First Day of School Text Sets 2Master List

Excerpts from Young Adult Literature

Insignificant Events in the Life of a Cactus by Dusti Bowling (2017) Laughing at My Nightmare by Shane Burcaw (2014) Make Lemonade by Virginia Euwer Wolff (1993) Out of My Mind by Sharon Draper (2010) Wonder by R.J. Palacio (2012) El Deafo by Cece Bell (Page 38-45)

Picture Books

Stand Tall Molly Lou Melon by Patty Lovell   Video Suki's Kimono by Chieri Uegaki   Video  Book being acted out Video  

Articles

"Rebuilt elementary school in Moore reopens after 2013 deadly tornado" by NewsOK  Website  PDF

"His daughter died in the Parkland shooting. Today, his son went back to school." by CNN  Website  PDF

Insignificant Events in the Life of a Cactus by Dusti Bowling (2017)

Even though the new school year had already started, my parents gave me a couple of days to settle in before sending me off to be tortured.

Desert Ridge Middle School was only a few miles from Stagecoach Pass, and Mom drove me my first day. I sat in my seat, staring straight ahead, my new giant school, I thought my heart might just pound right out of my chest. My school back in Kansas only had about three hundred students. Desert Ridge was more than three times that size—a thousand kids who had never seen me before.

Mom drove our old clunker up to the drop-off curb behind a bunch of other cars—mostly fancy cars like BMWs, Volvos, and Jeeps, all shiny and freshly waxed in various bright colors. Our can’t-tell-what-the-color-is car didn’t even have a logo because it had fallen off a long time ago. Actually, I’m not sure my parents remembered what kind of car it was. It definitely didn’t fit in with the other cars, and I took that as a bad sign. We waited as the line inched forward.

Mom turned to me. Her lips twitched a bit as she smiled. “You want me to walk you in?”I shook my head. “No.”She nodded and pushed a long strand of dark hair behind her ear. “Yeah, I suppose that

would be embarrassing—having your mommy walk you in on your first day.”“Just a little.” She ran her hand down my hair and tugged lightly on the tips. “You remember where

you first class is?” “Yep. No problem.”“You remember where your locker is?”“All systems go…in my brain,” I said as we pulled up right in front of the curb.“Oh, good,” she said, “because I was a little bit worried this morning when you came out

with your shirt on backward and then stuck your cereal in the microwave.”“Just being an airhead.” I slid my head under the strap of my bag. That wasn’t exactly

the truth. I was nervous. Extremely nervous.“I know how hard things have been for you, sweetheart,” she said.“I’m fine, Mom. Really…I’ll be okay today.”She leaned over and kissed the top of my head. “Call if you need anything. I’ll pick you

up right out here after school.”Normally my parents never baby me. They’re more the kind of parents who, instead of

kissing your boo-boos, tell you to walk it off and be a man. And they never have seemed to care that I’m not actually a man. But I guess today was a special occasion. Honestly, I wished she would stop—it was stressing me out even more.

I nodded and opened the car door with my foot, then slid it back into my new purple ballet flat. I got out of the car, swung my bag around to my side, gave Mom a reassuring smile, and slammed the door shut with my hip.

Before I’d walked five steps, I got my first look. I tried to ignore it. My parents had always taught me to tackle one small goal at a time—holding a brush between my toes, lifting that brush all the way to my head, running the brush through my hair. One small goal at a time. And so I zeroed in on my first goal of the day—getting to my first class without barfing up all my soggy, microwaved cereal.

We had visited the school yesterday so I could find my classes, meet some of my teachers, and talk with the people in the office. Everyone was super nice and caring, of course, but they all said the same thing so much, it started to get annoying: “If there’s anything you need, Aven, don’t be afraid to ask.” Like they just knew I was going to need a lot of extra help.

I speed-walked to the science room, not just to avoid the other kids’ stares, but also because it was so stinking hot. By the time I got to my class, sweat was already trickling down my forehead. I went straight to my seat, swung my school bag onto my desk, and slid the strap off over my head. I eased my foot out of my flat, opened the top of my bag with it, and pulled out my science book.

