"Gemma, let's go!" Mom calls down the hall.
I call for Roxy, then head to the front door with Mom. The new meds have started to kick in, and my PTSD had started to subside. I have an appointment with a new therapist today to see if I'd like them. But we were leaving almost an hour and a half early for it.
I checked my watch again, just to be sure.
Mom must've caught me. "We're going to the doctor's office first," she explained.
I fidgeted with Roxy's harness, staring at the floor. "Oh. Okay."
"Come on, girlie," Mom says, pulling at my arm.
I glance up and follow her to the car.
When we pull into the doctor's office, I recognize it vaguely like the one I was in with Daniel. When the nurse calls us back, it's full of the same child's play toys. I curl my lip. Why am I sitting here with a bunch of children's toys? I'm fifteen- almost sixteen.
"Hi, Miss Gemma," the doctor says. "We didn't get properly introduced last time. I'm Dr. Lancaster. It's nice to meet you."
"Nice to meet you," I mutter, not meeting her eyes. Roxy presses her nose into my knee, looking up at me.
"I'm a childhood and adolescent developmental specialist," Dr. Lancaster says. "I specialize in cognitive, neurological, and psychological development. I work with a lot of kids with Down Syndrome, ADHD, Tourette's Syndrome, and more. I help them maximize their potential and help them with some of the things they struggle with."
I look up. "What?"
Dr. Lancaster looks at me with a look of empathy. "Your mother's been coming here for a few months, talking to me, and telling me all about you."
"Do I have a developmental disorder?" I ask quietly.
"You cut right to the chase, don't you?" Dr. Lancaster smiles. "I'm not sure yet. Your mother says you display some symptoms related to a developmental disorder, but many developmental disorders mimic mental disabilities."
"Like what?" I ask, rubbing Roxy's back.
"Your mother says you have some problems in social situations?" Dr. Lancaster asks. Her tone is kind, but I suppose she was trained that way.
I nodded.
"And some problems with writing?" Dr. Lancaster asks.
I nod again. I've always had problems with writing.
"And you don't like to look people directly in the eyes?" Dr. Lancaster presses.
I nod again. It makes me uncomfortable.
"So I'm going to have you take a few cognitive function tests, and emotion function tests to see if your mother and I are correct," Dr. Lancaster explains.
I look down and gave a quick nod. "Yeah. Okay. Right."
Mom and I head to the car. after I had finished everything Dr. Lancaster wanted me to do. The next stop was the new therapist.
"Do you think I have a disorder?" I ask Mom in the car.
Mom shrugs. "I don't know. But you've been struggling for a while, and I think it could be a possibility. That's why I wanted to get you tested."
I looked down. "Okay."
We walk in, and a lady stands by the front desk, talking to the man behind the desk. "Okay, but what if-"
She stops when she notices the man beckoning to us. She looks up and smiles. "Hi!" her voice is bright and inviting, like all other therapists I've ever been to, or that my mother has made me go to. "You're Gemma?" she asks me.
I nod, gripping Roxy's harness.
"Great!" she smiles at me again. "Follow me please."
I follow her into a room that looks like a personal library there are so many books. Towards the edge of the room is a window seat, in a corner is a pillow fort, and in the middle is a coffee table with mints and two chairs.
I start to walk toward the chairs, but the lady stops me.
"No, let's sit over here," she says, smiling at me. She leads me over to the window seat and sits down, motioning me to sit with her. I sit down, fidgeting with the edge of my shirt.
"I know how stressful these things can be," she said. "Your mother said you've had multiple therapists in the past few months."
I nod. I don't know what else to do.
"That sucks," the lady says. "I'm Dr. Jackson. It's nice to meet you, Gemma."
I should say something. But what? "Yeah," I mutter, still not meeting her eyes.
"Today, I just want to get to know you," Dr. Jackson said. She pulled a book from the shelf to her left and flipped through it. "This book is called Divergent. Have you read it?"
I shake my head.
She nods. "It's very good. You know, a lot of people expect a therapist's bookshelves to be filled with psychology books, but mine is filled with science fiction. Do you read a lot?"
I shrugged.
"No?" Dr. Jackson asked. "That's alright. Do you play any sports or anything physical? Softball or basketball or something?"
I shake my head.
"Ah, well, sports are overrated anyway," Dr. Jackson says. "I prefer ballet. Do you like to sing?"
I nod a little.
"Me too!" Dr. Jackson grins even bigger. "But I'm sure you're much better than me. I probably quit choir in high school, I think. Do you play any instruments?"
I nod. "Yeah."
"That's so cool!" Dr. Jackson says enthusiastically. "Which ones?"
"Uh, guitar-" my voice cracked, thinking of my sister's guitar. "D-Drums, and keyboard."
"Is guitar your favorite?" Dr. Jackson asks.
I swallow the lump in my throat and nod. "Yeah."
"Guitar is very fun," Dr. Jackson says. "You should play for me sometime."
I swallow again. "Right."
"You could bring your guitar and-" Dr. Jackson stops. "What's wrong?"
I shake my head. "Nothing."
"It doesn't seem like nothing's wrong," Dr. Jackson says. "I know it's hard opening up, but I would like you to know that this is a safe place. But if you don't want to yet, I understand."
I nod. "Yeah. I'm fine."
"Okay," Dr. Jackson says. "So do you have any siblings?"
I avert my eyes. "Um. Can we cut today short?"
Dr. Jackson nods empathetically. "Of course. I'm sorry if I've made you uncomfortable-"
"No, it's not you," I say, rushing out, Roxy right behind me.
"Baby," Mom stands up. "Is everything okay?"
I nod. "Yeah. Can we just go now?"
Mom nods. "Of course, Baby." She smiles at Dr. Jackson. "I'm so sorry. Thank you for your time."
Dr. Jackson nods. "Of course. I hope to see you again, Gemma."
I nod quickly and run out. I can't- it's all rushing at me at once- why is this so hard? I try to push down my feelings, but it only makes them surface quicker. My hands are shaking. My knees feel like jelly. I would've fallen right there on the pavement if it wasn't for the steady hands that caught me. I look up at my mother. "I'm sorry," I whisper.
"It's okay," Mom says, helping me to my feet. "Let's go."
Mom helps me to the car and I look down at my lap. Roxy sits at my feet, loyal as always.
We had just started driving when Mom got a call. She answered it, and Dr. Lancaster's voice came through.
"Hi, Mrs. Caddel," Dr. Lancaster says. "We have Gemma's results back if you're willing to come back for a little bit?"
"Of course," Mom replies. "We were just leaving her therapist. We'll be there in a few."
"Great," Dr. Lancaster said. "See you then."
We pull into the parking lot and Mom helps me out. Immediately after we walk in, we are greeted by a nurse who takes us back to the same room we were in before.
She smiles at us as she closes the door. "I'll let Dr. Lancaster know you're here."
Roxy presses her head into my thigh. I start petting her, scratching behind her ear. It's more of a comfort to me, I think than it is for her.
"Hi Miss Gemma," Dr. Lancaster says, closing the door behind her. "Hello, Mrs. Caddel. It's nice to see you again." She's holding a professional-looking clipboard and holding a pencil. "So I think I've found the root of many of your problems with social interaction and writing," Dr. Lancaster says, addressing me.
"What is it?" I ask, my eyes trained on Roxy.
"All the tests, and what your mother has said points to a developmental disorder called PDD-NOS," Dr. Lancaster says. "It stands for Pervasive Development Disorder, Not Otherwise Specified. It's an ASD."
"What's an ASD?" I ask, still not meeting her eyes.
"ASD stands for Autism Spectrum Disorder."