Swallow

Chapter 4

Mr. Turner had certificates and degrees hanging on the baby-blue wall behind his desk. They all pertained to psychology and counseling and looked very official to Mildred. Beside them hung a poster displaying a big, cartoonish turkey, who was Tom, the school's mascot. Mr. Turner's office was neat, except for his desk, which was littered with books, notes, school flyers, and even a small red and brown flag that said Go Turkeys!

"What brings you by, Mildred?" Mr. Turner asked. "Have you thought more about the extra credit we talked about, to bring your grades up?"

He liked to follow trends. Up until a few weeks ago, he'd worn thick-rimmed black glasses, but he'd recently traded them in for a brand-new beard—an inch-long and neatly trimmed fluff of chestnut brown, like the hair on his arms, which showed because he'd rolled up the sleeves of his seersucker shirt. Paired with his bald head, the beard balanced him out.

"I—well, no," she said.

Now that she was ready to talk to someone about what was going on, she found it hard to form into words exactly what the problem was. Opening with something like "They all hate me," might sound a little too dramatic, but on the other hand, something like "I feel a little unliked," was seriously understating the situation. She hadn't thoroughly thought this through before coming and now she was starting to lose her nerve.

"Shall we start with why your shoes are wet?" he asked.

Mildred looked down at her soggy feet and wiggled her toes, feeling the swampy cushioning inside.

"I want you to know that it's nothing to be ashamed of," he said. "Many kids need items from the charity bin. There's no need to come up with elaborate plans, like spilling drinks on yourself or conveniently losing a jacket so you can dive into the bin to get a new one."

Mildred gave Mr. Turner a blank stare. It took a moment to grasp the meaning behind his words, but she followed his hand gesture to the corner of the room where a big plastic bin sat. On the wall above it were the words Charity Bin. Jacket sleeves and jean legs hung over the top.

"No, I didn't do this myself," she said. "I'm here because I'm being bullied."

Mr. Turner studied Mildred. She couldn't read his expression. Sometimes, that sort of thing was difficult for her. Kind faces could seem judgmental, and resting faces could seem displeased. Some faces were more difficult to read than others. Mr. Turner had the sort of face that showed more expressions than one at the same time, and Mildred was at a loss.

"That is disappointing to hear," he said.

He shoved some papers around on his desk, revealing a candy dish full of candies wrapped in shiny yellow plastic.

"Care for a caramel?" he asked. "They're soft and chewy, my favorite."

The offer took Mildred by surprise, but she reached forward and grabbed four. She liked soft caramels. She popped one in her mouth and chewed, savoring the creamy sweetness.

"I know bullying is a huge problem, Mildred," he said. "The worst part is that it's almost impossible to control what others do when we aren't looking, and we can't always look. Are you following?"

Mildred nodded. The caramel was very sticky. She worked her jaw and her tongue to get it out of a back molar where it had buried itself.

"Because of that, it may seem that bullies have all the power," he continued. "But they really don't have the power, Mildred."

"They don't?" Mildred asked as she opened another caramel and stuffed it in.

"Nope. Because we can control ourselves and that's something they can't take away."