Mia

      “Hey Jonah! This fish looks just like you!”

      Glancing to my left, I snicker as Greg pushes his face against the glass, a blob with fins swimming past on the other side of the exhibit’s glass, its body much too big for its tiny fins (the blob bears no resemblance to me).

      “Screw you.” I shove his shoulder and his face peels off the glass, leaving a ghostly mark of Greg’s smirk and acne, highlighted by the rays of light shining through the water of the expansive aquarium exhibit, the water stretching over the darkened hall with comical fish swaying with the seaweed.

       “Hey! Quit fooling around!” We turn, while snickering, to see Ms. Heim glaring at us from behind the group, past the couples and families lining the hall. Tapping her foot, she’s irritated by the tone of her voice. Her hands rest on her stout hips as she jerks her head in the direction of the group, an indication to keep up. Greg and I look at each other, a mistake as we turn red trying not to laugh while we scuffle ahead to the group. 

      “F*cking hag.” Greg whispers. Uhh. 

      “Yeah totally.” I replied. Greg tended to say whatever he wanted without thinking much about it.

      The attendant continues speaking (the importance of seaweed!) as we edge the borders of the huddled group, the other students glancing at us and then shifting over. Greg wraps his arm around my shoulder, mimicking the gross couples we pass, and we sway comically together, not listening to the attendant. Our school, which ranges between grades 6 to 9, have science classes visiting the Aquatic Landscape Aquarium today, and as 9th graders, Greg said to me, we’re too old to be entertained by the enthusiastic descriptions of bottom feeders. 

       Music hums over the speakers in the exhibit, the extended notes and what sound like wind chimes murmur in the background of the low chatter between couples on dates, and families with tiny children grabbing at the glass and sea life beyond. The bright water dyes everyone’s faces in a shade of blue as their eyes glint with wonder. Mia would love this.

       “And that’s how seaweed plays an important role in oceanic ecosystems.” The attendant finishes off with a wave of her hand towards the exit of this exhibit, the dark hall opening up into a bright expanse of people gathered in the commons of the aquariums where most of the entrances to the exhibits meet. 

       “Thank you, Ms. Lock,” Ms. Heim heads to the front of the group and claps her hands, “Now everybody if you can follow—”

       “Hey” Greg whispers to me and shoves my shoulder. “Get a load of that.” He juts his chin in the direction of a flustered family across the hall, the darkened entrance behind them labeled Jellyfish Exhibit. A mother is kneeling in front of her upset child, who is flailing his hands at his sides and rocking back and forth on his feet, his bright yellow rain jacket stark against the clothing of the crowd. The father lingers near his son as well, the two parent’s faces doused in concern and embarrassment as they try to calm him down. A few groups of people are starting to stop, ogling and whispering at the boy as his face reddens and he begins to gently smack the sides of his ears. The motions of the boy are familiar. He must be having a sensory overload. “What a re****. Those parents need to take that mess somewhere else.”

      I furrow my brows and continue staring ahead, contemplating what my friend just said. Greg snickers to himself, along with a few of the other guys. As if in slow motion I watch as the father looks up at our school trip, his mouth tipping downward at the sight of Greg and the guys sneering. His face goes red before shifting his attention back to the raincoat kid, and he swiftly lifts the kid up, the mother worriedly following behind as they slink out of sight. That’s how my parents used to carry Mia. 

       “—loser.” I glance and see Greg and the guys mimicking the movements of the kid, jumping up and down like monkeys. 

       “HEY. Quit it and keep up with the group, kids.” Ms. Heim leads the group of students towards the next exhibit, and we start walking again. 

      “What’s wrong with your face?” Greg punches my arm, and I relax my face after realizing it had become stuck with a simmering anger.

      “Mm,” I rub my arm and turn to Greg, “You got that the kid was autistic right?” 

      “Ha, explains the sh*t he was doing.”

      “Well why the f*ck are you mocking an autistic kid?” My voice raises a little and Ms. Heim whips her head around and waves her finger.

      “The f*ck's your problem?” Greg’s voice lowers, backing up and crossing his arms, the definition of muscles in his arms reflecting his large frame. I pause to try and calm down, imagining the breathing techniques my mom taught Mia to relax. The other guys staying at the back of the class group glance between Greg and I while pretending to pay attention to the front, which has stopped outside the next exhibit. Before I can respond to Greg, however, a few other class groups from our school come out of the exhibit we were just in. It’s the class from grade 6. A flash of red pigtails with junky oversized headphones bobs in the crowd until wide eyes are connecting with mine. Mia. 

      She doesn’t wave me over, displays of familiarity hard for her. Instead she waits and stares at me. I look back at Greg, my eye twitching, and then glance over his head to see if Ms. Heim is paying attention. Satisfied with the back of her head, I sneak over to the class of 6th graders waiting for their teacher, passing through the crowd.

      “Hello Jonah.” Mia’s formal tone makes her sound older than she is, and as if she didn’t know her own older brother she stares at a blank spot somewhere near my ribs, twiddling her fingers and switching off between feet. Her fading blue headphones that cancel out too loud of noises sit on her ratty red hair, oversized and a little silly, but they’re her favorite pair. They’re the same brand that a lot of other autistic kids wear.

      “Hey Mi-mi.” I smile down at her, although it feels a little forced with the stinging of the recent events fresh in my mind. “Did you like that exhibit?”

      “The music was too loud and there were too many people.” She recites her thoughts like a robot, but that’s just Mia. A crash comes from somewhere in the common hall, and Mia flinches and knocks her fists against her thighs, a method taught to her by our mom for when Mia gets stressed out in public. I know she won’t accept help if I offer, so I glance back at Ms. Heim, who’s counting the students now. 

      “Okay Mia, I have to get back to my own group.” I say while turning back to her. Her eyes are locked on my class. 

      “Who is that?” She says it as more of a statement than a question, but I turn back to look. Greg. He’s staring, his eyebrows furrowed and his mouth slightly agape. Mm. I wonder if he recognized the headphones.

      “Don’t worry about him, Mi-mi.” With a quick pat on Mia’s head, not too hard, I swing through the crowd of people again. As I pull up behind the class as Ms. Heim finishes counting, Greg is avoiding eye contact. 

      “Who was the younger girl, Jonah?” One of the other guys asks.

      “My little sister.” There’s venom in my words. I glare at the back of Greg’s head. His shoulders shrink in on themselves ever so slightly, something only I would notice with the amount of time I spend with Greg. Spent with Greg. The guy looks between Greg and I, and sensing the animosity, pretends to be involved in another conversation as we head into the next exhibit. I walk at the very edge of the group, solidarity for my sister. I’m done with him. The resolute darkness of the entrance arch swallows the class, leaving the perplexing fickleness of the common hall behind.