the font. Some weren’t. I don’t think you’re going to benefit from colored lenses, for example.”
“But some people do?” He’d enjoyed the bit where she put up words in different colors and backgrounds, for the prettiness of it, but it hadn’t turned him into a genius.
“Sure. There’s a lot of kinds of dyslexia.”
“And if you know enough about mine, you might fix it.”
She shook her head. “Come on, Brian. You’re a smart guy. You know it’s not something we’ll fix.”
You’re a smart guy. He shouldn’t get pleasure out of hearing that, but it was such a relief now, to be Brian and not Bry and not feel like he had to squash down in that confining box. “What comes next?”
“I’ll go through your evaluation results. Then I’ll work out a personalized plan for you.”
“Like homework?” He smiled to show he was fine with that. Anything, if it would help him be a complete, functioning adult. No matter what Nick said about being glad to help, there was stuff Brian really wanted to be able to do for himself.
“Like choosing tools and strategies. Some will be devices to help you get around needing to read, like text-to-voice for more than just your text messages. You’re allowed to use accommodations in some official settings too, like a written driving test.”
“Isn’t that, like, cheating?”
“Is it cheating when a person wears glasses to drive? Or when someone who speaks a different language gets a translation? This is life. You just need to get through it. You’re not being graded on style points.”
“Oh.” He’d loved the first time Damon put text-to-speech on his phone, but with a bitter twist underneath, because it always felt like a cheat to him.
“We’ll find exercises and a work plan to help you hone the skills you have, and address the things that give you the most trouble.”
“I can’t afford a lot of sessions with you.” He’d saved up for this evaluation, but the house needed more work and materials weren’t cheap, and Nick’s trailer still hadn’t sold. He was proud of how his small earnings went into the home he and Nick shared. He’d rather be ignorant all his life than give that up.
“I’d advise at least one more hour,” Wendy said. “Let me choose some materials, tips, and programs for you, and go through them with you. The programs you’ve been using on the internet aren’t bad, but they’re not tailored for your specific form of dyslexia.”
“Okay.” That was actually a relief. He’d tried so hard, for so long, working through some of those, and not made a lot of progress. Maybe it was because he’d picked the wrong ones. “One more hour. That sounds good.”
He stood up, and she did the same, holding out her hand. “It’s been good to meet you, Brian, and I promise, while your dyslexia won’t go away, you can learn to work around it with much more success than you’ve had so far.”
“Thanks.” He bit his lip, then asked the question that had nagged at him for so long. “I heard, maybe, that it’s inherited? Like, from your parents?”
She hesitated. “That’s a tough question. We’re sure there are some genes that affect language learning, but no one can say yet how big a role they play. Was one of your parents dyslexic?”
I don’t know anything about my dad. That wasn’t what mattered. “No. But—” Make it a random question. “If one day I wanted to have a kid, will they have problems like mine?” He held his breath. Is Joshie going to struggle like I did?
As if it wasn’t a big deal, Wendy smiled. “We can’t predict that. But if they do, you’re going to be far more likely to spot those early on, right? And to know how to get them the help they need to succeed. Any child of yours will be a lucky little kid and grow up just fine.”
That was kind of a non-answer but it made him feel better. Yeah, he was going to be around to watch Joshie grow up, and if he had any sign of dyslexia, Brian was prepared to breathe down his teachers’ necks to make sure they helped him.
Out on the street, he glanced around, then found a quiet spot beside the building. Nick was waiting for a call to pick him up, but he wanted to make a different call first. He pulled out his phone and found Dr. Murphy’s contacts. Yes? No? Odds were he’d get her voice mail at