Status: Very, very slow Active
Crayons
Good Morning
Emily woke to the sound of her mom banging on the door. She looked around her room. Her purple room. With purple carpet, multi-shade purple walls, purple, floral bedspread, and lavender sheers on her windows. Emily’s room had everything she would ever need. A bed, of course, a desk, a bookshelf full of books, and her own bathroom, (which also connected to the tiny guest bedroom next door, but no one ever stayed in it.)
One thing that most people didn’t know about Emily was that she loved to learn. Emily loved to read, to try her best, but these things were very hard to do if she was uncomfortable, like she was at school. Emily and her mom made her room the perfect sanctuary for her to try her best, and learn as much as she could. Because of this, Emily was a great reader. She didn’t read quickly, and there were many words she didn’t know, but Emily easily comprehended almost everything she read. If it was on paper, she could remember it in vivid detail.
Emily picked out her clothes for the day, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She settled on a lacey, maroon-colored tank top, black cardigan with one button, her grey, low-top converse, black shorts, and some jewelry with flowers on them. She dressed quickly, brushed her teeth and went down stairs to her mom, who was making two small omelets for them to share.
Without turning around, Lindsey asked her daughter, “Good morning, dear. Do you need help picking out some clothes?”
“Mom,” Emily mumbled, sitting at the kitchen table. “I did already.”
When Lindsey turned around, she was astonished. Usually, Emily would try to dress herself, get frustrated because her outfit “didn’t look right”, and asked for help. Emily didn’t understand matching, so she tried things on and saw if they looked “right” or not. She could tell if they didn’t match, but didn’t know how to match them.
“Oh! Well, good job, Em!”
Emily and her mother ate breakfast together. Emily reminded Lindsey to pack her a snack, remembering the embarrassing moment in the snack area with Adam. Lindsey then made her snack, gave Emily her lunch money, and helped her off to the waiting bus. As Emily walked out to it, her mom reminded her that they would be going shopping for groceries and her school supplies that night. Emily wasn’t looking forward to it.
The bus driver greeted Emily warmly, complementing her outfit and reminded her to sit in her assigned seat, which she reminded everyone. Emily sat in the first seat, taking off her book bag and setting it beside her.
She felt eyes on her. To the left, a girl with wavy, sand-colored hair was staring at her, a grim expression on her face. Emily smiled, and the girl scoffed.
“Nice hair.” The girl snickered, and Emily was about to say ‘thank you’ when she remembered that she had forgotten to brush her hair!
Now, it wasn’t terrible. Emily always slept with her reddish tinted locks tied in a ponytail. It was only frizzy, but it was enough to make Emily feel embarrassed. She tried to pat it down with her hands.
The bus ride felt like a long time, with sandy-haired girl laughing at her most of the way, and a teenage boy kicking the back of her seat over and over. Eventually, it made it to the school, and Emily hopped out quickly, trying to get away from the stampede coming off the bus. She walked into her homeroom alone.
Emily sat in the back of the art classroom, a pencil in one hand and a paper in the other. She couldn’t decide what to draw, and so she asked her teacher for help. Her teacher suggested she draw a person. She did, and tucked the paper into her book bag, not wanting anyone else to see.
In gym, Emily got hit in the head with a basketball, and was sent to the nurse. She was okay; the ball didn’t hit her very hard, but it had scared her and the nurse let her rest until the end of her gym class.
In math, Emily struggled through adding, and eventually gave up.
English wasn’t much better. Emily decided that she was having a bad day.
-
When she arrived at her new, half-day school, Emily’s face was puffy and red from crying on the bus. Adam had asked her if she wanted to call her mom, but she didn’t. Adam decided they need to do therapy.
Emily put her bag on its’ hook and was about to take off her cardigan, be she suddenly didn’t feel right doing so. She unbuttoned it, but left it on.
“Emily, how about we do some therapy today?”
Emily shook her head. She didn’t want to.
“I really think you should. You’ve been crying, and I think it would be good for you.”
Emily sighed. She wanted to do therapy, but she also wanted to get on her lessons sooner.
“Just for five minutes? Just tell me what happened.” Adam pleaded, guiding her by a gentle hold on her to the chair she sat in the day before, in the meeting area.
Emily finally agreed. Just telling him what happened couldn’t hurt anything.
-
Emily told him everything, choking on sobs and now understanding why she didn’t want to talk about it. Crying in front of him was more embarrassing than kicking him in the leg.
