Misreadings

I’ll never understand it all.

“Come to prom with me!” CeCe squeals and bounces on my bed sending my Psychology textbook flying. I turn around to acknowledge her.

I studied her.

“It’s going t-to be noisy and loud. Too m-many people. Not to mention the overwhelming stench of cheap perfume mixed with fruit punch.” I get off the bed to retrieve my book. “No thank you.”

“It’s not going to be noisy. There won’t be speakers ‘cause it’ll be a silent prom with headphones and everything. We can’t really get rid of the perfume, but I promise it’ll still be fun. It’s an Aspie’s dream, Cosima.” She managed to maintain contact with my ever-fluttering eyes.

Her palms were open, her posture straight but relaxed. She displayed the textbook definition of sincere body language.

I still wonder how she did it.

“I d-don’t have a dr-dress.”

She pulled out a burgundy evening dress from her bag, her head tilted to the side as she handed it to me.

Body language that depicts trust and familiarity.

I got ready for the silent party with my best friend and headed out.

At least, I thought she was.

From what I had picked up on at school, a group of students had gotten a tech store to rent out wireless headphones to the seniors for the night, so students with sensory issues- like me- could attend.

Up until the day I was diagnosed with Asperger’s when I was twelve, I didn’t understand social cues. I didn’t understand anything. My parents simply assumed I was a rude brat and would always yell at me to look people in the eye. To stop saying inappropriate things.

I didn’t know when ‘appropriate’ was.

I’m getting there, but I still don’t.

I still remember the first and only therapy session with Dr. Stone on my twelve and three-quarter birthday. My homeroom teacher had gotten tired of me and gotten the principal to not let me come to school without a developmental analysis.

It’s either she’s whack or not, the principal said to my father that day.

The only benefit I got from the session was stealing one of the books on his desk, ‘The Body Language & Psychology Basics’ by Sean Ryers.

I refused to continue therapy after that day, relying solely on that book, and the ones I would use my allowance to buy in the future.

That was six years ago, and though I could be considered an expert on the subject, I never thought once of human’s most cunning ability.

