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“Are you okay, Alan?” Zack asks. “You’re quieter than normal.” I want to ask Zack how he can even tell, since I’m always quiet, and since we don’t ever hang out or talk
Now, if I made a list of things I’m not, “trendy” would come right after “a twenty-foot-tall elephant,”
He’d never come over here with his big smile and sit with somebody like me and act like it isn’t weird that somebody like me would ever want to ask somebody like him to the movies or something. Sure, he likes me, but he doesn’t like me.
I don’t play any sports. I’m about as athletic as a bag of bricks, and I probably weigh less too.
Nobody cares about goldfish. People don’t keep them as pets; they keep them as background decorations. Goldfish are to other fish what ants are to people, except goldfish can’t do anything cool like lift ten times their weight. To Dad, I am a goldfish.
Maybe that’s all you need to know about me. Alan Cole: He Survived.
Madison doesn’t, uh, need my pity. He’s, um, he’s fine the way he is. Maybe you, maybe—maybe you could—”
People who talk too much don’t listen.
“At school you’re probably either ignored or bullied, based on how timid you are. If you have any friends, they’ve got to be rejects like you, with very poor social skills. Nobody gets you. Nobody except me.” She raises a finger into the air. “People like us need to band together. We need to accept our badness and stand up together against everyone else. That’s my mission statement: I am devoted to waking people up to the truth.”
It’s not fun living a secret life. That’s why I try to be as open as possible with everyone.”
Before he died he told me to never let anyone tell you you don’t deserve to be who you are. The only person who can tell you that is yourself.”
I’d rather have a hard time being myself than an easy time being somebody else.”
An introvert is somebody who gets drained by being around people and energized by being by themselves. If you’re the opposite, you’re an extrovert.
“You’re the only one who listens when I talk.”
“I am,” Zack says; his voice wavers a little. “And you know something? It doesn’t matter. Who cares if you’re cool or not? Who cares if you win or lose? I know who I am. And I’m a big, fat loser!”
“You should have never been born. All you’ve ever done, your whole life, is disappoint me. That’s all you’re good at. Everything you know how to do, you do wrong, except disappoint me. You’re a genius at that.
“Are you . . . ,” Miss Richter starts. “You are. You’re blaming yourself. Why?” I croak out, “This wouldn’t have happened . . . if Zack . . . and Madison weren’t my friends.” “What wouldn’t have happened?” Miss Richter asks. “Whatever this is, it isn’t your fault.”
“You can hate me forever if you want. If you don’t want to . . . be my friend ever again, I get it. But I really hope you still do, because I still want to be your friend.
‘My name is M-Madison Wilson Truman, and I’m who I am, and I’m a good, honest, kind person, and nobody can tell me otherwise,’
I walk up to Mom and give her a hug. At first she doesn’t react. Then, slowly but surely, her arms wrap around my back, and we embrace. When I break free, her face looks different, like she almost remembers what muscles you need to work to make you hug a person. The last time we hugged, she was taller than me.
A kid walks by the Unstable Table and says, “Hey, Fatison.” Madison crosses his arms. “What’s your name?” The kid stops walking. “Uh, George.” “My name is Madison Wilson Truman. I took the trouble to learn your name, George, so the least you could do is learn mine.”
