A school day is six and a half hours, but this day feels like it has been going on for ever. Tally has tried to talk to Layla, but her friend won’t even look in her direction, never mind actually speak to her. Nobody really wants to speak to her – they haven’t got time in between frantically painting the set and organizing the costumes and trying to make Carrie feel better. Tally keeps seeing them staring at her and then whispering to each other, and even though nobody says it to her face, she knows exactly what is going on.
Nobody thinks she’s good enough to play Little Red, not now that Carrie is back.
At the end of the day, Mum is waiting for her outside in the playground.
“I’ve been into the school office,” she says excitedly. “And collected our tickets for tomorrow afternoon. We’re in the front row, which means that we won’t miss a single moment of your debut performance!”
“Be quiet!” snarls Tally. “My head hurts and your stupid talking is making it worse.”
Mum frowns. “That’s very rude,” she tells Tally. “And there was no need for it. Say sorry, please.”
Tally marches out through the school gates and then waits for Mum to catch her up. She might not want to listen to Mum’s ridiculous chatter, but she also doesn’t want to risk getting kidnapped by a stranger, which is one of her biggest worries.
“Tally.” Mum clearly isn’t giving up. “You need to apologize.”
“I’m so, so sorry.” Tally’s voice is a growl, low and menacing. “But you can’t blame me. I’m autistic – I can’t help it.”
“We’ll talk about this at home,” snaps Mum. “But that black cloud above your head has got to go!” Then she strides along the pavement, her shoulders rigid with anger. Tally stalks behind her, wondering how she’s supposed to get rid of a cloud that she never asked to appear in the first place. And with every step she takes, the effort of keeping it all together builds more and more, until she can feel the pressure from her toes to the tips of her hair.
The moment that the front door closes behind them and she’s finally safe, the volcano erupts.
“I’m never going back to school!” She flings her bag into the corner and glares at Mum. “And you can’t make me!”
Mum opens her mouth and starts to speak, but Tally can’t hear her. She can’t hear anything except the loud, insistent noises in her head, and even they are too overwhelming to make any sense. All she knows is that she’s finally reached breaking point and she has to escape from the turmoil inside; the confusion and chaos that’s created by having to spend all day, every day being somebody else.
Acting like she gets the joke when everyone else is laughing.
Her shoes fly through the air and thud against the opposite wall.
Pretending that the hurtful comments bounce off her when really, they pierce her skin.
Her hands pummel the door, hard, harder, hardest – but she doesn’t feel a thing.
Trying to zone out the constant loudness of school without drawing attention to herself.
Her feet pound against the wooden floorboards, taking her from one room to the next as they try to outrun the pain.
Doing whatever she can to be like the rest of them.
But what was the point? Layla saw the necklace and now she knows. She knows that Tally isn’t who she’s been desperately trying to be. The truth is out there and it’s difficult and messy and real – just like Tally is.
She reaches the bathroom, and by the time Mum gets there, Tally is a tiny, curled-up comma on the floor. A comma in a long list of problems that she doesn’t know how to solve.
It is some time later when she’s eventually ready to sit up, and even longer before she can move from under the sink. Mum lets her take her time. The lava subsides and the volcano calms and Tally’s heart returns to something that feels a bit more regular.
“Would you like to wash your face?” asks Mum, her voice low and quiet.
Tally nods and Mum helps her to stand up. Her face is hot and tear-stained, although she doesn’t remember crying. Mum dampens a flannel and holds it out towards Tally, but Tally can’t move. It’s like her body has forgotten what it’s supposed to be doing.
“Shall I help you?”
Another nod and Mum gently wipes Tally’s tears away before reaching out to take her hand.
“Let’s get you on to the sofa,” she suggests and then slowly leads Tally down the stairs and towards the living room. As they walk through the house, Tally can see the aftermath of the chaos, but Mum doesn’t say a thing.
“The wall…” whispers Tally, as they pass through the hall and she sees the damage that her muddy shoes have caused.
“We’ll clean it up later,” says Mum. “Together, OK? For now you can have a bit of a rest – I bet you’re tired, aren’t you?”
Mum is right. She is tired – the kind of tired she imagines a person would be after climbing a mountain. Tally sinks against the cushions and closes her eyes, transporting herself to the stables where everything is good. And thinking about the stables reminds her of Ginny and the advice that she gave her.
