Wonder Perspective Tool

The noise of the lunchroom hit me like a wave, crashing and relentless. My chest tightened, my grip on my lunch bag turning my fingers white. If I kept staring at the floor, maybe they wouldn’t see me. Maybe I could vanish.

But I knew I couldn’t. Mr. Tushman’s words echoed in my head: “You’ve got to be brave, August. One step at a time.” Brave felt like a faraway thing, like something other kids were born with but I had to fake. 💭

Then I saw Summer. She was sitting alone, unwrapping her sandwich with the kind of ease I could only wish for. Should I? What if she didn’t want me there? What if she looked at me like everyone else did—like I didn’t belong?

Before I could stop myself, I started walking. My legs felt heavy, my heart pounding so loudly I was sure everyone could hear it.

When I got closer, she looked up, her eyes meeting mine. I froze.

But she smiled. It wasn’t the kind of smile people gave because they felt sorry for me. It was real, small and warm, like a flicker of light in a dark room.

As I sat down, the room didn’t feel so suffocating anymore. Summer started talking about the spaghetti, making a joke about how it might be alive. I didn’t know what to say at first, but she didn’t seem to mind.

Little by little, the knot in my chest loosened. I even smiled when she started guessing what the juice boxes were really made of. For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t just the kid people stared at. I was just a kid, sitting at a table with a friend.

My feet moved before my doubts could stop me. “Hi,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Summer looked up, her eyes widening for a split second before a warm smile spread across her face. “Hi, Auggie,” she replied. Relief washed over me. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t be as bad as I thought.

The clatter of trays and chatter of voices was as familiar as the worn-out sneakers on my feet, but today, it felt a little different. As I scanned the room, my eyes landed on August. He looked like a tiny ship in a stormy sea, clutching his lunch bag like it was his only anchor.

I remembered my first lunch at this school, just after Dad died. I’d felt like a ghost, floating through hallways where nobody saw me. The whispers back then weren’t cruel—they were worse. They were pitying.

So when I saw August standing there, frozen in place, I couldn’t just walk away. I knew the weight of those stares, the sharp edge of silence that cuts deeper than words.

“Hey, Summer!” my friends called out. I glanced at them, mid-laugh over some viral prank video. They’d understand eventually—at least, I hoped they would.

I walked toward August, his eyes flicking nervously around the room. When I set my tray down, his shoulders stiffened.

“Mind if I sit here?” I asked.

He didn’t say much at first, just kept looking at me like I might disappear if he blinked too long. But as I joked about the mystery spaghetti and our science classroom’s constant vinegar smell, he laughed—just barely. It was small, a crack in the walls he’d built, but it was enough. 💭

And as we sat there, swapping stories about bad movies and worse cafeteria food, I realized I needed this, too. Maybe we were both just trying to feel a little less invisible.

I looked up and saw August standing there, his nervous smile just visible under his shaggy hair. “Hi, Auggie,” I said, scooting over to make room. I could see the tension in his shoulders ease just a little, and I was glad I hadn’t ignored that little voice telling me to be kind.