If Todd knew I was here, it might help him calm down. But there’s no way I want Tyrone to know Todd and I are related.
Mr. Delisle bursts into the bathroom. Todd is still blubbering. He won’t come out of the stall. I see Mr. Delisle’s eyes land on the chair behind Tyrone. I know he’s piecing together what has happened.
Darlene is outside, shouting, “Are you in there, Todd? Todd, are you all right?”
Mr. Delisle walks over to the stall door. “Todd,” he says, “it’s me, Mr. Delisle. I’m sorry for what’s happened. I’m going to ask the others to leave. When you’re ready, you can come out. Darlene is waiting for you outside the bathroom. Are you okay with that, Todd?”
The blubbering lets up and Todd says, “Okay.”
Mr. Delisle curls his finger to indicate he wants to talk to me and Tyrone outside. We follow him to the corridor. Mr. Delisle’s dark eyes look even darker than usual.
“It was just a joke. I swear I wouldn’t have done it if I’d known it was him inside,” Tyrone tries telling Mr. Delisle.
“I had nothing to do with it,” I add. “I just walked in and…”
Mr. Delisle waves the back of his hand in the air as if Tyrone and I are mosquitoes he would like to swat.
Mark is running down the hall with Isobel and Samantha. Mr. Delisle calls them over. “Saturday-morning detentions,” he says in a voice I’ve never heard him use before, “for every one of you!”
“We didn’t do anything,” Isobel says. “We were just talking to Mark.”
“I’ll see all of you at eight am sharp on Saturday,” Mr. Delisle says.
Then Mr. Delisle turns to Darlene. “I’ll need to speak with you and Todd later. But you can let him know he’s got a detention too—for not telling you he was leaving the gym.”
“You can’t go giving out detentions like that,” Mark says. “You’re a security guard!”
Tyrone nudges Mark. “That’s no security guard, doofus,” he says. “That’s Mr. Delisle.”
Chapter Seven
When I see the lights on in the living room, I think my parents must be watching late-night TV.
But the TV isn’t on. Dad is in his armchair. Mom is on the couch across from him. They’re speaking in low voices, but the conversation stops when I walk in. That’s how I know they’re waiting for me.
Do they know about the detention?
“Did you have fun?” Mom asks.
“Dance with any good-looking girls?” Dad wants to know.
“Yes and yes.” I’m thinking that if they heard about the detention, they would have mentioned it. “It’s pretty late. I better get to bed.”
Mom uncrosses her legs. “We wanted to have a word with you.”
“Now?”
Mom nods. She looks so serious that for a moment I think they do know about the detention.
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“What are you talking about, Jordie?” Dad asks.
I need to change the subject—fast. “What exactly do you want to talk to me about?” I don’t sit down. That way I might still be able to get away.
Dad must know what I’m thinking. He gestures toward the empty spot on the couch. “Have a seat.”
I plop down. Mom moves in a little closer. “We want to talk to you about your cousin. About Todd.”
“I know his name.”
“Jordie, don’t be rude to your mom.”
“Sorry, Mom.” I don’t look at her when I apologize.
“We know it isn’t easy for you.” Dad doesn’t say what it is, but I figure he means having Todd for a cousin.
“When I was your age,” Mom adds, “all I cared about was wearing the same brand of jeans as the other girls.”
“What do girls’ jeans have to do with anything?” I ask.
I half expect Dad to tell me I’m being rude again, but he doesn’t. “What your mom means is that when you’re a teenager, you put a lot of stock in what other kids think of you. Too much stock.”
“You can’t keep hiding the fact that you and Todd are related.” Mom sighs after she’s said that. Dad sighs too.
“Having a cousin who’s a fr—” I stop myself. But I can tell Mom and Dad know what I was about to say. “—who’s autistic is a lot harder than not having the right pair of jeans.”
“It’s a lot harder for Todd than it is for you,” Mom snaps.
I try to explain. “I guess I worry if the other kids know Todd and I are related, they’ll look at me differently. They’ll laugh at me.”
“Laugh at you? For having a cousin who has autism? Why, that’s ridiculous!” Mom says.
