by Lynn Plourde
When Abby asked, “What do you mean?” I told her about Maxi’s car ride home from the breeder’s. Abby laughed and laughed as she kept patting Maxi. I exaggerated only a little—nothing like a good old poop story to clear the air.
“Lunchtime, Abby!” A woman stepped out from the house onto the patio. “Oh, you have guests.”
“It’s the new neighbors, Mom. Timminy and his dog, Maxi.”
“Nice to meet you, Abby’s mom.” I stood and nodded.
“Kate Winslow—just call me Kate. Want to stay for lunch? I probably can find another can of SpaghettiOs to open.”
I waited for her to laugh or wink or something. When she didn’t, I said, “Er, no thanks. And if you don’t mind, I’ll call you Mrs. Winslow.” (If Dad made me call him Mr. Harris at school, I didn’t think he’d want me calling her by her first name.) I continued, “Maxi and I need to head home. I promised my dad we wouldn’t be gone long.”
On cue, Maxi stood up (how’d she keep doing that if she was deaf?), ambled over to Mrs. Winslow, and held her head up for some puppy loving. Mrs. Winslow obliged. “Sweet pup. Wish we had a dog, or better yet a whole sled full of dogs to get around in these Maine winters.”
“Mom, we live in Maine, not Alaska.”
Mrs. Winslow shrugged her shoulders. “Not much difference,” she said. “Gotta stir the SpaghettiOs before they burn. Don’t be long, Abby. Nice meeting you, Timothy.”
“Timminy,” I corrected her. “It’s a special family name.”
“Lucky you. We’re …” She paused and smiled. “A special family.” Then she stepped inside.
I stood there with my mouth open, then said, “Your mom is …”
“A comedian?” asked Abby. “She thinks she is. Dad and I don’t encourage her by laughing. You shouldn’t either.”
“Yeah, that, but I was thinking more that she’s wh—”
“White? How observant, Timminy. So’s my dad. I’m adopted. But I give you credit that you only seemed shocked I was blind, not black, earlier. That’s pretty good considering we live in the whitest state in the country.”
“At my old school in Portland, we had lots of black students, many immigrant families from Somalia and Sudan. They didn’t always speak English and had accents. You don’t have any accent.”
“Ayuh! A Maine one.” Abby smirked. “Maybe because I was born in Chicago, but I’ve been a Maine-uh since I was four months old. Gotta go in for lunch.” She stood up.
“Need some help?” I asked.
“Nah! I have every square inch of our house and yard memorized—unless something is out of place. But then this cane will let me know.”
Suddenly she turned right, not left.
Toward the pool, not the house.
Without using her cane.
She took four steps toward the pool and lifted her right foot over the water. I shouted, “ABBY!”
“Gotcha!” Abby laughed as she pulled her foot back.
“How could I ever have felt sorry for you?” I said. “Glad to see your mom isn’t the only comedian in the family.”
Abby smiled proudly and walked back toward their patio, using her cane this time. When she touched Maxi—Maxi who was peeking through the glass doors, probably hoping to try her first SpaghettiOs—she leaned down and ran her fingers through Maxi’s fur. Her smile grew bigger as she said, “Hey, girl, you must be hot with all that fur. Why don’t you come back over after lunch and cool off with a doggie paddle in the pool?”
Maxi barked one of her happy barks.
“Are you sure your dog is deaf?” asked Abby.
“So they tell me.”
She picked up the end of Maxi’s leash and tossed it right to me.
“Are you sure you’re blind?” I asked.
“So they tell me,” said Abby.
I tugged on Maxi’s leash and headed toward the back gate.
As Abby headed inside, she turned and said, “Maxi, if you want to bring that silly boy of yours over with you for a swim after lunch, we’ll try to put up with him.”
• • •
SECRET #14
Sometimes you shouldn’t be so sure of what you think you’re sure of.
CHAPTER 15
MOM AND DAD thought it was a great idea that Maxi and I were going to Abby’s for a swim after lunch. It turned out Dad had already met Abby and her parents at a meeting at school.
“Does Abby go to our school?” I asked. “I haven’t seen her.”
