Simon Sort of Says: (Newbery Honor Book)

by Erin Bow

The siren is incredibly loud. It’s so loud that it could drown me. I can’t breathe and the air feels green and weird. “You are having a panic attack but also there is an actual tornado,” says Agate. “Can you breathe? Keep breathing. I asked my sensory processing specialist to tell me about panic attacks so I could help you and I learned that telling you to breathe is the best thing. Please keep breathing. I would like that very much.” Okay. Breathing. In for five. I try but when I get to hold for six I can’t hold my breath. I gasp and gasp. In for five. Five things you can see. I am lying on the ground under the water-bottle table. I push myself up a little and try to get over on my side. Agate is sitting beside me with her hand clasped around my wrist, and Hercules has squirmed into the tiny space between us. Mrs. Hafsaas is crouching to peer under the table. Behind her the sky is green-black and kind of…circling. She says something that has my name in it. Something wet and hard hits my ankle: a raindrop as big as a quarter. I jerk into a ball. A gust of wind comes straight down, hail-stone cold, and then is gone. Another raindrop, another one. My chest is tight like someone put straps around it. “Breathe, Simon,” says Agate. “Breathe.” Then the table flips over and crashes down behind my head. I hear Agate shout before panic turns me inside out. Oh God, oh God. The next thing I know I’m throwing up and blacking out and Ms. Hafsaas is dragging me inside. Agate is shouting...