“I think we need to go at this from another angle,” Dad says. “Todd needs your support. He looks up to you, Jordie. He’s proud to be your cousin.”
“Proud? Proud’s a feeling. Todd doesn’t have feelings!” I don’t mean to raise my voice.
“Jordie, we’ve been over this a hundred times. Of course Todd has feelings,” Mom says. “It’s just hard for people with autism to express their feelings.”
“Look, I don’t know why we’ve got to have this conversation right now.” I get up from the couch and start heading upstairs.
“Your Aunt Anna’s having a hard time,” Dad says to my back.
I turn to look at him and Mom. “Is that supposed to be some kind of news-flash? I know Aunt Anna’s having a hard time. Mom spends half of every friggin’ day on the phone with Aunt Anna talking about it.” I’m raising my voice again.
“It isn’t only Todd she’s worried about…” Mom says quietly.
I’m only half listening. Maybe because I’m too ticked off. It’s only when I’m putting on my pajamas that I think about what Mom just said. By then, Mom and Dad are upstairs too. I hear them in the bathroom, brushing their teeth.
I open my bedroom door and call out, “What else is Aunt Anna worried about?”
The brushing sounds stop and then Dad says, “Maybe it’s better if we talk about it in the morning.”
I need to brush my teeth too. They’re both still there when I get to the bathroom. Mom’s putting on face cream. Dad’s flossing.
“So what’s wrong with Aunt Anna?”
Mom and Dad exchange a look in the mirror.
“It’s Uncle Fred,” Mom says.
“He’s depressed,” Dad adds.
“Uncle Fred—depressed? What are you talking about? He was in a great mood when we went to the airport.”
Mom and Dad exchange another look. They’re deciding how much to tell me.
Mom replaces the lid on her jar of cream. “When we went to the airport, he was in one of his up phases. Now he’s in a down phase.”
“Everyone has ups and downs,” I say.
Mom sighs. “What your Uncle Fred has is different. We’re pretty sure he has something called manic depression. He’s had it before.”
“He has? How come I never heard about it?”
“You were little the last time it happened,” Mom says. “It was just after Todd was diagnosed.”
I don’t say what I’m thinking—that if I was a dad and my kid got diagnosed with autism, I’d be depressed too.
Chapter Eight
If Mom and Dad sleep in, I should be able to slip out to Saturday-morning detention without telling them about it. Or at least without telling them about it in person. They’ll need to sign a form, but I’ll worry about that later.
I tiptoe downstairs and try not to crunch when I eat my cereal. Because I know they’ll wonder where I’ve gone, I leave a note on the kitchen table.
Dear Mom and Dad,
Since you were already kind of upset last night, I didn’t think it was a good time to tell you I got a Saturday morning detention. Honestly, I didn’t do anything wrong. It was a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. Detention’s over at 12:30. I’ll come straight home. Your son, Jordie.
I’m crossing out the Your son part (they know I’m their son) when the phone rings. I spring up from m
y stool to grab the portable, but the damage is done. Mom has picked up the phone in her bedroom. “Anna,” I hear Mom say, her voice still groggy, “is it Todd? Or Fred?”
I put my bowl in the dishwasher and grab my jacket.
I slip out the front door and take a deep breath. That was a close call. Better that I’m not around when Mom finds out about the detention.
I break into a jog. Moving feels good. I’m not looking forward to spending four and a half hours staring at the gym walls, but at least Samantha will be there.
I hardly notice when a van pulls up at the Stop sign. Not until the passenger window rolls down, and I see my mom behind the wheel. In her penguin pajamas! I turn around to make sure no one’s watching.
“Mom, you can’t drive around in your pajamas!”
“Get in the van, Jordie!” I can tell from her voice she means business.
“I think it’s better if I walk. I can use the exercise. Look, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the detention.”
“That’s not all you didn’t tell me about, Jordie. In the van! Now!” I get in. “Why didn’t you tell me Todd got a detention too?”
“I figured you’d find out. Are you planning to drop me off at school? Maybe you could leave me at the corner. No offense, but I don’t want anyone knowing my mom drives around town in penguin pajamas.”
