House Rules Read Online Free PDF Page A

Appreciation Day or something?
    I tell my mother we have nothing in common, but my mother insists that will change. I think she‘s crazy.
    I don‘t have any friends. The bullying started in kindergarten, when I got my glasses. The teacher made a popular boy wear fake glasses so I‘d have someone to connect with, but as it turned out, he didn‘t really want to talk about whether archaeopteryx should be categorized as a prehistoric bird or a dinosaur. Needless to say, that friendship lasted less than a day. By now, I have gotten used to kids telling me to leave, to sit somewhere else. I never get called on the weekends. I just don‘t get the social hints that other people do. So if I‘m talking to someone in class and he says, Man, is it one o‘clock already? I look at the clock and tell him that yes, it is one o‘clock already, when in reality he is trying to find a polite way to get away from me. I don‘t understand why people never say what they mean.
    It‘s like immigrants who come to a country and learn the language but are completely baffled by idioms. (Seriously, how could anyone who isn‘t a native English speaker get the picture, so to speak, and not assume it has something to do with a photo or a painting?) For me, being in social situations whether that‘s school, or Thanksgiving dinner, or the line at the movies is like moving to Lithuania when you haven‘t studied Lithuanian. If someone asks me what I‘m doing for the weekend, I can‘t respond as easily as Theo would, for example. I‘ll stumble over how much information is too much, and so instead of giving a blow-by-blow description of my future plans, I‘ll rely on someone else‘s words. Doing my best De Niro Taxi Driver impression, I‘ll say, You talkin‘ to me? Mind you, it‘s not just my peers that I misunderstand. Once, my health teacher had to take a phone call in the main office, and she told the class, Don‘t move don‘t even breathe. Normal kids ignored the statement; a few Goody Two-shoes worked quietly at their desks. And me? I sat like a statue with my lungs on fire, until I was on the verge of passing out.
    I used to have a friend. Her name was Alexa, and she moved away in seventh grade.
    After that, I decided to treat school like an anthropological study. I tried to cultivate an interest in topics that normal kids talked about. But it was so boring: CASE IN POINT 2
    Girl: Hey, Jacob, isn‘t this the coolest MP3 player?
    Me: It was probably made by Chinese kids.
    Girl: You want a sip of my Slushee?
    Me: Sharing drinks can give you mono. So can kissing.
    Girl: I‘m going to go sit somewhere else …
    Can you blame me for trying to jazz up conversations with my peers a little, by talking about topics like Dr. Henry Lee‘s take on the Laci Peterson murder? Eventually I gave up engaging in mundane chats; following a discussion about who was going out with whom was as hard for me as cataloging the mating rituals of a nomadic tribe in Papua New Guinea. My mother says sometimes I don‘t even try. I say I try all the time, and I keep getting rejected. I‘m not even sad about it, really. Why would I want to be friends with kids who are nasty to people like me, anyway?
    There are some things I really can‘t stand.
    1. The sound of paper being crumpled. I can‘t tell you why, but it makes me feel like someone‘s doing that to all my internal organs.
    2. Too much noise or flashing lights.
    3. Having plans change.
    4. Missing CrimeBusters, which is on the USA Network at 4:30 every day, thanks to the wonders of syndication. Even though I know all 114 of the episodes by heart, watching them daily is as important to me as taking insulin would be to a diabetic. My whole day is planned around it, and if I can‘t have my fix, I get shaky.
    5. When my mother puts my clothes away. I keep them in rainbow order, ROYGBIV, and the colors can‘t touch. She does her best, but the last time, she completely forgot about indigo.
    6. If someone else