One benefit of living in Arizona was that I could wear ballet flats (my favorite kind of shoe) year-round—not at all like in Kansas, where I had to wear warm boots in the winter. Everything took longer when I wore warm boots. It was so much easier to slip my foot in and out of flats. I had pairs in brown, black, rainbow stripes, flowers, and now purple. Flip-flops probably would have been even easier, but there’s the whole dust factor. And it’s especially dusty in the desert.

I glanced up and found Ms. Hart, the science teacher, watching me. I smiled a little and she smiled back. I had met her last night, and she had told me to let her know if I needed any help, of course. I hoped she could see now that I didn’t need extra help as I proceeded to pull a notebook and pencil out of my bag with my foot.

I took my seat and turned to the girl sitting next to me. The girl’s eyes widened in obvious surprise. “Are…are you new?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “It’s my first day.” It stunk to be starting eighth grade over a month into the school year.

I could tell the girl was desperately trying not to look at my nonexistent arms. People were always doing that—like if they looked down at my torso for longer than a split second, they would turn to stone. Like my torso was actually Medusa’s head.

The girl was pretty, with her long dark hair and strappy red dress and all her body parts. I always wanted to wear a dress with skinny straps like that, but I guess I felt too self-conscious about it; the strappy dress wouldn’t look the same without some nice long arms to show off in it.

“Well, welcome.” She quickly pulled out her books and started reading, surely to avoid having to talk to me anymore.

I turned my attention to my own book and then looked back at the girl. “What page are we on?” I asked her.

“Twenty-three” She reached for my book. “Here, I’ll help—““Oh no, that’s okay,” I said. She stopped and pulled her hand away. I lifted my foot and

opened the book with it, using my dexterous toes to turn the pages until I got to page twenty-three. “See? I can do it.”

She gave me that twitchy smile. “How’d you learn to do that?”I shrugged. “You’d be surprised what you can do with your feet when that’s all you

have.”She gave me another uncomfortable smile and went back to reading her book. She

hadn’t introduced herself, so I didn’t either. I sometimes wondered if people had a tendency not to give me their names or ask me for mine because of their fear of getting too close…too close to something so different.

At lunchtime I decided to sit outside on a bench to eat. I didn’t want to go to the cafeteria and sit at a table by myself while everyone watched me eat with my feet; I might as well have been upon a stage with a spotlight shining on me. I pulled my lunch out of my bag, but then I noticed a few kids standing around glancing at me. I knew what they were doing—waiting to watch me eat. Everyone was always curious.

At home in Kansas, I’d have been sitting at a table with Emily, Kayla, and Brittany, all of us laughing about the booger hanging out of Mr. Thompson’s hairy nose during history class. Kayla would be tossing pretzels at me while I tried to catch them in my mouth, and Emily would be complaining that her parents still wouldn’t let her wear makeup. No one would have cared that I was eating with my feet.

My stomach cramped. I stuck my lunch back in my school bag and headed for the bathroom, where I was grateful to find automatic water and soap dispensers. In my nervousness I had forgotten to wash my feet, which I always do before I eat (just because I don’t have arms doesn’t mean I’m all gross and want toe jam in my Cheetos). By the time I finished drying them, my stomach cramping had eased, but I didn’t feel hungry anymore. I went outside, found a secluded spot under a tree, sat in the grass, and read my science book. (Page 17-23)

Laughing at My Nightmare by Shane Burcaw (2014)

The end of fifth grade meant the end of elementary school and a transition into a much larger middle school. The middle school you attend was determined by the location of your house, which led to the reluctant severing of many friendships (except for the kids with parents who provided false addresses to send their bratty children to whichever middle school they wanted). Middle school means many different things depending on where you live, but in Bethlehem and surrounding areas, it refers to grades six through eight, which meant I had to reassume my position at the bottom of the totem pole. The adults in my life teased me that middle school was a big, scary place from hell, but during my first week of sixth grade, I was alarmed to discover that they kind of weren’t easing after all. Middle school was terrifying. (Page 75)