I think maybe that will make Mom laugh, but it has the opposite effect. “You know what your problem is, Jordie? You care way too much about what other people think!”
I don’t say anything after that, and neither does Mom. She drives right up to the front entrance. Tyrone is coming from the other direction. I try not to care when he walks up to my mom’s door. “Good morning,” he says. “Nice pj’s!”
I’m getting out of the van when my mom puts her hand on my elbow. “Jordie, like it or not, you’re going to have to keep an eye on your cousin today.”
I turn around to face her. “What about Darlene?”
“Mr. Delisle asked Darlene to come in, but she wasn’t available. He couldn’t find a replacement. So you’re it.” There’s no point in arguing.
There’s a row of desks at the front of the gym. Samantha, Isobel and Mark are already there.
Mr. Delisle comes in after us. He is wearing a plaid shirt and jeans. Seeing him dressed like that is almost as weird as seeing him in a security guard costume. “Have any of you seen Todd?” he asks. “What about you, Jordie?”
“Nope, I haven’t seen him.” I try to keep my voice casual. I’m willing Mr. Delisle not to tell the others that Todd is my cousin.
Mr. Delisle gives me an odd look. “Well then, Jordie,” he says, “could you wait by the front entrance and bring Todd to the gym once he arrives?”
When I get to the front entrance, Aunt Anna is there, helping Todd take off his coat. She waves when she sees me. “You’ll look out for him, won’t you, Jordie?” she asks me.
“Uh-huh,” I tell her. “Okay, Todd.” I gesture for him to follow me. I know he’ll get upset if I take his arm. “We’re going to the gym.”
Todd’s eyes are fixed on the floor. “I got a detention,” he says. “I didn’t tell Darlene I was going to the bathroom. And then the door wouldn’t open. That made me mad.”
“You won’t let anyone tease him, will you?” Aunt Anna whispers to me.
I follow Todd down the hallway. What would it be like, I wonder, to have a normal cousin? Someone to hang out with, play video games, listen to music, talk about girls. Sometimes, it sucks to be me.
When we get to the gym, the others aren’t at their desks. They are by the bleachers, huddled around Mr. Delisle.
Mr. Delisle waves when we come in. “Over here!” he calls out.
I go stand between Tyrone and Samantha. Todd stays a few feet back from the rest of us.
“I don’t see much point in having you people sit around twiddling your thumbs for four and a half hours,” Mr. Delisle says. “I’m sure you’d prefer to do something useful. So you’re going to spend the morning cleaning up the schoolyard.”
“Isn’t child labor illegal?” Tyrone asks.
“Nothing illegal about it,” Mr. Delisle tells Tyrone. “Not if the tasks contribute to youngsters’ education, health, physical and moral development. And I promise you—they will.” Why am I not surprised he knows all about child labor laws?
“I wish you’d told us we’d be working outside,” Isobel says to Mr. Delisle. “I wouldn’t have worn a skirt.”
Chapter Nine
I have to give Mr. Delisle credit. He could make us do all the work, but he’s raking leaves too. His face is shiny with sweat. The seven of us are stuffing leaves into giant compostable paper bags. The wind is blustery, and we have to hold on to the paper bags so they don’t fly away. I pull my tuque down over my forehead.
Mark hasn’t got a hat. He looks different without gel in his hair. “Isn’t this the janitor’s job?” he grumbles.
Mr. Delisle leans on his rake. “You complaining, Mark?”
“No, sir. Just asking.”
“Hey, there’s a leaf in your hair,” Tyrone tells Isobel. He pulls the leaf out and hands it to her. Isobel giggles. Only Tyrone could find a way to turn detention into a way to impress girls.
Todd isn’t saying anything, which is better, I guess, than babbling about Dash 8s. He isn’t working as quickly as the rest of us. Maybe it’s because every time he scoops another bunch of leaves into his bag, he tamps them down.
“Hey, Mr. D, if we get these leaves cleaned up before twelve thirty, you gonna let us go home early?” Tyrone asks.
Mr. Delisle puts down his rake and uses both hands to massage his lower back. “Did I mention the leaves in the side yard? There are twice as many there as there are here.”
