Wonder Pages 206-213 PDF

North Pole 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 thi...

North Pole 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 206 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. 207 The Auggie Doll 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 208 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 209 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. 210 Lobot 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. My hearing was getting worse, but I hadn’t told anyone about it. The ocean sound that was always in my head had been getting louder. It was drowning out people’s voices, like I was underwater. I couldn’t hear teachers if I sat in the back of the class. But I knew if I told Mom or Dad about it, I’d end up with hearing aids—and I was hoping I could make it through the fifth grade without having that happen. But then in my annual checkup in October I flunked the audiology test and the doctor was like, “Dude, it’s time.” And he sent me to a special ear doctor who took impressions of my ears. Out of all my features, my ears are the ones I hate the most. They’re like tiny closed fists on the sides of my face. They’re too low on my head, too. They look like squashed pieces of pizza dough sticking out of the top of my neck or something. Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating a little. But I really hate them. When the ear doctor first pulled the hearing aids out for me and Mom to look at, I groaned. “I am not wearing that thing,” I announced, folding my arms in front of me. “I know they probably look kind of big,” said the ear doctor, “but we had to attach them to the headband because we had no other way of making them so they’d stay in your ears.” See, normal hearing aids usually have a part that wraps around the outer ear to hold the inner bud in place. But in my case, since I don’t have outer ears, they had to put the earbuds on this heavy-duty headband that was supposed to wrap around the back of my head. 211 “I can’t wear that, Mom,” I whined. “You’ll hardly notice them,” said Mom, trying to be cheerful. “They look like headphones.” “Headphones? Look at them, Mom!” I said angrily. “I’ll look like Lobot!” “Which one is Lobot?” said Mom calmly. “Lobot?” The ear doctor smiled as he looked at the headphones and made some adjustments. “The Empire Strikes Back? The bald guy with the cool bionic radio-transmitter thing that wraps around the back of his skull?” “I’m drawing a blank,” said Mom. “You know Star Wars stuff?” I asked the ear doctor. “Know Star Wars stuff?” he answered, slipping the thing over my head. “I practically invented Star Wars stuff!” He leaned back in his chair to see how the headband fit and then took it off again. “Now, Auggie, I want to explain what all this is,” he said, pointing to the different parts of one of the hearing aids. “This curved piece of plastic over here connects to the tubing on the ear mold. That’s why we took those impressions back in December, so that this part that goes inside your ear fits nice and snug. This part here is called the tone hook, okay? And this thing is the special part we’ve attached to this cradle here.” “The Lobot part,” I said miserably. “Hey, Lobot is cool,” said the ear doctor. “It’s not like we’re saying you’re going to look like Jar Jar, you know? That would be bad.” He slid the earphones on my head again carefully. “There you go, August. So how’s that?” “Totally uncomfortable!” I said. “You’ll get used to them very quickly,” he said. I looked in the mirror. My eyes started tearing up. All I saw were these tubes jutting out from either side of my head—like antennas. “Do I really have to wear this, Mom?” I said, trying not to cry. “I hate them. They don’t make any difference!” “Give it a second, buddy,” said the doctor. “I haven’t even turned them on yet. Wait until you hear the difference: you’ll want to wear them.” 212 “No I won’t!” And then he turned them on. 213