Mending Places by Denise Hunter Page A

smile. “Just my stomach. Is my mom here yet?”
    “Not yet. Can I have a look at those itchy spots?”
    She didn’t want to look at his chicken pox. The nurse had told her about his marks, and she wanted to see them too.
    “It’s okay, Micah, I’m here to help you.”
    He didn’t know why, but he trusted her eyes. He lifted his shirt, and she looked at his stomach.
    “Yes, I’d say that’s chicken pox, all right.” She met his gaze and smiled gently. “Mrs. Newburg said you have marks on your back. May I take a look?”
    Fear seeped into Micah’s bones. He was right. The lady just wanted to see the sores. And then she would know he was bad too. What did they do to bad boys?
    “It’s all right, Micah. I’m here to help you.”
    Reluctantly, he lifted his shirt and turned away from her. He flinched when he felt her fingers run over the marks.
    “Do they hurt?”
    “No.”
    “But they must’ve hurt a whole lot when you got them, huh?” She lowered his shirt Micah turned to face the door again. He didn’t want to answer any more questions. “I want to go home.”
    “Your mom is on her way. Does your dad work too?”
    “I don’t have a dad.”
    “How about brothers or sisters?”
    “A little sister.”
    The lady wrote something down on her paper. “So the two of you just live with your mom?”
    “Uh-huh.” Why was she asking all these questions?
    “Where does your mom work?”
    “At a restaurant.”
    The lady smiled. “I used to work at a restaurant too. But now I have a different, very important job. Do you want to know what I do, Micah?”
    He looked at her face. She was still smiling. If she thought he was bad, wouldn’t she be mad at him? “Guess so.”
    “I keep children safe. My job is to make sure children are not hurt by anyone. Do you know a child who gets hurt by someone?”
    Micah studied the lady’s face. Then his gaze went back to his shoelaces. Was his mom in trouble for hurting him?
    “Sometimes children are hurt by a parent, grandparent, or babysitter. Sometimes grownups have a bad day and do things that are not right. That’s a very sad thing. When a child tells someone he trusts, it’s my job to make sure nobody hurts him again.”
    He heard the bell ring out in the hall and then the shuffling feet and locker doors being opened and shut. He wished he were with his class.
    “Can you tell me how you got those marks on your back?”
    Micah felt hot. He scratched his stomach. He itched again. What would they do if he told the truth? Could she really stop his mom from hurting him? He didn’t want to get his mom in trouble.
    “Can you tell me how you got them?”
    He wished she would stop asking. He didn’t want to think about that. He could still feel the scalding tip on his skin, still remember the smell. He closed his eyes.
    “Grownups make mistakes sometimes, Micah, and I don’t want anyone to hurt you.”
    Micah opened his eyes and looked at Mrs. Newburg through a glaze of tears.
    “It’s okay, honey,” the nurse said. “Tell Nancy what happened.”
    He looked at the lady. She patted his hand. “Sometimes my mom gets mad. I do bad things.” He sniffed, and Mrs. Newburg handed him a tissue.
    “Go on, Micah.”
    “It burned.” Fat, wet drops rolled down his cheeks, and he held back the sob that rose in his throat.
    “It’s going to be all right, sweetie,” Nancy said. She stood and whispered something to the nurse and left the room.
    Mrs. Newburg sat beside him and put her arm around his shoulders.
    He wiped his face. “Is my mom here yet? I wanna go home.”
    “You’ll be able to leave soon.”
    They waited side by side for what seemed like hours. Micah’s stomach rumbled, and the nurse went to get him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. When he finished it, he balled the plastic wrapper and practiced shooting it into the trash can in the corner.
    Finally, Nancy opened the door and came in followed by a policeman. Micah’s eyes widened. He looked at