Defective Brain Club (short story) - eBook

When a school shooter claims the life of Cody's older brother and other innocent students, the faculty goes on high alert. With Cody, an autistic teen, fitting the profile of a potential future shooter, he soon finds himself wishing he was the one killed that day.

In this young adult short, readers will follow Cody as he navigates the world of misunderstanding and misinterpreting his autism. A collector of knives, socially awkward and the perfect suspect, Cody must find a way to prove his innocence before it's too late.

If you enjoyed books from Robert Cormier or S.E. Hinton, you will love this powerful story. Buy now before the price changes!

Note: this story is also collected in How to Make Friends with Teenage Anarchists.

My dad wasn’t taking it so well. He sobbed alone in the living room or the bathroom. Oddly, unlike my mother. She seemed depressed and sometimes talked less than me if you can believe that. Did they wish I was the one shot in school and not my older brother?

Ronny was a senior with a sports scholarship to Rutgers for next year. He played baseball. In the top three of his class. Had a girlfriend named Dana and, no, she was not a cheerleader. Just an auburn-haired girl with a pretty face and body who smiled like she should be on a box of maxi pads. He had lots of friends, went out with them often. He was somewhat perfect. Likable. Sometimes I liked him. He fit the stereotype of the perfect son.

Then there’s me. A freshman in high school. Not so tall. A little chunky. Talked little. Had trouble remembering to shower every day. No friends except for the few friendly faces in classes that I said Hi to in passing. I ate at the same table with the same loser kids but I didn’t talk to them. Not because I didn’t like them or they treated me like crap. I had no words. When I started high school my brother tried to get me in with his lunch table of jocks and hangers-on. Since I talked little and struggled to keep my aggravation in check when I listened to their stupid conversations about other races and social issues, I left it after the first day.

Oh, and I am on the spectrum. Last year my parents got me checked out. When I couldn’t remember assignments and had trouble following what teachers said, my grades decreased and it caused alarm. A neurologist tested me and said I was autistic. Asperger's Syndrome to be specific. The doctor stressed that name to my parents in hopes to calm them. Maybe they wouldn’t think of that old movie about the autistic guy who counted matchsticks on the floor. Pretty sure I was nothing like him.

I had no idea what autism was about so why would my parents? The doctor made it sound like they didn’t have to worry, that I wouldn’t be some kind of retard lost in the world. That I wouldn’t struggle so much. But I struggled all the time. Even with a high-functioning diagnosis like Asperger's. Whatever high-functioning means. Makes it sound like I’m a robot that can handle anything. I sure didn’t feel high-functioning.

The doctor wrote out a prescription and I went through more tests with the child study team at school. In the end, they gave me an Individualized Education Plan. I guess it helped. The teachers remembered my special needs, talked to me differently, and always reminded me about things, and my grades stabilized.

So yeah. If I was shot to death in school instead of my brother that probably would have been better for them and the teachers. They wouldn’t have to work so hard for my benefit. But no. The defective kid lived.