The following weekend, Mum, Nic and I are ready to tackle the Disability Expo. Dad’s too tired to face the crowds, so he sits with Kieran while the three of us drive to the showgrounds – the same place they parade fat beef cattle once a year.

There are no Hereford or Murray Grey cows in sight now, though. Today the showgrounds are set up with tents and stalls advertising resources for people with a disability. But when Mum winds down her window, the smell of cow poo is still there.

‘Here for the expo?’ asks the parking attendant. When Mum says yes, he waves us through to disabled parking. Once I’m in my chair and we’ve found our way to the exhibition hall, the questions begin.

‘Does your daughter like cooking?’ asks a lady, giving out little heart-shaped chocolates. ‘We run cooking programs for people with …’

Mum shakes her head. I’ve helped Dad make biscuits before, but I can’t really hold the utensils.

The next stallholder is kitted out in a sparkling glitter jacket. ‘Are you a singer? We offer karaoke twice a week and …’

‘Looking for work placement?’ asks a man in a suit. ‘We have full-time, part-time …’

We move on. I’m still at school. And anyway, what could I do at work?

‘Forty-seven dollars an hour?’ Nic repeats after a quote for arts and crafts lessons. ‘We could, like, literally buy up a whole aisle at Spotlight for that.’

But it turns out that forty-seven dollars an hour is the going rate. Mum soon stops taking brochures and finds a quiet spot to sit while we have a drink and share some sliced apple. ‘Sorry, Ava,’ she says. ‘I’d have to sell a kidney for you to do any of these activities. Perhaps we should just skip the rest? What do you think, Nic? I haven’t seen anything to help Ava talk. Should we go home?’

Nic flicks anxiously through the stall guide. ‘Maybe.’

I look desperately around the room. We’ve only seen half the stalls. I was hoping there’d be something …

‘Hi, guys. What’s happening?’

Aimee!

‘She’s pretty,’ Aimee says, turning her chair towards Nic. ‘Is she your sister?’

Nic stares at Aimee. Aimee takes that for a yes. ‘Hi, Ava’s sister. Hi, Ava’s mum,’ she says. ‘We met before. Hey, Ava, come check out stall 37. It’ll totally blow your mind!’

Mum quickly screws the lid back on her drink bottle. ‘Thanks, Aimee. But we’re just about to go.’ She puts the drink bottle away and reaches for the handles of my wheelchair. My hands start squishing.

What’s at stall 37?

‘Wouldn’t hurt to have a look,’ says Nic.

Mum glances down the aisle and then back at Aimee.

Please, Mum?

‘Okay,’ she says. ‘But just a quick one.’

We follow Aimee’s wheelchair past a group of stands set up along the back. We pass numbers 32, 33 and 34. These other stalls all look pretty boring. What could number 37 possibly have for me?

Aimee finally stops. She’s in front of a stall with a blue banner that reads ‘Lifetech’ in large white letters, and a whole heap of computers and technical-looking devices set up on a desk.

What’s this?

Mum stands beside me, staring blankly at the stall. ‘Are you sure this is it?’ she asks, her voice tense. ‘Not 38?’ Across on 38 is a display for ‘Riding for the Disabled’. That would be okay, I guess.

‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ The man at stall 37 is wearing a blue shirt with the Lifetech logo. ‘Want a demonstration?’

Mum starts to shake her head, but Aimee wheels closer and Nic steps in to grab a brochure.

‘Yes,’ Aimee says. ‘Could you please show them what you showed me.’

‘Sure. No worries,’ says the man. He signals us to the left of the desk where there’s a big computer screen set up on a mount. He motions to Nic to sit in the chair in front of the screen and, although she hesitates, I can tell she’s interested to see what the computer will do. She sits down and Mum pulls my chair in beside her so I can see too. The man adjusts the mount so the screen is level with Nic’s head. ‘Now, sit up tall and look straight,’ he says. ‘Use your eyes to follow the bubbles as they appear. If you want to pop one, just let your eyes linger on that bubble for a second. Okay?’

Bright pink and blue and orange and yellow bubbles drift across the dark blue screen. Whenever Nic’s gaze moves, a red dot on the screen moves too. When Nic rests her gaze, the red dot settles and pops the bubble. Pink first, then the blue. The red dot is like a dart coming straight from Nic’s eyes.

