Say What You Will Read Online Free

handful of peers to spy on and keep track of. Usually she picked one surly type (a troublemaker to see how much trouble they got in); a do-gooder to see if their phony persona broke down; a boy she might have had a crush on in a different life; and a shy girl like herself (or the person she would have been if she could walk and talk). She memorized their schedules and their lockers. If they were in a play, she went for the uninterrupted two hours she could spend watching them. So far as Amy knew, no one she’d kept tabs on knew what she was doing. Of course, she’d never talked to any of them, so she couldn’t be sure. Which was why that conversation with Matthew floored her.
    The shock wasn’t his saying such unpleasant truths out loud. The shock was his saying, I’ve watched you over the years. She couldn’t help it; she blushed.
    Then he kept going: You don’t even try to talk to people. You walk past them without saying hi. You don’t answer questions. You laugh when no one is making a joke. He pointed out every social failing she had. Ten years without practice had left her with plenty. It didn’t embarrass her to hear it; it thrilled her.
    He’s just like me, she thought. He does the same thing.
    Matthew had never been one of her chosen people, but he could have been. He was for the remainder of their junior year. Until she decided she wanted more for next year. She wanted to make some friends. She wanted to get to know Matthew.
    The law mandated every child with a disability have equal access to the same education all children had, meaning that—to some extent anyway—an aide had to do whatever Amy needed. They bubbled her answers on Scantron tests, changed her sanitary napkins, helped her get in and out of the bathroom with a minimum of fuss. But that conversation with Matthew helped Amy say something she wanted to tell her mother for months. “I DON’T NEED SOMEONE ALL THE TIME.” Amy took class notes herself and kept her own schedule. She needed someone in between classes to carry her books and charge her battery pack, but in class, not so much.
    Her idea had a beautiful simplicity at first. She approached her mother a week after school ended. “WHY DON’T WE HIRE STUDENTS TO WALK ME IN BETWEEN CLASSES?” They could get trained on charging her battery and other details. Girls could help her with the bathroom; they had in the past. Boys couldn’t, of course, but that wouldn’t matter. She could drink less on those days and improvise more. Having gotten the idea, she wanted to make it clear to her mother: boys should be hired, too. “WE’LL SET A SCHEDULE AND ROTATE. MAYBE WE’LL MAKE EATING LUNCH PART OF IT SO I’LL MAKE SOME NEW FRIENDS.”
    For years Amy had eaten her yogurt-and-hummus lunches in the special-ed teacher’s resource room. Fine for the dribbling girl who had to wear bibs because she still dropped food all over herself, but now she was better. She could eat simple things in front of other people. Her stomach danced at the thought. She could eat in the cafeteria! All they had to do was pay people to sit with her!
    Her mother hated the idea at first. “You don’t know how self-absorbed teenagers can be. They’d have a test one day or breakup with their boyfriend and forget all about you.”
    “WE COULD HAVE A SUBSTITUTE LIST. WE’LL TRAIN LOTS OF PEOPLE. AND PAY THEM MORE THAN THEY MAKE AT McDONALD’S.” Amy had once overheard two girls talking about how much they hated their jobs at McDonald’s, with the terrible uniforms and the rude customers.
    “You don’t pay people to be your friend, Amy. I don’t like what that suggests.”
    Amy pressed harder. “KIDS NEED JOBS. I HAVE ONE THEY CAN DO.”
    As it turned out, nothing was as easy as Amy imagined. The school said they would only pay for a “trained paraprofessional,” but if her parents were willing to cover the salaries and sign a waiver, they would try the idea as an experiment.
    Over the summer, Amy drew up a