices.

And I was tired of it. I've been tired of it since I was born.

The teacher grabbed my shoulder and forced eye contact with me, saying some things about how this will be my 'group's and my 'table' and how everyone here was picked especially to work with me.

I stared at her blankly, and she smiled an obviously fake smile, and walked away. I sat in the beige chair, glancing at the three other people. Two were grinning at me and smirking, whispering something about how I couldn't talk because I was stupid, and the other was a girl like me, focusing on her paper with a shamed look on her face.

This I never understood. Are they ashamed to look at me since I can't talk, since they feel bad for me? Or is it because they are ashamed in themselves, unhappy that they got stuck with me?

Either way, I hate it when people presume things, like autistic people being stupid, and needing help. And like me, for instance. I can talk. No one's ever heard me though.

Their just too blind to see the signs I've been sending, my means of communication.

My PARA educator came over, and placed down a piece of paper and a pencil, saying some sort of instructions on how to not make a big fuss while he was in his meeting. What a cruel joke. Me, make a fuss? You think I can't hold a pencil without help.

I picked up the pencil quickly, and jotted down my name messily, while the kids burst out in laughter, comparing their perfect print to my messy scribbles.

"Not only can she stay as quiet as a dead rat, she can write like a pig too!" One of the girls whispered, saying it like she were some sorts of announcer on commercials trying to sell something.

This was a simple thing I got used to, since I had no use for this. All this writing is needed for is school. What my old autistic friend communicated with were clicks, with sounds, pictures, fabric, tears, and laughter. Not pencils with words on paper. If you can call them words.

We began to take notes, and the other girl who seemed ashamed helped me when I got behind, making me nervous and a little irritated. I'm only one line behind, I'm not helpless, I know how to write, why not draw instead of write, more learn faster that way.

That's when she decided to stare at me, study me, while everyone else finished with their perfect, centered notes. Because everything must be perfect.

"Krystal is a pretty name." She whispered softly, and I looked up at her. The other two began laughing their heads off, and a few other from the tables by us smirked and snickered. That's when the bell rang, and everyone stood up to go.

I watched her, and opened my mouth slightly, making a soft clicking noise, and stood up to walk down the hallway with my PARA educator.