But what was most interesting to me was that sometimes he would stare off into space - and talk. Mostly, he spoke quietly, so I couldn't hear him, but a few times he spoke more loudly. Once he said, "How old are you?" and another time he said, "Stop it, Jerry." They were meaningless sentences (or else just out of context), but at least he was talking. That was impressive enough, but my jaw dropped wide open when he turned to his teacher and said, "Go home, please? Go home?" "No, Drew," replied the teacher patiently. "Not yet. Later." "No, now," said Drew. "Go home now." Drew could carry on a conversation! It was wonderful. I was certain he was autistic. But if Drew could talk, I thought, so could Susan. Furthermore, Drew did not attend some fancy away-from-home school. He had made more strides than Susan had, and he had probably made them right here in the Stoneybrook public schools. So why, why, why, did the Felders have to send Susan away? Why couldn't they do what Drew's family had done? Keep Susan at home - and let her learn in a familiar environment. Drew seemed to be way ahead of Susan. Maybe that was because he'd been kept at home.

I was still thinking about Drew and Susan, when Mary Anne elbowed me in the side.

"What?" I whispered. She was probably going to tell me to pay attention - which would irritate me. She is not a teacher.

"Kristy," she said. "Look." She pointed discreetly across the aisle.

There I saw two sixth-grade boys laughing hysterically at a third boy who had crossed his eyes and was letting his head roll around.

I couldn't believe it. They were making fun of the girl in the wheelchair. Why didn't someone stop them?

Then a girl next to them wadded up a little piece of notebook paper, rolled it around in her mouth, and threw the spitball across the aisle. It hit the hyperactive boy on the side of his face. It surprised him, and right then and there, he threw a tantrum. The teacher's aid had to take him out of the auditorium.