Auggie & Me (23 page)

“What? No!” I answered immediately.

“Exactly,” she said, like she had just proved a point.

“But not because of how he looks,” I said, flustered. “Just because we don't have anything in common!”

“Oh, come on!” laughed Ximena. “That's
so
not true.”

I didn't know what she was getting at.

“Would
you
go out with him?” I asked. “Of course not,” she answered calmly. “But I'm not about to be hypocritical about it.”

I glanced at Summer, who gave me an
ouch, that hurts
look.

“Hey, I don't want to be mean,” continued Ximena matter-of-factly. “But when you say,
Oh, I would never call him a freak
, it totally makes me look like a jerk because I had obviously just called him that, and it's kind of annoying because everyone knows that Mr. Tushman
asked
you to be his welcome buddy and
that's
why you don't call him a freak like everybody else does. Summer became friends with him without anyone forcing her to be his welcome buddy, which is why she's a saint.”

“I'm not a saint,” Summer answered quickly. “And I don't think Charlotte would have called him that, even if Mr. Tushman hadn't asked her to be a welcome buddy.”

“See? You're being a saint even now,” said Ximena.

“I don't think I would have called him a freak,” I said quietly.

Ximena crossed her arms. She was looking at me with a knowing smile.

“You know, you're nicer to him when you're in front of teachers,” she said very seriously. “It's been noticed.”

Before I could answer—not that I even knew what I
would
have answered—Mrs. Atanabi burst into the performance space through the double doors in the back of the auditorium.

“So sorry I'm late, so sorry I'm late!” she announced breathlessly, covered in snow. She looked like a little snowman as she walked down the stairs carrying four ridiculously full tote bags.

Ximena and Summer ran up the stairs to help her, but I turned around and walked out to the hallway. I pretended to drink at the water fountain, but what I really needed to gulp down was air. Ice-cold air. Because I could feel my cheeks burning, like they were on fire. It felt like I'd just gotten slapped in the face. I could see out the hallway window that the snow really was coming down hard now, and a part of me just wanted to run outside and ice-skate away.

Is that how
other
people saw me? Like I was this hypocritical fake or something? Or was that just Ximena being her typical snarky self?

You're nicer to him when you're in front of teachers. It's been noticed.

Is that true? Has it been noticed? I mean, have there been a couple of times when I was being especially nice to Auggie Pullman because I knew it would get back to Mr. Tushman that I was being a good welcome buddy? Maybe. I don't know!

But even if that were the case, at least I can say I've
been
nice to him! That's more than most people can say! That's more than Ximena can say! I still remember that time she was partnered with Auggie in dance class and looked like she was about to throw up. I've never done anything like that to Auggie!

Okay, so maybe I
am
a little nicer to Auggie when teachers are around. Is that
so
horrible?

It's been noticed?
What does that even mean? Noticed by
who
? Savanna? Ellie? Is that what they say about me? Is that what they were talking about in the lunchroom yesterday, when they were so obviously talking about me that even Maya—who can be so clueless about social stuff—felt sorry for me?

Here this whole time I had assumed that Ximena Chin didn't even know who I was! And now, it turns out,
I've been noticed.
More than I ever wanted to be.

I walked back inside the performance space as Mrs. Atanabi finished unwrapping herself from all her wintry layers. Her coat, her scarf, and her sweater were all scattered around her on the floor, which was wet from the snow she had brought inside with her.

“Oh my gosh, oh my gosh!” she kept saying over and over again, fanning herself with both hands. “It's really starting to come down now.”

She plopped onto the piano bench in front of the stage and caught her breath. “Oh my gosh, I do hate being late!”

I saw Ximena and Summer exchange knowing looks.

“When I was little,” Mrs. Atanabi continued, talking in that chatterbox way of hers that some people loved and some people thought made her seem crazy, “my mother actually used to charge my sister and me one dollar every time we were late for something. Literally,
every
time I was late—even if it was just for dinner—I had to pay my mom a dollar!” She laughed and started redoing her bun, holding a couple of bobby pins in her teeth while she talked. “When your entire allowance for the week is only three bucks, you learn to budget your time! That's why I'm conditioned to
hate
being late!”

“And yet,” Ximena pointed out, smiling in that sly way of hers, “you were still late today. Maybe we should charge you a dollar from now on?”

“Ha-ha-ha!” laughed Mrs. Atanabi good-naturedly, flicking off her boots. “Yes, I was late, Ximena! And that's actually not a bad idea. Maybe I
should
give all three of you a dollar!”

Ximena kind of laughed, assuming she was joking.

“In fact,” Mrs. Atanabi said, reaching for her pocketbook, “I think I'm going to give
each
one of you girls a dollar bill
every
time I'm late to a rehearsal. From now on! That'll force me to be on time!”

Summer shot me a quizzical look. We started to realize that Mrs. Atanabi, who had pulled out her wallet, was serious.

“Oh no, Mrs. Atanabi,” said Summer, shaking her head. “You don't have to do that.”

“I know! But I'm going to!” answered Mrs. Atanabi, smiling. “Now, here's the rub. I'll agree to give each of you a dollar every time
I'm
late to a rehearsal if you agree to give me a dollar every time
you're
late for a rehearsal.”

“Are you allowed to do that?” Ximena asked incredulously. “Take money from a student?”

I was thinking the same thing.

“Why not?” answered Mrs. Atanabi. “You're in private school. You can afford it!
Probably more than I can.
” This last part she muttered. And then she started cracking up.

Mrs. Atanabi was kind of famous for laughing at her own jokes. You pretty much had to get used to it.

She pulled three crisp dollar bills out of her wallet and held them up in the air for us to see.

“So, what do you girls say?” she said. “Is it a deal?”

Ximena looked at both of us. “I know
I'm
never going to be late,” she said to us.

