“Ah. You must be Hadley. Nice to finally meet you.”

It took a few days and a bunch of phone calls, but Beth eventually set up my first orientation and mobility lesson with a lady named Cecilia Labra. On Friday, I say bye to Lila before climbing into Mrs. McGraw’s station wagon so she can drive me to the community center for my first class.

The woman who greets me is short—not a whole lot taller than me—with brown skin and wavy black hair that falls to her shoulders. She approaches me with a smile that’s so big it makes me wanna hide.

“I’m Cecilia Labra. You can call me Cilia. Or Ms. Labra if that makes you more comfortable. It’s up to you.” She pauses for a second, standing right in front of me, then says, “Oh, and I’m holding out my hand for you to shake.”

“Huh?” I look down, then realize she ain’t lying. Her hand is held out to me, and I hadn’t even seen it. I feel my cheeks heat up, annoyed and embarrassed, as I grab hold of her hand and give it a quick shake before pulling away.

Cilia just keeps smiling. “Sorry about that,” she says. “Your sister mentioned you have retinitis pigmentosa. I should have known better.”

She exchanges a few words with Mrs. McGraw before the older lady leaves, promising me she’ll be back to pick me up in an hour. Once she’s gone, Cilia turns back to me.

“Come on. I’ll introduce you to the others.”

“Others?”

“That’s right. You didn’t think you were the only visually impaired person in town, did you? You’ll have a few classmates today. We’ll do some lessons one-on-one as time goes by, but for your first lesson, I figured it’d be fun to start with some other students around.”

“I doubt it,” I mutter.

“Hmm?”

“Nothing.”

“All right. Well, we’re in a room over this way. Is your vision okay in here, or do you want to take my arm?”

“I’m fine.”

I follow her through the lobby of the community center and down a short hallway. She stops at a door on the right and pushes it open. “Okay—Addie, Syd—I’m back. And I brought our new student,” Cilia says, stepping aside so that I can walk into the well-lit, rectangular room.

I expect to find people my age, but that ain’t the case. Instead, there are two kids staring back at me. Young kids. The girl, with her braided yellow pigtails, round, slightly sun-tanned face, and baby-pink romper, looks like she might be in third grade. And the boy, short and scrawny with olive skin and giant glasses on his little face, has to be even younger. They’re stopped in the middle of the room, like we walked in on them in the middle of playing a game of tag. In their hands, each is holding a long white cane with a bright red section near the bottom.

“This is Hadley,” Cilia tells them, resting one of her hands on my shoulder. “She’ll be having her first mobility lesson ever today. Isn’t that exciting? You two welcome her nicely, okay?”

“Hi, Hadley,” the two kids say.

I raise my hand and give them a half-hearted wave, but then I remember—if they’re here, that means they gotta be blind, right? Probably blinder than me. So they might not be able to see me wave. Begrudgingly, I sigh and say, “Hello.”

“Hadley, am I correct in thinking that you’ve never used a cane?”

I nod.

“All right. You can take a minute to get to know Addie and Syd, then, while I try and find one the right height for you.”

She walks over to a duffel bag in the corner of the room. As she unzips it, I can hear the objects inside clacking and clanging together. I turn and look back at Addie and Syd, but they ain’t looking at me anymore. They’ve started playing again, chasing each other in small circles around the room. Fine by me. What am I supposed to talk about with little kids anyway?

A minute later, Cilia comes back over to me, holding one of those white canes like the kids have. She puts it in my hand and asks me to hold it in front of me so she can see if it’s the right height. I do, and the top of it—where the black, rubbery grip is—comes up right to the center of my chest.

“Perfect,” she says. “This’ll be good for now, and if it turns out you need something a little bit longer, we can do that. Sound good?”

I shrug.

“Okay. First thing’s first. Let’s show you how to hold it. And then we’ll go over some of the different techniques you can use. Addie and Syd—why don’t you two come over here and help me demonstrate? Let’s show Hadley how we’re supposed to hold our canes when we’re using them.”

The kids quit playing their game and take a few steps toward us before stopping next to each other, each of them positioning their cane in front of themselves. I stare, trying to figure out exactly how they are holding the things so I don’t embarrass myself. But before I can strain my eyes too much, Cilia starts explaining.

“What you should do is, hold on to the cane’s rubber grip with your right hand. See how one side of the rubber grip is flat and the rest is rounded? On the flat side, extend your pointer finger so it’s flat against the grip, pointed toward the ground, and your other fingers wrap around. Yes, like that. I know that feels a little weird, but it’ll help you keep control of the motion of the cane once we get to that part,” she explains.

I do as she says, or try to. She has to readjust my hand so I get it right.

“Now,” she continues once I’m holding it right. “Keep the tip of the cane on the ground. It should be out, away from your body. The hand holding the grip should stay centered in front of you. Right in front of your belly button. Yes. Just like that. Your hand will pretty much stay right there as you walk. You’ll just use your wrist to move the cane back and forth in front of you to find if there are any obstacles coming up. Does that make sense?”

“I guess.”

