Hi August Quotes

I awoke some hours later to Hayes's body sliding up against mine, his arm wrapping around my waist, drawing me into his warmth. Like being in a womb. His breath soft at the back of my neck. "You came back to me," his lips buzzed my ear. "Of course I did. Liam." He laughed. "Wait. Whose room is this?" "Mr. Marchand's." "Crap. I might be in the wrong room." He smiled, rolling me over to face him. "Hiiii." "Hi." "You want to come to an August Moon concert with me tonight?" "It depends..." I said. "It depends?" "Do I have good seats?" His finger was tracing my cheekbone. "You can sit on my face." "Okay. In that case I'll come.

Hello, I’m very bored.—Jane Hi August!—Jane Are you getting these?—Jane Hellooooo?—Jane Su, Q Train, Brooklyn, NY “Aw, she’s already learned how to double text,” Myla says. “Does she think she has to sign it like a letter?” “I guess I left that part out when I was showing her how to use her phone.

August’s brain tries “hi” and her mouth goes for “morning” and what comes out is, “Horny.

Knowing him, he's probably got zero underwear because of the August heat wave.

Mr. Tushman looked right at me and smiled and nodded. He put his hand out for me to shake. “Hi, August,” he said, totally normally. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “Hi,” I mumbled, dropping my hand into his hand while I looked down at his feet. He was wearing red Adidas.

Okay, that’s fair,” I said. “But it’s not a contest about whose days suck the most, Auggie. The point is we all have to put up with the bad days. Now, unless you want to be treated like a baby the rest of your life, or like a kid with special needs, you just have to suck it up and go.” He didn’t say anything, but I think that last bit was getting to him. “You don’t have to say a word to those kids,” I continued. “August, actually, it’s so cool that you know what they said, but they don’t know you know what they said, you know?” “What the heck?” “You know what I mean. You don’t have to talk to them ever again, if you don’t want. And they’ll never know why. See? Or you can pretend to be friends with them, but deep down inside you know you’re not.” “Is that how you are with Miranda?” he asked. “No,” I answered quickly, defensively. “I never faked my feelings with Miranda.” “So why are you saying I should?” “I’m not! I’m just saying you shouldn’t let those little jerks get to you, that’s all.” “Like Miranda got to you.” “Why do you keep bringing Miranda up?” I yelled impatiently. “I’m trying to talk to you about your friends. Please keep mine out of it.” “You’re not even friends with her anymore.” “What does that have to do with what we’re talking about?” The way August was looking at me reminded me of a doll’s face. He was just staring at me blankly with his half-closed doll eyes. “She called the other day,” he said finally. “What?” I was stunned. “And you didn’t tell me?” “She wasn’t calling you,” he answered, pulling both comic books out of my hands. “She was calling me. Just to say hi. To see how I was doing. She didn’t even know I was going to a real school now. I can’t believe you hadn’t even told her. She said the two of you don’t hang out as much anymore, but she wanted me to know she’d always love me like a big sister.” Double-stunned. Stung. Flabbergasted. No words formed in my mouth. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I said, finally. “I don’t know.” He shrugged, opening the first comic book again. “Well, I’m telling Mom and Dad about Jack Will if you stop going to school,” I answered. “Tushman will probably call you into school and make Jack and those other kids apologize to you in front of everyone, and everyone will treat you like a kid who should be going to a school for kids with special needs. Is that what you want? Because that’s what’s going to happen. Otherwise, just go back to school and act like nothing happened. Or if you want to confront Jack about it, fine. But either way, if you—

August, diu, sé el que són aquestes (assenyala les lletres). Són lletres. Però aquestes coses petites, què són? Li dic que són comes, que marquen una pausa curta, o un respir, al text. Ella somriu, després inspira, com si es volgués tornar a empassar les paraules, ficar-se-les altre cop dins del cos, potser per oferir unes paraules a la criatura que encara no ha nascut, la narració, la seva… Però no diu res més i jo maldo per respondre-li. Sabies, li dic, que hi ha una papallona que es diu Coma? Respira amb dificultat. És una reacció tan poc apropiada, tan còmica… Ah, sí?, pregunta. Sí, li dic, es diu Coma perquè… Però ella m'atura. No, diu, deixa-m'ho endevinar. Perquè vola de la fulla a la tija i al pètal, només amb una pausa molt breu? Perquè el seu viatge és la seva història, no parar mai, només una pausa breu, sempre en moviment? Somric i assenteixo. Exactament, dic, és això! L'Ona es clava un cop de puny al palmell: Ahà! Se'n torna al seu seient. Però no és veritat, no és aquesta la raó del nom de la papallona Coma. I per descomptat que hi ha punts en els textos, pauses en els viatges. Aturades. La raó autèntica, banal, és que la papallona té una taca a sota de l'ala que sembla una coma.

Charlotte had the blondest hair I’ve ever seen. She didn’t shake my hand but gave me a quick little wave and smiled. “Hi, August. Nice to meet you,” she said. “Hi,” I said, looking down. She was wearing bright green Crocs. “So,” said Mr. Tushman, putting his hands together in a kind of slow clap. “What I thought you guys could do is take August on a little tour of the school. Maybe you could start on the third floor? That’s where your homeroom class is going to be: room 301. I think. Mrs. G, is—” “Room 301!” Mrs. Garcia called out from the other room. “Room 301.” Mr. Tushman nodded. “And then you can show August the science labs and the computer room. Then work your way down to the library and the performance space on the second floor. Take him to the cafeteria, of course.” “Should we take him to the music room?” asked Julian. “Good idea, yes,” said Mr. Tushman. “August, do you play any instruments?” “No,” I said. It wasn’t my favorite subject on account of the fact that I don’t really have ears. Well, I do, but they don’t exactly look like normal ears. “Well, you may enjoy seeing the music room anyway,” said Mr. Tushman. “We have a very nice selection of percussion instruments.” “August, you’ve been wanting to learn to play the drums,” Mom said, trying to get me to look at her. But my eyes were covered by my bangs as I stared at a piece of old gum that was stuck to the