Tyrone groans.
“Do you think I can leave the six of you to your own devices for a few minutes?” Mr. Delisle asks. “I need to go inside and get some aspirin.”
“We’ll be fine,” Tyrone answers for all of us.
“Good,” Mr. Delisle says, “because I’d hate to have to give you all another Saturday detention. Mind you, the boiler room could use a scrub.”
Once Mr. Delisle is out of sight, Mark and Tyrone stop scooping leaves. Tyrone pulls his cell out of his pocket and checks for new messages. Mark is watching Todd. “Hey, buddy,” he tells him, “it’d go a lot faster if you waited to do that till your bag was full.”
Mark’s tone is friendly, but Todd isn’t any better at recognizing a person’s tone than he is at reading body language. He doesn’t say anything.
“Did you hear me?” This time, Mark’s tone is less friendly.
Todd still doesn’t respond.
“Well, did you?”
“Uh-huh,” Todd finally answers. Only he’s still tamping down the leaves.
I think about the promise I made to my mom and Aunt Anna. I take a deep breath. “Maybe you should leave Todd alone,” I tell Mark. “We’ve all got our own way of doing stuff. Doing things in a certain order makes him feel better.”
Samantha, who is crouched on the ground near me, gives me a smile. The cool air has made her cheeks red.
Mark lifts his chin in my direction. “What are you? Some kind of expert on freaks?”
My heart is thumping in my chest. I know Samantha is listening, and that makes me want to do the right thing. “Todd’s not a freak. He has autism. Lots of people have it.” I know this would be a perfect moment to say that Todd’s my cousin, but I don’t.
I can’t.
Just then, the back door of the school swings open and Mr. Delisle comes out. Mark and Tyrone start shoveling leaves into their bags again.
“It’s recess time,” Mr. Delisle call out. “I brought you a little snack.”
“He’s not a bad guy,” Isobel says, “for a principal.”
Mr. Delisle has granola bars. They’re not the store-bought kind we’re used to. “My wife made them,” he explains, handing them out. “They’re wheat-f
ree. She wants me to cut back on gluten.”
Mr. Delisle doesn’t rake as quickly as he did before. I catch Mark looking over Todd’s shoulder a couple of times. I don’t understand why it bugs Mark so much that Todd keeps tamping down the leaves in his bag. I’d say something, but I’m afraid Mark will start ragging on me again.
I’m lugging bags to the compost bin when I notice Mark hunched over Todd. Now what’s going on?
I rush over. Mark is showing Todd how to fill his bag more quickly. “Like this,” he’s saying as he shoves leaves into the bag.
Mr. Delisle has come over too. “Leave Todd alone,” he tells Mark.
“I’m just trying to help him.” Mark claps Todd’s back. Mark doesn’t know Todd hates to be touched.
It is a simple gesture—Mark meant to show he didn’t mean any harm—but it sets Todd off.
“Don’t touch me!” Todd wails so loudly that if anyone in the neighborhood is trying to sleep in, they are awake now.
Mark backs away, but Todd keeps wailing. “Don’t touch me! I told you not to touch me! Stop! I said stop!”
Only, the person who can’t stop is Todd.
“Let’s give Todd some space,” Mr. Delisle says. He looks worried. He’s used to having Darlene around to help with Todd. Mr. Delisle drops his voice. “Everything’s going to be okay, son,” he tells Todd.
Samantha is next to me. “Aren’t you going to help?” she asks.
I go over to Todd. I don’t touch him. I try talking the way I’ve heard Aunt Anna and Mom talk to him—in a low, soothing voice.
“It’s me—Jordie.” I’m talking so quietly I’m sure the others can’t hear me. “I’m here. No one’s going to hurt you, Todd.”
Mr. Delisle has stepped away to give us some privacy. “The rest of you,” I hear him tell the others, “back to work.”
It takes Todd a while to settle down, but he does.
When I’m back to stuffing leaves into a bag, Mark nudges me. “I didn’t know you were so good with freaks,” he whispers.
“Quit calling him a freak!” I whisper back.
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