The Other Brother (Chop, Chop Series Book 4)

by L. N. Cronk

  Okay.

  “The first thing we’re gonna do is go over what you wrote yesterday, and then you can write some more, okay?”

  Okay.

  I showed her how to move the cursor with the mouse and put it on the first word in the story.

  “Here’s the sign for little,” I said, holding my hands about a foot apart and then bringing them close together, almost as if I were clapping. “We’re gonna use that for lower case letters, and here’s the sign for big.” I moved my hands apart from one another. “We’re gonna use that for upper case letters. Every time you start a sentence, what kind of letter do you have to use?”

  Big.

  “Exactly, so we have to get rid of that little e and make it a capital E. Put the cursor right after the e in ‘each’.”

  She did it.

  “Now, hit this button right here,” I said, pointing to the backspace key.

  “Excellent,” I said. “Now to make a capital E, you hold this shift key down before you hit the E button, okay?”

  I showed her what to do and then let her do it.

  “Great,” I said. “Now, every sentence has to start with a capital letter, so where else do you need to fix it?”

  She pointed at the first word of the next sentence.

  “That’s right,” I nodded. “Can you fix it by yourself?”

  She nodded and fixed it. Then, she looked around the room to see where Mrs. Spell was.

  “Nobody’s watching,” I told her, and she started typing.

  “Okay, good,” I said when she’d finished capitalizing all the letters at the beginning of each sentence. “Now, every time you write somebody’s name, you need to use a capital letter too, so let’s fix all these names.”

  She nodded and got to work, biting her lip in concentration. Then we fixed all the misspelled words and I taught her some new signs as we were going along.

  “Do you wanna quit?” I asked her.

  No.

  “You wanna add some new stuff now?”

  Yes.

  “Okay . . . go ahead and start and I’ll stop you if you spell something wrong.”

  She typed away, fixing foresst and mowse when I told her to. Mrs. Spell wandered by and stood behind Amber for a moment as she typed:

  lost her leesh

  “It’s ‘l- e-a-s-h’,” I told her. She fixed it.

  “That’s very good, Amber,” Mrs. Spell said, not hiding the surprise in her voice. I winced as Amber dropped her hands into her lap.

  “You wanna have the leash be in a cave?” I asked her quickly. She glanced at me as I pulled the keyboard in front of me and started typing. Mrs. Spell stood there for another moment and then walked away.

  “She’s gone,” I told Amber, erasing what I’d written. “Now keep going.”

  ~ ~ ~

  ON WEDNESDAY, AMBER finished her story just as the teacher told the kids to line up for recess.

  “This looks terrific, Amber,” I told her as it came out of the printer.

  “Tomorrow you can do your drawings, okay?”

  She nodded and I walked over to say goodbye to Dorito.

  “Daddy,” he said. “My zipper’s stuck again.”

  “We have got to get you a new jacket,” I told him as I tugged away. “This is ridiculous.”

  I finally got him zipped up and gave him a hug and a kiss goodbye.

  “Can you come watch me at recess?” he begged.

  “I don’t know,” I said, looking at my watch.

  “Please?”

  “I guess so,” I finally agreed.

  “Yea!” he said, scrambling to get in line.

  At recess, I sat on the bench and watched him and Amber play. Just like he had told me, they played in the mulch under the slide, signing away with one another in some fantasy world they’d created.

  But suddenly, as I was watching, I saw Amber cup her hands to Dorito’s ear and then put her mouth up to them. Dorito left her and came running up to me.

  “Hey, Daddy?”

  “What?”

  “Can Amber have this jacket when I get a new one?”

  “Does she want it?”

  “Uh-huh,” he nodded.

  “How do you know?”

  “She asked me,” he explained.

  “How did she ask you?”

  “She just asked me.”

  “Did she sign it?”

  “No, she just asked. So can she have it?”

  “Is that what she just did when she put her hands up to your ear?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “But I thought you said she never talks!”

  “She doesn’t.”

  “Then how did she ASK you?”

  “She whispered it,” he said, as if I were an idiot. “Can she have my jacket?”

  “She whispers?”

  “Yeah. Can she-”

  “YES! She can have your jacket if you get a new one,” I said. “Dorito, WHY didn’t you tell me that she can whisper?”

  “Because,” he said, shrugging. “You never asked.”

  Laci laughed when she heard Dorito’s reasoning.

  “He said that we always tell him not to talk in church – that he should whisper instead – so he figures they aren’t the same thing.”

  “He’s got a point,” Laci agreed, as I pulled out my phone. “Who are you calling?”

  “Danica.”

  “Interesting,” Danica said after I’d filled her in on all the details.

  “So what do you think?”

  “It sounds like a classic case of select mutism, but obviously, without examining her myself, I can’t be sure.”

  “So, let’s assume you’re right,” I said. “What else can you tell me?”

