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CONTENTS COVER ABOUT THE BOOK TITLE PAGE INTRODUCTION THE JULIAN CHAPTER PLUTO SHINGALING ABOUT THE AUTHOR ALSO BY R. J. PALACIO COPYRIGHT About the Book You can’t blend in when you were born to stand out. WONDER is the award-winning story of Auggie Pullman: an ordinary boy with an extraordinary face, who is desperate to fit in. Julian has always felt uncomfortable around Auggie – but a summer spent with his grandmother in Paris makes Julian see Auggie with new eyes. Christopher is Auggie’s oldest friend – and knows better than most that being part of Auggie’s life comes with its challenges. Charlotte has always been nice to Auggie: but in a year of torn loyalties and damaged feelings, is being nice really enough? Now read a new side to the WONDER story, from three characters whose lives have been changed by Auggie forever. Introduction “Is there going to be a sequel to Wonder?” someone in the audience asks. “No, I’m sorry,” I answer, a little embarrassed. “I don’t think it’s the kind of book that really lends itself to a sequel. I like to think that fans of Wonder will imagine for themselves what will happen next to Auggie Pullman and all the other people in his world.” That exchange, or something like it, has happened at just about every book signing, speaking engagement, or reading I’ve done since Wonder came out on February 14, 2012. It’s probably the question I get asked the most, aside from “Will there be a movie of Wonder?” and “What inspired you to write Wonder?” Yet here I am, writing an introduction to a book that is, for all intents and purposes, a companion to Wonder. So how exactly did that happen? To answer that question, I have to discuss Wonder just a little bit. If you’ve bought this book or been given it as a gift, there’s a good chance you’ve read Wonder already, so I don’t need to tell you too much about it. Suffice it to say that Wonder is the story of a ten-year-old boy named Auggie Pullman, who was born with a craniofacial difference, as he navigates the ups and downs of being the new kid at Beecher Prep middle school. We see this journey through his eyes and the eyes of several characters whose lives happen to intersect with his over the course of that pivotal year, and whose insights enhance the reader’s understanding of Auggie’s passage to self- acceptance. We don’t hear from any characters whose stories don’t directly expand upon Auggie’s story within the time frame of that fifth-grade year, or whose understanding of Auggie is too limited to shed light upon his character. Wonder is Auggie’s story, after all, from beginning to end. And I was very strict with myself about telling his story in a simple and linear way. If a character didn’t propel the narrative forward—or told a story that ran parallel to, or before or after, the events in Wonder—then he or she didn’t get a voice in the book. That’s not to say that some of these other characters didn’t have interesting stories to tell, however—stories that might have explained their own motivations a bit even if those revelations didn’t directly affect Auggie. Which is exactly where this book comes in. To be clear: Auggie & Me is not a sequel. It doesn’t pick up where Wonder left off. It doesn’t continue to tell the story of Auggie Pullman navigating middle school. In fact, Auggie is only a minor character in these stories. What this book is, precisely, is an expansion of Auggie’s world. The three stories in Auggie & Me—The Julian Chapter, Pluto, and Shingaling, all originally published as short ebooks—are told from the perspective of Julian, Christopher, and Charlotte, respectively. They are three completely different narratives, telling the stories of characters who only occasionally, if at all, appear in each other’s stories. They all do have one thing in common, though, which is Auggie Pullman. His presence in their lives serves as a catalyst by which they’re each transformed in subtle and not-so-subtle ways. Auggie & Me is also not a sequel in a traditional sense because there’s no continuation of Auggie’s story, other than a brief fast-forward in Julian’s chapter to the summer after fifth grade, which provides a nice coda to the Julian/Auggie story line. But other than that, readers don’t find out what happens to Auggie Pullman in the sixth grade, or in high school, or beyond. I can guarantee that that book, the de facto sequel, will never be written. And that’s a good thing, folks. One of the most beautiful by-products of writing Wonder is the amazing fan fiction it has generated. Teachers are using it in classrooms, asking students to get into character and write their own chapters on Auggie, or Summer, or Jack. I’ve read stories devoted to Via, Justin, and Miranda. Chapters written from Amos’s point of view, and Miles’s and Henry’s. I’ve even read one child’s very poignant short chapter from Daisy’s point of view! But perhaps the most touching story-writing I’ve read has been about Auggie, with whom readers seem to have a passionate sense of involvement. I’ve had kids tell me they know for sure that Auggie will grow up to be an astronaut. Or a teacher. Or a veterinarian. They tell me these things with great —almost empirical—authority, by the way. No dillydallying. No guesswork. So who am I to disagree with them? And why would I write a sequel that would limit all those options? Auggie, as far as I’m concerned, has a bright and amazing future full of infinite possibilities, each one as lofty as the one before. I am truly blessed that readers of Wonder feel close enough to him to envision for themselves how his life will go. I know they understand that just because I chose to end Wonder on a happy day in Auggie’s life, it doesn’t guarantee him a happy life. He will surely face more than his fair share of challenges as he grows older, with new ups and downs, new friends, other Julians and Jacks and, of course, Summers. Readers will hopefully intuit from how Auggie has handled himself over the course of his first year at Beecher Prep, with all its accompanying trials and tribulations, that he has what he needs inside of him to triumph over whatever life hurls his way, withstand the challenges as they come, stare down the starers (or laugh them away). There with him always, through good times and bad, will be his amazing family—Isabel and Nate and Via. “The only thing I know that truly heals people is unconditional love,” wrote Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, which may be why Auggie will never succumb to any wounds inflicted by the careless words of passersby or the choices of his friends. Those he has, too—friends both known and unseen—who will stand up for him when it counts the most. In the end, readers of Wonder know that the book has never really been about what happens to Auggie Pullman. It’s about how Auggie Pullman happens to the world. Which brings me back to this book—or, more accurately, the three stories contained in Auggie & Me. When it was first suggested to me that I write these short ebooks, these Wonder stories, I jumped at the chance—most specifically on behalf of Julian, who had become a much-loathed persona among Wonder fans. “Keep calm and don’t be a Julian” is even something you can Google now, as people have taken it upon themselves to make their own cautionary posters. And I completely get why Julian is so disliked. Until now, we’ve only seen him through the eyes of Auggie, Jack, Summer, and Justin. He’s rude. He’s mean. His stares, his nicknames for Auggie, his efforts to manipulate his classmates to turn against Jack are tantamount to bullying. But what’s at the root of all this rage against Auggie? What’s up with Julian, and why is he such a jerk? Even as I was writing Wonder, I knew that Julian had a story to tell. I also knew that his story of bullying, or why he bullies, was of little consequence to Auggie and had no impact on the story line, and therefore didn’t belong in Wonder. It’s not for the victims of bullying to find compassion for their tormentors, after all. But I loved the idea of exploring Julian’s character in a short book of his own—not to exonerate his actions, since his actions in Wonder are reprehensible and indefensible, but to try to understand him better. It’s important to remember that Julian is still just a little kid. He has acted badly, yes, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s a “bad kid.” Our mistakes don’t define us. The hard part is coming to terms with our mistakes. Will Julian redeem himself? Can he? Does he want to? These are the questions I ask and answer in The Julian Chapter, even as I shed some light on why Julian behaves toward Auggie the way he does. The second short book in Auggie & Me is Pluto. Told from the point of view of Auggie’s oldest friend, Christopher, who moved away several years before the events of Wonder take place, Pluto is a unique look into Auggie’s life before Beecher Prep. Christopher was there with Auggie through his early hardships and heartbreaks—the horrific surgeries, the day Nate Pullman brought Daisy home for the first time, the old neighborhood friends who seem to vanish from Auggie’s life. Now that he’s older, Christopher struggles with the challenges of staying friends with Auggie—the stares, the awkward reactions of new friends. It’s tempting to walk away from a friendship when it becomes difficult, even under the best of circumstances—and Auggie’s not the only one who is testing Christopher’s loyalty. Will he hang on or let