“I'm not going to be late, either!” said Summer.

I shrugged, still unable to look Ximena in the eyes. “Me, neither,” I said.

“Then it's a deal!” said Mrs. Atanabi, walking over to us.

“For you,
mademoiselle
,” she said to Ximena, handing her a spanking-new dollar bill.

“
Merci!
” said Ximena, shooting us a quick smile, which I pretended not to see.

Then Mrs. Atanabi walked over to me and Summer.

“For you, and for you,” she said, handing us each a dollar bill.

“God bless America,” we both answered at the same time.

Wait. What?

We looked at each other, our mouths and eyes open wide. Suddenly everything that occurred in the last half-hour seemed to lose any importance—if what I
think
just happened
did
just happen.

“The accordion-man?” I whispered excitedly.

Summer gasped and nodded happily. “The accordion-man!”

It's funny how you can know someone your whole life, but not
really
know them at all. Here, this whole time, I've been living in a parallel world to Summer Dawson, a nice girl I've known since kindergarten who I've always thought looked like the Lavender Fairy. But we'd never actually become
friend
friends! Not for any particular reason. It just worked out that way. The same way that Ellie and I were
destined
to be friends because Ms. Diamond had sat us next to each other on the first day of school, Summer and I were
destined
not to get to know each other because we were never in the same classes. Except for PE and swim, and assembly and concerts and stuff like that, our paths never crossed in lower school. Our moms weren't really friends, so we never had playdates. Sure, I invited her to my Flower Fairy birthday party once. But it really was because Ellie and I thought she looked like the Lavender Fairy! And sure, we'd hang out a bit at other people's bowling parties and at sleepovers and stuff. We were Facebook friends. We had lots of people in common. We were totally
friendly.

But we were never actually
friends.

So, when she said “God bless America,” it almost felt like I was meeting her for the first time in my life. Imagine finding out that there was someone else in the world who knew a secret that only you knew! It was like an invisible bridge had instantly been built connecting us. Or, like we had stumbled onto a tiny door in the back of a wardrobe and an accordion-playing faun had welcomed us to Narnia.

Before Summer and I could say anything else on the subject of the accordion-man, Mrs. Atanabi brushed her hands together and said it was time to “get to work.” We spent the rest of the rehearsal time, since there was only half an hour left, listening to Mrs. Atanabi give us a quick overview of the dance while also periodically checking the weather app on her phone. We didn't really do any actual dancing: just some basic steps and a little rough blocking.

“We'll start getting into it next time!” Mrs. Atanabi assured us. “I promise I won't be late! See you Friday! Stay warm! Be careful going home!”

“Bye, Mrs. Atanabi!”

“Bye!”

As soon as she was gone, Summer and I came together like magnets, talking excitedly at the same time.

“I can't believe you know who I'm talking about,” I said.

“God bless America!” she answered.

“Do you have any idea what happened to him?”

“No! I asked around and everything.”

“I did, too! No one knows what happened to him.”

“It's like he just vanished off the face of the earth!”

“It's like
who
vanished off the face of the earth?” asked Ximena, looking at us curiously. I guess the way we were squealing and carrying on, it did seem like something major had
just
happened.

I was still kind of keeping my distance from her because of before, so I let Summer answer.

“This guy who used to play the accordion on Main Street,” said Summer. “In front of the A&P on Moore? He was always there with his guide dog? I'm sure you must have noticed him. Whenever you'd drop money into his accordion case, he'd say, ‘God bless America.'”

“God bless America,” I chimed in at the exact same time.

“Anyway,” she continued, “he's been there for
forever
, but a couple of months ago, he just wasn't there anymore.”

“And no one knows what happened to him!” I added. “It's like this
mystery.
”

“Wait, so this is a
homeless
person you're talking about?” asked Ximena, kind of making the same
eww
face Savanna makes sometimes.

“I don't know if Gordy's homeless, actually,” Summer answered.

“You know his name?” I asked, completely surprised.

“Yeah,” she answered matter-of-factly. “Gordy Johnson.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don't know. My dad used to talk to him,” she answered, shrugging. “He was a veteran, and my dad was a marine, and was always like,
That gentleman's a hero, Summer. He served his country.
We used to bring him coffee and a bagel on the way to school sometimes. My mom gave him my dad's old parka.”

“Wait, was it an orange Canada Goose parka?” I said, pointing at her.

“Yes!” Summer answered happily.

“I remember that parka!” I screamed, grabbing her hands.

“OMG, you guys are totally geeking out,” Ximena laughed. “All this over a homeless guy in an orange parka?”

Summer and I looked at each other.

“It's hard to explain,” said Summer. But I could tell she felt it, too: our connection over this. Our bond. It was our version of the Big Bang.

“Oh my God, Summer!” I said, grabbing her arm. “Maybe we could track him down! We could find out where he is and make sure he's okay! If you know his name, we should be able to do that!”

“You think we could?” asked Summer, her eyes doing that little dancing thing they did when she was super-happy. “I would
love
that!”

“Wait, wait, wait,” said Ximena, shaking her head. “Are you guys serious? You want to track down some homeless dude you barely know?” She acted like she couldn't believe what she was hearing.

“Yes,” we both said, looking at each other happily.

“Who barely knows
you
?”

“He'll know me!” Summer said confidently. “Especially if I tell him I'm Sergeant Dawson's daughter.”

“Will he know you, Charlotte?” Ximena asked me, her eyes narrowing doubtfully.

“Of course not!” I answered her quickly, just wanting her to stop talking. “He's blind,
stupid
!”

The moment I said it, everything got quiet. Even the radiator, which had been making all these loud banging noises in the performance space until then, suddenly fell silent. As if the performance space wanted to hear my words echo in the air.