Because You're Different ✔

76. Future

June

The Uber driver eyed me nervously in the mirror one more time before finally stepping on the gas and leaving me alone on the side of the road. He'd talked to me on the whole way here, with a loud, exaggerated voice, for some reason assuming I was near deaf. It'd happened to me so many times I didn't even ask myself anymore how people came to that conclusion again and again. I was a fool for thinking it'd be different now. I only had to casually slip into the conversation that I'd be attending Berkeley, right? Then they had to realize I didn't have the cognitive abilities of a three-year-old, right?

Wrong, apparently.

The man had only scratched his beard, looking at me a little dazed, like the word 'university' was automatically canceled out by 'disabled'. It was the first time since I'd accepted the offer that someone had managed to dim the glow of it a bit. Asshole.

Deciding I didn't need to put up with it, I'd told him to stop right there. Rather walk the rest of the way in full bliss than get worked up by someone I'd probably never see again. I knew it wasn't a good reason, but part of why I applied to the greater colleges was simply because I could tell people I went there. All my life, I'd believed that would be the remedy to the thing that I despised most about my cerebral palsy: being treated like I possessed no intelligence whatsoever. It seemed like I'd heavily overestimated the ability of fellow humans to let go of their preconceived ideas.

But you were going, June. Who cared if one cab driver didn't understand? You were going, and you were going to love it.

I breathed in deeply, taking in the taste of freedom, of independence. The sun felt kinder here, full of promise, and I wondered if it was just California, or if it was the money. The money that let me take a cab. The money that let me into Berkeley. The money that made sure the house was dustless, the kitchen clean and stocked, and my energy completely intact.

Look at me, mom. Your spoiled daughter. I was tempted to take a selfie and send it to her, just so she could rant about me again, shameless beggar that I was. I snickered at the memory of the texts she sent me a few days ago. June, what do you think you're doing? Where is your pride? We don't need those people. They're one of the reasons everything went to hell, don't you remember? I want you to come home this instant. Sorry, mom. You lost the right to tell me what to do a long time ago. Pride. See where that had gotten her. Pride was the only thing that woman had left, cradling it to her chest like a newborn.

I had no shame in doing this, not anymore. And when I'd be at Berkeley, working towards becoming successful, she'd realize. She'd realize, and she would finally have to apologize, admitting that sometimes, I was right, and she was wrong. That I could take care of my own happiness.

Behind a white wooden fence, a dog barked, and I flinched, muscles tensing painfully tight. Dogs didn't like me. They never had. Dad used to say they reacted aggressively to me because I was afraid of them, that I should show them I'd love to play with them, but he was one of those people who believed all animals were harmless. I moved differently. I had a voice that wasn't like others. And most dogs didn't trust me for it. I couldn't blame them, though I thought it was fair I didn't trust them in return.

Still, at that moment, somehow jumping into the garden and meeting with whatever small wolf would be waiting for me there seemed tempting compared to what I was to face here on the sidewalk.

A flash of shock rushed through my throat. Two girls, coming in my direction, chattering loudly, the one pushing a stroller before her. Of course. Out of all people in this town, of course it had to be her.

They hadn't seen me yet, immersed as they were in their conversation. Amy Wang hadn't changed at all: still short, with square shoulders, and shiny black hair that just about reached her ears. If I didn't know any better, I'd think she'd been frozen in time, always sixteen, with her pink diamond-studded phone case in the one hand, and the other on the handles of the stroller. Her son, however, was living proof that time had gone by. The little boy was stretching his feet, trying to touch his toes in utter concentration, his tongue slipping from his mouth. Hell, I couldn't imagine having a child this big, already leaning towards kindergarten, and yet, when I thought of Luis, our lives couldn't have been that different.