[…]

Decency was thrown out the window and replaced with screaming, running, shoving, book-bag throwing, cologne abusing, and making out against lockers. I cautiously made my way through this chaos for the first few days of classes, but eventually even I lost my humanity in this zoo. Being the nice guy just didn’t work here. Patiently waiting for people to get out of my way in the hallway became old very quickly, and I started navigating my chair through the crowd with less regard for the lives of others. Many shins were permanently damaged at the hand of my merciless driving. (Page 76)

[…]

Middle school also presented the obstacle of making new friends, which scared me. Several of my closest friends from elementary school attended the same middle school, alleviating some of my stress, but I knew I wasn’t going to get through life with the same group of three or four people. Branching out felt like a step that everyone had to make at some point, but for me, meeting new people meant having more people who I could rely on to help me. Therefore, making friends was vitally important to my ability to function in a society. Anything that is vitally important to survival will inevitably be stressful.

When you look liked I do—a starving Ethiopian child with a balloon head who basically drives a robot—making new friends can feel daunting.

Here’s the scenario that I feared most: I’d enter new classes and be seated next to kids I didn’t know. They would feel awkward about sitting next to the kid in the wheelchair and would subsequently not want to become friends. Sure, I had no doubt that they would be decent enough to help me with things that I asked for, but that’s where our interaction would end. I would spend every day going to school, being lonely, and not talking to anyone. I would turn into a “loser” who had no friends. People would permanently view me as different and unapproachable because of my disease.

Maybe in a way, my fear of not making friends is a universal one. However, in my mind, my wheelchair and disease would be the unfair cause of never making friends.

To combat the possibility of this imagined scenario ever becoming a reality, I spent a considerable amount of time obsessing about the way kids would perceive me when middle school started. I bought cool clothing, thinking that if I wore the same clothes as them, they’d have an easier time seeing me as their equal. I continued to let my hair grow, since being rebellious and having long hair would obviously be a sign to people that I was normal. I ran through potential conversation in my mind and practiced asking for help in cool ways that didn’t sound pathetic and annoying.

Middle school taught me a lot about meeting new people, which inspired this list.

Things NOT to do when meeting someone in a wheelchair for the first time:

1. Spit on them2. Tell them how great it is for them to be out in public3. Hit them4. Rustle their hair affectionately5. Kick them6. Throw them out of their wheelchairs7. Push them down a flight of stairs8. Call them “Buddy”9. Steal their money10. Challenge them to a foot race

Then middle school started. Sure enough, in my first class on the first day I was assigned a seat next to someone I didn’t know, a pretty girl who was definitely one of the popular girls at her elementary school. Upon realizing she had been assigned a seat next to wheelchair kid, the facial expression that she tried to secretly flash to her friends told me I had already been labeled as weird. My palms doubled their output of sea. We sat next to each other in silence, as I discovered I was not nearly as brave and socially skilled as I had convinced myself to be in the weeks leading up to this moment. Say something you idiot.

“Hi, I’m Shane,” I said, my voice probably noticeably shaking.

“Hey, Shane, I’m Samantha. Do you like East Hills?”

That was an odd question for a pretty girl to ask. And she asked it with a clear condescending tone in her voice, like she was speaking to a toddler. She already thought I was mentally challenged.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool, but the hallways are so **** crowded! I accidentally ran over like four people on the way to class.” Cursing was an excellent way to show social normalcy. She noticed. Her giggle was nervous but genuine, like she wasn’t sure if I was being funny on purpose. I continued, “Hey, could you possibly be my helper for this class/ I just need help with small stuff like getting my books out of my book bag. I would do it myself, but I’d probably end up on the floor.” She laughed, a little harder this time. There’s nothing like meeting someone who quickly understands my sense of humor. I watched her facial expressions and heard her voice completely shift over the next few minutes as she began to realize I was a normal kid. My

sense of humor allowed her to see past my wheelchair. Getting people to see past my wheelchair was one of my biggest concerns when I was young. (Page 78-80)

Make Lemonade by Virginia Euwer Wolff (1993)

I took Jolly with me to my Steam Class. First we arrange the kids.I kept telling her and telling her they have a Day Care there but she had excuses. “They’ll get sick from the other kids. Jilly’ll holler. Jeremy’ll forget and wet himself.” Of course she really was afraid to go. Three years ago she left school for Jeremy and was gonna go back and was gonna go back till she had Jilly and there was no more gonna left in her.

