yours,” he says.
Fucking shit, I think.
“Okay,” I say.
I’ll make up something later, I think.
It’s hard to behave so that no one knows anything, when they really don’t know anything.
With one part of my brain I listen to the lesson about hominids, all the stages of the evolution of man leading up to
Homo sapiens,
which are us now. With the other part I think of a solution, because I’d like to go to the movies; if nothing else it would distract me.
I don’t even know if I really want to go to the movies with them, but I do want everything to be normal. And it would be normal to go to the movies with Davide and his pain in the ass of a sister.
I wonder what it’s like to have a sister and if it’s better to have an older or a younger one, like Elisabetta. I’ve thought about it so many times without reaching any conclusion. There are pros and cons.
Right now, for example, it would be a disaster. Sisters don’t know how to keep their mouths shut, because they’re girls and they think they know how to do everything. Davide’s sister is always butting in, always acting like she knows more about things than you do. Then if you figure out that seven times eight equals fifty-six before she does, she starts to scream the house down because she can’t stand losing. When she makes cookies, we all have to eat them and they’re awful, superhard, like a nougat bar without the nougat flavor. It’s like munching on a pencil, and I hate pencils, even when they’re shaped like cookies. I hate pencils because even if you erase what you’ve written, there’ll always still be a dark mark underneath. Then again, if I had a smart, well-trained sister, a sister who was all mine, it would be better because at least then I’d have someone to talk to.
I can’t decide about this sister thing. Maybe a brother would be better, I don’t know. But even then it would depend on the brother. Maybe a twin—a twin would definitely think about things the same way I do.
To distract myself I do the breathing exercise, seeing how long I can go without breathing, each time a little longer.
I hold my breath until I almost suffocate, while looking at the hands of the clock. It’s kind of like a videogame, except that you play it just with yourself. Each time, you try to beat the last time. The great thing is that you can do it at school and nobody notices.
Once when I was doing the breathing exercise Mrs. Squarzetti asked me, “What is the capital of France?” I looked at her with my eyes popping out of my head because I was about to explode, but I couldn’t give up.
“Are you feeling all right?”
I beat the old record and shouted: “Paris!”
Spitting on my notebook, saying “Paris” as if it had lots of
P
s. There’s still a mark where my spit dissolved the ink.
“Well done!” she said, terribly pleased with herself.
I know, I know, I thought.
I’d like to have a stopwatch so that I could time myself more accurately. I’d also like to be able to write with my left hand. I’m training myself to write with both hands like Leonardo da Vinci, who was a genius.
But the writing I do with my left hand looks like it’s Blue’s, or maybe the doctor’s. If I write with it, you won’t understand anything.
“Yeah, you’re right. Absolutely nothing’s going right today.”
But can I go to the movies with Davide and his mother and his sister anyway? Today’s Elisabetta’s birthday. Can I? It’s true that you can’t go, but what about me, can I? Please let me go. It’s an amazing movie, it could even help me with school. If I go, you won’t be mad? And you’re not just saying you won’t get mad, but then you’ll get mad anyway? Because I’m a little mad too, you know. I know it’s not your fault. But I don’t like to come home to this; the apartment is too quiet when you don’t talk. I can’t talk to anyone. Maybe I could talk with Giulia. Do you think that’s a good idea? That she’d
Fucking shit, I think.
“Okay,” I say.
I’ll make up something later, I think.
It’s hard to behave so that no one knows anything, when they really don’t know anything.
With one part of my brain I listen to the lesson about hominids, all the stages of the evolution of man leading up to
Homo sapiens,
which are us now. With the other part I think of a solution, because I’d like to go to the movies; if nothing else it would distract me.
I don’t even know if I really want to go to the movies with them, but I do want everything to be normal. And it would be normal to go to the movies with Davide and his pain in the ass of a sister.
I wonder what it’s like to have a sister and if it’s better to have an older or a younger one, like Elisabetta. I’ve thought about it so many times without reaching any conclusion. There are pros and cons.
Right now, for example, it would be a disaster. Sisters don’t know how to keep their mouths shut, because they’re girls and they think they know how to do everything. Davide’s sister is always butting in, always acting like she knows more about things than you do. Then if you figure out that seven times eight equals fifty-six before she does, she starts to scream the house down because she can’t stand losing. When she makes cookies, we all have to eat them and they’re awful, superhard, like a nougat bar without the nougat flavor. It’s like munching on a pencil, and I hate pencils, even when they’re shaped like cookies. I hate pencils because even if you erase what you’ve written, there’ll always still be a dark mark underneath. Then again, if I had a smart, well-trained sister, a sister who was all mine, it would be better because at least then I’d have someone to talk to.
I can’t decide about this sister thing. Maybe a brother would be better, I don’t know. But even then it would depend on the brother. Maybe a twin—a twin would definitely think about things the same way I do.
To distract myself I do the breathing exercise, seeing how long I can go without breathing, each time a little longer.
I hold my breath until I almost suffocate, while looking at the hands of the clock. It’s kind of like a videogame, except that you play it just with yourself. Each time, you try to beat the last time. The great thing is that you can do it at school and nobody notices.
Once when I was doing the breathing exercise Mrs. Squarzetti asked me, “What is the capital of France?” I looked at her with my eyes popping out of my head because I was about to explode, but I couldn’t give up.
“Are you feeling all right?”
I beat the old record and shouted: “Paris!”
Spitting on my notebook, saying “Paris” as if it had lots of
P
s. There’s still a mark where my spit dissolved the ink.
“Well done!” she said, terribly pleased with herself.
I know, I know, I thought.
I’d like to have a stopwatch so that I could time myself more accurately. I’d also like to be able to write with my left hand. I’m training myself to write with both hands like Leonardo da Vinci, who was a genius.
But the writing I do with my left hand looks like it’s Blue’s, or maybe the doctor’s. If I write with it, you won’t understand anything.
“Yeah, you’re right. Absolutely nothing’s going right today.”
But can I go to the movies with Davide and his mother and his sister anyway? Today’s Elisabetta’s birthday. Can I? It’s true that you can’t go, but what about me, can I? Please let me go. It’s an amazing movie, it could even help me with school. If I go, you won’t be mad? And you’re not just saying you won’t get mad, but then you’ll get mad anyway? Because I’m a little mad too, you know. I know it’s not your fault. But I don’t like to come home to this; the apartment is too quiet when you don’t talk. I can’t talk to anyone. Maybe I could talk with Giulia. Do you think that’s a good idea? That she’d
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