The Truth According to Ginny Moon by Benjamin Ludwig (books to read for self improvement txt) 📕

hand up in the air. “Whoa, dude,” he says. “Are you all right? Come on. We need to sit down and get our books out.” Then he bites his lip and says, “I’m going to shut the computer. Don’t freak out on me, okay?” He reaches and puts one hand on the mouse and clicks the words Log Out and then clicks the X up in the corner of the screen. He goes to his desk and sits. I push the chair back and get up and rub the dirt off my hands and look at the picture of Edgar Allan Poe.

Ms. Dana walks in. “Ginny, your parents are ready to see you,” she says, “in Mrs. Lomos’s office.”

I stand up and take my backpack and leave the room. When I get into the hallway I start running. I run with my fingers touching the wall. I feel like I might fall if I don’t keep touching something so I run and run and run. I am still excited but I am also scared.

Because Gloria is coming. Here to my school.

2:50 IN THE AFTERNOON,

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 8TH

My Forever Parents are outside the door of Mrs. Lomos’s tiny office. “Let’s step into the conference room, Ginny,” says Mrs. Lomos.

We take five steps to get to the conference room which is across the hall. My Forever Parents sit at the table so I sit too. “Hi, Ginny,” my Forever Mom says.

“Hi,” I say back to her. She sits with her hands on her big round belly which is as big as a basketball. My Forever Dad’s belly is big too and his face is round but he doesn’t have a white beard or a nose like a cherry.

“Ginny, your parents came in to talk about what happened last night with the electronic baby,” says Mrs. Lomos.

I sit and wait for them to talk. But they don’t.

“They let me know that you put it in a suitcase,” says Mrs. Lomos. “Is that true?”

“Do you mean the plastic electronic baby?” I say.

She looks at me funny. “Yes, of course,” she says.

“Then yes,” I say.

“Why did you put it there?”

I make sure my mouth is shut so no one can see inside my brain. Then I look at her over my glasses. “Because it was screaming,” I say.

“So you decided to hide it under all your blankets and zip the suitcase shut?”

“No,” I say. “I kept my quilt out.” Because my quilt is the only thing I have left from the apartment. Gloria’s own Frenchy mom helped her make it when she ran away to Canada with me after she had me in a hospital. They made it together for me and for no one else. I used it all the time to wrap my Baby Doll in.

“All right, but why didn’t you try to comfort the baby?” says Mrs. Lomos.

“I did try to comfort the plastic electronic baby,” I say. “I said ush, ush, ush like you’re supposed to and I tried to give it my finger but the hole in its mouth didn’t open. I gave it a bottle too.”

“And that didn’t work?”

I shake my head no.

“Did you do anything else to make the baby be quiet?” my Forever Dad says.

I make sure my mouth is closed again so no one can see inside. I shake my head a second time.

Because lying is something you do with your mouth. A lie is something you tell.

“Are you sure?” he says. “Think hard.”

So I think hard. About keeping my mouth closed.

“Ginny, there’s a computer inside the electronic baby,” says Mrs. Lomos. “It keeps track of how many times the baby is fed and changed, and how long it cries. It even keeps track of strikes and shakes.”

Everyone is looking at me. All of them. My Forever Mom next to my Forever Dad on the other side of the table with her hand on her big round belly. I don’t know what strikes and shakes are but no one asked a question so I keep my mouth shut very tight.

My Forever Dad takes out a piece of paper. “The computer said the doll was hit eighty-three times and shaken four,” he says. He puts the paper down. “Ginny, did you hit the baby?”

“The plastic electronic baby,” I say even though it’s a rule that We do not correct.

“It doesn’t matter whether the baby was real or not,” he says. “We asked you to try taking care of the baby. We can’t—”

“Brian,” says my Forever Mom. Then to me she says, “Ginny, it’s not okay to hit or shake a baby. Even if the baby isn’t real. Do you understand that?”

I like my Forever Mom a lot. She helps me with my homework every night after supper and explains things when they don’t make sense. Plus we play Chinese Checkers when I get home from school. So I say, “When I was in the apartment with Glo—”

“We know what happened in the apartment,” she interrupts. “And we’re very, very sorry that she hurt you. But it’s not okay to hurt babies, ever. So we need you to start seeing Patrice again. She’s going to help you get ready to be a big sister.”

Patrice is a therapist. An attachment therapist. I haven’t seen her since the adoption in June. I lived with my Forever Parents at the Blue House a whole year before that. That was when I started going to my new school too.

Which reminds me again that Gloria is on her way right now. I don’t know how long it will take her to get here. I don’t know if she’ll get here before I go to see Patrice. And that’s important because I need to know when things are going to happen so I can count and check my watch and make sure everything works the way it’s supposed to.

I pick hard at my fingers.

“When will I see Patrice?” I ask.

“We’ll call her on the phone today and see when she’s available,” says