MY FACE BURNS AS I CLAMBER UP. If I thought people were looking at me before, when I'd just scraped my chair over the floor, they're definitely looking at me now.
"Come with me." Els wraps one arm around my shoulders. I hunch at her touch. She turns me away from Michelle, toward the exit, and leads me back through the same hallways Max guided me through only minutes before.
My good hand flaps against my thigh as we walk. I keep my eyes averted all the way, like if I don't see other people, they might not see me. But that also means I can't tell where exactly Els is taking me. After going down several flights of stairs, I'm not even surprised when I'm faced with a sign that says AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.
"This is where I work." Els presses her hand against the door, which opens with a high whine.
"I'm sorry. I'll go back to my cabin." I disentangle myself from Els.
"What happened in there?" Her voice sounds chilly.
"I panicked. I … got stuck. I'm sorry," I repeat.
"I vouched for you. Anything you do on this ship reflects on me. And you go and harass our staff about something we told you wasn't an option, scream at Michelle, and try to bribe her with drugs. Drugs, Denise?"
I don't know what kind of response she wants. My jaw clenches.
"I asked you a question!"
I shake my head. It's the least offensive thing I can do.
"Tell me!"
"Tell you what?"
She breathes deeply, like she's gathering herself. "Are you doing this on purpose?"
"I'm not doing anything. You—never—asked—me—any—question." Tears burn in my eyes. People always get like this, sooner or later. They start pushing and pushing, and I don't get what they're pushing me toward, or they promise me something, then do the opposite, and I no longer know what to do. Either way, someone gets hurt. Most of the time, it's me.
As it is, I'll need to leave the Nassau. I don't see why I should deal with this, too. I turn. I want to walk—go back to my cabin and clutch my pillow, the one familiar thing in there—but my legs don't move. They're trembling. I'm sorry, I want to say a third time, just to make Els stop pushing.
"You offered Michelle drugs," Els says. "Were you grasping at straws, or did you seriously bring drugs on board?"
I stay stubbornly silent.
"You're sixteen!"
"You're sending me to my death," I mutter. "And you're worried about my health?"
"That's not fair!"
"I didn't bring drugs on board." It's the truth: I didn't. Mom did. "I was grasping at straws. Like you said. That's all."
Els fixes me with a stare. "I believe you."
"Good," I say, prickly.
She reaches out again.
I jerk back my shoulder. "Stop trying to touch me."
"I only want—"
"I'm autistic. Stop it." The words fly out. Immediately, I wish I could take them back. I don't want to be like Mom, pushing my limits into everyone's face and demanding sympathy. I don't want them to be like Mom, either, telling me it's OK or how sorry for me they are.
"Oh." Els takes a backward step into her office. "Damn. Of course you are. I should've seen that."
I stare at the ground. "I'm sorry," I try one more time.
"I never thought about it. I just thought you were …"
Mulish. Antisocial. Disrespectful. Difficult is what she's thinking, just like a dozen teachers and psychologists before her. Just another maladjusted Black girl from the Bijlmer.
"Why didn't your mother tell the school?" Els asks.
I don't want to answer that. It doesn't matter now. "Can I go?"
She's silent for a minute. "I wish there were a way for you to stay on board. I do."
"Yes," I say. "Me, too."
