Lauren stands next to me with one hand on the back of my wheelchair. I shake my head, don’t look at her. I’ve got my backpack in my lap with my jacket inside. If I wanted it, I’d get it. I’m working too hard not to be nervous about this appointment to have any room left to make small talk with Lauren. It’s lunchtime and this is usually her “Ellie break,” but since the “runaway” incident, she hasn’t given me an inch of space. I can tell she’s ready to go inside to the teachers’ lounge, down a Lean Cuisine, and check her IG. I hate it when she calls me “honey.” She’s probably twenty-five at most. I wish we could just wait together in the quiet.

“We need to talk about what happened the other day, Ellie.”

I look straight ahead. I can feel her hands on her hips. She already called Mom yesterday, just like I knew she would. Mom cut all my screen time for a week. A WEEK. I wanted to explain myself, but I couldn’t get the words out. I’d rather lose screen time than tell Mom the truth and have her think I’m “not coping,” as she likes to say.

“Ellie, honey, you cannot wander off by yourself after lunch without checking in with me.”

“I was going to class.”

“I don’t believe science is by the gym, last time I checked.”

She should save the teacher tone for the teachers. I wheel around to face her and tap my forehead. “Oh, you know, little ol’ me just gets turned around sometimes.”

“Ellie, enough. You know your educational plan requires that I accompany you from the bus, between classes, and to and from the restroom.”

“So you’re saying I’m in trouble for… going to my class?”

That’s the thing about needing an extra-special plan just to go to school. Sometimes it helps. And sometimes it’s the leash you get tangled in.

For a second she almost looks embarrassed, and I start to feel a little bad for giving her the guilt trip when she’s not even the one who makes the rules. But then Mom flies up in the van and throws the automatic doors open like she’s at the Daytona 500. She’s an English teacher up at the high school and has to use her planning period to take me to my doctor’s appointments. It’s always a race across town to the children’s hospital. But we’ve gotten only one ticket. The other times the cop felt sorry for us. On occasion this whole “crippled kid” thing works in my favor.