Real by Carol Cujec (snow like ashes .txt) 📕

you find more evidence, my hands are tied.”

He shooed us out of his office with a “Have a good day,” and Grace walked away without a word.

I wanted so bad to tell Mom I TOLD you so, but I did not want to rub it in. She already looked like a kid whose dog just got flattened by a bus.

Voice Thief

Back in the EPIC room, Celia led me into her office and sat me down. “Your mom told me the bad news. I am so sorry about what has happened to you, querida. How are you feeling today?”

How was I supposed to answer her with no keyboard?

I peeked through her office windows to see if Ana was in the classroom.

“I am afraid Ana is not here today.” She paused and cupped my hand in hers. “Actually, Ana will not be back for several weeks, maybe longer. She has flown to France to be with her grandmother, who is very ill. Her grandmother raised her, and Ana had to go care for her.”

My arms started shaking. My body rocked back and forth, back and forth.

“She felt miserable to leave you so suddenly, querida. She said to tell you that you are strong and that she has faith in you.”

My legs jiggled apart-together as if they were on fire.

Apart-together-apart-together-apart-together.

Translation: I have no voice anymore.

Faster.

Apartogetherapartogetherapartogetherapartogether

No Ana = no voice.

My body rocked backandforthbackandforthbackandforth.

Celia moved her chair closer and squeezed my shoulders rhythmically like Ana did.

“No, querida, there is no need for you to worry. No, no, no. I have called human resources. They are sending a communication aide to work with you. I have requested someone trained to support your typing. She should be here any minute,” Celia checked her watch. “She must be running a little late. But she will support you in all your classes. I am sure it will be fine.”

Fine? How could this be fine? This is 100 percent the opposite of FINE!

Did Celia forget that my typing facilitator not only supported my arm, she had to support my spirit, my emotions? She had to encourage me to keep going. More than anything, she needed to be someone I trusted.

My fist pounded on Celia’s desk.

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang.

“What would Ana tell you? Take a deep breath. Breathe in peace. Let go of the bad feelings.”

It only works when Ana says it.

“Knock-knock, sorry to interrupt.”

A young woman with long, blonde hair and a gold nose ring appeared in the doorway. She had on a grape-colored top that showed her belly and faded jeans—the expensive kind that are torn on purpose.

“I’m Ivy. Is this Charity?”

She reached out her hand, a couple of rings on her thumb . . . and then pulled her hand away.

“Oh, sorry, autistic kids don’t shake hands, do they?”

Celia opened her mouth, but no words came out.

“I’m the sub? I’m gonna facilitate for Charity?”

Why do her sentences sound like questions?

Celia asked me to step out so that she could fill Ivy in on my schedule. She would probably inform her about a few other things too—the school dress code for one. And not calling me an autistic kid when I am sitting right there.

After their meeting, Ivy sat down with me to practice typing. She knew the technique a little, but my fingers were not always making it to the right keys. And she was not asking, “Is that the letter you want?” like Ana always did.

After practicing for a few minutes, Celia said, “Math class has already started. Why don’t you go, and I will check in with you ladies at lunch.”

When we walked into class, kids were working in groups. Everyone stopped and eyed Ivy.

“Hey gang, s’up?” Ivy waved to the class.

Jazmine’s eyes popped out of her head. I could only imagine the comments she would let fly at the lunch table.

Ivy gave a few high fives to some of girls who apparently dug her “super-glam jeans.”

Mr. Byrd pointed to a group we could join. “Young Jedi Charity, I’m sure your friends could use your assistance.”

Stuart smiled. “Hi, Charity. We’re working on this problem.” He showed me the handout. Rachel and Lilly were also in our group.

Amy bought Sweater A on sale for 30 percent off the original price and Sweater B, which was 25 percent cheaper than the discounted price of Sweater A. She is using a credit card that gives her an additional 5 percent off her entire purchase. If the original price of Sweater A was $93, what was her final cost?

“Whoa, talk about overpriced sweaters,” Ivy said. “Is she shopping at Abercrombie for that?”

Lilly and Rachel laughed.

Stu ignored the comment and continued to scribble numbers on scratch paper.

“Hey, I think I remember how to do this,” Ivy said. “Don’t you like minus the 30 from the 93 or something?”

Stu raised an eyebrow and shook his head at me as if to say, “Poor you.”

The girls loved Ivy, though. Rachel asked her where she shopped, and they got into an intense discussion about whether skinny jeans were “totally over.”

I sat there feeling useless as Stu scribbled out a few sample equations. Finally, he spoke up to Ivy, “Um, can you help Charity join the discussion?”

I owed him big time.

“Oh, yeah. Oops! I need to help you type, don’t I?”

Ivy sat at a weird angle and grabbed my wrist. A lot of my letters were misfires. She kept forgetting to ask if that was the letter I wanted, so my sentence came out as

ggurstmultolpythhe otifonal peice by ,330.

I was trying to say “First, multiply the original price by .3,” but it was so far off, no one had any clue what I meant.

Rachel giggled. “Sorry, Charity, we don’t speak Chinese.”

Lilly rolled her eyes. “Hashtag confuzzled.”

Ivy giggled. “Uh, Charity, maybe we should try that again? That was a lot of no comprendo nonsense.”

What’s the use?

I turned my body away and pointed to my puzzle. She turned to the rest of the group.

“Sorry gang, Charity’s taking a time-out to play with her puzzle.”

Time-out? Play with my