By Jessica Peers
Expelled from mainstream schooling and vaguely conscious she has anything known as 'Asparagus' Syndrome, 12-year-old Jessica is distributed away to a residential tuition for youth with autism. the following, first and foremost depressing and misunderstood, she spends the following 5 years attempting to take care of the stern university approach - struggling with opposed to faulty instructor interventions, facing the onset of early life and becoming in with the opposite students. Recalling her tuition years with humour and perception, Jessica takes the reader correct within what it appears like to have AS. Her account will open the eyes of readers to the problems, and the rewards, of this situation.
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Additional info for Asparagus Dreams
Actually, it’s just our usual Christmas pantomime, but this year I thought it could be some- 36 ASPARAGUS DREAMS thing quite special. ” Shaun whispered in my ear. I heard something about drugs, white rabbits and Jefferson Airplane. At school, despite being good at drama off the stage, my dreams of a starring role had often been shattered due to my more popular classmates getting the best roles. My name was usually pushed to second-from-bottom where the Christmas Cabaret was concerned. My simplest role had been in The Twelve Days of Christmas, simple enough even for Roger Moore to act with panache.
Sucking in my cheeks, I tried to apply the rouge from the shared make-up box. All the girls shared a large box of cosmetics, each item donated by staff who believed in the blossoming of young beauty. Amongst the quartets of azure-blue eye-shadow and cracked compacts of mandarin face powder, I picked up a greasy red lipstick. It was red. Rouge was French for red, I had learned earlier in lessons. Reluctantly, Calista let me look in the mirror she was hoarding before flashing a smile into it herself.
Quickly, I rose and set my things down by 40 ASPARAGUS DREAMS the bath. Suddenly, horrified, I drew back. The door, I noticed, had NO LOCK! Freezing on the tiles, I searched in disbelief for anything at all resembling that great defender of privacy. I found nothing. I called Eva. Eva laughed at me. There was definitely no lock, nor had there ever been. Devastated, I hung my head and shed a few tears. Eva ignored me and walked away. In a moment of hope, I placed a chair against the door. Eva told me not to.