Big kids, though: they know what they're saying. And that is definitely not fun for me.
One of the reasons I grew my hair long last year was that I like how my bangs cover my eyes: it helps me block out the things I don't want to see.
Mrs. Garcia knocked on the door and poked her head inside. “They're here, Mr. Tushman,” she said.
“Who's here?” I said. “Thanks,” said Mr. Tushman to Mrs. Garcia.
“August, I thought it would be a good idea for you to meet some students who'll be in your homeroom this year.”
“I figure they could take you around the school a bit, show you the lay of the land, so to speak.”
“I don't want to meet anyone,” I said to Mom. Mr. Tushman was suddenly right in front of me, his hands on my shoulders.
He leaned down and said very softly in my ear: “It'll be okay, August. These are nice kids, I promise.”
“You're going to be okay, Auggie,” Mom whispered with all her might. Before she could say anything else, Mr. Tushman opened the door to his office.
“Come on in, kids,” he said, and in walked two boys and a girl.
None of them looked over at me or Mom: they stood by the door looking straight at Mr. Tushman like their lives depended on it.
“Thanks so much for coming, guys—especially since school doesn't start until next month!” said Mr. Tushman.
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