Mending Places by Denise Hunter

do have the chicken pox, young man. We’ll need to call your mom or dad to come and get you. Are they at home or work?”
    “My mom’s at work.”
    “Do you know her number?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    She showed Micah to the phone, and he dialed his mom. When he told her he had chicken pox, she cursed and huffed but finally said she’d come.
    “Is she coming?” Mrs. Newburg asked.
    “She said she’d be here in a while.” He scratched his stomach.
    She smiled gently. “I’ve got just the thing for that itch. Come sit here.” She patted the vinyl bed and shook a pink bottle. “Why don’t you take off your shirt, and I’ll put this on.”
    He hesitated for a moment. He didn’t want anyone to see his back.
    “I can see you’re a very smart boy, Micah; it’s good that you’re careful of who you undress in front of But I’m a nurse so, just like at thedoctor’s office, it’s okay to take off your shirt.”
    He swallowed, suddenly dry mouthed, then peeled off his shirt. He held still as she dabbed pink lotion on each spot. “There. It should stop itching real soon, but be careful not to scratch or you’ll rub the medicine away. “Turn around, and let’s see how your back looks.”
    Micah froze.
    “You probably have some on your back even if they aren’t itching yet.” She reached out and helped him turn on the bed. Micah closed his eyes.
    He heard her gasp. The clown on the wall in front of Micah blurred as his eyes filled with tears. Nobody except his mom had ever seen him without his shirt on; he’d made sure of it. He’d tried so hard to be good in school. To make sure he obeyed his teacher so she’d like him. And now it was all ruined. His secret was out, and she would tell everyone the truth: He was a bad boy.
    Stop crying! You’re such a baby.
He counted the polka dots on the clown’s outfit to distract himself
One, two, three, four …
    “You only have a few spots on your shoulders.”
    Micah felt the cold lotion as she dabbed it on.
    “There. Why don’t you sit here for a few minutes and let it dry. I’ll be right back.”
    Micah put his shirt back on. He didn’t care about the wet lotion; he didn’t want anyone else to see the burn marks. Stretching out on the bed, he lay on his side and pillowed his head with his arm. Would Mrs. Newburg tell his teacher he’d been bad? Is that where she’d gone?
    For what seemed like hours, Micah lay on the bed. He didn’t like the way his skin stuck to his shirt. He’d already studied all the pictures on the walls. A clown, holding a fistful of round balloons, a chart they used to test eyes, and one of the food groups like they’d studied in class a few weeks ago. He reached out and played with the fingers of the fake skeleton hanging in the corner. Sitting up, he grasped the fingers in a handshake. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bones.” He giggled, then inspected the hand. Were there really that many bones in his hand? He held his own next to it and flexed his fingers. Neato.
    He heard the outer office door shut, then voices. Micah dropped the bony hand and listened.
    “Can you tell me …”
    He leaned closer to the door, but could only hear pieces of conversation.
    “And I’ve seen them before. I’m certain …”
    “Did you question him about …”
    “His mom is coming …”
    A moment of silence followed, then the door to the clinic opened. He leaned back against the wall. A lady dressed in fancy clothes stepped in, followed by Mrs. Newburg, who closed the door behind her.
    “Hi, there, Micah. I’m Nancy.” She put her notebook down and extended her hand.
    He shook it, then stared at his shoes. They were untied again, and the laces were dirty from being dragged along the ground.
    “I hear you have a case of the chicken pox. My little boy had them last year, and he was itching all over. Is that how you feel?” She sat beside him on the cot.
    He studied her face. She had the skinniest nose he’d ever seen, but she had kind eyes and a nice