My teacher glances up at me from her desk. Her stern gaze makes me wither a little, and I put my pencil back to work. I just can’t seem to focus! The math problems begin to blur in front of me, becoming as impossible to read as the social studies worksheet had been before lunch. I know Mrs. Thorne is losing patience with me, but I just can’t do it! Realizing my mind has wandered again, I snap back into reality, accidentally slinging my pencil in the process. I flush red and bend over to pick it up. My back screams at me to stop! The burning is intense but I grab my pencil and sit back up, panting hard. Here comes Mrs. Thorne. I know she is standing in front of my desk and I can feel her stare but I can’t look up at her. Shame doesn’t let me look at anyone anymore. “Is anything wrong, Peter?” she asks me.
“No ma’am,” I respond quietly. I keep my eyes lowered. She hesitates, then moves away and goes back to her desk. I hear her pick up the phone and make a whispered call. I am terrified she is calling my parents. Helpless to do anything about anything, I sit there, fighting tears. The principal comes to our room and asks to see me. I get up stiffly, trying to hide the wince. I walk out to the hall and follow him with my eyes glued to the heels of his shoes. He has really nice shoes, I think to myself, I bet he buys his brand new. We get to his office and he asks me to sit. I am so relieved that my parents aren’t there waiting for me that I barely feel the welts on my back brush the chair. Maybe it will be okay after all. Well, as OK as it ever gets…
“Peter, do you know why I asked you to come in here with me?” asks Mr. Keith.
“Um, yeah, I think so. I haven’t been doing my work and, well, I guess I don’t pay much attention in class.” I am still looking down, this time at my hands in my lap. I am afraid to move them. My parents hate it when I fidget and maybe all grown-ups do.
“No, Peter.” His voice is so gentle I actually look up, startled. “I asked you here because I’m concerned about you.” No one ever spoke to me like that; no one ever expressed concern over me. When I said as much to him, he shook his head sadly. “You’re wrong, Peter. Mrs. Thorne is very concerned about you. She says that every day she asks you if you are alright and every day she suspects you lie to her.” I hang my head back down, so that’s what this is about, I think. She is accusing me of lying. My stomach begins to hurt. They’ll call my dad! As the panic attack takes hold of me, I jump from my seat but have nowhere to go. I pant hard and my eyes flit around the room wildly. I barely register that Mr. Keith has gotten out of his seat as well but I hear him speak to me. “Peter, calm down; you’re safe here. Please just calm down, son.” I try to do as he says but I begin to cry. I feel him try to hold me but the instant he touches me, fear makes me jerk away and cry harder. He backs away and I vaguely notice him wiping at his eyes. Why is he so upset, I wonder bitterly. He doesn’t have to go to my house tonight. I DO!
After a few minutes, I take a deep breath and sit back down, unsure of what comes next. He kneels in front of me and I slowly lift my eyes to his. Hopelessness settles in, and I look back down at my lap.
“Peter, you aren’t going home today.” My eyes fly back up to his. I’m not sure I heard him right. Not go home? What other reality was there for me? “I am going to call someone who helps kids just like you. I need you to talk to her and tell her about anything that happens to you that hurts or scares you at home. Once you do this, I am sure they will make some arrangements for you.” Stunned I just stare at him. “They won’t tell your parents what you say, and you won’t get into any trouble. Just talk to her, please.” Slowly, I come to the realization that he really wants me to tell someone. He really cares about me. I agree to talk to a social worker, and after it sinks in for a few minutes that this is real, that things might change for me, I cry again. This time, I am crying with relief. This time, I let Mr. Keith hold me.