I was really bummed when Christopher moved away three years ago. We were both around seven then. We used to spend hours playing with our Star Wars action figures and dueling with our lightsabers. I miss that.
Last spring we drove over to Christopher’s house in Bridgeport. Me and Christopher were looking for snacks in the kitchen, and I heard Mom talking to Lisa, Christopher’s mom, about my going to school in the fall. I had never, ever heard her mention school before.
“What are you talking about?” I said.
Mom looked surprised, like she hadn’t meant for me to hear that. “You should tell him what you’ve been thinking, Isabel,” Dad said.
He was on the other side of the living room talking to Christopher’s dad.
“We should talk about this later,” said Mom.
“No, I want to know what you were talking about,” I answered. “Don’t you think you’re ready for school, Auggie?” Mom said. “No,” I said.
“I don’t, either,” said Dad.
“Then that’s it, case closed,” I said, shrugging, and I sat in her lap like I was a baby.
“I just think you need to learn more than I can teach you,” Mom said. “I mean, come on, Auggie, you know how bad I am at fractions!”
“What school?” I said. I already felt like crying. “Beecher Prep. Right by us.”
“Wow, that’s a great school, Auggie,” said Lisa, patting my knee. “Why not Via’s school?” I said.
“That’s too big,” Mom answered. “I don’t think that would be a good fit for you.”
“I don’t want to,” I said. I admit: I made my voice sound a little babyish.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Dad said, coming over and lifting me out of Mom’s lap. He carried me over to
sit on his lap on the other side of the sofa. “We won’t make you do anything you don’t want to do.”
“But it would be good for him, Nate,” Mom said.
“Not if he doesn’t want to,” answered Dad, looking at me. “Not if he’s not ready.”
I saw Mom look at Lisa, who reached over and squeezed her hand. “You guys will figure it out,” she said to Mom. “You always have.” “Let’s just talk about it later,” said Mom. I could tell she and Dad
were going to get in a fight about it. I wanted Dad to win the fight. Though a part of me knew Mom was right. And the truth is, she really was terrible at fractions.