Acting.

~~~

We arrived at Silverlake High by eight-thirty. The school was decorated in a frosty theme in the middle of summer, the timing and setting highlighting the weirdness of the school and the students in it. CeCe pulled me into the building with a smile on her face. It wasn’t the Duchenne smile she normally gives- her dimples weren’t showing and it didn’t reach her eyes.

Something was off.

“Silent Night is s-supposed to be in the gym, i-isn’t it?” I approached cautiously, not wanting to sound accusing and cause her to close off. “Why are we headed upstairs?”

“The planning committee had to move everything to the dance room for more space. Now come on!”

The gym was the biggest room on campus, I wanted to say. But she appeared relaxed although her speech was rushed, and her pulse didn’t quicken.

Body language never lied.

I never thought she’d make it do that.

I fought the urge to scream when she opened the door, her grip on my arm tightening. The music was like a million hot pins prodding at my body. I yanked my hand out of her grip, ready to flee when she grabbed me by my ponytail and threw me onto the floor of the room, locking the door behind us with a keycard.

“Everyone,” she said, “I brought the spaz!”

Only eleven students were in the room, the now familiarly unfamiliar individual and I included, leaving ample room for the music to bounce off the walls, adding to my torture.

The DJ killed the music and I stood up, wanting to leave the scene once I got a good look at the students in the room.

The eight bullies of our class and the DJ was Lucy, the cookie girl and she looked just about ready to faint.

The school couldn’t touch them, couldn’t help their victims, and so they viewed themselves as the gods of the school. They preyed on anyone and everyone, with a special focus on me.

I’m the only Aspie in the school, and many people knew about it.

I was just a difficult spaz to them.

You had to be part of their group to escape their torture, and you always had to do something vile to get in or at least have their protection.

It dawned on me then, that that was most likely her motive.

They all surrounded me, cigarettes and perfume clinging to their bodies as I frantically looked for a way to get out. Their leader, Zeke, signaled for the music to continue.

This time louder than before.

I dug into the pockets of my dress, looking for the noise-canceling earbuds I carry with me everywhere.

“Looking for these, derp?” CeCe’s voice made me look up to see her spinning the case on her finger. I reached out to grab it, but she tossed it to a random student behind me.

They were playing Piggy in the Middle.

With my earbuds.

My hands went to cover my ears on instinct, but they were held down by another girl.

“Too loud, cretin?”

The game continued, and I made the mistake of nodding, tears rolling down my face.

Too much.

Everything was too much.

She kicked me to my knees.

“All the way up, Cookies!” Zeke yelled over the music and it got so loud the vibrations shook the windows.

He crouched in front of me.

“M-make it s-stop!” I tilted my head, baring my neck to him. “Please.”

The head tilt was also used to show submission.

My eyes darted between him and the floor as the rest of the students descended on me. The left side of my body started to spasm.

A sign of an impending meltdown.

“Retard.”

No, I’m not.

“Wacko”

“I’m not a wacko,” I managed to scream over the music.

The music was cut.

“The term d-doesn’t apply to me s-since I’m not crazy so that doesn’t make a-any sense.”

“If you weren’t,” Zeke said, “Celine here wouldn’t have brought you, would she? We simply asked her to find us a… spaz to play with.”

I looked up to face the girl I call my best friend, my eyes never staying longer than a second on hers. She smirked, hands on her hips.

“You’re short-bus material, Cosima.”

“What’s a short-bus?”

Everyone laughed.

Everyone but me.

Most people think people on the spectrum don’t realize they’re being picked on. We always know.

We just never understand why.

We didn’t ask for our brains. Nobody did- or does.

Zeke rose from his position and stretched out a hand to help me up. He pinched me midway, making me lose my grip and fall back down.

I clumsily got up on my own.

The shaking on my left side was getting worse.

I closed my eyes.

Breathe in for four…

“Loon.”

Hold for seven…

“Daft dotard.”

That doesn’t make any-

Exhale for eight…

“Worthless defect.”

My eyes shot open at the venom that coated CeCe’s voice.

She narrowed her eyes at me and a sneer graced her lips.

Contempt. Hatred.

Those feelings can never be faked.

“This got boring quickly. Let’s go crash Silent Night,” Zeke said, “You’re welcome to join us, Celine.”

One by one, they filed out of the room, looking every bit like the spoilt rich kids they were.

CeCe included.

Do I still call her that?

I managed to calm myself down and prevent my meltdown- a skill I had to learn because my parents refuse to acknowledge my autism.

~~~

The night seemed colder as I speed-walked home. Psychology associates sudden chilliness with loneliness if before certain events.

I was lonely.

I don’t know how or when I got home and tucked in bed with my newest textbook next to my pillow. I also don’t know when I heard a knock on the door, or when I opened it and stepped outside once I saw it was Celine.

“Cosima, I’m so sor-”

“Could you teach me all your acting skills? It could prove useful in the future.” My voice was laden with venom, even more so than hers before.

I trained myself to use my ‘switch’ if something like tonight ever happened. Sarcasm and coldness. Two things I royally suck at but practiced often for maximum damage.

A relieved breath left her. 

“Good. You know what happened tonight was fake, then. I had to do it. They wouldn’t st-”

“I meant your faking sincerity, Celine,” I say with a scoff, “And maybe throw in a Lying for Defects course too?”

She gasped.

“I’ll prove it to you. Zeke said he’d let you jo-”

“Screw Zeke. Screw you.”

“Just come out with me tomorrow. I’ll prove it to you. It was fake, I promise.”

She was doing it again. The act.

How could I have been so stupid?

She was getting desperate. This wasn’t the first time something like this has happened. Before I slammed the door in her face to complete my own act,

“I’m never going out with you again.”