So we got them ready and the giant bag of kid stuff, too, and we got on the bus. Now Jeremy thinks a bus ride is next to heaven and Jilly finds a lady behind us to babble to and we make our bus ride with no accidents. Then Jolly sees the great big carved words HIGH SCHOOL and she goes into her shame style which makes it look like stuck-up snobbery. She walks different, her whole body shifts its gears, she goes into Underdrive, you might call it. Jeremy looks up at her, checking out her an easy eyes, and he returns to staring at our surroundings. Jeremy never walks, always dances, there’s a band inside him giving him rhythm, and he’s dancing among the school kids and all of a sudden I see they are dancing too. They shimmy and wiggle and lurch in all their colors, and if I squint my eyes it’s a circus, somebody ought to sell cotton candy, and there should be confetti. 

So in we go to Day Care and I point out who Jolly and Jilly and Jeremy are. I say will be back after the next period. I see Annie’s sister in there, working, who explains she’s an apprentice in daycare now.Jolly looks around and sees 2 adults and 2 apprentices and 4 babies and she’s amazed it’s so simple. I explained to her: “I told you, this is what they do.

This is what they do.”Jolly can’t get over how it’s so easy, and I make sure she notices how clean, too. Jeremy instantly goes for the blocks, he’s going to have himself a build, and by the time we leave, a lady is singing Jilly a song, stopping her hollering. 

Jolly’s in Underdrive all down the hallways, only she puts a shimmy with it, too, so she’s sending such signals to the onlookers she imagines are looking on, she’s walking in double language.We go in the door to Steam Class and I say I’ve got a visitor and they say OK, and Jolly goes mute.  We sit in the circle like always. (Page 86-88)

Out of My Mind by Sharon Draper (2010)

Our fifth-grade teacher in room H-5 reminds me of a television grandmother. Mrs. Shannon is pudgy, wears lavender body lotion every single day, and I think she must be from the South because she talks with a real strong drawl. Somehow it makes everything she says seem more interesting.

She told us on the first day, “I’m gonna bust a gut makin’ sure y’all get all you can out of this school year, you hear? We’re gonna read, and learn, and grow I believe every one of y’all got potential all stuffed inside, and together we’re gonna try to make some of that stuff shine.”

I liked her. She brought in stacks of new books to read to us, as well as games and music and videos. Unlike Mrs. Billups, Mrs. Shannon must have read all our records because she dusted off the headphones and even brought in more books on tape for me.

“Ya’ll ready for music class?” she asked us one morning. “Let’s get this inclusion stuff goin’!”

I jerked with excitement. As the aides helped us down the hall to the music room, I wondered if I’d get to sit next to a regular kid. What if I did something stupid? What if Willy yodeled, or Carl farted? Maria was likely to blurt out something crazy. Would this be our only chance? What if we messed this up? I could barely contain myself. We were going to be in a regular classroom!

The music teacher, Mrs. Lovelace, had been the first to volunteer to open her class to us. The music room was huge—almost twice as large as our classroom. My hands got sweaty.

The kids in there were mostly fifth graders too. They’d probably be surprised to know that I knew all their names. I’ve watched them on the playground at lunch and at recess for years. My classmates sit under a tree and catch a breeze while they play kickball or tag, so I know who they are and how they work. I doubted if they knew any of us by name, though.