“You’ll see what I mean once we get started. Now, who wants to show Hadley the different ways you can use a cane? Addie, you can show her the tapping motion. Syd, why don’t you show her the sweeping motion.”

“So, for tapping,” Addie says, as she begins to walk across the room, her cane clicking along in step. “You just do this.”

“Addie,” Cilia says, “remember, Hadley can’t see well either. Can you explain for her, please?”

“Oh. Okay. Well, you just tap. The cane comes off the ground in the middle, and you tap it on either side of you while you walk. So when you step with your right foot, you tap on the left.”

“Why is that?” Cilia asks her.

“So you always know what to expect for your next step. So if there’s something in the way, my cane finds it before I step with my other foot.”

“Right. And how far does the cane come off the ground when you pick it up?”

“Only an inch or two.”

“That’s right. Good job, Addie. You get all that, Hadley?”

“Yeah,” I mutter. It all sounds real easy. I don’t know why she’s making a big deal out of it.

“Syd? Wanna explain sweeping?”

“The cane goes back and forth,” the boy says. “But it don’t come off the ground.”

“That’s right. It’s a lot like the tapping motion, only the cane tip stays on the ground. Now, some people use sweeping all the time. And some people use tapping all the time. But we learn both. Can you tell me why?”

“Um,” Addie says. “Because tapping is easier in, like, sand and snow and when the ground is really bumpy and stuff.”

“Right,” Cilia says. “Sweeping is great on flat sidewalks or inside. But it can be tricky when you’re on uneven ground or in things—like you said—like sand or snow where pushing the cane along on the ground could be hard. Great job, guys. You’re helping me teach today.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes.

This gets boring real quick. Cilia continues going over the different techniques for using a cane—even going into how there are different cane tips that can be more useful for different methods. There are round, rolling ball tips and marshmallow-shaped tips and skinny, pencil-like tips and probably more, too, but I lose track. Then the kids excitedly show off what they know. Cilia makes me do the different motions over and over without actually moving. It’s way too easy for someone my age. Obviously. If these little kids know how to do it, I can pick it up real fast.

When Cilia finally does let me try to use the cane while moving, she just has me walking back and forth across the room, with Syd and Addie on either side of me, moving way faster than me, which is annoying. Like using this thing ain’t nothing to them. But when I try to keep pace, Cilia starts calling after me, reminding me to keep the cane near my belly button and to make sure I’m moving it in step with my feet so I don’t miss anything and not to pick it up so high when I’m using the tapping method.

Okay, so maybe it ain’t as easy as I thought.

I’m feeling irritated and embarrassed by the end of the hour, sure these stupid kids are probably laughing at me behind my back for how much Cilia had to correct me. And like it can’t actually be as challenging as Cilia makes it out to be—it’s just a cane. You move it in front of yourself so you don’t run into stuff. It ought to be simple. But with all the rules she’s throwing out there, seems like it ain’t.

And on top of that, my wrist is kinda sore from doing the motions over and over again.

I’m starting to think I shouldn’t have bothered with this at all.

“Looks like our time is up,” Cilia says finally. “Nice work today, everybody. Addie and Syd—I promise we’ll do some outside practice next week. Thank you for being such good helpers today. Hadley, fold the cane up for me and bring it here so I can put it away.”

I stare at her, confused. “You mean I don’t get to keep it?”

“Not yet,” she says. “I prefer to wait until my students have had a bit more practice before I let them take the cane home.”

“But they get to keep theirs,” I say, pointing at the little kids.

“They’ve been taking mobility classes for a while now,” she explains. “You’ll catch up. Give it a couple more weeks, and the cane will be all yours.”

“A couple weeks?” I demand. “That’s … that’s stupid. This ain’t even that hard. How much more could I possibly have to learn?”

Cilia sighs. “Language, Hadley. And … a lot, actually. Most students I work with take mobility classes for years. It’s not just about learning to use a cane, but also how to travel independently. Planning routes, taking public transportation, even navigating things like shopping malls and other places alone. The cane comes into play in all that, of course, but I’m not just here to teach you to use a cane. I’m here to prepare you so that you can take on any situation, even when you can’t see.”

Years? I might have to take these classes for years?

I grit my teeth, fold the cane, and hand it back to her. She smiles at me when she takes it and puts it back into her bag, but all I do is glare. I don’t wanna take classes with Cilia for years. I don’t wanna be here, in Beth’s town, for years.

I don’t wanna be going blind at all.

When Mrs. McGraw picks me up and asks me how things went, I don’t answer her.

In fact, the only time I talk about the class at all is that night, when I’m lying in bed and Lila hops up onto the mattress.

“I’m only doing this for you, you know,” I tell her. “I hope you’re grateful. So even if you find me annoying when we’re training and stuff, you’d better listen anyway.”

Lila just lets out a huff.

“I mean it,” I say. “If I gotta put up with this, so do you. And we’re getting started for real first thing tomorrow.”

Lila snorts and turns her head away from me. I can tell she don’t believe me, but that’s all right. She’ll find out how serious I am soon. And then we’ll both get to suffer through our own different types of training together.