“I am an autistic person,” she says, cheerfully, as she sorts the cheese and crackers and carrots into separate cupcake piles. “Separating food textures is one of my things.” “That’s cool,” I say, trying to sound as cheerful as she does. I mean, it is cool—I’m not an expert or anything, but Emma J. in my old class was on the autism spectrum and she was interesting and nice. But also: Agate being cool about her brain stuff makes me feel a little safer about my brain stuff. Not safe enough to get into it or anything—but safer.