Well, the whole thing was almost a disaster. Willy, probably upset and scared about being in a new room, started yelping at the top of his lungs. Jill began to cry. She held tightly to the hand grips of her walker and refused to move past the doorway. I wanted to disappear.

All of the “normal” children in the music class—I guess about thirty of them—turned to stare. Some of them laughed. Others looked away. But one girl in the back row crossed her arms across her chest and scowled at her classmates who were acting up. (page 92-93)

[…]

Maria might have trouble figuring out some stuff, but she’s a real friendly person. “I wanna sit by the blue-shirt girl. I wanna sit by the blue-shirt girl,” she demanded. She stomped down to Jessica’s seat and sat down next to her. Then she jumped back up and gave Jessica a hug, then gave a hug to the kids sitting closest to Jessica. One kid stiffened up when she touched him, but I was surprised that most of them let her hug them. Molly and Claire, since they were standing, had no choice.

“Ooh, yuck!” Claire whispered.

“Cooties!” Molly whispered back.

Mrs. Lovelace raised an eyebrow, then cleared her throat. “It seems you two like to stand. You’ll continue to do so the rest of this week.”

“Aw, man! This sucks!” I heard Claire say.

Molly had sense enough to say nothing.

Maria didn’t notice. She even kissed Claire on the cheek. That was funny.

Willy ended up next to a large, friendly boy named Connor.

Ashley and Carl were absent that day, so that left me sitting in the back of the classroom by myself. The room got real quiet. I suddenly felt cold, like the air-conditioning had been cranked up real high. I got goose bumps.

The teacher looked around the room, expectation on her face, I guess hoping that somebody would volunteer to take me. At that moment I would have given anything to be back in our bluebird room instead of sitting there with thirty kids staring at me.

Finally, a girl got up out of her seat and walked over to my chair. She squatted down and looked me directly in the face. Then she smiled. It was the girl with long hair who had frowned at her friends for laughing. “I’m Rose,” she said, her voice soft.

I smiled back, and I tried hard not to kick or grunt or make a noise that would scare her away. I held my breath and thought about calm, quiet things, like ocean waves. It worked. I inhaled deeply and slowly, then pointed on my board to Thank you. Rose seemed to understand.

I showed her I could power my own chair, and I rolled to where she’d been sitting. We sat together for the rest of that class. And I didn’t do a single embarrassing thing! It ended way too soon.

But ever since, every Wednesday, our little class of outcasts gets to join Mrs. Lovelace’s music class. It’s awesome! (page 97-99)

Wonder by R.J. Palacio (2012)

Okay, so I admit that the first day of school I was so nervous that the butterflies in my stomach were more like pigeons flying around my insides. Mom and Dad were probably a little nervous, too, but they acted all excited for me, taking pictures of me and Via before we left the house since it was Via’s first day of school, too. (Page 35)

“Everyone’s just as nervous as you are,” said Via in my ear. “Just remember that this is everyone’s first day of school. OK? “

Mr. Tushman was greeting students and parents in front of the school entrance.I have to admit: so far, nothing bad had happened. I didn’t catch anyone staring or even noticing me. Only once did I look up to see some girls looking my way and whispering with their hands cupped over their mouth, but they looked away when they saw me notice them.

We reached the front entrance.

“OK, so this is it, big boy,” said Dad, putting his hands on top of my shoulders.

“Have a great first day. I love you,” said Via, giving me a big kiss and a hug.

“You too,” I said. 

“I love you, Auggie,” said Dad, hugging me. 

“Bye.”

Then mom hugged me, but I could tell she was about to cry, which would’ve totally embarrassed me, so I just gave her a fast hard hug, turned, and disappeared into the school. (Page 36)

“Like a lamb to the slaughter”: something that you say about someone who does somewhere calmly, not knowing that something unpleasant is going to happen to them.

I googled it last night. That’s what I was thinking when Ms. Petosa called my name and suddenly it was my turn to talk.

“My name is August,” I said, and yeah, I kind of mumbled it.

“What?” said someone.

“Can you speak up, honey?” said Ms. Petosa.

