When We Were Us (Keeping Score, #1)(3)

Anyway, it sounds like a movie, but our moms got talking and sort of became friends. They went out for coffee or whatever pregnant women drink (because I think they’re not supposed to drink coffee), and they were going to do it again, like every week, but then Nat’s mom ended up having him early. Not just a few weeks early either; my mom told me once that at first they weren’t sure Nat was going to live. He was in NICU, which is a really scary place for babies, my mom said, for like two months. So all during that time, while my mom and Jesse’s were waiting for us to finally be born, they helped out Nat’s parents. My mom used to make food for his family and drive his mom to the hospital to sit with Nat.

That’s why Nat is different from Jesse and me. Something happened when he was born that early, and it left him with a lot of health problems. I can actually remember when Nat started walking. His legs were weak, something to do with the muscles, and we were four by the time he could really move around by himself without this walker he used to have. He was always smaller than us, too, even though he’s the oldest.

I didn’t realize how different Nat was until we started pre-k. Nat had been in special schools when we were younger, but by the time we were four, he was able to come to school with us. I was glad we were all going to be together, and I was really happy that Jesse and I were finally going to school. I had been a little jealous of Nat up to then, because he would talk about people he knew and stuff he did at school. It sounded like a fun place, even though Nat didn’t always want to go.

In pre-k, though, it was easy to see that Nat wasn’t like the rest of the kids. It wasn’t just his special way of walking, which in those days was a lot worse than it is now. He would almost throw himself from one leg to the other. Jesse and I were used to it, and we always walked on either side of him, at just the same speed he did. The other kids in pre-k definitely noticed that. They also saw that Nat was smaller than the rest of us. But what really made him stand out was his way of talking.

I guess it wasn’t really how he talked so much as what he said. Jesse’s mom said once that Nat didn’t have a filter. For a while I thought that meant there was something else that was wrong with him from when he was born, but then my mother explained that it meant that Nat just said whatever he thought.

“I thought that was telling the truth,” I said.

My mother sighed and thought for a minute. “Abby, if I asked you how I looked in my new dress, what would you say?”

This was easy. “I would say you looked pretty.”

“Okay, thanks, but what if I didn’t? What if it made me look fat or something?” At the look on my face, my mother laughed. “That’s what I mean. See, you’re trying to think about how you can tell the truth and not hurt my feelings, right?”

I nodded.

“All right then. Nat doesn’t understand that. He doesn’t mean to hurt anyone’s feelings, but he just says whatever he thinks or feels, without considering how it might make other people feel.”

And in pre-k, there were probably lots of kids who didn’t worry too much about how other people felt, but it was really bad with Nat. He would tell the teacher about every mistake she made. He told the other children they couldn’t read well or counted wrong or didn’t know how to tie their shoes. It was never mean-spirited, it was just matter of fact Nat.

As we went through school, Jesse and I tried to gently tell Nat that he couldn’t share every thought that came into his mind the minute he thought it. He never understood, although I think he learned to tone it down a little. Sometimes Jesse or I would give him a look, and he would realize he was going too far.

By the end of pre-k, though, everyone knew and accepted Nat. No one ever picked on him or called him names. That lasted through fourth grade, until we changed schools and moved over to Herbert Andrews Elementary. On the first day, as I walked onto the playground, I saw Nat in the middle of a bunch of bigger kids, and it didn’t look like they were planning a game of tag. Nat was doing his swaying thing, which he only does when he’s really nervous. No one else really notices it, but I knew what it meant.

Right before I took off to help him, I saw Jesse. He was standing between me and Nat, and I knew he saw what was happening. But before I could really wonder why he wasn’t doing anything, I saw one of the boys shove Nat. He almost went down. And if he went down, I knew it wouldn’t be good.

So I sprinted across the playground. At Marian Johnson, the playground was a dusty field. But here at HA, the whole thing was asphalt, painted here and there with maps and other pictures I guess people thought were educational. All I knew was that I wanted to get to Nat before those kids knocked him onto that hard concrete. And I made it. I didn’t plan how I was going to stop them. They were all much bigger than me, and I never was any good at that kind of fighting anyway. Jesse always says I use my words better than he uses his fists. I wasn’t sure my words were going to make much difference here, but I guess they did something, because the boys backed down.

After they were gone, I expected. . well, I don’t know what I expected. I guess maybe I thought Nat might say thanks. And maybe Jesse would think I had done a good thing. But they both acted like I was the one who’d almost beat up our best friend. And I think Nat was actually mad at me.

Things didn’t get any better for Nat the rest of the year. We were dealing with more than just the kids who had always been in our class; now we were at the bottom of the school ladder. Fifth graders overall were easy pickings for the older kids, and Nat was an especially easy target.