Hey, I said, raising my hand. He was sitting on the window ledge—it’s wide enough, it’s like a window seat, and he was just about to pull something out of his lunch bag. Mind if I join you? I said, and he raised his brow, meaning sure.
Last year, after I moved here, Ricky gave me a red rose for Valentine’s Day, and it was so sweet—he was the first boy to ever give me a rose, but the thing is, I just didn’t like him that way, you know. And of course my friends—my ex-friends made fun, and it was so embarrassing, I just avoided him as much as possible. I’ve always wished I hadn’t done that, treated him like that, but then he started avoiding me, and then, by summer, it seemed for the best.
People go after me, but they used to be so mean to Ricky. One of the junior guys, Tyler Hendricks, used to call Ricky
Special Needs
right to his face, like it was his nickname, then he went and told everyone Ricky has Asperger’s, when he doesn’t, he’s just different. Last year, I got in all this trouble after I got drunk at a party and there were all these pictures of me and all my so-called friends quit talking to me, but Ricky was always nice to me—that’s what I mean by different. That’s what’s truly special about Ricky: he’d never do or say anything hurtful to anyone, and how many people in this world can you say that about?
So all last spring, we’d eat lunch together—not in the cafeteria, in this little window seat under the staircase next to theChemistry lab, in the east wing. It always smells sulfuric, but it’s a good place to be left alone. That’s where I found Ricky, just like old times. I got up in the window, across from him, watching him shove his hand back in his bag, and pull something out. And then he threw his head back, practically pounding it on the brick wall behind him. Why? he said, staring at the ceiling, holding a sandwich in his hand.
Why, why do you do this to me?
he said. I looked at him, waiting for him to finish, and then he showed me. She does this
every day
, he said, more annoyed than I’ve ever seen him, because his mom had cut his sandwich into four triangles.
I know his mom, Blanca. She’s Honduran—her family was dirt-poor, like ten kids, and then they came here and built a business from nothing, total American success story. Now his parents own a title company, land deeds, something like that—my mom’s done some work with them before. Anyhow, Ricky huffed, rolling his eyes, then he goes, What, like my life isn’t hard enough without my mom mothering me to death? I think it’s sweet, I said, trying not to laugh. Here: have a turkey sandwich triangle, he said, so I took one. I didn’t know what else to say, so we didn’t say anything, we just shared his sandwich, sitting in silence until the bell rang. It was just what I needed, actually.
Hey, Thea? he said, sounding shy, and I said, What’s up? standing up from my seat. He stared at his feet, like he wasn’t sure whether or not to tell me, and I said, Ricky, is everything okay? You okay? I wasn’t talking about Cam or school, I was talking about his health. Ricky’s epileptic, and maybe because of what Nanna said about me, I always felt we had some sort ofconnection—I know that’s strange, but it’s true. Also, Ricky hid it for a long time and no one knew, but then he had a seizure in school once, right after I moved to Fort Marshall. Now they have him on these new drugs, and I think that’s why he seems a little doped up sometimes, because he is.
It’s just that—I don’t know, but something weird happened last week, he said, and I braced myself, thinking it was Cam. Then he said, I had a seizure, and hearing him say that, I felt so relieved—I know that’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true. I haven’t had a seizure in almost a year now, he said, nothing, but this was different—it wasn’t like any I’ve ever had. Different how? I said, and he said, Like I—I can remember. You
Last year, after I moved here, Ricky gave me a red rose for Valentine’s Day, and it was so sweet—he was the first boy to ever give me a rose, but the thing is, I just didn’t like him that way, you know. And of course my friends—my ex-friends made fun, and it was so embarrassing, I just avoided him as much as possible. I’ve always wished I hadn’t done that, treated him like that, but then he started avoiding me, and then, by summer, it seemed for the best.
People go after me, but they used to be so mean to Ricky. One of the junior guys, Tyler Hendricks, used to call Ricky
Special Needs
right to his face, like it was his nickname, then he went and told everyone Ricky has Asperger’s, when he doesn’t, he’s just different. Last year, I got in all this trouble after I got drunk at a party and there were all these pictures of me and all my so-called friends quit talking to me, but Ricky was always nice to me—that’s what I mean by different. That’s what’s truly special about Ricky: he’d never do or say anything hurtful to anyone, and how many people in this world can you say that about?
So all last spring, we’d eat lunch together—not in the cafeteria, in this little window seat under the staircase next to theChemistry lab, in the east wing. It always smells sulfuric, but it’s a good place to be left alone. That’s where I found Ricky, just like old times. I got up in the window, across from him, watching him shove his hand back in his bag, and pull something out. And then he threw his head back, practically pounding it on the brick wall behind him. Why? he said, staring at the ceiling, holding a sandwich in his hand.
Why, why do you do this to me?
he said. I looked at him, waiting for him to finish, and then he showed me. She does this
every day
, he said, more annoyed than I’ve ever seen him, because his mom had cut his sandwich into four triangles.
I know his mom, Blanca. She’s Honduran—her family was dirt-poor, like ten kids, and then they came here and built a business from nothing, total American success story. Now his parents own a title company, land deeds, something like that—my mom’s done some work with them before. Anyhow, Ricky huffed, rolling his eyes, then he goes, What, like my life isn’t hard enough without my mom mothering me to death? I think it’s sweet, I said, trying not to laugh. Here: have a turkey sandwich triangle, he said, so I took one. I didn’t know what else to say, so we didn’t say anything, we just shared his sandwich, sitting in silence until the bell rang. It was just what I needed, actually.
Hey, Thea? he said, sounding shy, and I said, What’s up? standing up from my seat. He stared at his feet, like he wasn’t sure whether or not to tell me, and I said, Ricky, is everything okay? You okay? I wasn’t talking about Cam or school, I was talking about his health. Ricky’s epileptic, and maybe because of what Nanna said about me, I always felt we had some sort ofconnection—I know that’s strange, but it’s true. Also, Ricky hid it for a long time and no one knew, but then he had a seizure in school once, right after I moved to Fort Marshall. Now they have him on these new drugs, and I think that’s why he seems a little doped up sometimes, because he is.
It’s just that—I don’t know, but something weird happened last week, he said, and I braced myself, thinking it was Cam. Then he said, I had a seizure, and hearing him say that, I felt so relieved—I know that’s a terrible thing to say, but it’s true. I haven’t had a seizure in almost a year now, he said, nothing, but this was different—it wasn’t like any I’ve ever had. Different how? I said, and he said, Like I—I can remember. You
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