jogged ahead to meet up with his friends. “I… just…” Looking at his athletic form made Drea’s vocabulary turn to pig dung. “He… makes my heart beat faster. I just... He’s really… yummy… I love him.”
“You love how he makes you feel. I’m telling you, he’s hiding something from you. I don’t trust him.”
They watched through the glass as Matt laughed and high-fived a pack of popular seniors.
“You don’t trust anybody, Sierra. I, however, am a devout believer in the power of love!” Drea announced with one hand over her heart and the other hand pointed toward the sky, in a purposefully dramatic gesture.
“You’re crazy is what you are. The good kind of crazy, I swear.” Sierra opened the driver’s side door. “I’ll see you in Mr. Murray’s. I’m going to swing by the cafe for a quick breakfast. Hope it will help with the quiz. Brain food.”
“I don’t think a bacon egg and cheese is brain food,” Drea teased.
She slammed the passenger door and walked in the opposite direction, away from her best friend.
CHAPTER TWO
Sammy
His shoes were busy dodging sidewalk cracks and tiptoeing over broken lines. 997. 998. 999. He paused. Then he took one more step for a nice even, 1,000.
The school parking lot was old and in desperate need of repair. Sammy had to take a specific route, doubling back and side-wandering to make it to the front door unscathed.
1,001. 1,002. 1,003. Oh, no! The tip of his left shoe had brushed a piece of grass that was sticking through a slit in the asphalt. Sammy paused and tapped the crack seven times with his non-offending right foot. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. Heel. Seven was a magical number in nature and the seven taps undid his perpetrated crime. That was the rule.
Sammy’s mind contained many rules about the world. The rules kept him safe when routine could not. Like the counting rule. 1,004. 1,005. 1,006.
Sammy’s autism made him count things. He was two and a half when the counting started. Counting toys, lining them up, counting ceiling tiles, counting blades of grass in the yard. Counting was fun, counting was soothing, and most importantly counting was predictable.
1,018. 1,019. 1,020. A car honked and Sammy clamped his hands over his ears. He had to keep the sound out. He pressed his palms firmly against his head. Sammy hated when unpredictable sounds happened on the walk to school. He hated all unpredictable things like rain… and construction… and vacations… and conversations with other people…
He froze in the middle of the parking lot and let the sound wash over him.
“Get out of the way!” a parent yelled out the window of an old station wagon, as she swerved around him. “What are you doing?!?”
Sammy could not answer that question. Don’t talk to strangers. That was Mom and Dad’s rule. Sammy included the Don’t Talk to Strangers Rule in the Walking to School Routine, even though he did not see the difference between known adults and unknown adults. He followed the rules and the rules kept him safe.
When it was quiet for a moment in the parking lot, Sammy uncovered his ears and started to move again. 1,021. 1,022. 1,023.
Sammy was happy that Mom and Dad had allowed him to start walking to school alone when he turned ten years old. He loved to spend time with his plant friends during the Walking to School Routine. Even in a big city there were common medicinal weeds like mint, lavender, and dandelion to pick. Sammy liked plants better than people. They were alive, but they were a lot less confusing.
Sammy bent down, picked a dandelion, and shoved it in his pocket. He broke open the stem and felt the pulpy slime on his fingers. He liked the way it felt on the inside. It was cool and softer than his pocket. He felt relieved. That was how his special brain worked. Plants relieved him. 1,032. 1,033.
Adults were always concerned about his autism. But Sammy felt he
“You love how he makes you feel. I’m telling you, he’s hiding something from you. I don’t trust him.”
They watched through the glass as Matt laughed and high-fived a pack of popular seniors.
“You don’t trust anybody, Sierra. I, however, am a devout believer in the power of love!” Drea announced with one hand over her heart and the other hand pointed toward the sky, in a purposefully dramatic gesture.
“You’re crazy is what you are. The good kind of crazy, I swear.” Sierra opened the driver’s side door. “I’ll see you in Mr. Murray’s. I’m going to swing by the cafe for a quick breakfast. Hope it will help with the quiz. Brain food.”
“I don’t think a bacon egg and cheese is brain food,” Drea teased.
She slammed the passenger door and walked in the opposite direction, away from her best friend.
CHAPTER TWO
Sammy
His shoes were busy dodging sidewalk cracks and tiptoeing over broken lines. 997. 998. 999. He paused. Then he took one more step for a nice even, 1,000.
The school parking lot was old and in desperate need of repair. Sammy had to take a specific route, doubling back and side-wandering to make it to the front door unscathed.
1,001. 1,002. 1,003. Oh, no! The tip of his left shoe had brushed a piece of grass that was sticking through a slit in the asphalt. Sammy paused and tapped the crack seven times with his non-offending right foot. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. Heel. Toe. Heel. Seven was a magical number in nature and the seven taps undid his perpetrated crime. That was the rule.
Sammy’s mind contained many rules about the world. The rules kept him safe when routine could not. Like the counting rule. 1,004. 1,005. 1,006.
Sammy’s autism made him count things. He was two and a half when the counting started. Counting toys, lining them up, counting ceiling tiles, counting blades of grass in the yard. Counting was fun, counting was soothing, and most importantly counting was predictable.
1,018. 1,019. 1,020. A car honked and Sammy clamped his hands over his ears. He had to keep the sound out. He pressed his palms firmly against his head. Sammy hated when unpredictable sounds happened on the walk to school. He hated all unpredictable things like rain… and construction… and vacations… and conversations with other people…
He froze in the middle of the parking lot and let the sound wash over him.
“Get out of the way!” a parent yelled out the window of an old station wagon, as she swerved around him. “What are you doing?!?”
Sammy could not answer that question. Don’t talk to strangers. That was Mom and Dad’s rule. Sammy included the Don’t Talk to Strangers Rule in the Walking to School Routine, even though he did not see the difference between known adults and unknown adults. He followed the rules and the rules kept him safe.
When it was quiet for a moment in the parking lot, Sammy uncovered his ears and started to move again. 1,021. 1,022. 1,023.
Sammy was happy that Mom and Dad had allowed him to start walking to school alone when he turned ten years old. He loved to spend time with his plant friends during the Walking to School Routine. Even in a big city there were common medicinal weeds like mint, lavender, and dandelion to pick. Sammy liked plants better than people. They were alive, but they were a lot less confusing.
Sammy bent down, picked a dandelion, and shoved it in his pocket. He broke open the stem and felt the pulpy slime on his fingers. He liked the way it felt on the inside. It was cool and softer than his pocket. He felt relieved. That was how his special brain worked. Plants relieved him. 1,032. 1,033.
Adults were always concerned about his autism. But Sammy felt he
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