Oh, for heaven’s sake. She’s making this so much weirder than it has to be.
She flies off the couch in a panic, plate tight in her grip, when I rise. “Did I sit too close?” she asks.
“No.”I’d like you to sit closer, I think to myself before banishing it to the caverns of my mind. “You’re too…tight,” I say. “You need to shake it out.”
“I am not uptight.”
Captivating swirls of brown shift in her irises, and she lowers her gaze, focused on the ranch spreading toward her mac and cheese. She barricades the dip with a carrot.
“That’s not what I said. You need to dance a little. Like this.” I wave my hands and shimmy my hips. The tension in my muscles melts away. “Now you try.”
A wave of scarlet floods her cheeks as she stares at me. “I’m good. Really.”
“I insist.” I cue a song through the speaker system, allowing the music to capture my soul. “Shake it out, Sofía!”
It takes thirty seconds of my horrible dance moves for her to bob her head back and forth. It’s a start, but we can do better. I skip around until we’re facing each other, then I snag her hand, wildly waving our arms up and down. To her credit, she tries to hide her surprise. The chorus hits, and she finally cracks, bouncing on her toes.
“There we go,” I cheer, chuckling once her energy increases and she’s jumping right alongside me.
I release her hand, and she spins in a full circle, her braid twirling as she moves. The song ends, and the energy in the room is finally lighter. She falls back into her seat, shedding the jacket of her pantsuit and revealing the silk blouse beneath.
“The vibe in here is wicked good now,” I admit, snagging a few more meatballs from the slow cooker.
Sofía devours the mac and cheese like her life depends on it. When she’s done, she collects her clicker but remains seated in the corner.
I’d call that a win.
“I’ve spent a lot of time researching Australia this week. What types of unique environments they have, the best places and times to travel to each, and what creatures we can reasonably see, given the time constraints. This is what I put together.”
She switches to the first slide, a map with tiny dots scattering up the coast. Arrows point to each one, along with a few photos of different animals.
“I don’t think it’s logistically possible to cover the continent. It’s too large, and a few weeks is not enough time. But we could hit most of the East Coast in four weeks.”
It’s on the fourth slide of her plan, the itinerary in Sydney, that I realize the presentation is heavy on photos and animations and low on text, and if there are words, they’re in a dyslexic-friendly font. Each slide is short and engaging. It’s clear the choice was intentional.
Every so often, the weight of her gaze lands on me, but I focus on the television, schooling my features to prevent the thoughts running through my mind from showing on my face.
Few people know about my learning disabilities, and even fewer have tried to make things easier for me.
I barely made it through high school, and I thought college would be easier once I was diagnosed with dyslexia and ADHD, but it wasn’t. Classes were fast paced, professors had less time for one-on-ones, and by the end of the first semester, I was so far behind I dropped out.
Instead of telling my parents and Grace, I gave myself six months to do what I love: make videos. My mind quiets while I edit, like sliding puzzle pieces together until the larger picture becomes clear. When my channel blew up and I met Doug, he helped me take it to another level; his camera experience and keen eye are far greater than mine. He was one of the first people to view my learning differences as a strength, not a struggle. My parents understood and supported me chasing my dream after they recognized higher education was their path, not mine.
Grace didn’t.
I want someone who can provide.
My head spins with thoughts while Sofía explains the second leg of the trip. “I was thinking this is when we could invite all our friends. There are hostels, and we can all share to save costs.”
A photo of the hostels she’s suggesting appears on the screen. Five metal bunk beds and a communal bathroom.
Nope. Not happening.
I can afford real beds with soft sheets and privacy. I am no longer suffering if I don’t need to, and neither are my friends. I’m not flashy—I don’t need fancy cars or expensive things—but I will spend whatever I need to so everyone is comfortable and the space has air-conditioning.
Australia is in the middle of summer. Hot, brutal summer. Molly and Doug would murder me if I put them in a hostel with an old air-conditioning machine.
“Real hotel rooms, please.”
