Wonder (20 page)

you know olivia’s brother? i ask.

via didn’t tell you? we used to be good friends. i’ve known auggie since he was a baby.

oh, yeah, i think i knew that, i answer. i don’t want to let on that olivia had not told me any of this. i don’t want to let on how surprised i am that she called her via. nobody but olivia’s family calls her via, and here this pink-haired girl, who i thought was a stranger, is calling her via.

miranda laughs and shakes her head but she doesn’t say anything. there’s an awkward silence and then she starts fishing through her bag and pulls out her wallet. she rifles through a couple of pictures and then hands one to me. it’s of a little boy in a park on a sunny day. he’s wearing shorts and a t-shirt—and an astronaut helmet that covers his entire head.

it was like a hundred degrees that day, she says, smiling at the picture. but he wouldn’t take that helmet off for anything. he wore it for like two years straight, in the winter, in the summer, at the beach. it was crazy.

yeah, i’ve seen pictures in olivia’s house.

i’m the one who gave him that helmet, she says. she sounds a little proud of that. she takes the picture and carefully inserts it back into her wallet.

cool, i answer.

so you’re okay with it? she says, looking at me.

i look at her blankly. okay with what?

she raises her eyebrows like she doesn’t believe me. you know what i’m talking about, she says, and takes a long drink from her water bottle. let’s face it, she continues, the universe was not kind to auggie pullman.

why didn’t you tell me that you and miranda navas used to be friends? i say to olivia the next day. i’m really annoyed at her for not telling me this.

it’s not a big deal, she answers defensively, looking at me like i’m weird.

it is a big deal, i say. i looked like an idiot. how could you not tell me? you’ve always acted like you don’t even know her.

i don’t know her, she answers quickly. i don’t know who that pink-haired cheerleader is. the girl i knew was a total dork who collected american girl dolls.

oh come on, olivia.

you come on!

you could have mentioned it to me at some point, i say quietly, pretending not to notice the big fat tear that’s suddenly rolling down her cheek.

she shrugs, fighting back bigger tears.

it’s okay, i’m not mad, i say, thinking the tears are about me.

i honestly don’t care if you’re mad, she says spitefully.

oh, that’s real nice, i fire back.

she doesn’t say anything. the tears are about to come.

olivia, what’s the matter? i say.

she shakes her head like she doesn’t want to talk about it, but all of a sudden the tears start rolling a mile a minute.

i’m sorry, it’s not you, justin. i’m not crying because of you, she finally says through her tears.

then why are you crying?

because i’m an awful person.

what are you talking about?

she’s not looking at me, wiping her tears with the palm of her hand.

i haven’t told my parents about the show, she says quickly.

i shake my head because i don’t quite get what she’s telling me. that’s okay, i say. it’s not too late, there are still tickets available—

i don’t want them to come to the show, justin, she interrupts impatiently. don’t you see what i’m saying? i don’t want them to come! if they come, they’ll bring auggie with them, and i just don’t feel like …

here she’s hit by another round of crying that doesn’t let her finish talking. i put my arm around her.

i’m an awful person! she says through her tears.

you’re not an awful person, i say softly.

yes i am! she sobs. it’s just been so nice being in a new school where nobody knows about him, you know? nobody’s whispering about it behind my back. it’s just been so nice, justin. but if he comes to the play, then everyone will talk about it, everyone will know.… i don’t know why i’m feeling like this.… i swear i’ve never been embarrassed by him before.

i know, i know, i say, soothing her. you’re entitled, olivia. you’ve dealt with a lot your whole life.

olivia reminds me of a bird sometimes, how her feathers get all ruffled when she’s mad. and when she’s fragile like this, she’s a little lost bird looking for its nest.

so i give her my wing to hide under.

i can’t sleep tonight. my head is full of thoughts that won’t turn off. lines from my monologues. elements of the periodic table that i’m supposed to be memorizing. theorems i’m supposed to be understanding. olivia. auggie.

miranda’s words keep coming back: the universe was not kind to auggie pullman.

i’m thinking about that a lot and everything it means. she’s right about that. the universe was not kind to auggie pullman. what did that little kid ever do to deserve his sentence? what did the parents do? or olivia? she once mentioned that some doctor told her parents that the odds of someone getting the same combination of syndromes that came together to make auggie’s face were like one in four million. so doesn’t that make the universe a giant lottery, then? you purchase a ticket when you’re born. and it’s all just random whether you get a good ticket or a bad ticket. it’s all just luck.

my head swirls on this, but then softer thoughts soothe, like a flatted third on a major chord. no, no, it’s not all random, if it really was all random, the universe would abandon us completely. and the universe doesn’t. it takes care of its most fragile creations in ways we can’t see. like with parents who adore you blindly. and a big sister who feels guilty for being human over you. and a little gravelly-voiced kid whose friends have left him over you. and even a pink-haired girl who carries your picture in her wallet. maybe it is a lottery, but the universe makes it all even out in the end. the universe takes care of all its birds.

What a piece of work is a man! how noble in reason! how

infinite in faculty! in form and moving how express and

admirable! in action how like an angel! in apprehension

how like a god! the beauty of the world! …

—Shakespeare,
Hamlet

The Spud Lamp was a big hit at the science fair. Jack and I got an A for it. It was the first A Jack got in any class all year long, so he was psyched.

All the science-fair projects were set up on tables in the gym. It was the same setup as the Egyptian Museum back in December, except this time there were volcanoes and molecule dioramas on the tables instead of pyramids and pharaohs. And instead of the kids taking our parents around to look at everybody else’s artifact, we had to stand by our tables while all the parents wandered around the room and came over to us one by one.

