SPECIAL

Christmas is special.

Finding a dollar on the ground is special.

Personal pan pizzas with double pepperoni are special.

But getting put in a “special needs” program with “special” classes and no guarantee of getting through middle school anytime especially soon?

Not so special.

Before we left school that day, Mom and I had a meeting with my new “Learning Skills” teacher, Mr. Edward Fanucci. It’s pronounced fuh-noochy, and sounds to me like something you’d eat with tomato sauce.

“Rafe, welcome back to HVMS,” he said. “I’m glad we’ll be working together this year. And it’s Jules, is that right, Mrs. Khatchadorian?”

“Jules is fine,” Mom said.

Mr. Fanucci recognized Mom from the diner where she works—Swifty’s over on Montgomery Boulevard. She even remembered that he liked his cheeseburgers well done and sat by himself at the counter for breakfast every Sunday morning.

In fact, the two of them were having a great old time talking about cheeseburgers while I sat there thinking about how miserable my life was about to get.

What did all this mean, exactly? Was I just plain dumb? Could I have gotten out of it if I’d paid more attention in school? If I’d eaten more veggies when my mom told me to? If I didn’t have an imaginary friend who I used to talk to all the time?

If I wasn’t so weird?

“Okay, Rafe,” Mr. Fanucci finally said, “we need to review your IEP. Then I’ll let you go, and you can start enjoying the last few days of your summer vacation.”

I wanted to ask how he thought I could enjoy anything with this hanging over my head, but I didn’t say a word. I just thought, NONONONO NONONONO!

Supposedly, IEP stands for Individualized Education Program. But if you ask me, it was more like In Extreme Pain.

I guess Mr. Fanucci could tell I was about as excited as a kid in the dentist’s chair, because he started getting all buddy-buddy with me.

“Believe it or not, you’re going to be glad for this program,” he said. “It’s going to help you do better than ever in school, like getting some extra gas in the tank. You’ll take most of your classes with everyone else and work with me on your assignments. Three times a week, we’ll have our Learning Skills group, with some kids like you who need extra help.”

“Kids like me?” I said.

“Yeah,” he said. “Kids who learn differently.”

Which was just another way of saying SPECIALS. Dummies. Rejects. Weirdos. Freaks.

You know—kids like me.