The sound of my red boots (靴子) had never embarrassed (使尴尬) me when I lived in Texas. My grandfather had given them to me, and I really loved them. I wore them almost every day. But on my first day of school in New York, I thought I might never wear them again.
That day I wore my boots to school like I would have in Texas. The teacher told everyone who I was, and everything seemed fine until we started working. The teacher called me up to her desk. The room had grown really quiet. I tried to walk softly, but my boots made a loud sound. Everyone looked up at me. I felt my face turned as red as my boots.
“Sounds like a horse,” someone whispered. I began to feel ashamed of my boots.
At lunch, I found a table where I could eat alone. A few minutes later, several classmates joined me. I thought they might laugh at me, but they started asking questions about where I was from in Texas, instead. I talked with them and told them stories about my grandfather who owned a farm.
We were still talking when the bell rang for us to return to class. Suddenly I loved my boots again. Wearing them on my first day at the new school had taught me that I could be myself and make friends after all.