My hands squeeze together. This is it! This is my way to speak!

‘The laser picks up where your eyes are looking and tells the computer,’ explains the man. ‘That’s how you pop the bubbles. Here, let me show you something else.’

The man flicks a switch and up comes a farmyard scene with different animals. ‘Say, for example, I wanted you to find the cow,’ he says. ‘Go on – show me the cow.’

Nic’s eyes move. The red dot appears on the cow. ‘Moooo!’ says the cow.

Mum laughs.

I sit forwards in my seat. Give me a go. Give me a go!

‘Good, hey?’ says Aimee.

Good? Good doesn’t even begin to describe it. It’s brilliant. Better than brilliant! Amazing, sensational, outstanding!

‘Now the pig.’

The dot moves from the cow to the pig. ‘Oink!’ says the pig. Now it’s my turn to laugh.

‘And the duck?’

Nic can’t find the duck, but I see it sitting on the barn door. My eyes sting I’m staring so hard. But my eyes don’t count. It’s Nic’s the computer is looking for.

Finally she finds the duck. ‘Quack!’

‘You can use any number of programs with this device. It’s designed to help people who can’t use their hands to communicate,’ says the man, looking at mine. ‘Imagine if you could use your eyes to guide the red dot to say, “I need a drink” or “I’m hungry”?’

Or to say, ‘I love you, Mum’?

‘So, how much is it?’ Mum asks.

The man gives an embarrassed chuckle. ‘Well, you see, this technology is still very new, and since it’s imported from—’

‘So, pretty expensive, then?’

‘For the basic model, with no case and no programs? Twenty-two thousand dollars.’

‘Twenty-two …?’ Mum grabs the handles of my chair. ‘Well, thanks for the demo,’ she says, shoving the brochure deep into her bag. ‘Maybe some other time.’

‘Some other lifetime,’ she mutters as we move away.

‘You can apply for funding with a referral from your speech therapist,’ the man calls out, ‘to help subsidise the cost.’

But it’s too late. Mum’s marching us down the aisle towards the exit.

My whole body sinks. The device was perfect. I could definitely use it to speak.

‘Told you it was good,’ says Aimee, oblivious to Mum’s chook-bum face. ‘I mean, not for me, but for Ava, don’t you think?’

Mum smiles patiently. ‘Maybe. I’m not sure …’

‘But would you get her one?’

‘Possibly, Aimee. As soon as I sell some organs.’

‘Can’t we raise the money somehow?’ asks Nic on the way home. ‘We could fix up Dad’s veggie patch and sell organic veggies at the market. Maybe I could play drums at the rec centre … or … Okay, so couldn’t we just ask the bank for a loan?’

Mum’s driving and doesn’t answer.

‘Maybe there are other models? Cheaper ones?’ Nic digs in Mum’s bag and takes out the Lifetech brochure. ‘New laser-sensitive speech device. Ideal communication tool for patients with little or no hand movement. Calibrated to individual needs. Eye movement to speech output.’ She turns the brochure over. ‘Jeez! It says it here too. Twenty-two thousand dollars.’

I’ll never learn to talk.

But then Nic looks up, a hopeful gleam in her eyes. ‘What about that funding? The man said if Ava gets a referral, then we could get the government to help pay for the device.’

Mum groans. ‘We’ve seen so many therapists, Nic. Wouldn’t one of them have mentioned this by now?’ She glances at me in the rear-vision mirror. ‘Obviously they mustn’t think Ava could use it.’

But Nic doesn’t agree and reminds Mum how hard it is to pick up on me choosing things with my eyes. ‘She’s too quick,’ she says. ‘That’s why we need the device. So it can do the work. I bet you once they see Ava using it, they’ll definitely give us the money.’

We drive for a while before Nic adds, ‘So, if Ava gets this speech machine, can I get a new laptop?’ Nic’s got Mum’s old one, and the D key keeps falling off.

Mum shakes her head. ‘Honey. Let’s just see. What if the therapist doesn’t think Ava can use it?’

But I will be able to use it!

‘Okay, but if she does, then can I get a laptop?’