At school, Alvin Ho speaks with his eyes.  He has to, because his voice does not work when he finds himself in a scary situation, and school doubtlessly qualifies.  He carries a personal disaster kit, filled with items that include a whistle, garlic, and dental floss.  He also maintains a set of contingency plans and escape routes.  But really, above all else, he wants at least one friend.  At the end he sort of, kind of realizes that he sort of, kind of had one all along, but (if you can’t tell by the sort ofs and the kind ofs) not to the point of being trite.

Alvin lives in historic Concord, Mass., which he insists is not a normal town:

“A lot of famous dead people live here.  And when you are famous, you don’t get buried like a regular person under a stone that has your name and telephone number on it.  You have to stay in your house to give tours. . . .

“Mr. Emerson died a long time ago, but he still lives in [his] house.  On Thursdays he sweeps his walk.  It is very creepy.”

The book is rife with these entertaining misconceptions, some of which Alvin must indefinitely maintain.  For example, he thinks his therapist is psychotic (she’s a psychotherapist) but no one can clarify this mistake because he is too scared to talk about it.

Flea, the girl who would be Alvin’s friend, is awesome.  She wears a patch, and one of her legs is longer than the other.  These are presented as strengths, because they are pirate-like.  Plus, Pham’s illustrations of her remind me of Louis Glanzman’s Pippi Longstocking, giving her 800 bonus points.

I didn’t talk in grade school, either.  Instead of a general fear, or a collection of smaller fears, I was flat out afraid to be wrong.  And you can’t be wrong if you don’t talk!  But I was neither funny nor clever, so a book of my elementary years is not forthcoming.

other reviews:
emilyreads | A Fuse #8 Production