go? The third short book is Shingaling, told from the point of view of Charlotte, the only girl chosen by Mr. Tushman to be one of Auggie’s welcome buddies. Throughout Wonder, Charlotte maintains a friendly, if somewhat distant, relationship with Auggie. She waves hello when she sees him. She never sides with the kids who are mean to him. She tries to help Jack, even if it’s in secret so no one else knows. She’s a nice girl—no doubt about that. But she never goes out of her way to be more than nice. Shingaling delves into the life of Charlotte Cody during fifth grade at Beecher Prep, and readers learn there was a lot of other stuff going on that year about which Auggie Pullman didn’t know: dance performances, mean girls, old allegiances, and new cliques. Maya, Ximena, Savanna, and especially Summer feature prominently in Shingaling, which, like Pluto and The Julian Chapter, explores the life of an ordinary kid who is touched by extraordinary circumstances. Whether it’s about Auggie and Julian, or Auggie and Christopher, or Auggie and Charlotte, the three stories in Auggie & Me examine the complexities of friendship, loyalty, and compassion, and—most especially— explore the enduring effects of kindness. Much has been written about middle school and the preteen years, and how it’s a time in kids’ lives when they are almost expected to be unkind to one another as they navigate their way through new social situations on their own, often without parental oversight. But I’ve seen a different side to kids—a tendency toward nobility, a yearning to do right. I believe in children and their limitless capacity to care and to love and to want to save the world. I have no doubt that they will lead us to a place of greater tolerance and acceptance for all the birds in the universe. For all the underdogs and misfits. And for Auggie and me. —RJP Be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle. –Ian Maclaren Before Perhaps I have created the stars and the sun and this enormous house, but I no longer remember. —Jorge Luis Borges, “The House of Asterion” ••• Fear can’t hurt you any more than a dream. —William Golding, Lord of the Flies Ordinary Okay, okay, okay. I know, I know, I know. I haven’t been nice to August Pullman! Big deal. It’s not the end of the world, people! Let’s stop with the drama, okay? There’s a whole big world out there, and not everyone is nice to everyone else. That’s just the way it is. So, can you please get over it? I think it’s time to move on and get on with your life, don’t you? Jeez! I don’t get it. I really don’t. One minute, I’m like, the most popular kid in the fifth grade. And the next minute, I’m like, I don’t know. Whatever. This bites. This whole year bites! I wish Auggie Pullman had never come to Beecher Prep in the first place! I wish he had kept his creepy little face hidden away like in The Phantom of the Opera or something. Put a mask on, Auggie! Get your face out of my face, please. Everything would be a lot easier if you would just disappear. At least for me. I’m not saying it’s a picnic for him, either, by the way. I know it can’t be easy for him to look in the mirror every day, or walk down the street. But that’s not my problem. My problem is that everything’s different since he’s been coming to my school. The kids are different. I’m different. And it sucks big-time. I wish everything was the way it used to be in the fourth grade. We had so, so, so much fun back then. We would play tackle-tag in the yard, and not to brag, but everyone always wanted a piece of me, you know? I’m just sayin’. Everyone always wanted to be my partner when we’d do social studies projects. And everyone always laughed when I said something funny. At lunchtime, I’d always sit with my peeps, and we were like, it. We were totally it. Henry. Miles. Amos. Jack. We were it! It was so cool. We had all these secret jokes. Little hand signals for stuff. I don’t know why that had to change. I don’t know why everyone got so stupid about stuff. Actually, I do know why: it was because of Auggie Pullman. The moment he showed up, that’s when things stopped being the way they used to be. Everything was totally ordinary. And now things are messed up. And it’s because of him. And Mr. Tushman. In fact, it’s kind of totally Mr. Tushman’s fault. The Call I remember Mom made a big deal about the call we got from Mr. Tushman. At dinner that night, she went on and on about what a big honor it was. The middle-school director had called us at home to ask if I could be a welcome buddy to some new kid in school. Wow! Big news! Mom acted like I won an Oscar or something. She said it showed her that the school really did recognize who the “special” kids were, which she thought was awesome. Mom had never met Mr. Tushman before, because he was the middle-school director and I was still in the lower school, but she couldn’t stop raving about how nice he’d been on the phone. Mom’s always been kind of a bigwig at school. She’s on this board of trustees thing, which I don’t even know what it is but apparently it’s a big deal. She’s always volunteering for stuff, too. Like, she’s always been the class mom for every grade I’ve been in at Beecher. Always. She does a lot for the school. So, the day I was supposed to be a welcome buddy, she dropped me off in front of the middle school. She wanted to take me inside, but I was like, “Mom, it’s middle school!” She took the hint and drove off before I went inside. Charlotte Cody and Jack Will were already in the front lobby, and we said hello to each other. Jack and I did our peeps’ handshake and we said hello to the security guard. Then we went up to Mr. Tushman’s office. It was so weird being in the school when there was no one there! “Dude, we could totally skateboard in here and no one would know!” I said to Jack, running and gliding on the smooth floor of the hallway after the security guard couldn’t see us anymore. “Ha, yeah,” said Jack, but I noticed that the closer we got to Mr. Tushman’s office, the quieter Jack got. In fact, he kind of looked like he was going to blow chunks. As we got near the top of the stairs, he stopped. “I don’t want to do this!” he said. I stopped next to him. Charlotte had already gotten to the top landing. “Come on!” she said. “You’re not the boss!” I answered. She shook her head and rolled her eyes at me. I laughed and nudged Jack with my elbow. We loved egging Charlotte Cody on. She was always such a Goody Two-shoes! “This is so messed up,” said Jack, rubbing his hand over his face. “What is?” I asked. “Do you know who this new kid is?” he asked. I shook my head. “You know who he is, right?” Jack said to Charlotte, looking up at her. Charlotte walked down the stairs toward us. “I think so,” she said. She made a face, like she had just tasted something bad. Jack shook his head and then smacked it three times with his palm. “I’m such an idiot for saying yes to this!” he said, his teeth clenched. “Wait, who is it?” I said. I pushed Jack’s shoulder so he’d look at me. “It’s that kid called August,” he said to me. “You know, the kid with the face?” I had no idea who he was talking about. “Are you kidding me?” said Jack. “You never seen that kid before? He lives in this neighborhood! He hangs out in the playground sometimes. You have to have seen him. Everyone has!” “He doesn’t live in this neighborhood,” answered Charlotte. “Yes he does!” Jack answered impatiently. “No, Julian doesn’t live in this neighborhood,” she answered, just as impatiently. “What does that have to do with anything?” I said. “Whatever!” Jack interrupted. “It doesn’t matter. Trust me, dude, you’ve never seen anything like this before.” “Please don’t be mean, Jack,” Charlotte said. “It’s not nice.” “I’m not being mean!” said Jack. “I’m just being truthful.” “What, exactly, does he look like?” I asked. Jack didn’t answer. He just stood there, shaking his head. I looked at Charlotte, who frowned. “You’ll see,” she said. “Let’s just go already, okay?” She turned around and went up the stairs and disappeared down the hall to Mr. Tushman’s office. “Let’s just go already, okay?” I said to Jack, imitating Charlotte perfectly. I thought this would totally make him laugh, but it didn’t. “Jack, dude, come on!” I said. I pretended to give him a hard slap in the face. This actually did make him laugh a bit, and he threw a slow-motion punch back at me. This led to a quick game of “spleen,” which is where we try to jab each other in the rib cage. “Guys, let’s go!” Charlotte commanded from the top of the stairs. She had come back to get us. “Guys, let’s go!” I whispered to Jack, and this time he did kind of laugh. But as soon as we rounded the corner of the hallway and got to Mr. Tushman’s office, we all got pretty serious. When we went inside, Mrs. Garcia told us to wait in Nurse Molly’s office, which was a small room to the side of Mr. Tushman’s office. We didn’t say anything to each other while we waited. I resisted the temptation to make a balloon out of the latex gloves that were in a box by the exam table, though I know it would have made everyone laugh. Mr. Tushman Mr. Tushman came into the office. He was tall, kind of thin, with messy gray hair. “Hey, guys,” he said, smiling. “I’m Mr. Tushman. You must be Charlotte.” He shook Charlotte’s hand. “And you are . . .?” He looked at me. “Julian,” I said. “Julian,” he repeated, smiling. He shook my hand. “And you’re Jack Will,” he said to Jack, and shook his hand, too. He sat down on the chair next to Nurse Molly’s desk. “First of all, I just want to thank you guys so much for coming here today. I know it’s a hot day and you probably have other stuff you want to do. How’s the summer been treating you? Okay?” We all kind of nodded, looking at each other. “How’s the summer been for you?” I asked him. “Oh, so nice of you to ask, Julian!” he answered. “It’s been a great summer, thank you. Though I am seriously looking forward to the fall. I hate this hot weather.” He pulled his shirt. “I’m so ready for the winter.” All three of us were bobbing our heads up and down like doofballs at this point. I don’t know why grown-ups ever bother chitchatting with kids. It just makes us feel weird. I mean, I personally am pretty okay talking to adults— maybe because I travel a lot and I’ve talked to a lot of adults before—but most kids really don’t like talking to grown-ups. That’s just the way it is. Like, if I see the parent of some friend of mine and we’re not actually in school, I try to avoid eye contact so I don’t have to talk to them. It’s too weird. It’s also really weird when you bump into a teacher outside of school. Like, one time I saw my third-grade teacher at a restaurant with her boyfriend, and I was like, ewww! I don’t want to see my teacher hanging out with her boyfriend, you know? Anyway, so there we were, me, Charlotte, and Jack, nodding away like total bobbleheads as Mr. Tushman went on and on about the summer. But finally—finally!