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you mind if I take a look?”
    “Go ahead,” I say, tossing the spiral-bound first volume over to her. It hits her body with a thud . Note to self:  don’t throw things at girls.
    She opens it, turns a few pages, and is quiet. I wonder if she is sliding her finger over the bumps. “Always been curious,” she says at last, placing the book back on the bench seat. “Is braille the same everywhere? I mean, if I wanted to read a book in braille, but I speak Hindi or Japanese instead of English. Is it the same no matter what?”
    I think this over for a moment. I have no idea what the answer to her question is, but I need to come off sounding smart. Giving it my best shot, I answer, “I’m not sure, actually. I’ve never learned any language besides English. I guess it’s different for every language. Each braille character represents a character from the English alphabet.” I pick The Odyssey back up to make my point. “See this?” I say, pointing to the first letter on the title page. “This combination of bumps placed exactly like this represents the letter H , and this one here is an O , and this is M and the last one is for E and R together.” I hold the book up to Simmi, so she can run her finger across the word.
    “ Homer ,” she says. “My first word in braille.”
    “Yeah,” I laugh. Something about this girl sends nervous energy tingling through my chest and arms. “I guess it kind of is.”
    Simmi doesn’t say anything, but she also doesn’t leave. I don’t know what to say, so I wait for her to speak. Finally, she does.
    “Alex, I was wondering. I hope you don’t mind me asking. I just want to understand…”
    I can tell what she’s getting at even before she asks the question. It’s the same one everybody has. I save her the awkwardness of asking and give her my answer right away.
    “Yes, I’ve always been this way. I was born blind. I don’t see shapes or shadows. Just blackness. I don’t know what it’s like to be able to see, so I don’t miss it. This is just the way I am.”
    Simmi shuffles her feet. She’s embarrassed for me but wants to know more.
    “You want to know why I’m this way?” I offer.
    She doesn’t say anything.
    “Do you?” I repeat.
    “Oh, sorry. I nodded my head… Yes, I want to know, if you’re willing to tell me.”
    “Well, my mom grew up in a really small rural town—way smaller than Grandon, if you can believe it. The people there ran farms, homeschooled their kids, and just lived the simple life.” I’ve told this story a million times, but mostly to teachers and doctors. Explaining my story to Simmi isn’t much different—she smells nicer, though, so that has to count for something. “And that didn’t include getting all of those vaccinations you’re supposed to get as a baby,” I continue. “Grandma and Grandpa say that milk straight from the cow cures everything. They’re wrong, but that’s beside the point. Well, when my mom was pregnant with me, she got sick with the German measles. She should’ve gotten a shot to prevent it as a kid, but she didn’t. And that’s why I was born the way I am.”
    “Is anything else—?”
    “No, nothing else is wrong with me. Healthy as a farm horse.”
    “Thanks for telling me.”
    “Yeah, any time,” I say, jumping into a new topic so that we can be done talking about this. I don’t want to appear as anything less than normal to Simmi; hopefully, she’ll consider me even better than normal with time. “Are you sure you’re okay bringing my schoolwork by like this? I mean, my mom or dad could always stop over and pick it up.”
    Simmi exhales. She must be relieved at the topic change, too. “No, I don’t mind. I’ll be over here most days after school anyway. Mummy visits Miss Teak a lot.”
    “Why? I think she’s kind of creepy,” I say, unable to suppress a shiver. “I mean Miss Teak,” I clarify, just in case, “not your mom.”
    “I guess Mummy misses back home in India.