On my first day of kindergarten I met this girl named Michelle. I was so excited to have met my first schoolmate, but then Fat Theresa came by to snatch her up. Theresa would have eaten Michelle if she could.

I stood by the big closet where we all left our coats. Mine was orange, like a pumpkin. Like a pumpkin at Cinderella’s ball at midnight: just a lousy pumpkin without horse and carriage; without a purpose. 

Poor Pumpkin.

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