CHAPTER 24

“Hi Mom. Nice to see you.”

“I wish I could say the same, Augustus. Do you know how much — Can you possibly imagine just — how — much —”

“Candy?” I suggest. Mom’s talking slowly and my mind skitters ahead to find the joke. “Is that what you were going to say? Can I imagine how much candy you brought me? Wow. Is it a kilo? A whole kilo?”

Gale does that spit thing. He’s trying not to laugh. He knows my mom is madder than a hornet trapped in a jar.

“Listen, Mom,” I say. “Before we get into me insulting the principal, and getting lost, and not going to hospital, and all the things I should or shouldn’t have done but didn’t do or did — I think that’s right — let me remind you that there are two sides to every story. Think of a story like a vinyl record, with an A side and a B side. Though really —”

I’m talking even faster now.

“— really stories have lots of sides, like those things in math class. Not mulligans? Gilligans? Hooligans? Polygons? That’s it. Polygons. They have lots of sides. Not hooligans or Gilligans. Which makes me think of Dedo. Remember how much he liked Gilligan’s Island? I watched a bunch of episodes of that show with him. He liked the silly rich guy the best. What’s-his-name the Third. Ahh. Nice memory. Now where was I? Blame. Yes. What should have happened. I’ve never liked that tense. The should have tense. Talk about useless. Here we are in Ruby’s room. Isn’t that the main thing? Look at us! This is the big scene at the end of the movie, with the main characters crowded together. Ruby will be coming soon. Can’t you hear the music swelling?”

Mom waves her arms. “Be quiet, Augustus! And listen to me!”

I do and I don’t. I shut up, but I don’t listen to her. Mom’s mouth moves, but all I hear is wind. I can guess what she’s saying. She’s talking about what I didn’t do that I should have, and what I did do that I shouldn’t have, and about my general unhealthy state. All I hear is wind. Whoozhzhzhzh.

Until she arrives. Past the sound of wind blowing, I hear footsteps. And there she is — wide as the doorway and almost as high, hands on her hips, hair short and messy, face lopsided in a smile. My forty-push-ups, 10k run, all-city rugby, six-years-older, six-foot-tall sister.

“Hey! Hey! You!” she says.

I try to say hey, you! back and start coughing. Water comes to my eyes. I can’t help it. This is my unconscious response to Ruby, my body speaking for me. My body is more eloquent than I am. It’s great to see her.

Great — what an overused word. We describe everything from epics to tacos that way. I heard a baseball announcer say that some Blue Jays fielder made a great catch on a great hit off a great pitch. No lie, I actually heard this. So many things are great — Depressions, Pyramids, Plains, Expectations, everything. Calling things great is stupid, which is another overused word. Even though — ha, ha — not as many things have stupid in their name. Would I rent a cottage on a Stupid Lake? Maybe I’d go there to play with my Stupid Dane dog and read The Stupid Gatsby. Unless I decided to take my holiday in Stupid Britain.

Where was I? Oh yeah. It’s really, really, really, really great to see Ruby. How do I know this? Because I’m still crying. Feels like my heart is breaking, but in a good way, like a wave breaking on the beach, carrying me to safety.

“Gussie!” She runs over, gives me a warm hug.

I go, “Ahhhh.” Over the firm rounded top of Ruby’s bicep, I can see Gale smiling.

You can think the scene is sappy or cute, whichever you want. I won’t argue. It’s the happiest I’ve been in a long time.