Auggie & Me by R. J. Palacio

leave my nostrils. But I lived. And Jules was born because I lived. And you were born. So what is the smell of horse manure against all that? Perfume and time make everything easier to bear. Now, there’s one more place I want to visit . . .”
    We drove about ten minutes away to a tiny cemetery on the outskirts of the village. Grandmère took us directly to a tombstone at the edge of the graveyard.
    There was a small white ceramic plaque on the tombstone. It was in the shape of a heart, and it read:
ICI REPOSENT
    Vivienne Beaumier
    née le 27 avril 1905
    décédée le 21 novembre 1985
    Jean-Paul Beaumier
    né le 15 mai 1901
    décédé le 5 juillet 1985
    Mère et père de
    Julian Auguste Beaumier
    né le 10 octobre 1930
    tombé en juin 1944
    Puisse-t-il toujours marcher le front haut
    dans le jardin de Dieu
    I looked at Grandmère as she stood looking at the plaque. She kissed her fingers and then reached down to touch it. She was trembling.
    â€œThey treated me like their daughter,” she said, tears rolling down her cheeks.
    She started sobbing. I took her hand and kissed it.
    Mom took Dad’s hand. “What does the plaque say?” she asked softly.
    Dad cleared his throat.
    â€œHere rests Vivienne Beaumier . . .” he translated softly. “And Jean-Paul Beaumier. Mother and father of Julian Auguste Beaumier, born October 10, 1930. Killed June 1944. May he walk forever tall in the garden of God.”

New York
    We got back to NYC a week before my new school was scheduled to start. It was nice, being in my room again. My things were all the same. But I felt, I don’t know, a little different. I can’t explain it. I felt like I really was starting over.
    â€œI’ll help you unpack in a minute,” said Mom, running off to the bathroom as soon as we stepped through the door.
    â€œI’m good,” I answered. I could hear Dad in the living room listening to our answering-machine messages. I started unpacking my suitcase. Then I heard a familiar voice on the machine.
    I stopped what I was doing and walked into the living room. Dad looked up and paused the machine. Then he replayed the message for me to hear.
    It was Auggie Pullman.
    â€œOh, hi, Julian,” said the message. “Yeah, so . . . umm . . . I just wanted to tell you I got your note. And, um . . . yeah, thanks for writing it. No need to call me back. I just wanted to say hey. We’re good. Oh, and by the way, it wasn’t me who told Tushman about the notes, just so you know. Or Jack or Summer. I really don’t know how he found out, not that it matters anyway. So, okay. Anyway. I hope you like your new school. Good luck. Bye!”
    Click.
    Dad looked at me to see how I would react.
    â€œWow,” I said. “I didn’t expect that at all.”
    â€œAre you going to call him back?” asked Dad.
    I shook my head. “Nah,” I answered. “I’m too chicken.”
    Dad walked over to me and put his hand on my shoulder.
    â€œI think you’ve proven that you’re anything
but
chicken,” he said. “I’m proud of you, Julian. Very proud of you.” He leaned over and hugged me. “
Tu marches toujours le front haut
.”
    I smiled. “I hope so, Dad.”
    I hope so.



 
    Contemporary observations are changing our
understanding of planetary systems, and it is important
that our nomenclature for objects reflect our current
understanding. This applies, in particular, to the
designation “planets.” The word “planet” originally
described “wanderers” that were known only as moving
lights in the sky. Recent discoveries lead us to create a
new definition, which we can make using currently
available scientific information.
—International Astronomical Union (IAU),
excerpt from Resolution B5
    â€¢Â Â â€¢Â Â â€¢
    I guess there is no one to