“Must you bang like the devil?” Father complained when I played angry.
“That’s pretty but so gloomy, Orion,” Mum would say when I created something sad. “Play something cheerful!”
But even if I wasn’t allowed to show the feelings, they were still there. Way down deep beneath the lake’s surface, dark and murky and confusing.
Was this part of having ADHD?
Was I broken? Was something wrong with me?
A tap came on my shoulder, and I nearly toppled the vase. Odin, my fifteen-year-old big brother, caught it. He grinned and motioned me away from the living room.
“Spying on Mum and Father? What gives? And hey, how did your appointment—?”
I threw my arms around his waist.
“What’s this all about?” He laughed and knelt in front of me.
“I don’t want you to go away to school,” I whispered. “I’m…scared.”
Odin’s brows came together. “Honestly? So am I,” he whispered back.
My eyes widened. “You are?”
“But what can I do? It’s always been the plan.” He waved a hand. “Anyway, what did the doctor say?”
“I have ADHD.”
Odin frowned. “Oh. Okay. Well…I’m sure he’ll help you. He give you medication?”
I nodded tearfully. “But Odin—”
Voices grew louder. Our parents were seeing the doctor out. Odin gave me a quick hug.
“You’re going to be okay, Orion. Promise.”
I wanted to tell him that I’d miss him too much, and that I was scared that I was broken. But Odin was going out with friends and I couldn’t tell him. I didn’t want to bother him about it anyway.
Better to keep it to myself.
At dinner that night, I sat at the table with my family, while servants moved between the kitchen and dining room. Odin sat across from me, Octavian next to me. He was twelve and very serious and quiet. Basically, the opposite of me.
I waited for Mum or Father to ask me about my evaluation with Dr. Billings, but they never did.
“So, Odin,” Mum said. “Are you getting excited for Castle Hill?”
“Yes,” Odin said, not looking at me. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
Not scared, not nervous, not anything but fine.
Everything was always fine in our house. Just how they liked it.
The next morning, our housekeeper dosed out my medication. Almost immediately, my heart started to race, I couldn’t breathe very well, and I felt jumpy and jittery. Whatever this stuff was, wasn’t it supposed to make me theoppositeof jumpy and jittery?
Maybe it was just excitement. I was psyched to get to school for once. Finally, I’d be able to read short chapters. The meds would make me focus and everything would make sense.
During history, Mr. Mooney asked me to read a passage about the daily life of the first Anglo-Saxons in Britain. But the words still had holes in them. The paragraph wasn’t long enough for me to get the gist.
“Sorry, Mr. Mooney,” I said, squinting and making funny faces. “I think I need glasses.”
