At Aunt Amy's

Chapter 3: Hazel's Actually Creative Enough to Name Chapters

'Sup b*****s!

Guess who's narrating the next chapter?

None other than yours truly!

Guess who was asleep while I was having a bats*** crazy time?

Harry Potter in the closet.

Guess who has to censor themselves so no one else does?

Also none other than yours truly...

So, remember when I was talking over that fence while Avery was being awkward as f***? I was performing the ritual of making fast friends with other kids my age. You see, due to all the autism stuff, a lot of social skills didn't come naturally. It was hard for me to pick up on social cues and sarcasm as a little kid, so I had learned all of it. Sure there was therapy and all that, but often I did a lot of studying all on my own. Hell, I got fixated on it. I observed how others kids talked to each other and treated each other, and how it signified friendship. And I paid close attention to how it changed the older we got.

Anyway, I was conversing with these three girls in the backyard of a girl named Sadie. The other two girls with her were named Madison (or Mads) and Oceane. They seemed like your average fifth-graders, but also had traits that put you a little further up in the social hierarchy. The three were dancers, specifically the kind that specializes in acrobatics. The girl Mads was doing something known as a front Ariel, which looked like a front walkover without the hands. The other two did a surplus of cartwheels, round-offs, and one-handed cartwheels as if it was all they could do.

I started out with a "nice flip," as I casually leaned against the white picket fence. Mads stopped in her tracks and called back, "It's called a front ariel!"

I asked her where she learned it, and she informed me that she was a gymnast and took acrobatics classes after school. When I pretended to be amazed by this, the other two girls chimed in, trying to impress me by talking about their "very advanced" lyrical and tumbling classes at some generic-sounding dance studio.

Now, I could only do a standard cartwheel, but that seemed like enough to get in with this specific group. I started up a conversation about how I had just moved in, and couldn't wait for them to teach me some of their skills. This lasted until I found out that they happened to be having a sleepover. This seemed like the perfect thing to insinuate myself into, so I talked, even more, to try and get that connection. It wasn't that hard. Find out what they like and pretend to have infinite knowledge of that. And before you know it, your fast friends.

Once I had gotten phone numbers, Instagram accounts, Snapchats, and a possible invitation to this slumber party and headed back to Avery, who by the way owes that friendship with that girl to me by now. When I got back to the pink house, Avery and Brenda went off to who-knows-where while I went straight to Aunt Amy to tell her everything about my friendship with our across-the-road neighbor. I kept up a tone and nature of innocence to really bring the message home (but not actual home. That's several states away).

Sadly, the sleepover offer was rejected. Aunt Amy told me, "Sorry, Hazy, I just want you here on your first night just in case something happens. I heard you could get anxious at times."

First of all, I hate that nickname. Second of all, I don't get that anxious as long as I have something for white noise (seriously, without a fan or something you could hear all the creaks and clicks as the house settles in at full volume). So I'd have to find my own way around it.

I sat in my room for about an hour texting my new "friends." My room wasn't that big, but it fit me fine. It had a T.V. that only played DVD's and Jersey Shore (I could get someone to fix that) and a bunch of posters of the beach with stupid, carefree mottos like "life is good" and "no shoes, only flip-flops." It also had a very big window on the far wall right by my bed that let out onto the roof. Perfect.