Small Steps - Louis Sachar [5]
X-Ray patted him on the shoulder. “You won’t regret it.”
He already did.
3
Interstate 35 goes from the Mexican border all the way up to Lake Superior, and some of the heaviest traffic is along the two-hundred-fifty-mile stretch between San Antonio and Dallas. The steady flow of cars and trucks divides the city of Austin in half, not just geographically, but also economically, and to some extent, racially.
Armpit’s home was in east Austin. The house was a duplex, with two identical front doors that faced each other across a wide front porch, 141A and 141B. Armpit’s family lived in 141B. It was just him and his parents. He had an older sister who was married and lived in Houston, and an older brother serving eight to ten at Huntsville.
A white woman and her ten-year-old daughter, Ginny McDonald, occupied the other half of the house.
“S-s-six hun-did d-dollahs?” said Ginny. She was small for her age, with skinny arms and legs. She wore glasses that were so thick it was a wonder they could stay up on her tiny button nose.
“Hundred,” said Armpit.
Ginny concentrated. “Hun-dred,” she said. “That’s a lot of m-money.”
“Tell me about it,” said Armpit.
They were walking around the block. Ginny’s left hand kept holding on to, then letting go of Armpit. Her right arm was bent at the elbow, and rigidly upright, although she wasn’t aware of it.
“Relax your arm,” Armpit reminded her.
Ginny glanced at her arm as if it was a separate being from herself. It took a moment for her brain to send the proper signals, and then her arm lowered.
She reminded Armpit of a marionette who was also her own puppeteer. She had to figure out which string to pull to make her arms and legs move properly.
She had been born with cerebral palsy. A few neighborhood kids called her spaz, and retard, but most treated her with respect because she was a friend of Armpit’s, and because she was willing to answer their questions.
“What’s wrong with you?” someone might ask.
If there was a taunt in the question she never noticed. “I had bleeding inside my brain wh-when I was born.”
And that seemed to satisfy whoever asked the question.
She and her mother had moved into their half of the duplex when Armpit was still at Camp Green Lake. Her mother was ready to move away when she found out that the boy next door was a violent criminal who would soon be returning home.
She was now glad she hadn’t.
Ginny and Armpit hit it off from the beginning. She didn’t fear him, and he didn’t pity her.
Not long after they started their daily walks, Ginny stopped wearing her leg braces, claiming they pinched her. She had a walker as well, but only used that if she needed to move quickly, like at school when they went outside for recess.
But as much as Armpit helped her, she helped him even more. She gave his life meaning. For the first time in his life, there was someone who looked up to him, who cared about him.
Together they were learning to take small steps.
“She s-sings like I talk,” said Ginny.
“How do you mean?”
“H-hands are sh-sh-shaking!” sang Ginny.
Armpit laughed. “You know that’s just part of the song,” he said.
“Yes. But I l-like it.”
“Me too,” said Armpit. “So if you had the money, would you pay fifty-five dollars for a ticket?”
“Yes.”
“How about seventy-five?”
“Yes.”
“A hundred?”
“No.”
He laughed. “They paid seven hundred and fifty dollars in Philadelphia.”
“No way!” said Ginny.
“That’s what X-Ray said.”
“You c-can’t believe everything X-Ray s-says.”
She was right about that.
“You sweat a lot.” With just one finger extended, she delicately touched a large circle of sweat under his arm.
“Yeah, well, it’s hot out.”
“I don’t sweat,” said Ginny.
“You will when you get older.”
“And I will w-walk and t-talk better.”
“Yes, you will,” said Armpit. “But sweating’s got nothing to do with your disability. It’s just because you haven’t reached puberty yet.”
Ginny giggled.
“What’s so funny?”
“You s-said puberty.”
Armpit laughed too, not at the word, but at her reaction to it.
Ginny was still laughing as