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The boy crossed his arms and walked away from his mother. His fury burned inside him. He did not want to wear his jacket. Jackets get in the way, sweaters are silly, and layers made him feel all squished. He missed the t-shirts of summer, he hated his jacket, and resented his mom for making him wear it.

A breeze blew past and he shivered. He glanced at his mom to make sure she didn’t notice. She was busy inspecting a half-rotten leaf.

The boy sat down on a log and noticed some mushrooms growing along its edge. No. It couldn’t be. He looked closer. It was. Even the mushrooms were wearing an extra, fuzzy layer! Were their mothers mean too?

He reached out to poke one, right in the fuzz. His fingers felt like ice, reddened from the cold. How could it be mitten season already? There wasn’t even any snow yet! The thought didn’t warm up his fingers at all. He brought them up to his mouth and breathed on them. That sometimes worked.

“Want your mittens after all?” asked his mom, holding out his blue mittens.

He shrugged. Of course not, but he put them on anyway. He didn’t want to hurt her feelings.

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