“Why don’t you ask Abby that?” he said.
I did as soon as we went back over.
“Yup, I’ve always gone to Skenago schools,” she said. “I’m in sixth grade. I’ll be starting this coming week, since my new ed tech was finishing up her training last week.”
“Ed tech?” I asked.
“Teacher aide. I have my own teacher aide to help me at school.”
“That’s good.”
“Not always,” said Abby. “Maybe good for the schoolwork, but it stinks for my social life. Who wants to talk to someone who has a grown-up hanging around all the time? But if I had a guide dog instead, I bet everyone would want to hang out with me.”
“Well, I’m only in fifth grade, but maybe we could hang out at school.”
“Sure. We’ll share the same lunch period.”
“Then I’ll look for you,” I said.
“And I’ll listen for you,” Abby said.
My laugh was interrupted by a …
SPLASH!
Maxi had jumped into the pool! The deep end!
“Maxi! No, Maxi!” I dove in after her, sneakers and all.
Abby sat in her chair laughing.
“It’s not funny,” I yelled as I reached for Maxi. “She’s never been in the water before.”
“Calm down, Timminy. She’ll be fine. Sounds like she’s doing the doggie paddle.”
I stopped flailing my arms and just treaded water. Abby was right. Maxi was swimming. “Good, girl.”
“You sound like a proud parent.”
I smiled. “Guess I am.”
Now that I knew Maxi had things under control, I climbed out, ditched my sneakers and the clothes I’d had on over my bathing suit, and jumped back in with Maxi. Abby joined us too.
After a while, Abby’s mom brought out a pitcher of lemonade for us and a bowl of water for Maxi. Maxi beat us out of the pool, walking up the steps on the shallow end. She slurped from the water dish, then shook off right next to Mrs. Winslow.
“Just what I needed, Maxi,” Mrs. Winslow said, laughing. “A cold shower on this hot day.”
“And I need some of that cold lemonade, Mom,” said Abby.
“Help yourself,” said Mrs. Winslow. “My waitress days are over.”
Abby laughed. “Then I’ll be your waitress.”
I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t help myself as I watched Abby pour lemonade for each of us. She put a little contraption with metal prongs over the side of the glass. It made a high-pitched noise when the lemonade touched the prongs. She didn’t spill a drop.
“That’s so cool, Abby,” I said.
“It’s called a liquid indicator,” she said. “Good thing I’m only blind and not deaf too so I can hear it beep.”
When Abby said “deaf,” I turned to look at Maxi, but she had … disappeared.
“Uh-oh! Where’s Maxi?” I said.
Mrs. Winslow looked all around.
Abby asked, “Is the gate open, or the door to the house?”
“No,” I said as my eyes darted from one to the other.
I jumped up and checked the pool. Phew! That was empty. The fence was too tall—Maxi couldn’t have jumped it. I checked the bottom of the fence to see if she’d dug under it.
Mrs. Winslow started laughing and pointed.
I laughed too, relieved.
Abby groaned. “It’s times like these I hate being blind. You both found her and it’s funny and I can’t see the joke.”
“Sorry,” I said.
“What’d I tell you about ‘sorry,’” said Abby. “I don’t need ‘sorry.’ I need to get the joke.”
Mrs. Winslow started, “Imagine—”
“Mom,” Abby interrupted, “let Timminy try. If he’s going to be my friend, he needs to learn blind talk.”
“Blind talk?” I asked.
“Yes, you have to tell me what’s so funny about where you found Maxi, but you can’t use ‘seeing’ words.”
“That sounds hard,” I said.
“Give it a try,” Abby said.
“Um, Maxi, my big, white Great Pyrenees puppy is peeking out of the big green shade plants growing next to your garage. She looks like a white ghost peeking out of a green jungle.” I smiled proudly. “How’s that? Pretty good for my first blind talk, huh?”
“Gong!” said Abby.
“You failed,” said Mrs. Winslow.
“What do you mean? I thought I did a good job describing things.”
Abby sighed. “You used ‘seeing’ words. Big—I can’t see big. White and green—I can’t see colors.”
