Pluto by R. J. Palacio Read Free Book Online Page A

He started humming the bass line and playing air guitar as we waited for the elevator.
    Mom smiled at him. “I remember you playing that at the Parlor.”
    “What’s the Parlor?” I asked.
    “The pub down the road from our dorm,” answered Mom.
    “Before you were born, buddy,” said Dad.
    The elevator doors opened, and we got in.
    “I’m starving,” I said.
    “You guys haven’t eaten dinner yet?” Mom asked, looking at Dad.
    “We came straight here from school,” he answered. “When were we going to stop for dinner?”
    “Can we stop for some McDonald’s on the way home?” I asked.
    “Sounds good to me,” answered Dad.
    We reached the lobby, and the elevator doors opened.
    “Now can I push the wheelchair?” I said.
    “Yep,” he answered. “You guys wait for me over there, okay?” He pointed to the farthest exit on the left. “I’ll pull the car around.”
    He jogged out the front entrance toward the parking lot. I pushed Mom’s wheelchair to where he’d pointed.
    “I can’t believe it’s still raining,” said Mom, looking out the lobby windows.
    “I bet you could pop a wheelie on this thing!” I said.
    “Hey, hey! No!” Mom screamed, squeezed the sides of the wheelchair as I tilted it backward. “Chris! I’ve had enough excitement for the day.”
    I put the wheelchair down. “Sorry, Mom.” I patted her head.
    She rubbed her eyes with the palms of her hand. “Sorry, it’s just been a really long day.”
    “Did you know that a day on Pluto is 153.3 hours long?” I asked.
    “No, I didn’t know that.”
    We didn’t say anything for a few minutes.
    “Hey, did you give Auggie a call, by the way?” she said out of the blue.
    “Mom,” I groaned, shaking my head.
    “What?” she said. She tried to turn around in her wheelchair to look at me. “I don’t get it, Chris. Did you and Auggie have a fight or something?”
    “No! There’s just so much going on right now.”
    “Chris…” She sighed, but she sounded too tired to say anything else about it.
    I started humming the bass line of “Seven Nation Army.”
    After a few minutes, the red hatchback pulled up in front of the exit, and Dad came jogging out of the car, holding an open umbrella. I pushed Mom outside the front doors. Dad gave her the umbrella to hold, and then he pushed her down the wheelchair ramp and around to the passenger side of the car. The wind was picking up now, and the umbrella Mom was holding went inside out after a strong gust.
    “Chris, get inside!” said Dad. He started picking Mom up under her arms to transfer her to the front seat of the car.
    “Kind of nice being waited on,” Mom joked. But I could tell she was in pain.
    “Worth a broken femur?” Dad joked back, out of breath.
    “What’s a femur?” I asked, scooching into the backseat.
    “The thighbone,” answered Dad. He was soaking wet by now as he tried to help Mom find her seat belt.
    “Sounds like an animal,” I answered. “Lions and tigers and femurs.”
    Mom tried to laugh at my joke, but she was sweating.
    Dad hurried around to the back of the car and spent a few minutes trying to figure out how to fold the wheelchair to get it inside. Then he came around to the driver’s seat, sat down, and closed the door. We all kind of sat there quietly for a second, the wind and rain howling outside the windows. Then Dad started the car. We were all soaking wet.
    “Mommy,” I said after we’d been driving a few minutes, “when you got in the accident this morning, were you on your way home after dropping me off? Or were you driving back to school with my stuff?”
    Mom took a second to answer. “It’s actually kind of a blur, honey,” she answered, reaching her arm behind her so that I would take her hand. I squeezed her hand.
    “Chris,” said Dad, “Mommy’s kind of tired. I don’t think she wants to think about it right now.”
    “I just want to know.”
    “Chris, now’s not the time,” said Dad, giving me a stern look