Adam, however, didn’t mind seeing Emily cry. Sure, it was painful, and made him want to cry too, but he knew that teens with PDD had an exceptionally hard time coping with the feelings they had, (even more of a hard time than normal teens,) and it was good for Emily to get out how she was feeling.
After a good twenty minute of therapy, fifteen minutes longer then Adam had promised Emily, he led her over to the lessons area and they both sat.
Math consisted of practicing with new numbers, adding, and subtracting; English, journal, practicing vocabulary, and spelling; Science, more planning for their experiment; and finally History, in which Emily learned about the second president of the United States, John Adams, and wrote a paragraph about him.
This time, during snack, Emily was prepared. She grabbed her paper bag out of her back pack and ran back to the snack area. She slowly emptied the bag of its contents, a fruit cup, mini chocolate chip cookies, and a water bottle.
Adam smiled. “You’ve got all that great stuff, and you know what I have?”
Emily shook her head, struggling to open the fruit cup.
“Purple grapes.”
Emily grinned instead of laughing. “Trade?” She asked.
“For what?”
“Some of my cookies for some of your grapes.” Emily whispered.
“You must love these grapes.” Adam said, but traded with her anyway.
-
Emily was so excited, because she finally got to have recreation. Her mom promised the night before that she wouldn’t take off early like that again, and Emily had been excited ever since.
The first thing she wanted to do was play with the toy cars. She didn’t know what it was, but she loved playing with them. Emily got out the track and raced the cars around it, pushing them against their automatic ‘engines’and always made the purple one win.
Adam watched her, unsmiling. It was a symptom of PDD to play with toys in a different and strange way, and this was definitely just that. He walked over to her, making sure not to speak to her in a patronizing matter.
“Emily? Why are you racing them backwards?”
Emily shrugged. She didn’t know.
Adam took one of the cars out of her hand, turning it around, and reeled it back. When he let go, it took off, down the tracks and going around its loops and turns. “Do you see what it does when you use it like that?”
Emily merely nodded. Sure, it went around by itself, but it wasn’t going backwards.
“Then why do you make it go backwards?”
“Because,” Emily said. “Real cars don’t go backwards.”
Adam didn’t really understand, but he suddenly had an idea. He grabbed the purple car again, and eased the frame off of the rest of the car. Emily looked at him, horrified. Adam smiled at her, reassuringly, before snapping the frame back on, backwards. This time when he pulled it back, and let go, it went all by itself, the wrong way.
Emily squealed with glee. Adam was the best teacher ever.
One thing that most people didn’t know about Emily was that she loved to learn. Emily loved to read, to try her best, but these things were very hard to do if she was uncomfortable, like she was at school. Emily and her mom made her room the perfect sanctuary for her to try her best, and learn as much as she could. Because of this, Emily was a great reader. She didn’t read quickly, and there were many words she didn’t know, but Emily easily comprehended almost everything she read. If it was on paper, she could remember it in vivid detail.
Emily picked out her clothes for the day, wiping the sleep from her eyes. She settled on a lacey, maroon-colored tank top, black cardigan with one button, her grey, low-top converse, black shorts, and some jewelry with flowers on them. She dressed quickly, brushed her teeth and went down stairs to her mom, who was making two small omelets for them to share.
Without turning around, Lindsey asked her daughter, “Good morning, dear. Do you need help picking out some clothes?”
“Mom,” Emily mumbled, sitting at the kitchen table. “I did already.”
When Lindsey turned around, she was astonished. Usually, Emily would try to dress herself, get frustrated because her outfit “didn’t look right”, and asked for help. Emily didn’t understand matching, so she tried things on and saw if they looked “right” or not. She could tell if they didn’t match, but didn’t know how to match them.
“Oh! Well, good job, Em!”
Emily and her mother ate breakfast together. Emily reminded Lindsey to pack her a snack, remembering the embarrassing moment in the snack area with Adam. Lindsey then made her snack, gave Emily her lunch money, and helped her off to the waiting bus. As Emily walked out to it, her mom reminded her that they would be going shopping for groceries and her school supplies that night. Emily wasn’t looking forward to it.
The bus driver greeted Emily warmly, complementing her outfit and reminded her to sit in her assigned seat, which she reminded everyone. Emily sat in the first seat, taking off her book bag and setting it beside her.
She felt eyes on her. To the left, a girl with wavy, sand-colored hair was staring at her, a grim expression on her face. Emily smiled, and the girl scoffed.
“Nice hair.” The girl snickered, and Emily was about to say ‘thank you’ when she remembered that she had forgotten to brush her hair!
