Auggie & Me (17 page)

When we lived in North River Heights, Dad was usually home by seven p.m. But now he can't get home before nine p.m. because of the long commute from the city. Originally the plan was that that was only going to be a temporary thing, because he was going to be transferred to a Connecticut office, but it's been three years and he still has his old job in Manhattan. Mom and Dad used to argue about that a lot.

On Fridays, Dad leaves work early so that he can pick me up from school. We usually order Chinese food for dinner, jam a little on our guitars, and watch a movie. Mom gets annoyed with Dad that he doesn't make me do my homework over the weekend when I'm with him, so by the time I go back home on Sunday night, I'm always kind of grumpy as I scramble to finish my homework with her. This weekend, for instance, I should have been studying for my math test, but Dad and I went bowling and I just never got around to doing that. My bad.

I got used to the new house in Bridgeport, though. My new friends. Luke the hamster that's not a dog. But what I miss the most about North River Heights is that my parents seemed together then.

Dad moved out of our house last summer. My parents had been fighting a lot before that, but I don't know why he moved out over the summer. Just that one day, out of nowhere, they told me that they were separating. They “needed some time apart” to figure out if they wanted to continue living together. They told me that this had nothing to do with me, and they would “both go on loving me” and seeing me as much as before. They said they still loved each other, but that sometimes marriages are like friendships that get tested, and people have to work through things.

“Good friendships are worth a little extra effort,” I remember saying to them.

I don't think Mom even remembered that she's the one who told me that once.

I listened to “Seven Nation Army” while I did my homework. And I tried not to think too much about how John would react tomorrow when I told him I was joining the other band. I mean, I didn't think I really had a choice. If I stayed in the after-school rock band, it'd just be me and John playing “The Final Countdown” at the spring concert, with Mr. B playing drums, and we'd look like the world's biggest dweebs. We were just not good enough to play by ourselves. I remembered how Harry was trying not to laugh when John played the guitar solo today. If it was just the two of us up there,
all
the kids in the audience would be trying not to laugh.

What I couldn't figure out was what John would do when he found out. Any sane person would just forget about playing in the spring concert on Wednesday at all. But knowing John, I could pretty much bet that he would go ahead and play “The Final Countdown.” He didn't care about making a fool of himself that way. I could picture him singing his heart out, strumming the guitar, with Mr. Bowles rocking out behind him on the keyboards.
Ladies and gentlemen, the after-school rock band!
Just the thought of it made me cringe for him. He would never live that down.

It was hard to concentrate on my homework, so it took me a lot longer than I thought it would. I didn't even start studying for the math test until almost ten p.m. That's when I remembered that I was totally screwed in math. I waited to the last minute to study, and I didn't understand any of it.

Dad was in bed working on his laptop when I opened the door of the guest bedroom. I was holding my ridiculously heavy fifth-grade math textbook in my hands.

“Hey, Dad.”

“You're not in bed yet?” he asked, looking at me over his reading glasses.

“I need some help studying for my math test tomorrow.”

He glanced over at the clock on the bedside table. “Kind of late to be discovering this, no?”

“I had so much homework,” I answered. “And I had to learn the new song for the spring concert, which is the day after tomorrow. There's so much going on, Dad.”

He nodded. Then he put his laptop down and patted the bed for me to sit next to him, which I did. I turned to page 151.

“So,” I said, “I'm having trouble with word problems.”

“Oh, well, I'm great at word problems!” he answered, smiling. “Lay it on me.”

I started reading from the textbook. “Jill wants to buy honey at an outdoor market. One vendor is selling a twenty-six-ounce jar for $3.12. Another vendor is selling a sixteen-ounce jar for $2.40. Which is the better deal, and how much money per ounce will Jill save by choosing it?”

I put the textbook down and looked at Dad, who looked at me blankly.

“Okay, um . . .” he said, scratching his ear. “So, that was twenty-six ounces for . . . what again? I'm going to need a piece of paper. Pass me my notebook over there?”

