When My Heart Joins the Thousand(55)

“I’m asking you if you consider yourself autistic,” she says.

A flash of panic goes off in my head like a bomb, and my vision goes fuzzy and white. No matter what I say, I feel, it will be wrong. But I have to say something. In a split second, I make a decision. “No. I believe my diagnosis was a mistake.”

“So, you’re perfectly normal, then?”

I try to swallow the burning at the back of my throat. I wish I could read voices; I can’t tell if she’s being sarcastic or asking a serious question. But it’s too late to backtrack now. “Yes.”

She presses the tips of her index fingers together. Her expression is blank. “Well,” she says at last, “it seems you’ve grown up quite a bit in the past year and a half. And I believe in giving second chances to those who are willing to work for them. Seeing as how you’ve successfully lived on your own for this long and become a contributing member of society, I see no reason why I shouldn’t grant your request for emancipation.” She stamps the paper in front of her. “You’re free to go.”

I’m in a daze as I walk out of the courtroom, clutching my certificate of adulthood in one hand. I’m still waiting for it to sink in. My whole body feels uncomfortably hot and prickly, and the back of my throat burns dully. Acid reflux, perhaps, from the stress.

I suspect the pantsuit had something to do with my unexpected success . . . though it seems absurd that something as trivial as clothing should have an impact on the judgment of a person whose entire purpose is to impartially and objectively mete out the law. The idea of buying new clothes for the hearing did not even cross my mind. In retrospect, I should have done more to prepare. Without Dr. Bernhardt’s help, I might still be a ward of the state.

I never even thanked him—not properly. My short, cursory expression of gratitude feels inadequate. I scan my surroundings, but he’s nowhere to be seen.

Maybe he left already. There’s a faint ache in my chest that I recognize, after a moment, as disappointment. But then, he has no more responsibility toward me, and he probably has other things he needs to do, other disturbed teenagers to visit.

For a few minutes, I just stand there in the middle of the broad hallway with its glossy, black-marble-tiled floor. After all those months of struggling to prove myself, the decision was made in less than ten minutes, and all I had to do was lie. I look at the document with the judge’s official stamp of approval declaring me a functional member of society, and I feel strangely empty.

Back home, I stick the certificate in a desk drawer.

A glance at the clock tells me it’s almost nine thirty. I push aside my misgivings, strip off the pantsuit, and grab my khaki-colored uniform.

Time for work.





CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE


The sun is bright, the day clear and cold. When I arrive at Hickory Park’s main office building to clock in, I see a cluster of zoo employees huddled in the hallway. Ms. Nell’s flamingo-pink jacket stands out in the crowd. Toby is slumped against a wall, his face pale as cottage cheese. When I walk closer, I see that he’s holding a towel against his arm. Blood soaks through, red against white.

“Didn’t I warn you?” Ms. Nell shouts.

“I just wanted to feed him,” Toby whines. “I see that Alvie chick doing it all the time. But when I opened the cage door he went psycho!”

My stomach turns hollow. Chance. He’s talking about Chance.

“Never mind.” Ms. Nell sighs. “I’ll call your parents. You keep pressure on that cut until the ambulance gets here.”

He sniffles. “Hey, I get workmen’s comp for this, right?”

“We’ll talk about that later.” She glares at the crowd. “All of you, get lost! You got work to do!”

The crowd disperses. Ms. Nell ushers Toby into the break room, then bustles back through the hall, muttering to herself.

Before I have a chance to ask her any questions, she retreats into her office and slams the door. I wait a few minutes, then press my ear against the wood, listening.

“Yes? No, he’s fine. . . . Your boy is fine.” A pause. “Let’s not start talking about lawyers. This was a simple accident. I’m sure we can come to some kind of agreement.” Another pause. “Now, listen here. We can’t be held accountable for employees breaking the rules. Toby was repeatedly warned about going into that enclosure.”

A sneeze builds in my nose, tickling. I muffle it against one arm, but Ms. Nell falls silent, and I know she’s heard me. I slip away and hurry down the path toward Chance.

I find him sitting on his perch, unharmed. Traces of blood gleam on his long, curved black claws. As I approach, he croaks low in his throat. Guh-ruk.

I sit down on the ground next to the enclosure. I don’t move for a long time.

The next day, when I arrive, there’s a white truck parked in my usual spot. I try to remember what it’s for. The food delivery truck is yellow; the veterinary supplies truck is green. I’ve never seen this one.

I clock in at the main office building, then follow the cobblestone path between the rows of birch trees. When I get to Chance’s cage, my chest seizes up. The cage is empty.

I run straight to the main building, to Ms. Nell’s office. Her door is unlocked, and she’s hunched over her desk, reading a paperback romance. When the door bangs open, she jerks upright. “Alvie? What the hell?”