Now, it wasn’t terrible. Emily always slept with her reddish tinted locks tied in a ponytail. It was only frizzy, but it was enough to make Emily feel embarrassed. She tried to pat it down with her hands.
The bus ride felt like a long time, with sandy-haired girl laughing at her most of the way, and a teenage boy kicking the back of her seat over and over. Eventually, it made it to the school, and Emily hopped out quickly, trying to get away from the stampede coming off the bus. She walked into her homeroom alone.
Emily sat in the back of the art classroom, a pencil in one hand and a paper in the other. She couldn’t decide what to draw, and so she asked her teacher for help. Her teacher suggested she draw a person. She did, and tucked the paper into her book bag, not wanting anyone else to see.
In gym, Emily got hit in the head with a basketball, and was sent to the nurse. She was okay; the ball didn’t hit her very hard, but it had scared her and the nurse let her rest until the end of her gym class.
In math, Emily struggled through adding, and eventually gave up.
English wasn’t much better. Emily decided that she was having a bad day.
-
When she arrived at her new, half-day school, Emily’s face was puffy and red from crying on the bus. Adam had asked her if she wanted to call her mom, but she didn’t. Adam decided they need to do therapy.
Emily put her bag on its’ hook and was about to take off her cardigan, be she suddenly didn’t feel right doing so. She unbuttoned it, but left it on.
“Emily, how about we do some therapy today?”
Emily shook her head. She didn’t want to.
“I really think you should. You’ve been crying, and I think it would be good for you.”
Emily sighed. She wanted to do therapy, but she also wanted to get on her lessons sooner.
“Just for five minutes? Just tell me what happened.” Adam pleaded, guiding her by a gentle hold on her to the chair she sat in the day before, in the meeting area.
Emily finally agreed. Just telling him what happened couldn’t hurt anything.
-
Emily told him everything, choking on sobs and now understanding why she didn’t want to talk about it. Crying in front of him was more embarrassing than kicking him in the leg.
Adam, however, didn’t mind seeing Emily cry. Sure, it was painful, and made him want to cry too, but he knew that teens with PDD had an exceptionally hard time coping with the feelings they had, (even more of a hard time than normal teens,) and it was good for Emily to get out how she was feeling.
After a good twenty minute of therapy, fifteen minutes longer then Adam had promised Emily, he led her over to the lessons area and they both sat.
Math consisted of practicing with new numbers, adding, and subtracting; English, journal, practicing vocabulary, and spelling; Science, more planning for their experiment; and finally History, in which Emily learned about the second president of the United States, John Adams, and wrote a paragraph about him.
This time, during snack, Emily was prepared. She grabbed her paper bag out of her back pack and ran back to the snack area. She slowly emptied the bag of its contents, a fruit cup, mini chocolate chip cookies, and a water bottle.
Adam smiled. “You’ve got all that great stuff, and you know what I have?”
Emily shook her head, struggling to open the fruit cup.
“Purple grapes.”
Emily grinned instead of laughing. “Trade?” She asked.
“For what?”
“Some of my cookies for some of your grapes.” Emily whispered.
“You must love these grapes.” Adam said, but traded with her anyway.
-
Emily was so excited, because she finally got to have recreation. Her mom promised the night before that she wouldn’t take off early like that again, and Emily had been excited ever since.
The first thing she wanted to do was play with the toy cars. She didn’t know what it was, but she loved playing with them. Emily got out the track and raced the cars around it, pushing them against their automatic ‘engines’and always made the purple one win.
Adam watched her, unsmiling. It was a symptom of PDD to play with toys in a different and strange way, and this was definitely just that. He walked over to her, making sure not to speak to her in a patronizing matter.
“Emily? Why are you racing them backwards?”
Emily shrugged. She didn’t know.
Adam took one of the cars out of her hand, turning it around, and reeled it back. When he let go, it took off, down the tracks and going around its loops and turns. “Do you see what it does when you use it like that?”
Emily merely nodded. Sure, it went around by itself, but it wasn’t going backwards.
“Then why do you make it go backwards?”
“Because,” Emily said. “Real cars don’t go backwards.”
Adam didn’t really understand, but he suddenly had an idea. He grabbed the purple car again, and eased the frame off of the rest of the car. Emily looked at him, horrified. Adam smiled at her, reassuringly, before snapping the frame back on, backwards. This time when he pulled it back, and let go, it went all by itself, the wrong way.
Emily squealed with glee. Adam was the best teacher ever.