“My name is August,” I said louder, forcing myself to look up. “I, um...have a sister named Via and a dog named Daisy. And, I um...That’s it.”

“Wonderful,” said Ms. Petosa. “Anyone have questions for August?”

No one said anything.

Okay, you’re next,” said Ms. Petosa to Jack.

“Wait, I have a question for August,” said Julian, raising his hand. “Why do you have that tiny braid in the back of your hair? Is that like a Padawan thing?”

“Yeah.” I shrug – nodded.

“What’s a Padawan thing?” said Ms. Petosa, smiling at me.

“It’s from Star Wars,” answered Julian. “A Padawan is a Jedi apprentice.”

“Oh, interesting,” answered Ms. Petosa, looking at me. “So, are you into Star Wars, August?”

“I guess.” I nodded, not looking up because what I really wanted was to just slide under the desk.

“Who’s your favorite character?” Julian asked. I started thinking maybe he wasn’t so bad.

“Jango Fett.”

“What about Darth Sidious?” he said. “Do you like him?”

“OK, guys, you can talk about Star Wars stuff at recess,” said Ms. Petosa cheerfully. “But let’s keep going. We haven’t heard from you yet,” she said to Jack.

Now it was Jack’s turn to talk, but I admit I didn’t hear a word he said. Maybe no one got the Darth Sidious thing, and maybe Julian didn’t mean anything at all. But in Star Wars Episode III: Revenge of the Sith, Darth Sidious’s his face gets burned by Sith lightning and becomes totally deformed. His skin gets all shriveled up and his whole face just kind of melts.I peaked at Julian and he was looking at me. Yeah, he knew what he was saying. (Page 43-44)

Via had warned me about lunch in middle school, so I guess I should have known it would be hard. I just hadn’t expected it to be this hard. Basically, all the kids from all the fifth-grade classes poured into the cafeteria at the same time, talking loudly and bumping into one another while they ran to different tables. One of the lunch room teachers said something about no seat saving allowed, but I didn’t know what she meant and maybe no one else did, either, because just about everybody was saving seats for their friends. I tried to sit down at one table, but the kid in the next chair said, “Oh, sorry, but somebody else is sitting here.”

So I moved to an empty table and just waited for everyone to finish stampeding in the lunch room teacher to tell us what to do next. As she started telling us the cafeteria rules, I looked around to see where Jack Will was sitting, but I didn’t see him on my side of the room. Kids were still coming in as the teachers started calling the first few tables to get their trays and stand on line at the counter. Julian, Henry, and Miles were sitting at a table towards the back of the room.

Mom had packed me a cheese sandwich, graham crackers, and a juice box, so I didn’t need to stand on line when my table was called. Instead, I just concentrated on opening my backpack, pulling out my lunch bag, and slowly opening the aluminum-foil wrapping of my sandwich. 

I could tell I was being stared at without even looking up. I knew that people were nudging each other, watching me out of the corners of their eyes. I thought I was used to those kinds of stares by now, but I guess I wasn’t.

There was one table of girls that I knew were whispering about me because they were talking behind their hands. Their eyes and whispers kept bouncing over me.

I hate the way I eat. I know how weird it looks. I had a surgery to fix my cleft palate when I was a baby, and then a second cleft surgery when I was four, but I still have a hole in the roof of my mouth. And even though I had jaw-alignment surgery a few years ago, I have to chew food in the front of my mouth. I didn’t even realize how this looked until I was at a birthday party once, and one of the kids told the mom of the birthday boy he didn’t want to sit next to me because I was too messy with all the food crumbs shooting out of my mouth. I know the kid wasn’t trying to be mean, but he got in big trouble later, and his mom called my mom that night to apologize. When I got home from the party, I went to the bathroom mirror and started eating a saltine cracker to see what I look like when I was chewing. The kid was right. I eat like a tortoise, if you’ve ever seen a torch is eating. Like some prehistoric swamp thing. (Page 49-50)

El Deafo by Cece Bell