downhill, and the hallway is so narrow that Beth and I have to walk single file. At the end of the hall is the tiny room where Mom keeps her telescope and our winter coats. I open the door, even though there’s no way Mango could have gotten in there.
“That’s some story,” Beth says as she pulls the cord to turn on the overhead lightbulb. “Is it true?”
“Of course it’s true,” I snap at her as I scan the room. All I see are piles of shiny winter coats and snow pants. “Don’t make me sorry I told you.”
“No,” she says quickly. “I’m glad you did. It’s really interesting.”
I look at her to see if she’s teasing me, but there is something that resembles admiration in her eyes. Wow, that’s a new one.
Beth glances past me as I try to adjust to this new feeling. “There’s your cat,” she says, pointing to a stack of gloves and wool hats.
I turn around to see one of Mango’s ears sticking out from the middle of the pile. I go over and pick him up. He purrs in my arms. “How did you get in here?” I ask him. He doesn’t answer, and this I suppose is a good thing.
I examine the room closely. In one corner the walls don’t completely meet. Mango must have traveled between them and somehow wound up here. He seems to enjoy hiding these days. It must be because it’s getting colder. I hand him to Beth. “Good luck with the cat cure.”
At dinner my father asks if I want to talk about what happened at the lab.
“Not really,” I answer, shoving down forkfuls of lasagna. I burn my tongue on a cheese bubble and swig half a glass of ice water.
“Did they make you run a maze with a big chunk of cheddar at the end?” Zack asks. “Rub your belly and pat your head at the same time? Recite the alphabet backward?”
“That’s enough, Zachary,” Mom says. “Eat your peas.”
I point to my empty plate. “Can I go use the computer now?”
“Did you finish your homework?”
I consider pointing out that it’s only Saturday night and that I’d have all day tomorrow to finish it, but I don’t want to take the chance. “Yes,” I lie, telling myself that at least I feel guilty about lying, and that must count for something. I’ll do three good deeds to make up for it.
“How come she gets to leave the table before dinner’s over?” Beth complains. “I have plans with Courtney and Brent tonight; can I leave too?”
“Your friends sound like they belong on a soap opera,” Zack says.
“Oh, Courtney, your silky hair and milky skin are all I think about! Marry me.”
His laughter forms a pale-blue cloud that kind of drizzles down as it dissolves. I’m fully aware of all my sound-pictures now. Jerry taught me that phrase.
Sound-pictures.
I like it.
“At least I
have
friends,” Beth says indignantly.
“We have friends,” Zack says. “Don’t we, Mia?”
“Not many,” I answer as I place my plate in the sink.
Zack sits back and crosses his arms, and Beth glares at both of us. I take the folded Web address out of my pocket and head into my mom’s office, where we keep the computer. I close the door behind me.
I log on, type in my password, M-A-N-G-O, and wait for the connection to go through. As soon as it does, I type in the Web address, not even bothering to check my e-mail first. If there is any, it’s probably just from Jenna. I wait for the computer to go through all its childproofing so that my site can load. My parents installed so many filters that it’s a miracle when anything comes through at all.
WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF SYNESTHESIA! the headline screams out at me as the page slowly loads up. I’m surprised the site isn’t more colorful; then I read the first paragraph: “For the consideration of all you synesthetes out there, all the text on this Web site will be printed in black type. Many of you colored-letter folk have complained in the past how frustrating it is to read in a color that doesn’t match your own letters, and we aim to please. Remember,
“That’s some story,” Beth says as she pulls the cord to turn on the overhead lightbulb. “Is it true?”
“Of course it’s true,” I snap at her as I scan the room. All I see are piles of shiny winter coats and snow pants. “Don’t make me sorry I told you.”
“No,” she says quickly. “I’m glad you did. It’s really interesting.”
I look at her to see if she’s teasing me, but there is something that resembles admiration in her eyes. Wow, that’s a new one.
Beth glances past me as I try to adjust to this new feeling. “There’s your cat,” she says, pointing to a stack of gloves and wool hats.
I turn around to see one of Mango’s ears sticking out from the middle of the pile. I go over and pick him up. He purrs in my arms. “How did you get in here?” I ask him. He doesn’t answer, and this I suppose is a good thing.
I examine the room closely. In one corner the walls don’t completely meet. Mango must have traveled between them and somehow wound up here. He seems to enjoy hiding these days. It must be because it’s getting colder. I hand him to Beth. “Good luck with the cat cure.”
At dinner my father asks if I want to talk about what happened at the lab.
“Not really,” I answer, shoving down forkfuls of lasagna. I burn my tongue on a cheese bubble and swig half a glass of ice water.
“Did they make you run a maze with a big chunk of cheddar at the end?” Zack asks. “Rub your belly and pat your head at the same time? Recite the alphabet backward?”
“That’s enough, Zachary,” Mom says. “Eat your peas.”
I point to my empty plate. “Can I go use the computer now?”
“Did you finish your homework?”
I consider pointing out that it’s only Saturday night and that I’d have all day tomorrow to finish it, but I don’t want to take the chance. “Yes,” I lie, telling myself that at least I feel guilty about lying, and that must count for something. I’ll do three good deeds to make up for it.
“How come she gets to leave the table before dinner’s over?” Beth complains. “I have plans with Courtney and Brent tonight; can I leave too?”
“Your friends sound like they belong on a soap opera,” Zack says.
“Oh, Courtney, your silky hair and milky skin are all I think about! Marry me.”
His laughter forms a pale-blue cloud that kind of drizzles down as it dissolves. I’m fully aware of all my sound-pictures now. Jerry taught me that phrase.
Sound-pictures.
I like it.
“At least I
have
friends,” Beth says indignantly.
“We have friends,” Zack says. “Don’t we, Mia?”
“Not many,” I answer as I place my plate in the sink.
Zack sits back and crosses his arms, and Beth glares at both of us. I take the folded Web address out of my pocket and head into my mom’s office, where we keep the computer. I close the door behind me.
I log on, type in my password, M-A-N-G-O, and wait for the connection to go through. As soon as it does, I type in the Web address, not even bothering to check my e-mail first. If there is any, it’s probably just from Jenna. I wait for the computer to go through all its childproofing so that my site can load. My parents installed so many filters that it’s a miracle when anything comes through at all.
WELCOME TO THE WORLD OF SYNESTHESIA! the headline screams out at me as the page slowly loads up. I’m surprised the site isn’t more colorful; then I read the first paragraph: “For the consideration of all you synesthetes out there, all the text on this Web site will be printed in black type. Many of you colored-letter folk have complained in the past how frustrating it is to read in a color that doesn’t match your own letters, and we aim to please. Remember,
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