Wonder R. J. Palacio

Trick or Treat 
August said he wasn't feeling well enough to go trick-or-treating later in the 
afternoon, which was sad for him because I know how much he loved to trick-or-
treat
— especially after it got dark outside. Even though I was well beyond the 
trick-or-treating stage myself, I usually threw on some mask or other to 
accompany him up and down the blocks, watching him knocking on people's 
doors, giddy with excitement. I knew it was the one night a year when he could 
truly be like every other kid. No one knew he was different under the mask. To 
August, that must have felt absolutely amazing.
At seven o'clock that night, I knocked on his door.
"Hey," I said.
"Hey," he said back. He wasn't using his PlayStation or reading a comic book. 
He was just lying in his bed looking at the ceiling. Daisy, as always, was next to 
him on the bed, her head draped over his legs. The Bleeding Scream costume
was crumpled up on the floor next to the Boba Fett costume.
"How's your stomach?" I said, sitting next to him on the bed.
"I'm still nauseous."
"You sure you're not up for the Halloween Parade?"
"Positive."
This surprised me. Usually August was such a trouper about his medical issues, 
whether it was skateboarding a few days after a surgery or sipping food through 
a straw when his mouth was practically bolted shut. This was a kid who's gotten 
more shots, taken more medicines, put up with more procedures by the age of 
ten than most people would have to put up with in ten lifetimes, and he was 
sidelined from a little nausea?
"You want to tell me what's up?" I said, sounding a bit like Mom.
"No."
"Is it school?"
"Yes." 

---

"Teachers? Schoolwork? Friends?"
He didn't answer. " 
Did someone say something?" I asked.
"People always say something," he answered bitterly. I could tell he was close to 
crying.
"Tell me what happened," I said.
And he told me what happened. He had overheard some very mean things 
some boys were saying about him. He didn't care about what the other boys had 
said, he expected that, but he was hurt that one of the boys was his "best
friend" Jack Will. I remembered his mentioning Jack a couple of times over the 
past few months. I remembered Mom and Dad saying he seemed like a really 
nice kid, saying they were glad August had already made a friend like that. 
"Sometimes kids are stupid," I said softly, holding his hand. "I'm sure he didn't 
mean it."
"Then why would he say it? He's been pretending to be my friend all along. 
Tushman probably bribed him with good grades or something. I bet you he was 
like, hey, Jack, if you make friends with the freak, you don't have to take any 
tests this year."
"You know that's not true. And don't call yourself a freak."
"Whatever. I wish I'd never gone to school in the first place."
"But I thought you were liking it."
"I hate it!" He was angry all of a sudden, punching his pillow.
"I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!" He was shrieking at the top of his lungs.
I didn't say anything. I didn't know what to say. He was hurt. He was mad. 

---

I let him have a few more minutes of his fury. Daisy started licking the tears off of 
his face.
"Come on, Auggie," I said, patting his back gently. "Why don't you put on your 
Jango Fett costume and
—"
"It's a Boba Fett costume! Why does everyone mix that up?"
"Boba Fett costume," I said, trying to stay calm. I put my arm around his 
shoulders. "Let's just go to the parade, okay?"
"If I go to the parade, Mom will think I'm feeling better and make me go to school 
tomorrow."
"Mom would never make you go to school," I answered. "Come on, Auggie. Let's 
just go. It'll be fun, I promise. And I'll let you have all my candy."
He didn't argue. He got out of bed and slowly started pulling on his Boba Fett 
costume. I helped him adjust the straps and tighten the belt, and by the time he 
put his helmet on, I could tell he was feeling better.