section 11 (or Operation Make Ali Feel Better)

I huffed and rolled my eyes. “Dad was supposed to pick me up. Remember that support group you signed me up for?” I knew I was going to get in trouble for the attitude, but I didn’t care. What was she going to do, ground me? Since Andrew was born my entire life had been lived out like I was grounded. I barely went to friend’s birthday parties, only a few school dances and I was sent to my room at least every other day. I could have been traded with a nanny and they wouldn’t have noticed.

Mom looked startled for a moment before regaining her composure. “I’m sorry. Your brother has a meeting at school coming up, I’ve been a little bit distracted.”

“Yeah, Mom, you’re always a little bit distracted.”

“Brigitte Reed!”

I let my head snap back and I stared at the vent on the cieling. I hated the middle name thing. It meant nothing, it wasn’t like a kind of punishment but what it did do it remind me that I wasn’t special anymore. Andrew had mom’s maiden name as well. I was just Brigitte and I really didn’t matter.

“No, Mom. You are. When was the last time you went to a meeting at school for me? When was the last time you met one of my teachers? Do you even know any of my teacher’s names?”

“Brigitte, you don’t exactly talk to me about school. You don’t talk to me about anything, how am I supposed to know what’s going on with you.”

“You don’t exactly ask,” I rolled my eyes and stalked through the kitchen and up the stairs towards my room. Dad’s door to his study was open, I could see him sprawled out asleep on the couch in there. Freakin’ figures. My eyes and throat felt swollen, I hated when I was about to cry. I walked past Andrew’s door and could hear him jabbering behind the closed door, his light was still on.

I took a deep breath and coughed in an attempt to stop the tears from coming down. It was probably useless. Pretty much against my will I opened the door and went over to Andrew’s bed. “You only get one light on, Andrew.”

“Both lights,” he rocked back and forth on his butt, his feet up in the air. His sheets were thrown around the floor and his pillows were on the foot of his bed. It had been one of those nights.

“No, only one.” I pointed to the three lights he had on and numbered them. “One, two or three Andrew?”

He was only allowed to have his nightlight on at night, not the cieling lamp and desk and nightlight.

“Three,” he said dully. Three was the nightlight. Andrew might have been autistic, but he wasn’t stupid.

I turned off the two other lights, said good night and left.

“Thanks, Brigitte,” Dad said from behind me.

I didn’t turn around. I didn’t want to talk to him, I had nothing to say. You would think that since being forgotten about was a regular occurence that I would have been used to it, even numb to it. But I wasn’t it. It hurt every single time.

“Whatever.”

I went in to my room and let the door click shut.

I threw my bag in to the corner between the desk and the wall and flung myself on my bed. The springs bounced and poked at me through the sheets. I tucked my head into the cool sheets and covered my head with my arms. Maybe I would fall asleep like this and die due to asphyxiation. It’d serve ‘em right.

There were three heavy knocks on the door though and I turned over to my side. “Yeah?”

Dad peaked his head through the door.

“I’m really sorry about not picking you up tonight.”

“Whatever.”

“Are we really going to do the one syllable conversation?”

Dad hated when I spoke in one word sentences. I shurgged.

“Brigitte, I am sorry. I’ll make it up to you, next time.”

“Whatever,” I said again. “I got home, didn’t I? I got a ride.”

Dad perked up at this and suddenly seemed less remorseful that he had fallen asleep and forgotten about his first-born. “So you made a friend?”

Leave it to a father to hit home my uncertainty over what Lyle was or would be. “I got a ride, let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” I said patently. I got up off my bed and reached over to my dresser and pulled out pajamas. I turned and gave Dad a look that told him to shut the door and leave.

He sighed, but shut the door, obviously unhappy with how things went. He should have thought about that before he forgot about me. I pulled on my pajamas and went to bed without brushing my teeth.

“How was group therapy last night?” Kayla prodded. It was lunch time. South’s lunch was really two periods that stagged each other by a few minutes. Kayla had first lunch, while Cody and I had second.

“It’s not group therapy,” I protested.

“Whatever, AA—Autistics Anonymous,” she flung her hands in the air to emphasize that it wasn’t important.

“It was fine,” I answered, to get her off my back. “I went, I introduced myself.”

“What— my name is Brigitte and I have an autistic brother?” she laughed at her own joke.

I tried to laugh, but only managed a grin. I didn’t find it very funny. “Yeah, basically.” I figured just agreeing with her would make it easier. Maybe she would forget the whole thing. Maybe the bell would just ring and she would go to her next class.

“Weird,” her eyes widened and rolled. “So, what’d you, like, talk about?”

“Just stuff,” I said exasperatedly. “You wouldn’t get it. We just talked about what it was like for us, gave advice, that kind of stuff. It was lame.” I pulled apart my tuna sandwhich and looked at the insides.

“Are you going to go back?” she asked.

I hadn’t looked up at her once but she still hadn’t gotten the hint. “Ugh, I have to, Kayla. My parents are making me go.” I folded one part of the sandwhich in half and started taking small bites of it. Cody was just sitting there. He was more my friend than he was Kayla’s, I think she intimidated him.