Her mom added, “A big, furry dog peeking out from the plants as she tries to cool down … Abby knows what those words mean, but she can’t feel the joke. You have to use hearing or taste or touch or smell words so Abby can understand in a way that makes sense to her senses.”
“How do I do that?”
Mrs. Winslow said, “You could say something like Maxi is a loud, screeching note of rock music in the middle of a soft symphony.”
Abby grinned. “That’s pretty good, Mom. See, Timminy, that lets me know how out of place, what a surprise Maxi was when you saw her. You try.”
“Hmmm, let me think …”
Abby waited, Mrs. Winslow waited, and Maxi didn’t care as she slept in the shade.
I gave it another try. “Maxi is hiding like … a … a marshmallow in the middle of a big bowl of broccoli.”
Abby laughed. “Not bad. You might get this blind talk with practice.”
I smiled. “Practice” meant I’d get to see Abby again.
• • •
SECRET #15
A new friend is like a wrapped present—you’re not sure what’s inside, but you can’t wait to find out.
CHAPTER 16
I SAW ABBY again on Monday when we met the Winslows in front of the fudge shop on Main Street for the Skenago Labor Day parade.
When they walked up, I noticed Abby didn’t have her cane and was holding on to her dad’s arm instead.
“Forget your cane?” I asked.
“No, parades are too busy,” answered Abby. “My cane would be tapping something in every direction—system overload. And I might trip someone.”
“And how come you’re wearing dark glasses today?”
“I wear them in public so I don’t upset people when they see my eyes. Remember your reaction to my eyes?”
“I was just surprised, that’s all.”
“Yeah, right. Tell me about it, Timminy. I was there, remember?”
“Yeah, I remember.”
“Someday, I hope I’ll be confident enough not to wear dark glasses in public. And if my eyes bother people, it’ll be their problem, not mine.”
“I like your attitude, Abby Winslow,” I said.
“I will too if I’m ever that brave—not there yet.”
Woo-Woo-Woo! A police siren blared as the parade kicked off.
My mom said, “Ooh, it’s starting. I love parades. How great that Skenago has a Labor Day parade. Portland never did.”
Abby’s dad nodded. “Skenago has a parade for every holiday—Halloween, Fourth of July, Flag Day, Thanksgiving, Groundhog Day. But you’d better bundle up for the New Year’s Eve midnight parade. It gets pretty cold. Small towns don’t need a reason to celebrate—we just like getting together. And truth be told, our parades pretty much all look alike. Abby and I mostly come because we’re fudge fans.”
I turned to Abby. “So it’s all about the fudge?”
Abby grinned. “And the sounds too … the sirens, laughter, babies crying, drums drumming, flutes fluting, trumpets—”
I jumped in. “Trumpeting, oboes oboe-ing.”
Abby laughed. “Shhhhhh! I don’t want to miss a sound.”
I watched Abby watch the parade, and closed my eyes several times to try to experience it the same way she did. Clunk, hoot, cough, bang, bump, screech, snort, growl. So many sounds. I felt a little dizzy.
Once when I opened my eyes to see what was making the putt-putt-vroom sounds right in front of us, I saw a group of clowns on scooters and one big clown on a four-wheeler.
The big clown drove closer—vroom-vroom. “Hey, Ab-B-B-B, I see you met Minny. You coming to school this week?” It was the Jerk.
Abby answered, “I met Timminy, if that’s who you mean. And, yeah, I’ll be in school tomorrow.”
Rory nodded. “See you tomorrow, Ab-B-B-B. You too, Minny.”
Ahooga-ahooga. A Model-A Ford signaled Rory to move along. Thank goodness!
The whole parade was over in a flash. It was the shortest one I’d ever seen, about twelve minutes tops. It took us longer to get our fudge.
Fudge Fantasy was mobbed, and there were soooo many choices. I settled on root beer float and Abby had blueberry cheesecake blast and we tasted each other’s. “Yum,” we said at the same time.
“When I turn sixteen, the first thing I’m going to do, after I get my guide dog, is get a job here,” said Abby. “They won’t have to pay me, just feed me fudge.”