—he got to the point. “So, guys,” he said, kind of slapping his hands against his thighs. “It’s really nice of you to give up your afternoon to do this. In a few minutes, I’m going to introduce you to the boy who’s coming to my office, and I just wanted to give you a heads-up about him beforehand. I mean, I told your moms a little bit about him—did they talk to you?” Charlotte and Jack both nodded, but I shook my head. “My mom just said he’d had a bunch of surgeries,” I said. “Well, yes,” answered Mr. Tushman. “But did she explain about his face?” I have to say, this is the point when I started thinking, Okay, what the heck am I doing here? “I mean, I don’t know,” I said, scratching my head. I tried to think back to what Mom had told me. I hadn’t really paid attention. I think most of the time she was going on and on about what an honor it was that I’d been chosen: she really didn’t emphasize that there was something wrong with the kid. “She said that you said the kid had a lot of scars and stuff. Like he’d been in a fire.” “I didn’t quite say that,” said Mr. Tushman, raising his eyebrows. “What I told your mom is that this boy has a severe craniofacial difference—” “Oh, right right right!” I interrupted, because now I remembered. “She did use that word. She said it was like a cleft lip or something.” Mr. Tushman scrunched up his face. “Well,” he said, lifting his shoulders and tilting his head left and right, “it’s a little more than that.” He got up and patted my shoulder. “I’m sorry if I didn’t make that clear to your mom. In any case, I don’t mean to make this awkward for you. In fact, it’s exactly because I don’t want it to be awkward that I’m talking to you right now. I just wanted to give you a heads-up that this boy definitely looks very different from other children. And that’s not a secret. He knows he looks different. He was born that way. He gets that. He’s a great kid. Very smart. Very nice. He’s never gone to a regular school before because he was homeschooled, you know, because of all his surgeries. So that’s why I just want you guys to show him around a bit, get to know him, be his welcome buddies. You can totally ask him questions, if you want. Talk to him normally. He’s really just a normal kid with a face that . . . you know, is not so normal.” He looked at us and took a deep breath. “Oh boy, I think I’ve just made you all more nervous, haven’t I?” We shook our heads. He rubbed his forehead. “You know,” he said, “one of the things you learn when you get old like me is that sometimes, a new situation will come along, and you’ll have no idea what to do. There’s no rule book that tells you how to act in every given situation in life, you know? So what I always say is that it’s always better to err on the side of kindness. That’s the secret. If you don’t know what to do, just be kind. You can’t go wrong. Which is why I asked you three to help me out here, because I’d heard from your lower-school teachers that you’re all really nice kids.” We didn’t know what to say to this, so we all just kind of smiled like goobers. “Just treat him like you would treat any kid you’ve just met,” he said. “That’s all I’m trying to say. Okay, guys?” We nodded at the same time now, too. Bobbling heads. “You guys rock,” he said. “So, relax, wait here a bit, and Mrs. Garcia will come and get you in a few minutes.” He opened the door. “And, guys, really, thanks again for doing this. It’s good karma to do good. It’s a mitzvah, you know?” With that, he smiled, winked at us, and left the room. All three of us exhaled at the same time. We looked at each other, our eyes kind of wide. “Okay,” Jack said, “I don’t know what the heck karma is and I don’t know what the heck mitzvah is!” This made us all laugh a little, though it was kind of a nervous type of laugh. First Look I’m not going to go into detail about the rest of what happened that day. I’m just going to point out that, for the first time in his life, Jack had not exaggerated. In fact, he had done the opposite. Is there a word that means the opposite of exaggerated? “Unexaggerated”? I don’t know. But Jack had totally not exaggerated about this kid’s face. The first look I got of August, well, it made me want to cover my eyes and run away screaming. Bam. I know that sounds mean, and I’m sorry about that. But it’s the truth. And anyone who says that that’s not their first reaction when seeing Auggie Pullman isn’t being honest. Seriously. I totally would have walked out the door after I saw him, but I knew I would get in trouble if I did. So I just kept looking at Mr. Tushman, and I tried to listen to what he was saying, but all I heard was yak yak yak yak yak because my ears were burning. In my head, I was like, Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! I think I said that word a thousand times to myself. I don’t know why. At some point, he introduced us to Auggie. Ahh! I think I actually shook his hand. Triple ahh! I wanted to zoom out of there so fast and wash my hand. But before I knew what was happening, we were headed out the door, down the hallway, and up the stairs. Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! Dude! I caught Jack’s eye as we were going up the stairs to homeroom. I opened my eyes really wide at him and mouthed the words, “No way!” Jack mouthed back, “I told you!” Scared When I was about five, I remember watching an episode of SpongeBob one night, and a commercial came on TV that totally freaked me out. It was a few days before Halloween. A lot of commercials came on during that time of year that were kind of scary, but this one was for a new teen thriller I’d never heard about before. Suddenly, while I was watching the commercial, a closeup of a zombie’s face popped up on the screen. Well, it totally and completely terrified me. I mean, terrified me like the kind of terrified where you actually run out of the room screaming with your arms in the air. TERRRRR-IFFF-FIED! After that, I was so scared of seeing that zombie face again, I stopped watching any TV until Halloween was over and the movie was no longer playing in theaters. Seriously, I stopped watching TV completely—that’s how scared I was! Not too long after that, I was on a playdate with some kid whose name I don’t even remember. And this kid was really into Harry Potter, so we started watching one of the Harry Potter movies (I’d never seen any of them before). Well, when I saw Voldemort’s face for the first time, the same thing happened that had happened when the Halloween commercial came on. I started screaming hysterically, wailing like a total baby. It was so bad, the kid’s mother couldn’t calm me down, and she had to call my mother to come pick me up. My mom got really annoyed at the kid’s mom for letting me watch the movie, so they ended up getting into an argument and—long story short—I never had another playdate there again. But anyway, between the Halloween zombie commercial and Voldemort’s noseless face, I was kind of a mess. Then, unfortunately, my dad took me to the movies at around that same time. Again, I was only about five. Maybe six by now. It shouldn’t have been an issue: the movie we went to see was rated G, totally fine, not scary at all. But one of the trailers that came on was for Scary Fairy, a movie about demon fairies. I know—fairies are so lame!—and when I look back I can’t believe I was so scared of this stuff, but I freaked out at this trailer. My dad had to take me out of the theater because—yet again!