Being the only deaf boy in the class meant Alex always had to sit in the front row directly in front of his sign language interpreter, Ms. Barringer. He hated sitting in the front row. He’d rather be able to see everyone and everything, not just Ms. Barringer and the chalkboard. In fact, having to sit in the front was the only thing he didn’t like about his new school.

This morning he felt particularly uncomfortable. A few minutes earlier, he had swallowed water at the fountain. Now he felt a straining (一阵拉紧) in his stomach as a bubble (气泡) of wind rose into his throat.

He glanced behind him. Ms. Barringer waved to get his attention and then pointed to his half-finished composition to let him know he should be writing and not looking around the room. Alex tightened his chest muscles to hold back the burp (打嗝) as his mother told him it made an offensive noise. However, he remembered the day before, in the crowded hall, he had burped and nobody had even noticed.

Last year, none of this had mattered. A few of his friends’ parents at the Lakeside School for the Deaf had warned that he might find going to a hearing school too hard. But Alex wanted to be like his older brother, which meant attending Wilson Middle School. He had told everyone he wasn’t afraid, but now that he was here, he found that fitting in wasn’t easy. It was the fourth day of school, and he was still eating lunch by himself.

No longer able to hold back the burp, he covered his mouth in case there was a sound and let the burp go. Every kid looked up and stared at him. Ms. Barringer shook her head as if to say, “Oh, Alex, you’ve done it now.” When he saw that Brian, the boy next to him, was laughing, he felt his face burning.

Cautiously, Ms. Barringer signed to him, “Say excuse me.”

Alex’s face burned and an angry tension rose in his heart.

My knees started shaking, yet my body froze; it felt as though my soul departed (离开) my body and I had no control over it. Anxiously, I looked through the name list posted on the wall of the locker room; my heart was beating harder and harder as I slowly saw all my friends’ names on that list but could not find mine. John, Bryce, Ro, I thought, everybody is on here except me. At that moment, I froze; I just could not accept that all my friends were on the basketball team but I was not.

I was so convinced there was a mistake that I went and found the coach. “Hey coach, are you sure that the name list you posted is correct?” I asked anxiously.

“Yes. Sorry if you did not make it this year. There is always next year,” the coach replied without the slightest bit of regret.

I could feel the hot, bitter tears building in my eyes, and I ran out of the room as fast as I could. As soon as I walked out, I saw my friends crowding into the locker room to look at the team list. I heard them shouting and laughing as I slowly walked away, every one of them jumping around with excitement after seeing that they made the team.

I felt dead inside，like nothing mattered. I trudged (步履艰难) through the rest of school; walking was such a burden that it felt as if I had a 100-pound weight tied to my backpack. My mind was also blank for the rest of the school day; everything my teachers said went in one ear and out the other.

After school, as I walked to the parking lot to get picked up, I saw all my friends gathered near the back of the lot，celebrating and joking around. I detoured (绕道) around the side of the school to avoid them, trying not to think about being one of the only people in our friend group to not make the team.

I saw my father’s red car pull up near the school lot.

After almost a year of training, I tried out for my seventh-grade team.

George was a student in my class, a boy of few words. As his teacher, I had noticed his shyness and had been trying to create opportunities for him to integrate into the group of his classmates. However, my efforts had resulted in little success.

It wasn’t until later that I learned the reason behind George’s reserved behaviour. His parents had recently moved to the city, and the transition had left him feeling lonely.

The school had announced an upcoming cross-country race, with the first prize being an Iron Man toy. George’s eyes lit up with excitement when he heard the news, and from that moment on, he was on a mission to win that toy.

It was evident that George held a deep affection for Iron Man. He trained hard, running laps around the school field every day after class. His determination was unwavering, and his commitment to the race was fueled by his desire to claim the Iron Man toy as his own.

As the day of the race drew nearer, George’s anticipation grew. He was eager to compete, not just for the thrill of the race but for the chance to win the symbol of his childhood happiness. Iron Man represented the joyful memories of his early years and the courage to face challenges head-on.

However, despite his dedicated efforts, George fell short of winning the first prize in the race. He returned to the school grounds with a heavy heart, disappointment written all over his face. I approached him, offering a comforting smile and words of encouragement.

“George, winning isn’t everything,” I told him. “Sometimes, the journey itself teaches us valuable lessons.”

George confided (倾诉) in me, sharing his deep longing for the Iron Man toy. He revealed that he had owned an Iron Man toy as a child, but it had been lost over the years. To him, Iron Man symbolized not only his most cherished possession, but also a connection to a happier time in his life, a time filled with the courage to face challenges.

On George’s birthday, I decided to prepare a special surprise for him with his classmates.

The birthday surprise — the Iron Man toy — had a great impact on George.