“You’ll be a fudge blimp,” I said. “And how are you going to give customers the right fudge if you can’t see it?”
“I’ll smell it. That’s how.”
“Nose prints on my fudge—SNOT nice.”
Abby’s arm shot out at me. I dodged, and she missed.
“Oooh, I owe you one.”
“Since you can’t see me, Abby, I want you to know I’m shaking in my shoes.”
“Mom, Dad, let’s go,” Abby said. “I’ve had enough of this new neighbor of ours.”
I could tell Abby was kidding. And I actually weaseled my way into riding back with Abby and her parents so I’d have a chance to talk with her. But instead, her dad gave us a play-by-play of the whole town, pointing out each business, plus who lived in each house, till we got to our neighborhood.
“Of course Rory Pelletier and his dad live up this driveway on the other side of your house,” Mr. Winslow said. “Saw he was talking to you at the parade—so you must already know him.”
“Not really,” I said. “I’ve seen him around.”
“I think he’s in seventh grade this year. Right, Abby?”
“Yup,” she answered.
I gulped. How could that giant Jerk only be in seventh grade? That meant Dad and I would have to put up with him in middle school another whole year!
“He’s kinda big for a seventh grader,” I said.
“Yeah, I think he stayed back a year,” said Abby.
“Probably when his parents went through their divorce,” added her dad. “I don’t think Rory even sees his mom anymore. He has an older brother, Jeff, who dropped out of school and left town last year—not sure where he is. Rory’s dad used to be a long-distance trucker and was away a lot. But when Jeff left, he changed jobs to drive a logging truck for the paper mill so he’d be home every night. He tries hard to do what’s right for Rory.”
I nodded as we pulled into Abby’s driveway. If they didn’t know Rory was a jerk, I wasn’t going to be the one to break it to them. And they could stop with Rory’s sob story—he’s the last guy I’d throw a pity party for.
When we got to their house, I walked with them to the front door and said, “I gotta head home, give Maxi some attention, and finish my homework before tomorrow.” Abby’s parents said bye and headed inside. It was just the two of us.
“Um, before I go, Abby, I wanted to talk with you about something.”
“When I’m planning to get revenge on yo
u?”
“No, something serious.”
“I didn’t know you had a serious side. What’s up?”
“Back at the parade, did you hear what Rory called me?”
“Minny, right? So he’s already turned Timminy into a nickname. He must think you’re special.”
“Not so much.” I looked away. Even though Abby couldn’t see me, I still didn’t want to face her. “The reason he called me Minny is because I’m …” I hesitated.
“Short?” asked Abby.
“Yes, how’d you know?”
Abby smiled. “Because I can tell the direction your voice comes from when you talk to me—down low, not from on high.”
“Not funny, Abby. I’m short, really short, probably the shortest kid in school. Thought you should know in case you don’t want to be seen with me at school.”
“Stand still right in front of me,” said Abby.
“Why?”
“So I can knock some sense into you.” Abby reached out with her knuckles and knocked on my head.
“I told you I’m being serious, Abby.”
“Well then, Timminy, it’s my turn to be serious. I don’t care if you’re the tallest or the shortest or fattest or skinniest kid in school. I can’t see you, remember? And it may not have crossed your mind since you’re making this all about you, but I happen to be the blindest kid at school, oh yeah, and the blackest kid too, so they tell me. So try to get over yourself, Minny, Timminy, or whatever you want to be called. I don’t want to see or hear from you until you do!”
• • •
SECRET #16
If you’re not careful, you can lose a friend even faster than you made one.
CHAPTER 17
WOULD ABBY EVEN talk to me at school? I could hope, couldn’t I?
On Tuesday, I didn’t see her in the cafeteria when I went to sit at the table with the reading nerds.
I had forgotten to bring anything fun to read so it was me and my math book again (I’d have to scour my shelves to find something, anything, better than a math book). The reading nerds must have towering shelves full of books—they were both reading something new today and had a few spares, just in case. The redhead had all mysteries in his stack, and the other nerd was devouring the Percy Jackson series—reading Book 1 on Friday and, oh man, he was on Book 4 already today.