I reached over to the other end of the bed and passed him his notebook. He started scribbling in it, asked me to repeat the question again, and then kept scribbling.

“Okay, okay, so . . .” he said, turning his notebook around for me to look at his scribbled numbers. “So, first you want to divide the numbers to figure out what the cost per ounce is, then you want . . .”

“Wait, wait,” I said, shaking my head. “That's the part I don't get. When do you know you have to divide? What do you need to do? How do you know?”

He looked down at the scribbles on his notebook again, as if the answer were there.

“Let me see the question?” he said, pushing his reading glasses back up on his nose and looking at where I pointed in the textbook. “Okay, well, you know you have to divide, because, um, well, you want to figure out the price per ounce . . . because it says so right here.” He pointed to the problem.

I looked quickly at where he pointed but shook my head. “I don't get it.”

“Well, look, Chris. Right there. It asks how much the cost per ounce is.”

I shook my head again. “I don't get it!” I said loudly. “I hate this. I suck at this.”

“No, you don't, Chris,” he answered calmly. “You just have to take a deep breath and—”

“No! You don't understand,” I said. “I don't get this at all!”

“Which is why I'm trying to explain it to you.”

“Can I ask Mom?”

He took his eyeglasses off and rubbed his eyes with his wrist. “Chris, she's asleep. We should just let her rest tonight,” he answered slowly. “I'm sure we can figure this out ourselves.”

I started poking my knuckles into my eyes, so he pulled my hands down off my face gently. “Why don't you call one of your friends at school? How about John?”

“He's in the fourth grade!” I said impatiently.

“Okay, well, someone else,” he said.

“No!” I shook my head. “There's no one I can call. I'm not friends with anyone like that this year. I mean, my
friend
friends aren't in the same math class I'm in. And I don't know the kids in this math class that well.”

“Then call your other friends, Chris,” he said, reaching over for his cell phone. “What about Elijah and those guys in the band? I'm sure they've all taken that class.”

“No! Dad! Ugh!” I covered my face with my hands. “I'm totally going to fail this test. I don't get it. I just don't get it.”

“Okay, calm down,” he said. “What about Auggie? He's kind of a math whiz, isn't he?”

“Never mind!” I said, shaking my head. I took the textbook from him. “I'll figure it out myself!”

“Christopher,” he said.

“It's fine, Dad,” I said, getting up. “I'll just figure it out. Or I'll text someone. It's fine.”

“Just like that?”

“It's fine. Thanks, Dad.” I closed the textbook and got up.

“I'm sorry I couldn't help you,” he answered, and for a second, I felt sorry for him. He sounded a little defeated. “I mean, I think we can figure it out together if you give me another chance.”

“No, it's okay!” I answered, walking toward the door.

“Good night, Chris.”

“Night, Dad.”

I went to my room, sat at my desk, and opened the textbook to page 151 again. I tried rereading the word problem, but all I could hear in my head were the words to “Seven Nation Army.” And those made no sense to me, either.

No matter how hard I stared at the problem, I just couldn't think of what to do.

A few weeks before we moved to Bridgeport, Auggie's parents were over at our house helping my parents pack for the big move. Our entire apartment was filled with boxes.

Auggie and I were having a Nerf war in the living room, turning the boxes into hostile aliens on Pluto. Occasionally, one of our Nerf darts would hit Via, who was trying to read her book on the sofa. Okay, maybe we were doing it a little bit on purpose,
tee-hee.

“Stop it!” she finally screamed when one of my darts zinged her book. “Mom!” she yelled.

But Isabel and Nate were all the way on the other side of the apartment with my parents, taking a coffee break in the kitchen.

“Can you guys please stop?” Via said to us seriously.

I nodded, but Auggie shot another Nerf dart at her book.

“That's a fart dart,” said Auggie. This made us both crack up.

Via was furious. “You guys are such geeks,” she said, shaking her head. “
Star Wars.
”

“Not
Star Wars.
Pluto!” answered Auggie, pointing his Nerf blaster at her.