That things are going to go wrong if she keeps on hiding who she really is.
It isn’t until several hours later that Mum calls her into the kitchen. Tally takes a deep breath and then pushes open the door. She knew that the telling-off would be coming and in a way it’s almost a relief – she’s spent the last two hours watching Peppa Pig episodes, but she hasn’t really been able to relax, not with knowing that they’ve still got to have the conversation.
She lowers herself on to a chair and starts to tap her foot on the floor in a complicated rhythm that matches her pulse.
“Before you say anything, I can’t help having bad behaviour,” she starts, figuring that she might as well get her say in first. “It’s not my fault.”
Mum stares at her for a moment and then sits down opposite.
“Nobody is saying that you’re bad, Tally,” she tells her. “And what happened earlier wasn’t really about your behaviour, was it? I don’t think you were choosing to feel and act that way.”
Tally shudders. No way would anyone ever choose to feel as out of control as she sometimes does.
“Having an autistic meltdown isn’t the same thing as having a temper tantrum,” Mum continues. “And I know that things are really tough for you right now, but we need to talk about a few things. And the first of those things is the fact that you only use the word autism when you’re telling us that something isn’t your fault.”
“Are you saying that autism is my fault?” hurls back Tally.
Mum sighs. “No, I’m not. Partly because having autism is an aspect of you that you can’t control, but mostly because autism is not a fault.” She stares at her daughter. “Autism is not the problem, Tally. It’s a reason for the way you feel – and not something to feel ashamed of.”
Tally stares at her, remembering something else from the stables.
The way that Ginny used the word autism like it wasn’t something wrong.
“I know that you’ve only been able to see the negative things,” continues Mum. “But autism comes with a whole load of great stuff too, you know? Lots of autistic people have gone on to do wonderful things in life, and sometimes, their successes come from the things that they’re passionate about.”
“Like who?” sniffs Tally, not really believing her. There’s Ginny, of course – but Mum doesn’t even know that she’s autistic so she can’t mean her.
Mum tilts her head to one side and starts ticking off names on her fingers.
“People think that Albert Einstein and Mozart were autistic,” she says. “And maybe also Leonardo Da Vinci and Charles Darwin. And did you know that the man who created Pokémon is autistic? He used to love collecting insects when he was a little boy, and he wanted to give other kids the chance to experience the same excitement.”
Tally tucks this piece of information away in her head, ready to share with Miles tomorrow. Then she thinks about what Mum has just said.
“But they’re all men,” she says slowly. “What about the girls?”
Mum smiles and leans forward. “I’ve been wondering about that myself,” she tells her. “So I did a bit of research, and guess what? Amazing autistic girls are out there too. There’s Greta Thunberg and an English actress called Lizzy Clark, who was in a film called Dustbin Baby. That film was special because it was one of the first times an autistic person was chosen to play the part of an autistic character – and that isn’t something that happens very often. It’s often a non-autistic actor who is paid to act in an autistic way.”
“That’s not right.” Tally frowns. “How is someone without autism supposed to know what an autistic person feels like? They can’t pretend to be them when they don’t even know.”
Mum smiles gently. “You’re right. They really can’t.”
The room is quiet for a few moments, and Tally’s attention is caught by the dust motes dancing in the rays of the sun as they stream through the window.
“One of the most famous autistic people in the world is a woman.” Mum stands up and walks across the kitchen to pick up the kettle. “Her name is Temple Grandin and she’s an animal behaviourist. She wasn’t diagnosed with autism until she was an adult, but the things she has shared about her own experiences of autism have made her a bit of a hero.”
Tally leans forward, intrigued. “Like what?”
Mum turns on the tap. “Well, she invented the hug box, for one thing.”
“The what?”
“The hug box.” Mum turns to grin at Tally. “Only she called it her squeeze machine. Temple Grandin watched cattle being held in a squeeze chute and noticed that being held calmed them down. She wondered if being tightly squeezed might help with some of her sensory issues and anxieties, because she knew that tight pressure made her feel calm. So she invented the hug box, for people to get a hug whenever they want, because sometimes, having a hug from another person can be a bit overwhelming.”
Tally nods. On some days she loves being hugged by Mum, but on other days it just feels uncomfortable and too much.
“That’s still only three, though,” she says, drumming her fingers on the table. “It’s not very many. Are there any other autistic girls?”