“Well, are there at least any cute guys there? I mean, I’m taken. But for you. It might make it worth your while.”

I hadn’t mentioned Lyle to her, and now I didn’t plan to.

“Look, I don’t want to date anyone with some messed up sibling. I don’t need anymore weirdness in my life.”

The bell rang and it ended the conversation. I let out a sigh of relief after we said good-byes and she left.

“So, how was group therapy last night?” Cody asked. There was something different about the way he said it. It was like he actually cared and wasn’t just trying to make fun of it.

I looked up at him and his face showed honest interest in how group went last night.

I shurgged, not wanting to make a big deal about it. “It was fine, I guess.” I pulled out a carrot stick and began to eat it.

“Do you think it’s going to help?”

I leaned back against the bench and let the sun beat down on my face. “I don’t know, Cody. I don’t think so. I don’t think I’m the one that needs help. My parents… my parents just don’t get it,” I looked over at him on the other side of the picnic table. “You know, my dad forgot to pick me up afterwards,” I blinked away the tears again and shook my head. Cody gave me a sympathetic look. “I mean, it’s like they want me to accept Andrew or something. I do, I mean, I get it. I accept it. He’s autistic. What more is there to it? They just don’t get that they have two kids. Two kids that both need attention. And I mean, I guess I can understand that Andrew needs more attention, I’m fine with that. I just hate being forgotten about. It sucks.” Listlessly I chucked the rest of the carrot stick across the outside lunch area. It flew a few yards before hitting a freshman in the back. I ducked my face behind my hand before he turned around.

“Don’t you guys do family therapy?” he took a sip of his water.

“Yeah,” I rested my arms over the table and placed my chin on my hands. “Dad kind of gets it, he’s aware of it. But Mom… she just thinks it’s something I should put up with it because of Andrew. I’m not expecting miracles, just… you know, to be picked up on time.”

Cody smiled sympathetically, except that he would never get it. Cody was an only child. His father was a physicist and his mother was a medical researcher. He was smart and loved by his parents and most importantly cherished by his parents. He grasped my hand from across the table, “Hang in there.”

I appreciated the sentiment, so I smiled back.

Mrs. Snyder assigned group work in sociology after lunch period and I got stuck with Devyn Hershbach, South High’s Sophomore slacker. He was probably just waiting to turn sixteen so he could drop out and be a stoner without school interrupting his smoking schedule. I was sitting in front of the library, waiting for him to show up. Our assignment was to pick a topic and write the two sides of it, it wasn’t exactly difficult but knowing Devyn it probably meant that I would be writing both papers. It was going to suck.

Fifteen minutes after we were supposed to meet he showed up on his skateboard. He rolled up to the where I was sitting, leaning against the wall. He kicked up his skateboard and leaned against the wall, not caring that the board was hitting my knee.

“Hey.” He was wearing those stupid skinny jeans and a ratty black t-shirt that advirtised some band. There were chains hanging off his jeans and I imagined that he had them in his locker during school since they were against the dress code. Had he worked at it, he could have been decent looking. His hair was black and curly, but it was also greasy and mostly hidden behind a stupid beanie when he wasn’t at school. His eyes were a pretty shade of haze and his facial features weren’t disfiguring.

“You’re late,” I commented. I pulled myself up so I could gain some higher ground, but he was still over a head taller than me.

“Sorry, I got caught up,” he smirked.

I shook my head and started towards the library door. “Probably hooking up with someone,” I mumbled.

“Jealous?” He was still standing by the wall.

“What’s there to be jealous of?”

“You’d be surprised,” he said smoothly.

I ground my teeth together to stop myself from saying anything else. Devyn loved being provoked. “Are you coming in or not? This is where the computers are,” I wasn’t going to get started on that this was also where the books were. Devyn probably hadn’t cracked a book since the last time he burned one.

“Yeah, I can’t actually go in there,” he said slowly. I tilted my head, confused. “They caught me smoking in the bathroom over the summer,” he explained while picking at his fingernails. The bottoms were black, I couldn’t tell if it was Sharpie or some sort of nutrition deficiency.

“That’s not terrible. They shouldn’t have banned you for that.”

“Well,” he grinned, “the smoke set the fire extinguishers off and ruined some books and all the computers.”

My jaw dropped. “That was you?” I remembered how over the summer the library had done extensive fundraising in order to get new computers and replace some books after some moron set off the sprinklers. I hadn’t realized that they were set off by some moron that went to my school.

“Yeah, so you can see why they don’t want me to go in there.”

I crossed my arms across my chest, “So, how are we supposed to do this project? I don’t care what other people have done for you but I’m not doing this whole thing by myself.”

He edged closer to me. “You have guts, I like that in a girl.” I tried to control my gag reflex. I could smell the nicotine floating off of him, the generic deodorant, sweat and a soft whisper of laundry detergent. His family used All. When I didn’t respond to his jibe he went on. “I was thinking you could just pick a topic, print up some information, grab some books, whatever it is that you good kids do for research and meet me behind the library. You don’t seem to put up with shit, I respect that and I’ll do my part. Just don’t expect graduate material.”

I sneered, “I never did.”

word count: 2,201