Wow, thanks, Mr. Johnston. I’m sure this is gaining me so many popularity points at my new school. My election as Prom King is now all but assured.
We pause at the door to my classroom so I can dictate the directions into my phone. (“Enter building, walk twelve steps west, turn south, walk twenty-three steps…”) I’ll have Siri read them back to me after school until I’ve got the route memorized.
“Attention, everyone!” Mr. Johnston says as soon as we cross the threshold. His voice sounds pleased, maybe even surprised, by its ability to silence the chattering room. “This is Will, a student who has transferred to our school this year. He’s blind.”
Perhaps because this is English class, he adds a helpful definition of the word: “He can’t see anything… nothing at all.” He pauses to allow the gravity of my tragic situation to sink in. “Life is very difficult for him. Please offer him your assistance whenever you can, because—”
“You know I’m still standing right beside you, right?” I interrupt.
There’s a snort of laughter from the students, and Mr. Johnston’s arm stiffens against my fingers. It’s probably unwise to make fun of your guide, the guy who has the capacity to lead you, say, directly into a brick wall. But come on, I don’t need eyesight to know his speech was making the entire room squirm.
“Yes, William, I—I…” he stammers.
“Listen, sorry, I appreciate your help,” I say. “Can you guide me to the teacher?”
“I’m right here, William. Or do you prefer Will?” asks a female voice standing maybe two arm lengths away.
“Most people call me Will,” I say.
“I’m Mrs. Everbrook. I’ll take it from here, Larry.”
“Very well,” says Mr. Johnston. “William… er, Will, I will meet you at the end of this period to escort you to your next class.”
He shuffles out.
“The bell hasn’t rung yet, boys and girls,” says Mrs. Everbrook. “Until it does, you can go back to texting underneath your desks and I’ll go back to pretending I don’t notice you have your cell phones out of your lockers.”
Unlike Mr. Johnston’s, hers sounds like a voice people listen to.
“Will, there’s a desk open immediately to your right,” she says. I sit. She continues, “I was told you’d be in my class, so I’ve already talked to the library, and they can get you all the books we’ll be reading this term. Do you prefer braille or audiobooks?”
“Braille, please. And thank you. For talking to the library, I mean.”
“No problem. Whatever else you need, just ask. I’m happy to help. Otherwise, you get the same treatment as everyone else. This is Honors English, and I expect honors-level work from you.”
“Thank you,” I say. “That’s very nice.”
“You may change that opinion after I grade your first paper. No one has ever accused me of being nice. But I try to be fair.”
“Then I hope this request appeals to your sense of fairness: I type notes into my phone during class so that it can read them back to me later. Is that all right?”
“Fine by me. Just don’t let me catch you texting your girlfriend during class.”
If I had a girlfriend, I think.
I dated several girls back at the school for the blind. But it would be different here. Dating a girl without a visual impairment, I couldn’t help but be beholden to her. Dependent. Needy.
“Oh, no girlfriend, huh?” she asks.
“How can you tell?”
“Your inability to see doesn’t stop your face from speaking what’s on your mind.”
“Hmmm. Well, I did meet a girl downstairs this morning. She seemed nice.”
“Anything else?”
“She was also very apologetic.”
“I don’t care about the personality of your crush, Will. I mean any other accommodations you need?”
“I wear one earbud in my ear.”
“Because?”
“My phone reads everything on-screen to me—the names of apps, the selections on menus, all that. The earbud will let me hear the phone without disturbing the class.”
“How about that? Anyway, it’s fine. You can use your headphones. Just don’t—”
“Let you catch me listening to music in class? Got it.”
“I was actually going to say anything other than country.”
“What?”
“Don’t let me catch you listening to anything other than country music during my class.”
“I’m not into country, so I guess I’ll just be listening to you teach.”
“I like you, Will. I think we’re going to get along just fine.”
Which is good, because it turns out I have her again for third period. And that class begins with a major social disaster.
CHAPTER 2
In between each class, Mr. Johnston takes me by my locker so I can learn the route from each classroom. On my locker, the school has replaced the standard spinning numerical padlock with one that opens when you press in a certain combination of up, down, right, and left on the face of the lock. Like unlocking a cheat-code with a controller on an old video game system.
On the way to third period, Mr. Johnston asks why I’m not wearing sunglasses.