of how he had chosen the beads himself in a crafts store in Soho.
He and Christopher, his best friend, used to play with lightsabers and Star Wars stuff whenever they got together,
and they had both started growing their braids at the same time.
When August cut his braid off that night, without an explanation, without telling me beforehand (which was surprising)
—or even calling Christopher—I was just so upset I can’t even explain why.
I’ve seen Auggie brushing his hair in the bathroom mirror. He meticulously tries to get every hair in place.
He tilts his head to look at himself from different angles,
like there’s some magic perspective inside the mirror that could change the dimensions of his face.
Mom knocked on my door after dinner. She looked drained, and I realized that between me and Auggie, today had been a tough day for her, too.
“So you want to tell me what’s up?” she asked nicely, softly. “Not now, okay?” I answered.
I was reading. I was tired. Maybe later I’d be up to telling her about Miranda, but not now.
“I’ll check in before you go to bed,” she said, and then she came over and kissed me on the top of my head.
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