The first bell rings, and kids flood the hall. Devontae says something else, but I plunge into the crowd—his first class is the opposite way, anyhow. Dawn trails after me as I plow toward first period, her half trying to push my chair and me half dragging her along. I stop quick outside my first class, and she bumps into me.

“I push my own chair.” We need to get a few things straight.

Dawn blinks her violet-shadowed eyes. “Oh! Okay. At the interview, they said I should be prepared to help with anything you needed!”

I’ll bet. I picture Principal Fish head-down in a trash can. “And my ears work fine.”

More blinks and a scrunched-up forehead.

“You’re talking super loud. And slow.” In case that’s not clear enough, I add, “My legs aren’t up to code. Ears are A-okay.”

“I … oh. Right. Sorry.” Dawn’s cheeks get red, and she stammers a bit, but then the last bell rings and I scoot into class, leaving her to follow.

By midmorning, I’m ready to throttle Dawn.

If the almost baby voice—which, okay, she does quiet down—wasn’t enough, I suspect everything she knows about wheelchairs comes straight from bad movies. Instead of sitting at the back of the classroom, like a sensible person, she drags a chair right to my desk. Subtle.

She randomly leans on my chair.

She touches my armrest bag without asking.

She asks so many questions.

“So, what happened to you, honey? Car accident?”

“You can get your lunch by yourself? That’s wonderful!”

She’s trying so hard, but being around her vibe feels like drowning in glitter and rainbow sprinkles. Shiny and sweet and not exactly real.

I grind my teeth and roll faster.

“I had to use crutches once. Broke my ankle falling out of a tree stand—so much for that deer season! So, I get what it’s like. Don’t know how you do it all the time—I sure couldn’t!”

Like I’ve never heard that one before.

“Careful, honey! Not too fast!”

I cope as best I can. I mentally shake her voice away, like sparkles in a snow globe. I pay perfect attention to my teachers. I answer Ale’s and Tina’s silent What the heck? looks between classes with a whispered “Tell you later” and then beat it to my next class with my new pink-camo shadow trailing me, trying to check her phone without being obvious and aggressively attempting to connect with me.

By midafternoon, I’ve worked out a rough plan. All day, I’ve been secretly writing down the ways Dawn’s tried to give me help I don’t need. Once I show Dad, he’ll see how over-the-top this has gotten, and we’ll schedule another meeting with Ms. Hernandez to let her know the aide thing isn’t going to work out.

Until then, I know Dad wouldn’t want me to make the aide feel bad. She’s just trying to do her job, Emms, I can practically hear him say. Honestly, Mom would have said it, too.