“What friend?” Noah said.
“Well, he’s my best friend,” I said cautiously, “and he wants to meet all of you.”
“Fine, great—so where is he, and what’s his name?” Simon said.
“Owen Meany,” I said as straightforwardly as possible.
“Who?” Noah said; the three of them laughed.
“What a wimp name!” Simon said.
“What’s wrong with him?” Hester asked me.
“Nothing’s wrong with him,” I said, a little too defensively. “He’s rather small.”
“Rather small,” Noah repeated, sounding very British.
“Rather a wimp, is he?” said Simon, imitating his brother.
“No, he’s not a wimp,” I said. “He’s just small. And he has a funny voice,” I blurted out.
“A funny voice!” Noah said in a funny voice.
“A funny voice?” said Simon in a different funny voice.
“So he’s a little guy with a funny voice,” Hester said. “So what? So what’s wrong with him?”
“Nothing!” I repeated.
“Why should anything be wrong with him, Hester?” Noah asked her.
“Hester probably wants to molest him,” Simon said.
“Shut up, Simon,” Hester said.
“Both of you shut up,” Noah said. “I want to know why Hester thinks there’s something wrong with everybody.”
“There’s something wrong with all of your friends, Noah,” Hester said. “And every friend of Simon’s,” she added. “I’ll just bet there’s something wrong with Johnny’s friends, too.”
“I suppose there’s nothing wrong with your friends,” Noah said to his sister.
“Hester doesn’t have any friends!” Simon said.
“Shut up!” Hester said.
“I wonder why?” Noah said.
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“Shut up!” Hester said.
“Well, there’s nothing wrong with Owen,” I said. “Except he’s small, and his voice is a little different.”
“He sounds like fun,” Noah said pleasantly.
“Hey,” Simon said, patting me on the back. “If he’s your friend, don’t worry—we’ll be nice to him.”
“Hey,” Noah said, patting me on the back, too. “Don’t worry. We’ll all have fun.”