“Is that a pumpkin?” I said, pointing to a framed painting behind Mr. Tushman's desk.
“Auggie, sweetie, don't interrupt,” said Mom. “You like it?” said Mr. Tushman, turning around and looking at the painting.
“I do, too. And I thought it was a pumpkin, too, until the student who gave it to me explained that it is actually not a pumpkin.”
“It is.. are you ready for this... a portrait of me! Now, August, I ask you: do I really look that much like a pumpkin?”
“No!” I answered, though I was thinking yes. Something about the way his cheeks puffed out when he smiled made him look like a jack-o'-lantern.
Just as I thought that, it occurred to me how funny that was: cheeks, Mr. Tushman.
And I started laughing a little. I shook my head and covered my mouth with my hand. Mr. Tushman smiled like he could read my mind.
I was about to say something else, but then all of a sudden I heard other voices outside the office: kids' voices.
I'm not exaggerating when I say this, but my heart literally started beating like I'd just run the longest race in the world.
The laughter I had inside just poured out of me. The thing is, when I was little, I never minded meeting new kids
because all the kids I met were really little, too. What's cool about really little kids is that they don't say stuff to try to hurt your feelings,
even though sometimes they do say stuff that hurts your feelings. But they don't actually know what they're saying.
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