—I couldn’t stop crying. It was so embarrassing! I mean, being scared of fairies? What’s next? Flying ponies? Cabbage Patch dolls? Snowflakes? It was crazy! But there I was, shaking and screaming as I left the movie theater, hiding my face in my dad’s coat. I’m sure there were three-year-olds in the audience who were looking at me like I was the biggest loser! That’s the thing about being scared, though. You can’t control it. When you’re scared, you’re scared. And when you’re scared, everything seems scarier than it ordinarily would be—even things that aren’t. Everything that scares you kind of mushes together to become this big, terrifying feeling. It’s like you’re covered in this blanket of fear, and this blanket is made out of broken glass and dog poop and oozy pus and bloody zombie zits. I started having awful nightmares. Every night, I’d wake up screaming. It got to a point where I was afraid to go to sleep because I didn’t want to have another nightmare, so then I started sleeping in my parents’ bed. I wish I could say this was just for a couple of nights, but it went like this for six weeks. I wouldn’t let them turn off the lights. I had a panic attack every time I started drifting off to sleep. I mean, my palms would literally start to sweat and my heart would start to race, and I’d start to cry and scream before going to bed. My parents took me to see a “feelings” doctor, which I only later realized was a child psychologist. Dr. Patel helped me a little bit. She said what I was experiencing were “night terrors,” and it did help me to talk about them with her. But I think what really got me over the nightmares were the Discovery Channel nature videos my mom brought home for me one day. Woo-hoo for those nature videos! Every night, we’d pop one of them into the DVD player and I’d fall asleep to the sound of some guy with an English accent talking about meerkats or koalas or jellyfish. Eventually, I did get over the nightmares, though. Everything went back to normal. But every once in a while, I’d have what Mom would call a “minor setback.” Like, for instance, although I love Star Wars now, the very first time I saw Star Wars: Episode II, which was at a birthday sleepover when I was eight, I had to text my mom to come get me at two a.m. because I couldn’t fall asleep: every time I’d close my eyes, Darth Sidious’s face would pop into my head. It took about three weeks of nature videos to get over that setback (and I stopped going to sleepovers for about a year after that, too). Then, when I was nine, I saw Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers for the first time, and the same thing happened to me again, though this time it only took me about a week to get over Gollum. By the time I turned ten, though, all those nightmares had pretty much gone away. Even the fear of having a nightmare was gone by then, too. Like, if I was at Henry’s house and he would say, “Hey, let’s watch a scary movie,” my first reaction wasn’t to think, No, I might have a nightmare! (which is what it used to be). My first reaction would be like, Yeah, cool! Where’s the popcorn? I finally started being able to see all kinds of movies again. I even started getting into zombie apocalypse stuff, and none of it ever bothered me. That nightmare stuff was all behind me. Or at least I thought it was. But then, the night after I met Auggie Pullman, I started having nightmares again. I couldn’t believe it. Not just passing bad dreams, but the full-blown, heart-pounding, wake-up-screaming kind of nightmares I used to have when I was a little kid. Only, I wasn’t a little kid anymore. I was in the fifth grade! Eleven years old! This wasn’t supposed to be happening to me anymore! But there I was again—watching nature videos to help me fall asleep. Class Picture I tried to describe what Auggie looked like to my mom, but she didn’t get it until the school pictures arrived in the mail. Up until then, she’d never really seen him. She’d been away on a business trip during the Thanksgiving Sharing Festival, so she didn’t see him then. On Egyptian Museum day, Auggie’s face had been covered with mummy gauze. And there hadn’t been any after-school concerts yet. So, the first time Mom saw Auggie and finally started understanding my nightmare situation was when she opened that large envelope with my class picture in it. It was actually kind of funny. I can tell you exactly how she reacted because I was watching her as she opened it. First, she excitedly slit open the top of the envelope with a letter opener. Then, she pulled out my individual portrait. She put her hand on her chest. “Awww, Julian, you look so handsome!” she said. “I’m so glad you wore that tie Grandmère sent you.” I was eating some ice cream at the kitchen table, and just smiled and nodded at her. Then I watched her take the class picture out of the envelope. In lower school, every class would get its own picture taken with its own teacher, but in middle school, it’s just one group picture of the entire fifth grade. So sixty kids standing in front of the entrance to the school. Fifteen kids in each row. Four rows. I was in the back row, in between Amos and Henry. Mom was looking at the photo with a smile on her face. “Oh, there you are!” she said when she spotted me. She continued looking at the picture with a smile on her face. “Oh my, look at how big Miles got!” said Mom. “And is that Henry? He looks like he’s getting a mustache! And who is—” And then she stopped talking. The smile on her face stayed frozen for a second or two, and then her face slowly transformed into a state of shock. She put the photo down and stared blankly in front of her. Then she looked at the photo again. Then she looked at me. She wasn’t smiling. “This is the kid you’ve been talking about?” she asked me. Her voice had completely changed from the way it sounded moments before. “I told you,” I answered. She looked at the picture again. “This isn’t just a cleft palate.” “No one ever said it was a cleft palate,” I said to her. “Mr. Tushman never said that.” “Yes he did. On the phone that time.” “No, Mom,” I answered her. “What he said was ‘facial issues,’ and you just assumed that he meant cleft palate. But he never actually said ‘cleft palate.’” “I could swear he said the boy had a cleft palate,” she answered, “but this is so much worse than that.” She really looked stunned. She couldn’t stop staring at the photo. “What does he have, exactly? Is he developmentally delayed? He looks like he might be.” “I don’t think so,” I said, shrugging. “Does he talk okay?” “He kind of mumbles,” I answered. “He’s hard to understand sometimes.” Mom put the picture down on the table and sat down. She started tapping her fingers on the table. “I’m trying to think of who his mother is,” she said, shaking her head. “There are so many new parents in the school, I can’t think of who it might be. Is she blond?” “No, she has dark hair,” I answered. “I see her at drop-off sometimes.” “Does she look . . . like the son?” “Oh no, not at all,” I said. I sat down next to her and picked up the picture, squinting at it so my eyes wouldn’t see it too clearly. Auggie was in the front row, all the way on the left. “I told you, Mom. You didn’t believe me, but I told you.” “It’s not that I didn’t believe you,” she answered defensively. “I’m just kind of . . . surprised. I didn’t realize it was this severe. Oh, I think I know who she is, his mom. Is she very pretty, kind of exotic, has dark wavy hair?” “What?” I said, shrugging. “I don’t know. She’s a mom.” “I think I know who she is,” answered Mom, nodding to herself. “I saw her on parents’ night. Her husband’s handsome, too.” “I have no idea,” I said, shaking my head. “Oh, those poor people!” She put her hand over her heart. “Now you get why I’ve been having nightmares again?” I asked her. She ran her hands through my hair. “But are you still having nightmares?” she asked. “Yes. Not every night like I did for the first month of school, but yeah!” I said, throwing the picture down on the tabletop. “Why did he have to come to Beecher Prep, anyway?” I looked at Mom, who didn’t know what to say. She started putting the picture back into the envelope. “Don’t even think of putting that in my school album, by the way,” I said loudly. “You should just burn it or something.” “Julian,” she said. Then, out of the blue, I started crying. “Oh, my darling!” said Mom, kind of surprised. She hugged me. “I can’t help it, Mom,” I said through my tears. “I hate that I have to see him every day!” That night, I had the same nightmare I’ve been having since the start of school. I’m walking down the main hallway, and all the kids are in front of their lockers, staring at me, whispering about me as I walk past them. I keep walking up the stairwell until I get to the bathroom, and then I look in the mirror. When I see myself, though, it’s not me I’m seeing. It’s Auggie. And then I scream. Photoshop The next morning, I overheard Mom and Dad talking as they were getting ready for work. I was getting dressed for school. “They should have done more to prepare the kids,” Mom said to Dad. “The school should have sent home a letter or something, I don’t know.” “Come on,” answered Dad. “Saying what? What can they possibly say? There’s a homely kid in your class? Come on.” “It’s much more than that.” “Let’s not make too big a deal about it, Melissa.” “You haven’t seen him, Jules,” said Mom. “It’s quite severe. Parents should have been told. I should have been told! Especially with Julian’s anxiety issues.” “Anxiety issues?” I yelled from my room. I ran into their bedroom. “You think I have anxiety issues?” “No, Julian,” said Dad. “No one’s saying that.” “Mom just said that!” I answered, pointing at Mom. “I just heard her say ‘anxiety issues.’ What, so you guys think I have mental problems?” “No!” they both said. “Just because I get nightmares?” “No!” they yelled. “It’s not my fault he goes to my school!” I cried. “It’s not my fault his face freaks me out!” “Of course it’s not, darling,” said Mom. “No one is saying that. All I meant is that because of your history of nightmares, the school should have alerted me. Then at least I would have known better about the nightmares you’re having. I would have known what triggered them.” I sat down on the edge of their bed. Dad had the class picture in his hands and had obviously just been looking at it. “I hope you’re planning on burning that,” I said. And I wasn’t joking. “No, darling,” said Mom, sitting on the other side of me. “We don’t need to burn anything. Look what I’ve done.” She picked up a different photo from the nightstand and handed it to me to look at. At first, I thought it was just another copy of the class picture, because it was exactly the same size as the class picture Dad had in his hands, and everything in it was exactly the same. I started to look away in disgust, but Mom pointed to a place on the photo—the place where Auggie used to be! He was nowhere in the photo. I couldn’t believe it! There was no trace of him! I looked up at Mom, who was beaming. “The magic of Photoshop!” she said happily, clapping her hands. “Now you can look at this picture and not have to have your memory of fifth grade tarnished,” she said. “That’s so cool!” I said. “How did you do that?” “I’ve gotten pretty good at Photoshop,” she answered. “Remember last year, how I made all the skies blue in the Hawaii pictures?” “You would never have known it rained every day,” answered Dad, shaking his head. “Laugh if you want,” said Mom. “But now, when I look at those pictures, I don’t have to be reminded of the bad weather that almost ruined our trip. I can remember it for the beautiful vacation that it was! Which is exactly how I want you to remember your fifth-grade year at Beecher Prep. Okay, Julian? Good memories. Not ugly ones.” “Thanks, Mom!” I said, hugging her tightly. I didn’t say it, of course, but even though she changed the skies to light blue on the photos, all I ever really remembered about our Hawaii trip was how cold and wet it was when we were there—despite the magic of Photoshop. Mean Look, I didn’t start out being mean. I mean, I’m not a mean kid! Sure, sometimes I make jokes, but they’re not mean jokes. They’re just teasing jokes. People have to lighten up a little! Okay, maybe sometimes my jokes are a little mean, but I only make those jokes behind someone’s back. I never say stuff to anyone’s face that will actually hurt someone. I’m not a bully like that! I’m not a hater, dudes! Attention, people! Stop being so sensitive! Some people totally got the whole Photoshop thing, and some didn’t. Henry and Miles thought it was so cool and wanted my mom to email their moms the photo. Amos thought it was “weird.” Charlotte completely disapproved. I don’t know what Jack thought, because he had gone over to the dark side by now. It’s like he totally abandoned his peeps this year and only hangs out with Auggie now. Which bugged me, because that meant I couldn’t hang out with him anymore. No way was I going to catch the “plague” from that freak. That was the name of the game I invented. The Plague. It was simple. If you touched Auggie, and you didn’t wash off the contamination, you died. Everyone in the whole grade played. Except Jack. And Summer. So here’s the strange thing. I’ve known Summer since we were in third grade, and I never really paid any attention to her, but this year Henry started liking Savanna and they were like, “going out.” Now, by “going out” I don’t mean like high-school stuff, which would be kind of gross barf disgusting. All it means when you’re “going out” is that you hang out together and meet each other at the lockers and sometimes go to the ice-cream shop on Amesfort Avenue after school. So, first Henry started going out with Savanna, and then Miles started going out with Ximena. And I was like, “Yo, what about me?” And then Amos said, “I’m going to ask Summer out,” and I was like, “No way, I’m asking her out!” So that’s when I started kind of liking Summer. But it totally bit that Summer, like Jack, was on Team Auggie. It meant I couldn’t hang out with her at all. I couldn’t even say “Wassup” to her because the freak might think I was talking to him or something. So I told Henry to have Savanna invite Summer to the Halloween party at her house. I figured I could hang out with her and maybe even ask her to go out with me. That didn’t work, though, because she ended up leaving the party early. And ever since then, she’s been spending all her time with the freak. Okay, okay. I know it’s not nice to call him “the freak,” but like I said before, people have to start being a little less sensitive around here! It’s only a joke, everyone! Don’t take me so seriously! I’m not being mean. I’m just being funny. And that’s all I was doing, being totally funny, the day that Jack Will punched me. I had been totally joking! Fooling around. I didn’t see it coming at all! The way I remember it, we were just goofing together, and all of a sudden, he whacks me in the mouth for no reason! Boom! And I was like, Owwwww! You crazy jerkface! You punched me? You actually punched me? And the next thing I know, I’m in Nurse Molly’s office, holding one of my teeth in my hand, and Mr. Tushman is there, and I hear him on the phone with my mom saying they’re taking me to the hospital. I could hear my mom screaming on the other end of the line. Then Ms. Rubin, the dean, is leading me into the back of an ambulance and we’re on the way to a hospital! Crazy stuff! When we were riding in the ambulance, Ms. Rubin asked me if I knew why Jack hit me. I was like, Duh, because he’s totally insane! Not that I could talk much, because my lips were swollen and there was blood all over my mouth. Ms. Rubin stayed with me in the hospital until Mom showed up. Mom was more than a little hysterical, as you can imagine. She was crying kind of dramatically every time she saw my face. It was, I have to admit, a little embarrassing. Then Dad showed up. “Who did this?” was the first thing he said, shouting at Ms. Rubin. “Jack Will,” answered Ms. Rubin calmly. “He’s with Mr. Tushman now.” “Jack Will?” cried Mom in shock. “We know the Wills! How could that happen?” “There will be a thorough investigation,” answered Ms. Rubin. “Right now, what’s most important is that Julian’s going to be fine . . .” “Fine?” yelled Mom. “Look at his face! Do you think that’s fine? I don’t think that’s fine. This is outrageous. What kind of school is this? I thought kids didn’t punch each other at a school like Beecher Prep. I thought that’s why we pay forty thousand dollars a year, so that our kids don’t get hurt.” “Mrs. Albans,” said Ms. Rubin, “I know you’re upset . . .” “I’m assuming the kid will get expelled, right?” said Dad. “Dad!” I yelled. “We will definitely deal with this matter in the appropriate way, I promise,” answered Ms. Rubin, trying to keep her voice calm. “And now, if you don’t mind, I think I’ll leave you guys alone for a bit. The doctor will be back and you can check in with him, but he said that nothing was broken. Julian’s fine. He lost a lower first molar, but that was on its way out anyway. He’s going to give him some pain medication and you should keep icing it. Let’s talk more in the morning.” It was only then that I realized that poor Ms. Rubin’s blouse and skirt were completely covered in my blood. Boy, mouths do bleed a lot! Later that night, when I could finally talk again without it hurting, Mom and Dad wanted to know every detail of what had happened, starting with what Jack and I had been talking about right before he hit me. “Jack wath upthet becauth he wath paired up with the deformed kid,” I answered. “I told him he could thwitch partnerth if he wanted to. And then he punched me!” Mom shook her head. That was it for her. She was literally madder than I’d ever seen her before (and I’ve seen my mom pretty mad before, believe me!). “This is what happens, Jules!” she said to Dad, crossing her arms and nodding quickly. “This is what happens when you make little kids deal with issues they’re not equipped to deal with! They’re just too young to be exposed to this kind of stuff! That Tushman is an idiot!” And she said a whole bunch of other things, too, but those are kind of too inapro-pro (if you know what I mean) for me to repeat. “But, Dad, I don’t want Jack to get ecthpelled from thkool,” I said later on in the night. He was putting more ice on my mouth because the painkiller they had given me at the hospital was wearing off. “That’s not up to us,” he answered. “But I wouldn’t trouble myself about it if I were you. Whatever happens, Jack will get what he deserves for this.” I have to admit, I started feeling kind of bad for Jack. I mean, sure, he was a total dipstick for punching me, and I wanted him to get in trouble—but I really didn’t want him to get kicked out of school or anything. But Mom, I could tell, was on one of her missions now (as Dad would say). She gets like that sometimes, when she gets so outraged about something that there’s just no stopping her. She was like that a few years ago when a kid got hit by a car a couple of blocks away from Beecher Prep, and she had like a million people sign a petition to have a traffic light installed. That was a super-mom moment. She was also like that last month when our favorite restaurant changed its menu and they no longer made my favorite dish the way I liked it. That was another super-mom moment because after she talked to the new owner, they agreed to special-order the dish—just for me! But Mom also gets like that for not-so-nice stuff, like when a waiter messes up a food order. That’s a not-so-super-mom moment because, well, you know, it can get kind of weird when your mom starts talking to a waiter like he’s five years old. Awkward! Also, like Dad says, you don’t want to get a waiter mad at you, you know? They have your food in their hands—duh! So, I wasn’t totally clear on how I felt when I realized that my mom was declaring war on Mr. Tushman, Auggie Pullman, and all of Beecher Prep. Was it going to be a super-mom moment or a not-so-super-mom moment? Like, would it end up with Auggie going to a different school—yay!