  “Select mutism used to be called ‘elective mutism’, but we don’t use that name anymore because it suggests that the child is choosing not to talk, which is not the case. Like I told you, these are psychiatric disorders and not just the result of the patient willfully choosing not to talk. If this is indeed what Amber has, she simply cannot talk in certain situations.”

  “What causes it?”

  “Well, some research suggests that there’s a biological deficiency going on, but I doubt that’s what’s solely to blame. Most anxiety disorders like this are the result of a combination of things.”

  “Like what?”

  “Think about when Laci was depressed,” Danica said. “She probably had an underlying biological condition that made her predisposed to depression, but she didn’t actually become depressed until after Gabby died. It was a combination of things.”

  “So you think something bad like that’s happened to her?”

  “Well,” Danica hedged, “I don’t know. There’s probably a reason for it, but the reasons aren’t always clear. I mean, every little kid has had bad things happen to them. It’s not necessarily some great trauma . . .”

  “But it could be?”

  “Sure.”

  “So, how does she get better?”

  “Well, like I said before, she needs to be seeing a professional. I don’t suppose you know yet whether or not she’s being treated?”

  “No.”

  “Because, I mean, there’s definitely some stuff that can be done.”

  “Like drugs?”

  “Well, sometimes anti-anxiety medications are used, but there’s a lot of controversy about using them in children. I definitely think she needs to be receiving counseling. Sometimes a change in the environment can help. It really depends on the underlying causes.”

  “Is there anything I should know about working with her? Like, should I encourage her to talk to me, or is that just gonna make things worse?”

  “I wouldn’t push her too much,” Danica said. “Offering her the option every now and then, however, isn’t a bad idea – especially since select mutism tends to be self-reinforcing.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means that people around the subject often stop expe
cting them to speak, and that can make it even more difficult for speech to occur.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I said. “I got it.”

  “Need anything else?”

  “Not right now.”

  “Well,” she said, “I’ll be glad to try and help any way I can. Feel free to call back anytime.”

  “Oh, don’t worry,” I said. “You know I will.”

  On Thursday, I worked with Christian and Mariah and then I stopped by Amber’s desk and looked at her drawings.

  “These look good,” I said. “I like ’em.”

  She kept coloring.

  “You know what?” I asked quietly, squatting down next to her desk.

  She stopped coloring and looked at me.

  “I saw you whispering to Dorito yesterday during recess.”

  She kept looking at me.

  “You can whisper to me too,” I said, and then I shrugged as if I didn’t care. “You know . . . if you ever want to.”

  She didn’t react.

  “But you don’t have to,” I went on. “You can keep signing. Whatever. I just wanted to let you know that you can if you ever want to. Okay?”

  Okay.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Bye.”

  Bye.

  ~ ~ ~

  THE NEXT DAY was Friday and I was helping Drake. He was taking forever trying to decide what to say next in his new story and if he didn’t hurry up I wasn’t going to get to work with Amber at all today.

  I found myself glancing over at her, and that’s when I noticed Christian. He was leaning forward over his desk, talking to Amber. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but she had her head down and wouldn’t look at him.

  “Hang on for a second,” I whispered to Drake, standing quietly and walking up behind Christian. He was hissing under his breath to Amber.

  “. . . ugly and everybody hates you and you stink like a skunk.” He pinched his nose closed with two fingers and leaned even closer to Amber, trying to make sure that she would see him, even though her head was still down. “Pee-ew!”

  I plopped down in between them on Amber’s desk. Christian looked up at me in surprise.

  “Hey, Amber,” I said. “Go sit over there next to Drake, okay? I’m almost ready for you.”

  She rose from her desk without raising her eyes and walked obediently over to the computer area. I watched until she sat down and then I turned back to Christian, who was now suddenly very engrossed in coloring a page for his story.

  “Hey, Christian!” I said quietly, leaning down into his face. “You think you’re a big man? You little fish killer?”

  He looked up at me worriedly and glanced across the room.

  “Yeah, that’s right. I know all about what you did to those fish. What’ya think Mrs. Spell would do if I told her about it?”

  He gave me the slightest of shrugs.

  “Think maybe she’d tell your parents?”

  He looked as if he might cry.

  “I wonder what they would do?”

  I let him think about that for a minute and then I leaned down even closer into his face and whispered quietly.

  “If I ever, EVER find out that you’ve talked to Amber like that again or that you’ve been mean to her, you’re gonna have to deal with me,” I said, jabbing myself in the chest with my thumb. “Do you understand?”

  He nodded.

  “Are you sure?”

  He nodded again.

  “Good,” I said, smiling at him.

  I walked back over to the computer, dragging an extra chair with me. I sat down between Drake and Amber.

  “Okay, Drake,” I said. “Did you figure out what you’re gonna say next?”

  “Maybe there’s a whale following the boat and they start throwing cheese into the water for him? And then some seagulls land on his head and start eating the cheese?”

  “Maybe,” I agreed, “but it seems like you’re kinda throwing something new in there and you’re forgetting all about the pirates.”

  “Maybe the pirates could try to catch the seagulls?”