“That's not even a real planet,” she said, opening her book to read.

Auggie shot another Nerf dart at her book. “What are you talking about? Yes, it is.”

“Stop it, Auggie, or I swear I'll . . .”

Auggie lowered his Nerf blaster. “Yes, it is,” he repeated.

“No, it's not,” answered Via. “It
used
to be a planet. I can't believe you two geniuses don't know that after all the space videos you've watched!”

Auggie didn't answer right away, like he was processing what she just said. “But my very educated mother just showed us nine planets! That's how Mommy said people remember the planets in our solar system.”

“My very educated mother just served us nachos!” answered Via. “Look it up. I'm right.” She started looking it up on her phone.

It may be that in all our reading science books and watching videos, this information had made its way to us before. But I guess we never really understood what it meant. We were still little kids when we were in our space phase. We barely knew how to read.

Via started reading aloud from her phone: “From Wikipedia: ‘The understanding that Pluto is only one of several large icy bodies in the outer solar system prompted the International Astronomical Union (IAU) to formally define “planet” in 2006. This definition excluded Pluto and reclassified it as a member of the new “dwarf planet” category (and specifically as a plutoid).' Do I need to go on? Basically what that means is that Pluto was considered too puny to be a real planet, so there. I'm right.”

Auggie looked really upset.

“Mommy!” he yelled out.

“It's not a big deal, Auggie,” said Via, seeing how upset he was getting.

“Yes, it is!” he said, running down the hallway.

Via and I followed him to the kitchen, where our parents were sitting around the table over a bagel and cream cheese spread.

“You said it was ‘my very educated mother just showed us nine planets'!” said Auggie, charging over to Isabel.

Isabel almost spilled her coffee. “What—” she said.

“Why are you making such a big deal about this, Auggie?” Via interrupted.

“What's going on, guys?” asked Isabel, looking from Auggie to Via.

“It
is
a big deal!” Auggie screamed at the top of his lungs. It was so loud and unexpected, that scream, that everyone in the room just looked at one another.

“Whoa, Auggie,” said Nate, putting his hand on Auggie's shoulder. But Auggie shrugged it off.

“You told me Pluto was one of the nine planets!” Auggie yelled at Isabel. “You said it was the littlest planet in the solar system!”

“It is, sweetness,” Isabel answered, trying to get him to calm down.

“No, it's not, Mom,” Via said. “They changed Pluto's planetary status in 2006. It's no longer considered one of the nine planets in our solar system.”

Isabel blinked at Via, and then she looked at Nate. “Really?”

“I knew that,” Nate answered seriously. “They did the same thing to Goofy a few years ago.”

This made all the adults laugh.

“Daddy, this isn't funny!” Auggie shrieked. And then, out of the blue, he started to cry. Big tears. Sobbing crying.

No one understood what was happening. Isabel wrapped her arms around Auggie, and he sobbed into her neck.

“Auggie Doggie,” Nate said, gently rubbing Auggie on the back. “What's going on here, buddy?”

“Via, what happened?” Isabel asked sharply.

“I have no idea!” said Via, opening her eyes wide. “I didn't do anything!”

“Something must have happened!” said Isabel.

“Chris, do you know why Auggie's so upset?” asked Mom.

“Because of Pluto,” I answered.

“But what does that mean?” asked Mom.

I shrugged. I understood why he was so upset, but I couldn't explain it to them exactly.

“You said . . . it was . . . a planet . . .” Auggie finally said in between gulps. Even under ordinary circumstances, Auggie could be hard to understand sometimes. In the middle of a crying fit, it was even harder.

“What, sweetness?” whispered Isabel.

“You said . . . it was . . . a planet,” Auggie repeated, looking up at her.

“I thought it was, Auggie,” she answered, wiping his tears with her fingertips. “I don't know, sweetness. I'm not a real science teacher. When I was growing up, there were nine planets. It never even occurred to me that that could change.”