Chapter 1: A Family Script I Can't Escape

My brother is the autistic male lead—he’s never liked talking, not even as a kid. At family get-togethers, while everyone else chattered, Caleb was always the quiet one, fiddling with his Rubik’s cube or lining up his crayons in perfect color order. At first, the grown-ups called him “shy,” but after enough parent-teacher meetings and stiff silences at dinner, we all learned this was just Caleb’s way.

Everyone expected me to somehow fix him, but, unexpectedly—

One time, I got the urge to try sauerkraut juice, but chickened out. So I had a sudden idea: I ordered a big glass for Caleb and, grinning, asked, “Hey, is it good?”

He eyed the glass like it might explode, scrunching his nose and flapping his hands so fast you’d think he was trying to shoo off a swarm of bees. I’d seen that look before, like the time Aunt Lisa tried to make him eat that weird Jell-O salad with canned fruit at Thanksgiving—he’d stared at it like it was radioactive.

Whenever my family started grilling me about marriage, I’d get annoyed and spout nonsense: “My brother found eight guys for me, I haven’t picked one yet.”

My brother’s face turned red, then pale. He looked at me like I’d just started speaking Klingon at the dinner table, his eyes darting to Mom, then back at his mashed potatoes. I felt a twist of guilt—maybe I’d gone too far, but the urge to break the tension was too strong. I tried not to laugh, but couldn’t help grinning at the awkwardness hanging over us.

The chat comments—real-time viewer messages—flashed nonstop before my eyes:

[Bro, is she speedrunning her brother’s meltdown?]

[Sis just dropped a plot twist at the dinner table, LOL.]

[Autistic main character: Am I just the family’s professional scapegoat or what?]

It always amazed me, this invisible audience, like I was living with a running commentary just beneath the surface of reality. If only they knew what it was actually like at our house.

But in that moment, I realized: no script, no audience, could predict what I’d do next.