Here’s the math on that one: Sixty kids in the grade equals sixty sets of parents—and doesn’t even include grandparents. So that’s a minimum of one hundred and twenty pairs of eyes that find their way over to me. Eyes that aren’t as used to me as their kids’ eyes are by now. It’s like how compass needles always point north, no matter which way you’re facing. All those eyes are compasses, and I’m like the North Pole to them.

That’s why I still don’t like school events that include parents. I don’t hate them as much as I did at the beginning of the school year. Like the Thanksgiving Sharing Festival: that was the worst one, I think. That was the first time I had to face the parents all at once. The Egyptian Museum came after that, but that one was okay because I got to dress up as a mummy and nobody noticed me. Then came the winter concert, which I totally hated because I had to sing in the chorus. Not only can I not sing at all, but it felt like I was on display. The New Year
Art Show wasn’t quite as bad, but it was still annoying. They put up our artwork in the hallways all over the school and had the parents come and check it out. It was like starting school all over again, having unsuspecting adults pass me on the stairway.

Anyway, it’s not that I care that people react to me. Like I’ve said a gazillion times: I’m used to that by now. I don’t let it bother me. It’s like when you go outside and it’s drizzling a little. You don’t put on boots for a drizzle. You don’t even open your umbrella. You walk through it and barely notice your hair getting wet.

But when it’s a huge gym full of parents, the drizzle becomes like this total hurricane. Everyone’s eyes hit you like a wall of water.

Mom and Dad hang around my table a lot, along with Jack’s parents. It’s kind of funny how parents actually end up forming the same little groups their kids form. Like my parents and Jack’s and Summer’s mom all like and get along with each other. And I see Julian’s parents hang out with Henry’s parents and Miles’s parents. And even the two Maxes’ parents hang out together. It’s so funny.

I told Mom and Dad about it later when we were walking home, and they thought it was a funny observation.

I guess it’s true that like seeks like, said Mom.

For a while, the “war” was all we talked about. February was when it was really at its worst. That’s when practically nobody was talking to us, and Julian had started leaving notes in our lockers. The notes to Jack were stupid, like:
You stink, big cheese!
and
Nobody likes you anymore!

I got notes like:
Freak!
And another that said:
Get out of our school, orc!

Summer thought we should report the notes to Ms. Rubin, who was the middle-school dean, or even Mr. Tushman, but we thought that would be like snitching. Anyway, it’s not like we didn’t leave notes, too, though ours weren’t really mean. They were kind of funny and sarcastic.

One was:
You’re so pretty, Julian! I love you. Will you marry me? Love, Beulah

Another was:
Love your hair!
XOX
Beulah

Another was:
You’re a babe. Tickle my feet. XO Beulah

Beulah was a made-up person that me and Jack came up with. She had really gross habits, like eating the green stuff in between her toes and sucking on her knuckles. And we figured someone like that would have a real crush on Julian, who looked and acted like someone in a KidzBop commercial.

There were also a couple of times in February when Julian, Miles, and Henry played tricks on Jack. They didn’t play tricks on me, I think, because they knew that if they got caught “bullying” me, it would be big-time trouble for them. Jack, they figured, was an easier target. So one time they stole his gym shorts
and played Monkey in the Middle with them in the locker room. Another time Miles, who sat next to Jack in homeroom, swiped Jack’s worksheet off his desk, crumpled it in a ball, and tossed it to Julian across the room. This wouldn’t have happened if Ms. Petosa had been there, of course, but there was a substitute teacher that day, and subs never really know what’s going on. Jack was good about this stuff. He never let them see he was upset, though I think sometimes he was.

The other kids in the grade knew about the war. Except for Savanna’s group, the girls were neutral at first. But by March they were getting sick of it. And so were some of the boys. Like another time when Julian was dumping some pencil-sharpener shavings into Jack’s backpack, Amos, who was usually tight with them, grabbed the backpack out of Julian’s hands and returned it to Jack. It was starting to feel like the majority of boys weren’t buying into Julian anymore.

Then a few weeks ago, Julian started spreading this ridiculous rumor that Jack had hired some “hit man” to “get” him and Miles and Henry. This lie was so pathetic that people were actually laughing about him behind his back. At that point, any boys who had still been on his side now jumped ship and were clearly neutral. So by the end of March, only Miles and Henry were on Julian’s side—and I think even they were getting tired of the war by then.

I’m pretty sure everyone’s stopped playing the Plague game behind my back, too. No one really cringes if I bump into them anymore, and people borrow my pencils without acting like the pencil has cooties.

People even joke around with me now sometimes. Like the other day I saw Maya writing a note to Ellie on a piece of Uglydoll stationery, and I don’t know why, but I just kind of randomly said: “Did you know the guy who created the Uglydolls based them on me?”

Maya looked at me with her eyes wide open like she totally believed me. Then, when she realized I was only kidding, she thought it was the funniest thing in the world.

“You are so funny, August!” she said, and then she told Ellie and some of the other girls what I had just said, and they all thought it was funny, too. Like at first they were shocked, but then when they saw I was laughing about it, they knew it was okay to laugh about it, too. And the next day I found a little Uglydoll key chain sitting on my chair with a nice little note from Maya that said:
For the nicest Auggie Doll in the world! XO Maya
.

Six months ago stuff like that would never have happened, but now it happens more and more.

Also, people have been really nice about the hearing aids I started wearing.

Ever since I was little, the doctors told my parents that someday I’d need hearing aids. I don’t know why this always freaked me out a bit: maybe because anything to do with my ears bothers me a lot.