—or with Mr. Tushman blowing his nose in my cafeteria food—ugh! Party It took about two weeks for the swelling to go completely down. Because of that, we ended up not going to Paris over winter break. Mom didn’t want our relatives to see me looking like I’d been in a “prize fight.” She also wouldn’t take any pictures of me over the holidays because she said she didn’t want to remember me looking like that. For our annual Christmas card, we used one of the rejects from last year’s photo shoot. Even though I wasn’t having a lot of nightmares anymore, the fact that I had started having nightmares again really worried Mom. I could tell she was totally stressed out about it. Then, the day before our Christmas party, she found out from one of the other moms that Auggie had not been through the same kind of admissions screening that the rest of us had been. See, every kid who applies to Beecher Prep is supposed to be interviewed and take a test at the school—but some kind of exception had been made for Auggie. He didn’t come to the school for the interview and he got to take the admissions test at home. Mom thought that was really unfair! “This kid should not have gotten into the school,” I heard her telling a group of other moms at the party. “Beecher Prep is just not set up to handle situations like this! We’re not an inclusion school! We don’t have the psychologists needed to deal with how it affects the other kids. Poor Julian had nightmares for a whole month!” Ugh, Mom! I hate your telling people about my nightmares! “Henry was upset as well,” Henry’s mom said, and the other moms nodded. “They didn’t even prepare us beforehand!” Mom went on. “That’s what gets me the most. If they’re not going to provide additional psychological support, at least warn the parents ahead of time!” “Absolutely!” said Miles’s mom, and the other moms nodded again. “Obviously, Jack Will could have used some therapy,” Mom said, rolling her eyes. “I was surprised they didn’t expel him,” said Henry’s mom. “Oh, they would have!” answered Mom, “but we asked them not to. We’ve known the Will family since kindergarten. They’re good people. We don’t blame Jack, really. I think he just cracked under the pressure of having to be this kid’s caretaker. That’s what happens when you put little kids into these kinds of situations. I honestly don’t know what Tushman was thinking!” “I’m sorry, I just have to step in here,” said another mom (I think it was Charlotte’s mom because she had the same bright blond hair and big blue eyes). “It’s not like there’s anything wrong with this kid, Melissa. He’s a great kid, who just happens to look different, but . . .” “Oh, I know!” Mom answered, and she put her hand over her heart. “Oh, Brigit, no one’s saying he’s not a great kid, believe me. I’m sure he is. And I hear the parents are lovely people. That’s not the issue. To me, ultimately, the simple fact of the matter is that Tushman didn’t follow protocol. He flagrantly disregarded the applications process by not having the boy come to Beecher Prep for the interview—or take the test like every one of our kids did. He broke the rules. And rules are rules. That’s it.” Mom made a sad face at Brigit. “Oh dear, Brigit. I can see you totally disapprove!” “No, Melissa, not at all,” Charlotte’s mom said, shaking her head. “It’s a tough situation all around. Look, the fact is, your son got punched in the face. You have every right to feel angry and demand some answers.” “Thank you.” Mom nodded and crossed her arms. “I just think the whole thing’s been handled terribly, that’s all. And I blame Tushman. Completely.” “Absolutely,” said Henry’s mom. “He’s got to go,” agreed Miles’s mom. I looked at Mom, surrounded by nodding moms, and I thought, Okay, so maybe this is going to turn out to be one of those really super-mom moments. Maybe everything she was doing would make it so that Auggie ended up going to a different school, and then things could go back to the way it used to be at Beecher Prep. That would be so awesome! But a part of me was thinking, Maybe this is going to turn into a not-so- super-mom moment. I mean, some of the stuff she was saying sounded kind of . . . I don’t know. Kind of harsh, I guess. It’s like when she gets mad at a waiter. You end up feeling sorry for the waiter. The thing is, I know she’s on this anti-Tushman mission because of me. If I hadn’t started getting nightmares again, and if Jack hadn’t punched me, none of this would be happening. She wouldn’t be making a big deal about Auggie, or Tushman, and she’d be concentrating all her time and energy on good stuff, like raising money for the school and volunteering at the homeless shelter. Mom does good stuff like that all the time! So I don’t know. On the one hand, I’m happy she’s trying to help me. And on the other hand, I would love for her to stop. Team Julian The thing that annoyed me the most when we got back from winter break was that Jack had gone back to being friends with Auggie again. They had had some kind of fight after Halloween, which is why Jack and I started being bros again. But after winter break was over, they were best buds again. It was so lame! I told everyone we needed to really ice Jack out, for his own good. He had to choose, once and for all, whether he wanted to be on Team Auggie or Team Julian and the Rest of the World. So we started completely ignoring Jack: not talking to him, not answering his questions. It was like he didn’t exist. That’ll show him! And that’s when I started leaving my little notes. One day, someone had left some Post-it notes on one of the benches in the yard, which is what gave me the idea. I wrote in this really psycho-killer handwriting: Nobody likes you anymore! I slipped it into the slits in Jack’s locker when no one was looking. I watched him out of the corner of my eye when he found it. He turned around and saw Henry opening his locker nearby. “Did Julian write this?” he asked. But Henry was one of my peeps, you know? He just iced Jack out, pretended like no one was even talking to him. Jack crumpled the Post-it and flicked it into his locker and banged the door shut. After Jack left, I went over to Henry. “Hollah!” I said, giving him the devil’s sign, which made Henry laugh. Over the next couple of days, I left a few more notes in Jack’s locker. And then I started leaving some in Auggie’s locker. They were not—I repeat, not—a big deal. They were mostly stupid stuff. I didn’t think anyone would ever take them seriously. I mean, they were actually kind of funny! Well, kind of. At least, some of them were. You stink, big cheese! Freak! Get out of our school, orc! No one but Henry and Miles knew that I was writing these notes. And they were sworn to secrecy. Dr. Jansen’s Office I don’t know how the heck Mr. Tushman found out about them. I don’t think Jack or Auggie would have been dumb enough to rat on me, because they had started leaving me notes in my locker, too. I mean, how stupid would you have to be to rat someone out about something that you were doing, too? So, here’s what happened. A few days before the Fifth-Grade Nature Retreat, which I was totally looking forward to, Mom got a phone call from Dr. Jansen, the headmaster of Beecher Prep. He said he wanted to discuss something with her and Dad, and asked for a meeting. Mom assumed it probably had to do with Mr. Tushman, that maybe he was getting fired. So she was actually kind of excited about the meeting! They showed up for the appointment at ten a.m., and they were waiting in Dr. Jansen’s office when, all of a sudden, they see me walking into the office, too. Ms. Rubin had taken me out of class, asked me to follow her, and brought me there: I had no idea what was up. I’d never even been to the headmaster’s office before, so when I saw Mom and Dad there, I looked as confused as they looked. “What’s going on?” Mom said to Ms. Rubin. Before Ms. Rubin could say anything, Mr. Tushman and Dr. Jansen came into the office. Everyone shook hands and they were all smiles as they greeted one another. Ms. Rubin said she had to go back to class but that she would call Mom and Dad later to check in. This surprised Mom. I could tell she started thinking that maybe this wasn’t about Mr. Tushman getting fired, after all. Then Dr. Jansen asked us to sit on the sofa opposite his desk. Mr. Tushman sat down in a chair next to us, and Dr. Jansen sat behind his desk. “Well, thank you so much for coming, Melissa and Jules,” Dr. Jansen said to my parents. It was strange hearing him call them by their first names. I knew they all knew each other from being on the board, but it sounded weird. “I know how busy you are. And I’m sure you’re wondering what this is all about.” “Well, yes . . .” said Mom, but her voice drifted off. Dad coughed into his hand. “The reason we asked you here today is because, unfortunately,” Dr. Jansen continued, “we have a serious matter on our hands, and we’d like to figure out the best way to resolve it. Julian, do you have any inkling of what I might be talking about?” He looked at me. I