Luckily, another teacher had seen what the sixth-graders were up to, and they were taken out of the auditorium, too - to the principal's office, I hoped.

I felt so angry I wanted to scream at those kids. I wanted to shout, "Haven't you ever been teased? Hasn't anyone ever thrown a spitball at you? I hope someday someone finds out something you're sensitive about and blabs it to the whole school. I hope they publish it in the newspaper!" I was also upset. I had just seen a drawback to going to a handicapped class in a "regular" school. The "normal" kids could tease or laugh at the handicapped ones. That wouldn't hap-pend to Susan if her parents sent her away to school. But I still thought she should stay at home.

When the assembly was over I gathered up my courage, told my friends I'd see them later, and stepped up to the teacher of the handicapped kids.

"Excuse me," I said. "I know you're busy, but I was wondering a couple of things about your class." I thought the teacher might be aggravated with me for interrupting her when she had so much to do, but she looked pleased that I was interested.

I relaxed. "That boy," I whispered, trying to point without his seeing me. "Is he autistic?" "Yes," replied the teacher, looking surprised. "How did you know?" I told her a little about Susan. Then I asked a couple of questions about how she and the aid ran their classroom.

"Would you like to visit our room sometime?" she offered. "Maybe during a study hall? You'd be welcome." "Well . . . sure," I replied. "I would like that." At the end of school that day, during the mad rush of opening and closing lockers, Mary Anne and Dawn caught up with me just as I was closing my own locker.

"Hey, look!" cried Dawn.

Mary Anne and I turned in the direction Dawn was looking. There were Mallory and Ben walking through the hall together, their hands touching lightly.

"Notice anything?" said Dawn.