Mum nods. “Of course there are. It’s just that girls often take a lot longer to get an autism diagnosis. People don’t always understand that autism in girls can look quite different to autism in boys, which is a bit daft really when most people know that one autistic person is not like any other autistic person.”
Tally thinks about that. It definitely makes sense, and maybe it explains why she and Miles are both so different, even though they’re both autistic.
“So,” Tally looks at Mum. “What you’re saying is that I’m going to be either famous or a genius, then?”
Mum makes a sound that is a combination of a snort and a laugh.
“Not necessarily,” she tells Tally. “What I’m saying is that you are you.” She pauses and smiles. “You are one of a kind, my wonderful girl. There is nobody else on the planet exactly like you. And being autistic is a part of that.”
Tally stares down at the table. It’s all very well her own mother thinking that she’s wonderful, but what’s the point when nobody else thinks that? What’s the point when even now, when everything has worked out brilliantly and tomorrow afternoon she’s going to be stepping out on to the stage in the lead role, she isn’t happy?
“I’m sorry that I was rude to you earlier,” she says quietly. “It’s just that everything is going wrong and I don’t know what to do.”
And then she opens her mouth and tells Mum the whole story – about being given the job of sorting the lights with Miles and how she wasn’t even given the role of Little Red until Carrie went off sick, but now Carrie is back and she wants the part back and it’s up to Tally to choose.
“And now nobody thinks I’m good enough to even be Little Red, which is really unfair because I am.” She blinks hard to stop the tears that are threatening to spill down her face. “At least, I thought I was. But maybe that’s not right either. Or maybe it’s just that I don’t deserve it because I mess everything up?”
Mum walks over and places her hand on top of Tally’s.
“It sounds like there’s a lot going on in your head,” she says gently. “And Miss Balogun is right – this has to be your choice. I can’t tell you what to do. But, Tally? I can tell you that you are absolutely good enough, in every way. You work hard and you do your very best to be kind, and when it goes wrong you always try to make it better.”
A tear escapes and slides down Tally’s cheek.
“Why is it always so hard?” she sniffs. “Why is it me that has to be different? Why can’t things just work out for me? Why do I have to be the weird one who always gets it wrong?”
Mum opens her arms and Tally steps forward, letting Mum hold her tightly.
“You are lots of things,” she murmurs into Tally’s ear. “But weird or wrong are not one of them. Tell me another word that describes who you are.”
Tally snuffles and doesn’t speak, but Mum isn’t giving up. “OK – if it’s too tricky to think of a word that describes you then tell me something that you’ve done recently that makes you feel proud of who you are.”
She lets go of Tally and takes a step back to gaze at her daughter’s face. “Come on, Tally. What about the way you stepped in for Carrie and learnt all the lines for Little Red?”
Mum just doesn’t get it. Tally was proud about that, but not any more. Not now that she’s really thought about it. Mum wouldn’t think this was something to proud of either, if she knew about the lucky charm necklace that Tally found on the floor.
She sniffs and opens her mouth to tell Mum that there isn’t anything she’s done that makes her proud. And then she remembers Miles.
“I stood up for my friend,” she whispers. “I stopped a bully from being unkind.”
Mum’s eyes sparkle, like a firework on bonfire night.
“Was it easy to do that?” she asks.
Tally shakes her head quickly. “No. It was really hard and my legs felt shaky, and I was worried about what everyone would think.”
“So why did you step in?”
Tally breathes out loudly, remembering that day. “It was the right thing to do,” she says. “That’s all.”
Mum nods. “It’s like I said. There are lots of words to describe you.”
The front door crashes open as Nell races in. Mum raises an eyebrow at Tally. “I think it might be time for a snack,” she says. “Supper is going to be quite late tonight!”
Tally walks over to the back door. “I’m going outside,” she tells Mum. “I need to think about some stuff.”
Mum smiles at her. “What can I do to help?” she asks.
“Nothing.” Tally pulls the door open and glances back over her shoulder. “I think I have to figure this out on my own this time.”
Mum nods thoughtfully. “I think you do, too.”
And then Nell barrels into the kitchen, and Tally takes the opportunity to slip outside into the garden. There’s only one place she can go when she needs to think properly, and even though she hasn’t been there for weeks, she knows that it will be waiting for her, private and quiet and safe.