Ira Glass

Timothy didn't look up.

Mrs. Gladfelter gave me a gentle push toward him in the small of my back.

Why don't you sit down, Paul?

No.

I didn't want to be left alone with Timothy, not because I was afraid of him, but because I was afraid that somebody would come into the office and see us sitting there, two matching rejects and matching orange chairs.

That's enough now, Paul, said Mr. Buterbaugh.

The principal, his friendly smile looking more false than usual.

Sit down.

It's all right, said Mrs. Gladfelter.

You see what you can do about helping Timothy turn back into Timothy.

We're just going to give you a little privacy.

She followed Mr. Buterbaugh into his office and then poked her head back around the door.

I'm going to leave this door open in case you need us, all right?

There were three chairs next to Timothy's.

I took the farthest and showed him my back so that anyone passing by the windows of the office would not be able to conclude that he and I were engaged in any sort of conversation at all.

"'Are you expelled?'

I said.

There was no reply.

"'Are you Timothy?'

Again he said nothing, and I couldn't stop myself from turning around to look at him.