  “But why? Why would the pirates do that when they’re trying to find this island with a treasure?”

  “I dunno,” he shrugged.

  “Look,” I said. “How about this? You go back to your seat and draw a picture of the pirates finding the treasure. I want you to put everything in the picture that you want them to find – all the good stuff you can think of – and then tomorrow, when we meet, we can talk about exactly what you want to have happen on their way to the island, okay?”

  “Okay,” he said, getting up and heading off toward his desk.

  “Hey, Amber,” I smiled at her, patting Drake’s empty seat. “Why don’t you move over here?”

  She moved over, but still kept her head down.

  “How are you doing today?” I asked her.

  She still didn’t look up.

  “What’s the matter, Amber?”

  No response.

  “Amber,” I said, leaning down and looking up into her face so that she had to see me. “Are you upset about something?”

  She shrugged, refusing to make eye contact.

  “About that guy?” I asked in disbelief, jabbing my thumb in Christian’s direction.

  She shrugged again.

  “You’ve got to be kidding!” I said quietly. “You’re gonna let something Christian says upset you?”

  I leaned in closer to her.

  “Amber, listen,” I whispered conspiratorially. “You know what Christian is?”

  For the first time she glanced at me.

  “Christian’s an idiot,” I told her. “He’s one half stupid and the other half dumb.”

  She kept her eyes on me.

  “I heard what he was saying about you,” I went on, “and he’s absolutely wrong. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. You’re beautiful! You’re the most beautiful little girl in this school! Don’t you know that? You can’t listen to somebody like Christian. He’s an idiot.”

  She shifted slightly in her seat.

  “You know what else?” I asked her. “You’re the smartest, too!”

  She looked at me uncertainly.

  “Amber! You don’t believe me?” I waved the folder with her story in it in front of her. “Look at what you’ve been doing! Do you see any other kid in here writing a story like you are?”

  She lifted her head and looked at the folder.

  “And you’re doing it all on the computer – all by yourself!” I went on. “Nobody else is doing that. Nobody has an imagination like you do! Every day I come in here and I can’t wait to see what you’re going write next. I’ll bet you’re going to be a famous author one day.”

  She was still looking at me.

  “Will you write some for me now?”

  She shook her head and put her head down again.

  “Please?”

  She just shook her head some more.

  “Okay,” I sighed. “You don’t have to write anything today, but will you please work on it with me on Monday?”

  She nodded.

  “Promise?” I asked.

  She looked up and nodded again.

  “Great,” I said, smiling at her. “And don’t forget what I said. You’re the most beautiful girl in this whole school.”

  The next week was Thanksgiving week and the kids only had two days of school. I was shocked when I saw Amber on Monday. I told Laci all about it as soon as I got home.

  “I think she was really upset about what Christian said to her and I think she went home and tried to make herself smell better.”

  “And did she?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “It was a different smell on top the other smell. She smelled like she’d sprayed herself down with air freshener or something.”

  “Poor thing.”

  “I think she tried to make herself look better, too,” I said. “She cut her hair.”

  “She did?”

 
; “I mean . . . I think she cut it by herself.”

  “Uh-oh,” Laci said.

  “Remember that big rat’s nest I told you about?” Laci nodded and I went on. “I told you I didn’t see how it was ever going to come out? Well, I think she cut it out.”

  “Does it look bad?” Laci asked, worriedly.

  “It looks beyond bad,” I said. “It looks horrible. There’s this huge chunk missing in the back.”

  “Poor thing,” Laci said again, shaking her head. “Do you think she could cover it up if she pulled it back into a ponytail?”

  “Maybe,” I said.

  “I hope nobody teases her.”

  “If Christian teases her, I’m gonna pound his face into the ground.”

  “You know,” Laci said, “it’s not Christian’s fault that he acts the way he does. He’s probably learning his behavior from his parents, and he’s probably very insecure and needs just as much attention and support as Amber does.”

  “Sorry,” I said. “Somebody else is gonna have to take on Christian. I can only help one emotionally needy child at a time, and right now, Christian ain’t it.”

  Tuesday morning I called Amber over to the computer first, even though it wasn’t her turn.

  “Look what I found!” I said, pulling out a picture. “You know who this is?”

  Amber shook her head.

  “This is J. K. Rowling,” I told her. “You know . . . she’s the one who wrote all the Harry Potter books you’ve been reading?”

  Obviously interested, Amber looked at the picture more closely.

  “You know who I think she looks like?”

  Amber shook her head.

  “I think she looks like you!”

  She looked at me, questioningly.

  “I do,” I nodded. “Look at her. Her hair’s the same color as yours and she’s got such a pretty face. Don’t you think you look like her?”

  No.

  “Well, of course she’s a lot older than you in this picture, and her hair’s back in a ponytail . . .”

  (Apparently J. K. Rowling didn’t wear ponytails very often, because it had taken me forever to find a picture of her with her hair in one.)

  “You ever wear your hair in a ponytail?” I asked casually.