But he was new in school, and his friendships were all nervous alliances of awe and mistrust, and I was pretty awkward and lonely myself. He was the smartest and luckiest kid I knew. He had a computer of his own, and it was in his room. We’d go over to each other’s houses and sit for hours to watch each other play. Additionally, we loved Broderbund’s The Logical Journey of the Zoombinis, a logic game he and I both begged our parents to buy out of that year’s book fair catalog. There was Treasure Mountain, Treasure Cove, Treasure Mathstorm and Treasure Galaxy, all math games then there was Reading Rabbit and its bland successors. See, we both played the same computer games: we were absolutely hooked on edu-games made by The Learning Company. For whatever reason, we all thought he was awesome.Īnd he wanted to be my best friend. Despite not being Hispanic, he had a haircut like a novela actor, and he pulled it off. He wore little polo shirts instead of t-shirts or turtlenecks.
He started a club “about Egypt.” He started another one “about Rome.” He got half our entire grade to sign the membership lists. He spent nearly every Reading Hour arguing with the teacher about whether or not he was permitted to spend the period reading the dictionary. He had twelve kinds of Napoleonic complexes, claimed to have read Hamlet, and showed off his family’s wealth with a shameless, mesmerizing kind of pride. He was in my third-grade class for a single year. For some reason, they moved to my area just before September 1997, and now her son was in my school.
I actually remember my parents being rather shocked when they met his mother-as I learned much later, she’d been all over the news for reasons related to Bill Clinton’s government appointments. He was the son of an incredibly famous person, but I didn’t know this at the time.
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