opened my eyes wide. “Me?” I snapped my head back and made a face. “No.” Dr. Jansen smiled and sighed at me at the same time. He took off his glasses. “You understand,” he said, looking at me, “we take bullying very seriously at Beecher Prep. There’s zero tolerance for any kind of bullying. We feel that every single one of our students deserves the right to learn in a caring and respectful atmosphere—” “Excuse me, but can someone tell me what’s going on here?” Mom interrupted, looking at Dr. Jansen impatiently. “We obviously know the mission statement at Beecher Prep, Hal: we practically wrote it! Let’s cut to the chase—what’s going on?” Evidence Dr. Jansen looked at Mr. Tushman. “Why don’t you explain, Larry?” he said. Mr. Tushman handed an envelope to Mom and Dad. Mom opened it and pulled out the last three Post-it notes I had left in Auggie’s locker. I knew immediately that’s what they were because these were actually pink Post-its and not yellow ones like all the others had been. So, I thought: Ah-ha! So it was Auggie who told Mr. Tushman about the Post-it notes! What a turd!! Mom read through the notes quickly, raised her eyebrows, and passed them to Dad. He read them and looked at me. “You wrote these, Julian?” he said, holding the notes out for me. I swallowed. I looked at him kind of blankly. He handed me the notes, and I just stared at them. “Um . . . well,” I answered. “Yeah, I guess. But, Dad, they were writing notes, too!” “Who was writing notes?” asked Dad. “Jack and Auggie,” I answered. “They were writing notes to me, too! It wasn’t just me!” “But you started the note writing, didn’t you?” asked Mr. Tushman. “Excuse me,” Mom interjected angrily. “Let’s not forget that it was Jack Will who punched Julian in the mouth, not the other way around. Obviously, there’s going to be residual anger—” “How many of these notes did you write, Julian?” Dad interrupted, tapping on the Post-its I was holding. “I don’t know,” I said. It was hard for me to get the words out. “Like, six or something. But the other ones weren’t this . . . you know, bad. These notes are worse than the other ones I wrote. The other ones weren’t so . . .” My voice kind of drifted off as I reread what I’d written on the three notes: Yo, Darth Hideous. You’re so ugly you should wear a mask every day! And: I h8 u, Freak! And the last one: I bet your mother wishes you’d never been born. You should do everybody a favor—and die. Of course, looking at them now, they seemed a lot worse than when I wrote them. But I was mad then—super mad. I had just gotten one of their notes and . . . “Wait!” I said, and I reached into my pocket. I found the last Post-it that Auggie and Jack had left for me in my locker, just yesterday. It was kind of crumpled up now, but I held it out to Mr. Tushman to read. “Look! They wrote mean stuff to me, too!” Mr. Tushman took the Post-it, read it quickly, and handed it to my parents. My mom read it and then looked at the floor. My dad read it and shook his head, puzzled. He handed me the Post-it and I reread it. Julian, you’re so hot! Summer doesn’t like you, but I want to have your babies! Smell my armpits! Love, Beulah. “Who the heck is Beulah?” asked Dad. “Never mind,” I answered. “I can’t explain.” I handed the Post-it back to Mr. Tushman, who gave it to Dr. Jansen to read. I noticed he actually tried to hide a smile. “Julian,” said Mr. Tushman, “the three notes you wrote don’t compare at all to this note in content.” “I don’t think it’s for anyone else to judge the semantics of a note,” said Mom. “It doesn’t matter whether you think one note is worse than the other —it’s how the person reading the note reads it. The fact is, Julian’s had a little crush on this Summer girl all year long, and it probably hurt his feelings —” “Mom!” I yelled, and I covered my face with my hands. “That’s so embarrassing!” “All I’m saying is that a note can be hurtful to a child—whether you see it or not,” Mom said to Mr. Tushman. “Are you kidding me?” answered Mr. Tushman, shaking his head. He sounded angrier than I had ever heard him before. “Are you telling me you don’t find the Post-its your son wrote completely horrifying? Because I do!” “I’m not defending the notes!” answered Mom. “I’m just reminding you that it was a two-way street. You have to realize that Julian was obviously writing those notes as a reaction to something.” “Look,” said Dr. Jansen, holding his hand out in front of him like a crossing guard. “There’s no doubt there’s some history here.” “Those notes hurt my feelings!” I said, and I didn’t mind that I sounded like I was going to cry. “I don’t doubt that their notes hurt your feelings, Julian,” Dr. Jansen answered. “And you were trying to hurt their feelings. That’s the problem with stuff like this—everyone keeps trying to top one another, and then things escalate out of control.” “Exactly!” said Mom, and it almost sounded like she screamed it. “But the fact is,” Dr. Jansen continued, holding up his finger, “there is a line, Julian. There is a line. And your notes crossed that line. They’re completely unacceptable. If Auggie had read these notes, how do you think he’d feel?” He was looking at me so intensely that I felt like disappearing under the sofa. “You mean he hasn’t read them?” I asked. “No,” answered Dr. Jansen. “Thank goodness someone reported the notes to Mr. Tushman yesterday, and he opened Auggie’s locker and intercepted them before Auggie ever saw them.” I nodded and lowered my head. I have to admit—I was glad Auggie hadn’t read them. I guess I knew what Dr. Jansen meant about “crossing the line.” But then I thought, So if it wasn’t Auggie who ratted me out, who was it? We were all quiet for a minute or two. It was awkward beyond belief. The Verdict “Okay,” said Dad finally, rubbing his palm over his face. “Obviously, we understand the seriousness of the situation now, and we will . . . do something about it.” I don’t think I’d ever seen Dad look so uncomfortable. I’m sorry, Dad! “Well, we have some recommendations,” answered Dr. Jansen. “Obviously, we want to help everyone involved . . .” “Thank you for understanding,” said Mom, getting her pocketbook ready as if she were getting up. “But there are consequences!” said Mr. Tushman, looking at Mom. “Excuse me?” she shot back at him. “As I said in the beginning,” Dr. Jansen interjected, “the school has a very strict anti-bullying policy.” “Yeah, we saw how strict it was when you didn’t expel Jack Will for punching Julian in the mouth,” Mom answered quickly. Yeah, take that, Mr. Tushman! “Oh, come on! That was completely different,” Mr. Tushman answered dismissively. “Oh?” answered Mom. “Punching someone in the face isn’t bullying to you?” “Okay, okay,” said Dad, raising his hand to keep Mr. Tushman from answering. “Let’s just cut to the chase, okay? What exactly are your recommendations, Hal?” Dr. Jansen looked at him. “Julian is being suspended for two weeks,” he said. “What?” yelled Mom, looking at Dad. But Dad didn’t look back. “In addition,” said Dr. Jansen, “we’re recommending counseling. Nurse Molly has the names of several therapists who we think Julian should see—” “This is outrageous,” interrupted Mom, steaming. “Wait,” I said. “You mean, I can’t go to school?” “Not for two weeks,” answered Mr. Tushman. “Starting immediately.” “But what about the trip to the nature retreat?” I asked. “You can’t go,” he answered coldly. “No!” I said, and now I really was about to cry. “I want to go to the nature retreat!” “I’m sorry, Julian,” Dr. Jansen said gently. “This is absolutely ridiculous,” said Mom, looking at Dr. Jansen. “Don’t you think you’re overreacting a little? That kid didn’t even read the notes!” “That’s not the point!” answered Mr. Tushman. “I’ll tell you what I think!” said Mom. “This is because you admitted a kid into the school who shouldn’t have been admitted into the school in the first place. And you broke the rules to do it. And now you’re just taking this out on my kid because I’m the one who had the guts to call you on it!” “Melissa,” said Dr. Jansen, trying to calm her down. “These children are too young to deal with things like this . . . facial deformities, disfigurement,” Mom continued, talking to Dr. Jansen. “You must see that! Julian’s had nightmares because of that boy. Did you know that? Julian has anxiety issues.” “Mom!” I said, clenching my teeth. “The board should have been consulted about whether Beecher Prep was the right place for a child like that,” Mom continued. “That’s all I’m saying! We’re just not set up for it. There are other schools that are, but we’re not!” “You can choose to believe that if you want,” answered Mr. Tushman, not looking at her. Mom rolled her eyes. “This is a witch hunt,” she muttered quietly, looking out the window. She was fuming. I had no idea what she was talking about. Witches? What witches? “Okay, Hal, you said you had some recommendations,” Dad said to Dr. Jansen. He sounded gruff. “Is that it? Two-week suspension and counseling?” “We’d also like for Julian to write a letter of apology to August Pullman,” said Mr. Tushman. “Apology for what exactly?” answered Mom. “He wrote some stupid notes. Surely he’s not the only kid in the world who’s ever written a stupid note.” “It’s more than a stupid note!” answered Mr. Tushman. “It’s a pattern of behavior.” He started counting on his fingers. “It’s the making faces behind the kid’s back. It’s the ‘game’ he initiated, where if someone touches Auggie he has to wash his hands . . .” I couldn’t believe Mr. Tushman even knew about