5 Simon Is Simon

CHAPTER FIVE SIMON IS SIMON WE HADN'T SEEN Mr. Willow coming. "What problem did you solve?" he asked, crossing his arms against his chest as he stared down at Simon. "Umm," Simon said, pausing for time. He leaned his head straight back and looked up at Mr. Willow. "What problem did you solve?" our teacher repeated. "Mr. Willow, can I ask you something?" Simon said, still leaning back. Rosie and I could tell he was going to try to change the subject. He knew that Mr. Willow wouldn't appreciate us talking about anything other than our food plates.

Mr. Willow didn't look like he wanted to hear what Simon was about to ask. But he said, "Okay, Simon. What is it?" Then Simon said something I wouldn't have guessed in a million-billion years. He asked, "Did you know that you have magnificent nostrils?" "What?" Mr. Willow asked. He didn't ask What? because he hadn't heard Simon. He asked What? because he couldn't believe what had just come out of Simon's mouth. "Your nostrils," Simon said. "They're magnificent."

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Mr. Willow put his right hand on his forehead and shook his head. He wasn't mad. He was more, like, amused. Mr. Willow was often amused by Simon. "You really think so, Simon?" "For real," Simon said and sat back upright. "Your nostrils are nice and circular. Pretty symmetrical. Not too hairy. Excellent specimens, I'd say." I stared down at my food plate as hard as I could. My eyes watered. Not from crying over the move, but from trying really hard not to laugh out loud. Rosie felt the same way. She squeezed her eyes shut. "Simon, sometimes I wonder if your brain and your mouth are connected," Mr. Willow said and smiled.

"I know, right?" Simon said and scrunched up his shoulders. He had successfully changed the subject. Mr. Willow came around to the front of Table 5 and said, "Let's see how you three are doing with your food plates." He looked at Rosie's first. And it was, as usual, awesome. Mr. Willow looked at mine next.

"This looks good, Molly," he said, handing my food plate back after examining it for a few seconds. "But your fruit section is a little empty. Let's add one more. How about some grapes?" "I don't eat grapes." "You don't?" Mr. Willow asked. "Are you allergic?" "No," I answered and explained some more. "Grapes come in bunches. And I can't count how many are in a bunch. And I like to eat things in even numbers. So, obviously, I don't eat grapes." "Right, umm, okay. That makes perfectly good sense," Mr. Willow said. "How about an apple then?" "No," I answered again—and explained again. "I only eat fruit that is the same color on the inside and outside. An apple is red or green on the outside, but white on the inside. So no apples for me." Mr. Willow asked, "How about two cherries?"