Absolutely Almost(26)

            I stood there, waiting for him to tell me the number.

            “I usually do about twenty-five cups in a stack,” he told me.

            When he said that, I had to start counting again, because I forgot what number I’d counted to already. But I finished the whole plastic row, four neat towers next to the sugar and the milk. They looked nice, I thought, all even like that.

            “Thank you very much,” Hugo said when I was done. “You’re a wonderful helper.”

            “Isn’t he great?” Calista said, and she mussed my hair. I didn’t mind too much.

            I put my strawberry glazed with rainbow sprinkles on the counter.

            “On the house,” Hugo told me.

            I squinted at him.

            “No charge,” he said. “You help me stack, I give you donuts.”

            “Really?” I asked, staring at the donut sitting there on the counter. That seemed like a pretty good deal to me. “Can I help stack again tomorrow?”

            Hugo laughed. “Any time, Albie.”

            And that’s how I ended up with my new after-school job.





(not) johnny

treeface.




            When Mrs. Rouse was handing back our reading logs on Monday, she stopped at my desk and said she was very glad I was reading again.

            I shrugged. I didn’t want her to find out I was still reading baby books, even though on my reading log it said I was reading a book for a fifth-grader.

            But I guess Mrs. Rouse is hard to trick, because she asked me, “How are you liking Johnny Tremain?”

            It took me a second to remember that that was the real name of Johnny Treeface.

            “It’s, um, okay,” I said slowly.

            She smiled at me. “Glad to hear it,” she told me. “I remember it being terribly boring. But I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” That’s when I noticed her eyes darting down to my desk, where my copy of Captain Underpants and the Wrath of the Wicked Wedgie Woman, with Calista’s fake cover, was sticking out. My stomach went hot, and I pushed the book in just a centimeter, but when I looked up at Mrs. Rouse, she was still smiling.

            She winked at me.

            “Keep it up, Albie,” she said, and then she continued on down the row.





only

a test.




            At dinner Mom told me that Ms. McPhillips, the school counselor, wanted me to take a test.

            “What kind of a test?” I asked, because I hate tests. There is no such thing as a good test, unless maybe it's a test to figure out what is the very best kind of donut. But I’ve never taken that one.

            “Oh, it’s nothing to worry about,” Mom said, which really made me start to worry, because that’s exactly what she said when I had to get my cavity filled. “Ms. McPhillips thinks you might have a reading disorder, that’s all.”

            I guess I must’ve made a face right then, and Mom figured out it was because of what she said, not the carrots I was eating (which were also awful). She put her hand on my arm, which was the arm holding my fork, which meant I couldn’t eat any more carrots, which I was not that upset about.

            “Albie,” she said, “it’s not a big deal. I promise.”

            “I don’t have a disorder,” I told her.

            Then she told me about the thing Ms. McPhillips thought I might have in my brain, which was a long word I couldn’t pronounce, with an x in it. “Lots of people have it, Albie,” she said. “Famous people. Smart people. It just means your eyes mix up letters and numbers sometimes, and it would explain why you sometimes have trouble reading.”