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“I have cerebral palsy,” he says matter-of-factly in his distinct tone of voice that’s slow and deliberate.
“What’s that?”
“Basically, something happened to me when my mom was pregnant or during the delivery. Something that affects muscle movement and coordination and fine motor skills. There are all kinds of degrees of CP. Mine’s not so bad.”
“Oh, okay. That’s cool.”
“How old are you?” Christian asks.
“Thirteen.”
“Me too. Are you going to attend Calloway Creek High this year?”
She shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet. I might do the whole home school thing.”
I watch Christian walk through the garage on his crutches like they aren’t even a bother, like they’re just an extension of him. I rub my belly thinking of Christopher and how I wish he could have had CP instead of Trisomy 18. Some people look at Carter and Christian with pity. I look at them with envy.
“Why would you want to home school? Seems boring.”
“Because I hate Calloway Creek.”
“It’s not so bad here. Maybe you need to give it a chance.”
“You’re only saying that because you aren’t a freak.”
He holds up a crutch. “You think I’m not a freak?”
I like the way he says it jokingly. Christian is an amazing kid. He’s never let his disability define him. He does well in school, he works the front desk at the autobody shop in the summer, and he’s incredibly outgoing and friendly.
“You think because you walk funny and have coke bottle glasses that you’re a freak?”
He laughs. “Nobody ever says stuff like that to me. I kind of like that you aren’t afraid to.”
“BecauseI’ma freak,” Bug says. “Try to keep up.”
“You think you’re a freak because of your blue hair? Then dye it. But personally, I think it’s kind of cool. Nobody else in town has hair that color.”
“I’m a freak because I’m new. I’m sure you’ve lived here your whole life. People don’t look at you like you don’t belong. Nobody wants to make friends with the new girl.”
“I do. And you should totally come to high school. We’ll start a club. The freak club.”
I want to be appalled by their conversation. I mean, they keep using the wordfreak. But now it seems they’ve said it so much, the word has lost all its power.
I smile to myself, feeling guilty for eavesdropping, but not guilty enough to stop doing it. I like that Bug is possibly making a friend.
Christian looks back at his house. “I’d better go. I promised my dad I’d clean the kitchen by the time he gets home from work.”
Bug cocks her head and studies him.
“What?” he says. “You don’t think a freak on crutches can clean?” Then he laughs. “Okay, so it might take me two or three tries to pick up anything that falls on the ground. And I’m sure it takes me way longer than the non-freaks—”
Darla throws up her hands. “Will you stop calling yourself a freak? It’s self-deprecating.”
“I will if you will.” He holds out a hand.
I’m fairly sure she rolls her eyes but shakes it anyway. “Deal.”
Feeling their conversation is coming to an end, I shuffle back into the kitchen and pretend to be oblivious to their meeting.