Extremely Loud & Incredibly Close

retarded.” Dave Mallon said, “In Harry Potter, fag boy.” Steve Wicker said, “She has sweet tits now.” Jake Riley said, “Handjob or blowjob?” I said, “I've never even met her.”
    I know a lot about birds and bees, but I don't know very much about the birds and the bees. Everything I do know I had to teach myself on the Internet, because I don't have anyone to ask. For example, I know that you give someone a blowjob by putting your penis in their mouth. I also know that dick is penis, and that cock is penis, too. And monster cock, obviously. I know that VJs get wet when a woman is having sex, although I don't know what they get wet with. I know that VJ is cunt, and also ass. I know what dildos are, I think, but I don't know what cum is, exactly. I know that anal sex is humping in the anus, but I wish I didn't.
    Jimmy Snyder pushed my shoulder and said, “Say your mom's a whore.” I said, “Your mom's a whore.” He said, “Say your mom's a whore.” I said, “Your mom's a whore.” “Say 'My' 'mom' 'is a whore.'” “Your mom is a whore.” Matt and Dave and Steve and Jake were cracking up, but Jimmy was getting really, really angry. He raised a fist and said, “Prepare to die.” I looked around for a teacher, but I didn't see any. “My mom's a whore,” I said. I went inside and read a few more sentences of A Brief History of Time. Then I broke a mechanical pencil. When I came home, Stan said, “You've got mail!”
    Dear Oskar,
    Thanks for mailing me the $76.50 you
    owed me. To tell you the truth, I never thought
    I'd see that money. Now I will believe everyone.
    (cab driver) Marty Mahaltra
    P.S. No tip?
    I counted off seven minutes that night, and then fourteen minutes, and then thirty. I knew I'd never be able to fall asleep, because I was so excited that the next day I'd be able to search for the lock. I started inventing like a beaver. I thought about how in one hundred years every name in the 2003 Yellow Pages will be for someone who's dead, and how once when I was at The Minch's I saw a TV show where someone ripped a phone book in half with his hands. I thought about how I wouldn't want someone to rip a 2003 Yellow Pages in half in one hundred years, because even though everyone will be dead, it still felt like it should make a difference. So I invented a Black Box Yellow Pages, which is a phone book that's made out of the material that they make the black boxes on airplanes out of. I still couldn't sleep.
    I invented a postage stamp where the back tastes like crème brûlée.
    I still couldn't sleep.
    What if you trained Seeing Eye dogs to be bomb-sniffing dogs, so that they'd be Sniffing Eye Seeing Bomb dogs? That way, blind people could get paid for being led around, and could be contributing members of our society, and we'd all be safer, too. I was getting further and further from sleep.
    When I woke up it was Saturday.
    I went upstairs to pick up Mr. Black, and he was waiting in front of his door, snapping his fingers next to his ear. “What's this?” he asked when I handed him the present I made for him. I shrugged my shoulders, just like Dad used to. “What am I supposed to do with it?” I told him, “Open it, obviously.” But I couldn't keep my happiness in, and before he got the paper off the box I said, “It's a necklace I made for you with a compass pendant so you can know where you are in relation to the bed!” He kept opening it and said, “How nice of you!” “Yeah,” I said, taking the box from him because I could open it faster. “It probably won't work outside your apartment, because the magnetic field of the bed gets smaller the farther you get from it, but still.” I handed him the necklace and he put it on. It said that the bed was north.
    “So where to?” he asked. “The Bronx,” I said. “The IRT?” “The what?” “The IRT train.” “There isn't an IRT train, and I don't take public transportation.” “Why not?” “It's an obvious target.” “So how do you plan on us getting there?” “We'll walk.” “That's got to be about twenty miles from here,” he said. “And have you seen me walk?” “That's true.” “Let's take the IRT.” “There is no IRT.” “Whatever there is, let's take it.”
    On our way out, I said, “Stan, this is Mr. Black. Mr. Black, this is Stan.” Mr. Black stuck out his hand, and Stan shook it. I told Stan, “Mr. Black lives in 6A.” Stan took his hand back, but I don't think Mr. Black was