Rules Read Online Free PDF Page A

sweeping down to my too-pointy chin, up my other cheek, over the top of my head, and back to where my line began.
    I draw how I usually look: brown ponytail, blue-gray eyes, wearing my purple T-shirt. Not a perfect circle or ruler-straight line anywhere.
    Besides, Jason probably wouldn’t recognize the school-picture me, anyway.
    But when Mrs. Morehouse tries to slide my card into one of the little clear pockets in Jason’s book, it’s the tiniest bit too big. “I’ll take a sliver off the side,” she says, heading for the receptionist’s desk. “Let me get some scissors.”
    Beside me, Jason taps.
    “Excuse me!” I call to Mrs. Morehouse’s back. “He wants something!”
    She doesn’t even turn around. “Would you see what it is?”
    I’m scared I won’t understand Jason, but she’s already chatting with the receptionist. Holding my breath, I peer down at his finger pointing to —
    Thank you.
    “Oh.” I let go my breath. “You’re welcome.”
    Mrs. Morehouse trims my word to fit his book, and Jason lets out a loud “Ahhh!”
    He says it so loud, Mrs. Frost turns down her hearing aid.
    Jason slaps,
Good job.
    My name stands out, colorful and detailed among the black-and-white plainness of his other cards.
Sandwich. Pizza. Soda. Drink. Eat. More. Good. Nice. Bad. Sad. Happy. Mad. Van. Want. Go. I’m sorry. No. Yes. Maybe. I don’t know. Make. Tell. Help. Wait. Baseball. Book. Music. Guitar. Piano. Like. Please. Thank you. Me, too. Okay. Hi. Good-bye. Boy. Girl. Man. Woman. Picture. Word. Good job. What? Who? Why?
and many more, all the way to
Catherine.
    I long to pull his cards out and add red to the van, yellow to the happy face, and thick purple jelly between the slices of bread in the sandwich. I want to show Jason I’m sorry for not-looking at him the same embarrassed way I hate people not-looking at David. But how? “If you ever want me to make you more words,” I say, “just ask.”
    “Thank you,” Mrs. Morehouse says, adjusting her earring. “But there’s no need. These cards are part of a speech program we use, and it comes with a whole book of words. I can copy whatever he needs from there.”
    Jason shoots his mother a what? look.
Yes. More. Picture.
    Mrs. Morehouse sighs. “Are you sure you don’t mind, Catherine?”
    “I’m sure.” I turn the pages of Jason’s communication book, reading through his cards so I don’t repeat the words or phrases he already has. Which shouldn’t be hard, since all his words are boring. But to be polite, I ask his mother what words she suggests I make.
    “Something you like would be nice. Then he could talk to you about it.” She pulls a stack of blank cards from her purse. “Would seven be too many?”
    “Seven’s fine.” Taking the cards, I’m not sure what to do. Go back to the couch? Stay here? Jason turns a page in his communication book, and my insides twist. “Well.” I glance at my watch. “Sorry, I —”
    “HI, JASON!” His speech therapist smiles, striding into the waiting room. “Am I interrupting something?”
    I open my mouth to say no, but she’s already looking past me. “How’s his day been going?”
    Jason taps,
Good.
    “He’s been a bit cranky,” Mrs. Morehouse says. “I think he stayed up too late last night watching the Red Sox. It went to extra innings.”
    “Oh? ARE YOU” (points to Jason) “CRANKY?” (gesture plus crabby face).
    Jason sighs.
No.
    “Good, because we’re going to have fun today.” The therapist turns to Mrs. Morehouse and adds, “It’s time for evaluations. Why don’t you come with us, and I’ll show you what I have in mind.”
    Jason tilts his head toward me, his hand moving slyly across his book.
Stupid. Speech. Woman.
    I cover my mouth with my hand, so I won’t laugh out loud. Jason makes her sound like a superhero: Speech Woman! Avenger of Adverbs! Protector of Pronouns! Champion of Chitchat!
    “’Bye,” I mumble through my fingers.
    Good-bye.
He turns his page back