Simon Sort of Says: (Newbery Honor Book)

by Erin Bow

As I get close to school my heart starts to pound in my throat, but there is basically no way to get lost, and I arrive with plenty of time before the bell rings. It’s weirdly warm considering it’s February—the kind of day where in Phoenix they might have on parkas with their shorts, but in Nebraska a few kids are wearing shorts with their parkas. Outside the school it’s the usual scene: clumps of kids standing around on the sidewalk in the slush-soggy grass. Some guys are straddling bikes by the bike racks, stepping them back and forth like nervous horses. Some girls have spread their scarves on the concrete and are sitting on the steps that go from the staff parking lot down to the sports fields. They have their knees clamped tight and are blowing on their hands, but there’s no way they’re going inside. Everybody—the bike boys, the clump kids, the stair girls—all of them turn and watch me go by. I stick my hands in my pockets like that’s fine, heading past the bike racks and along the side of the school. I turn the corner and find the front door and another batch of kids who stare at me. I make it up the steps without tripping or dropping anything or falling prey to any of the other disaster scenarios my brain is working overtime on. (My brain, if you haven’t got this yet, specializes in disaster scenarios.) My dad was worried about me finding the office, but I manage somehow—maybe because it’s right inside the door and labeled office. I meet the school secretary, fill o...

The principal’s name is Ms. Snodgrass, and she looks like she’s spent her whole life trying to overcome being called Ms. Snodgrass. Like, she’s got a razor-sharp haircut and a fuchsia motorcycle-style jacket. On her face she has that look owls always have, like she’s bored but barely suppressing suspicion and rage.