Page 101 of Dare To Fall

“Dys-what?” She blinks at me.

My fingers drum on the countertop next to the list of ingredients.

“You know what dyslexia is, right?”

“Yes, I know that one.”

“Dyscalculia is similar, but it’s a problem with numbers instead of words.”

“But … you always get A’s in math.”

“Kellan gets A’s.” My voice is dry. “It’s going to be easier to show you.” I pick up the cup and examine it. “You said a cup and a half, right?”

She nods. I pour flour into the cup until it’s full.

“That’s one cup.” Looking around, I reach for the bowl and dump it in. “Now what?”

“Another half cup.”

“Right.” I look at the flour and then the cup. “I don’t know how much I need to put in for half a cup.”

She takes the bag of flour from me and measures out the amount she wants, then adds it to the flour already in the bowl. I pick up the list of ingredients.

“See, the problem is the numbers you’ve written down …” I run my finger down the list. “They’re just meaningless symbols right now.”

“Right now?”

“Sometimes they’re clear.” I give her a half smile. “When stress levels are low. But if I’m tense, or stressed, or even tired … it might as well be a foreign language.”

“That must be difficult.” She reaches past me for the baking powder. “We need three and a half teaspoons of this.”

I pull open the drawer with the silverware and study the contents. “Which one?”

She frowns at me. “This isn’t a trick, is it? You knew exactly what piece of silverware to use when we dined out with your dad and Elena.”

“That’s only because they’re placed in a specific order, and I learned it as a kid. I couldn’t tell you what any of them are called. That has nothing to do with my disability, and everything to do with me being too fucking lazy to care.”

“Teaspoon is the smallest spoon.” She points, and I lift one out and hand it to her. “Is it just counting and measuring, then?”

I shake my head and stretch out my arm, turning it so it’s palm up. With my left hand, I tap my inner right wrist, and then do the same on my left. There are two small tattoos there. The letters L and R. Her fingers trace over them.

“I have a pretty good internal sense of direction. I can take a walk through the woods and find my way back easily enough, but if I’m asked to specifically go left or right, my mind sometimes blanks. Time is another problem. I have to set alarms. I can tell you I’ll be there in ten minutes, or half an hour, but unless that alarm is set, you might see me in two minutes or three hours.”

She continues combining ingredients while I explain, then pauses to look at me. “That day in class … when we were called up to answer the math equation. You answered it.”

I shake my head. “You answered it. If you recall, I made you hold the marker with me. I didn’t write the answer, you did.”

“Oh!” Stepping around me, she fiddles with the knob on the stovetop until one of the rings lights. “Can you get the pan down for me?”

I reach up for the pan she wants and place it on the stove. She adds a drop of oil, then hands me the bowl full of ingredients and a wooden spoon. “Mix it up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

While I mix the batter, she takes out two plates and sets them on the breakfast bar.

“That’s enough. Now we need to pour a quarter cup of the batter into the pan.”

“A quarter?”

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