the Plague game! How do teachers know so much? “It’s social isolation,” Mr. Tushman continued. “It’s creating a hostile atmosphere.” “And you know for a fact that it’s Julian who initiated all this?” asked Dad. “Social isolation? Hostile atmosphere? Are you saying that Julian was the only kid who wasn’t nice to this boy? Or are you suspending every kid who stuck his tongue out at this kid?” Good one, Dad! Score one for the Albanses! “Doesn’t it trouble you at all that Julian doesn’t seem to be showing the least bit of remorse?” said Mr. Tushman, squinting at Dad. “Okay, let’s just stop right here,” Dad said quietly, pointing his finger in Mr. Tushman’s face. “Please, everyone,” said Dr. Jansen. “Let’s calm down a bit. Obviously, this is difficult.” “After all we’ve done for this school,” Mom answered, shaking her head. “After all the money and the time we’ve put into this school, you would think we’d get just a little bit of consideration.” She put her thumb and her index finger together. “Just a little.” Dad nodded. He was still looking angrily at Mr. Tushman, but then he looked at Dr. Jansen. “Melissa’s right,” he said. “I think we deserved a little better than this, Hal. A friendly warning would have been nice. Instead, you call us in here like children . . .” He stood up. “We deserved better.” “I’m sorry you feel that way,” said Dr. Jansen, standing up as well. “The board of trustees will hear about this,” said Mom. She got up, too. “I’m sure they will,” answered Dr. Jansen, crossing his arms and nodding. Mr. Tushman was the only adult still sitting down. “The point of the suspension isn’t punitive,” he said quietly. “We’re trying to help Julian, too. He can’t fully understand the ramifications of his actions if you keep trying to justify them away. We want him to feel some empathy —” “You know, I’ve heard just about enough!” said Mom, holding her palm in front of Mr. Tushman’s face. “I don’t need parenting advice. Not from someone who doesn’t have kids of his own. You don’t know what it’s like to see your kid having a panic attack every time he shuts his eyes to go to sleep, okay? You don’t know what it’s like.” Her voice cracked a bit, like she was going to cry. She looked at Dr. Jansen. “This affected Julian deeply, Hal. I’m sorry if that’s not politically correct to say, but it’s the truth, and I’m just trying to do what I think is best for my son! That’s all. Do you understand?” “Yes, Melissa,” Dr. Jansen answered softly. Mom nodded. Her chin quivered. “Are we done here? Can we go now?” “Sure,” he answered. “Come on, Julian,” she said, and she walked out of the office. I stood up. I admit, I wasn’t exactly sure what was going on. “Wait, is that it?” I asked. “But what about my things? All my stuff’s in my locker.” “Ms. Rubin will get your things ready and she’ll get them to you later this week,” answered Dr. Jansen. He looked at Dad. “I’m really sorry it came to this, Jules.” He held out his hand for a handshake. Dad looked at his hand but didn’t shake it. He looked at Dr. Jansen. “Here’s the only thing I want from you, Hal,” he said quietly. “I want that this—all of this—be kept confidential. Is that clear? It doesn’t go beyond this room. I don’t want Julian turned into some kind of anti-bullying poster boy by the school. No one is to know he’s been suspended. We’ll make up some excuse about why he’s not in school, and that’s it. Are we clear, Hal? I don’t want him made into an example. I’m not going to stand by while this school drags my family’s reputation through the mud.” Oh, by the way, in case I hadn’t mentioned it before: Dad’s a lawyer. Dr. Jansen and Mr. Tushman exchanged looks. “We are not looking to make an example of any of our students,” Dr. Jansen answered. “This suspension really is about a reasonable response to unreasonable behavior.” “Give me a break,” answered Dad, looking at his watch. “It’s a massive overreaction.” Dr. Jansen looked at Dad, and then he looked at me. “Julian,” he said, looking me right in the eye. “Can I ask you something point-blank?” I looked at Dad, who nodded. I shrugged. “Do you feel at all remorseful for what you’ve done?” Dr. Jansen asked me. I thought about it a second. I could tell all the grown-ups were watching me, waiting for me to answer something magical that would make this whole situation better. “Yes,” I said quietly. “I’m really sorry I wrote those last notes.” Dr. Jansen nodded. “Is there anything else you feel remorse for?” he asked. I looked at Dad again. I’m not an idiot. I knew what he was dying for me to say. I just wasn’t going to say it. So I looked down and shrugged. “Can I ask you this, then?” said Dr. Jansen. “Will you consider writing Auggie a letter of apology?” I shrugged again. “How many words does it have to be?” was all I could think to say. I knew the moment I said it that I probably shouldn’t have. Dr. Jansen looked at my dad, who just looked down. “Julian,” said Dad. “Go find Mom. Wait for me by the reception area. I’ll be out in a second.” Just as I closed the door on my way out, Dad started whispering something to Dr. Jansen and Mr. Tushman. It was a hushed, angry whisper. When I got to the reception area, I found Mom sitting on a a chair with her sunglasses on. I sat down next to her. She rubbed my back but she didn’t say anything. I think she had been crying. I looked at the clock: 10:20 a.m. Right about now, Ms. Rubin was probably going over the results of yesterday’s quiz in science class. As I looked around the lobby, I had a blip of a memory—that day before school started, when me, Jack Will, and Charlotte had met up here before meeting our “welcome buddy” for the first time. I remember how nervous Jack had been that day, and how I didn’t even know who Auggie was. So much had happened since then. Out of School Dad didn’t say anything when he met us in the lobby. We just walked out the doors without saying goodbye—even to the security guard at the reception desk. It was weird leaving the school when everyone was still inside. I wondered what Miles and Henry would think when I didn’t come back to class. I hated that I was going to miss PE that afternoon. My parents were quiet the whole way back to the house. We live on the Upper West Side, which is about a half-hour drive from Beecher Prep, but it felt like it took forever to get home. “I can’t believe I got suspended,” I said, just as we pulled into the parking garage in our building. “It’s not your fault, honey,” answered Mom. “They have it in for us.” “Melissa!” Dad yelled, which surprised Mom a bit. “Yes, of course it’s his fault. This whole situation is his fault! Julian, what the heck were you thinking, writing notes like that?” “He was goaded into writing them!” answered Mom. We had pulled to a stop inside the garage. The parking-garage attendant was waiting for us to get out of the car, but we didn’t get out. Dad turned around and looked at me. “I’m not saying I think the school handled this right,” he said. “Two weeks’ suspension is ridiculous. But, Julian, you should know better!” “I know!” I said. “It was a mistake, Dad!” “We all make mistakes,” said Mom. Dad turned back around. He looked at Mom. “Jansen’s right, Melissa. If you keep trying to justify his actions—” “That’s not what I’m doing, Jules.” Dad didn’t answer right away. Then he said, “I told Jansen that we’re pulling Julian out of Beecher Prep next year.” Mom was literally speechless. It took a second for what he said to hit me. “You what?” I said. “Jules,” Mom said slowly. “I told Jansen that we’ll finish out this year at Beecher Prep,” Dad continued calmly. “But next year, Julian’s going to a different school.” “I can’t believe this!” I cried. “I love Beecher Prep, Dad! I have friends! Mom!” “I’m not sending you back to that school, Julian,” Dad said firmly. “No way am I spending another dime on that school. There are plenty of other great private schools in New York City.” “Mom!” I said. Mom wiped her hand across her face. She shook her head. “Don’t you think we should have talked about this first?” she said to Dad. “You don’t agree?” he countered. She rubbed her forehead with her fingers. “No, I do agree,” she said softly, nodding. “Mom!” I screamed. She turned around in her seat. “Honey, I think Daddy’s right.” “I can’t believe this!” I yelled, punching the car seat. “They have it in for us now,” she continued. “Because we complained about the situation with that boy . . .” “But that was your fault!” I said through clenched teeth. “I didn’t tell you to try and get Auggie thrown out of the school. I didn’t want you to get Tushman fired. That was you!” “And I’m sorry about that, sweetheart,” she said meekly. “Julian!” said Dad. “Your mom did everything she did to try and protect you. It’s not her fault you wrote those notes, is it?” “No, but if she hadn’t made such a big stink about everything . . .” I started to say. “Julian, do you hear yourself?” said Dad. “Now you’re blaming your mom. Before you were blaming the other boys for writing those notes. I’m starting to wonder if what they were saying is right! Don’t you feel any remorse for what you’ve done?” “Of course he does!” said Mom. “Melissa, let him answer for himself!” Dad said loudly. “No, okay?” I yelled. “I’m not sorry! I know everybody thinks I should be all, I’m sorry for being mean to Auggie, I’m sorry I talked smack about him, I’m sorry I dissed him. But I’m not. So sue me.” Before Dad could respond, the garage attendant knocked on the car window. Another car had pulled into the garage and they needed us to get out.