Life of Wendy

Repeating First Grade

3rd Person POV:

"What do you mean you're holding her back?!"

Wendy flinched at her father's yelling.

"Mr. Harrington, please, you must understand," The guidance counselor tried to diffuse the situation.

"Last I heard, my daughter was doing great in school and now I'm hearing she's being held back?" Mr. Harrington continued as he paced the small room. "I've seen her report card, she has straight A's all around!"

"Honey, please, let's just listen to what she has to say," Mrs. Harrington quickly calmed her fuming husband.

"This isn't the matter of her grades, Mr. Harrington," The guidance counselor sighed. "Wendy isn't talking."

"Not talking," Mr. Harrington scoffed in disbelief. "Wendy talks! She wouldn't be in school if she didn't."

"She hasn't talked in school the past four months," The guidance counselor informed.

Wendy shifted uncomfortably in her seat, playing with the beaded bracelet she made in art class a few weeks ago.

"That..that can't be possible," Mrs. Harrington shook her head with a disbelieving chuckle. "Surely you just don't hear her. And I'm sure she talks at home with Steve. Right, Wendy?"

Wendy didn't answer, looking at the tiny scuff on her pristine white shoes.

"You..don't know if she talks at home?" The guidance counselor questioned.

"We can't be there to monitor our children all the time," Mr. Harrington rolled his eyes. "My wife and I are busy people!"

"Wendy, honey, look at me," Mrs. Harrington told her daughter. Wendy obeyed, looking at her mom. "You talk, right, and people just don't hear you, right? Because you talk so quietly?"

When Mrs. Harrington went to touch her daughter's face, Wendy shifted away and went back to looking at the scuff on her shoe. It was starting to bother her.

"There's also the situation of Wendy's touch aversion," The guidance counselor remembered when she saw Wendy avoid the touch of her own mother.

"She's been like that since she could walk," Mrs. Harrington shrugged lightly, not showing how much the touch avoidance hurt her. "She would get restless, like toddlers do, and every time we tried to comfort her, she could get even more frustrated and angry, so we just..stopped."

"What's this got to do with holding her back?" Mr. Harrington huffed. He pulled out his checkbook. "How much to pass her?"

"Mr. Harrington, I'm sorry, but the school and I cannot accept your money," The guidance counselor shook her head. "Money cannot fix this."

"Then what will?" Mrs. Harrington asked.

"Wendy," The guidance counselor answered simply. "Only she can fix this. She has to participate in class by speaking for presentations. She has to communicate with her peers by forming bonds, friendships. And until she does, she is not advancing to the second grade."

'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'-'

Wendy curled in a ball in the little pillow fort that sat in the corner of her room. Her favorite teddy bear was hugged against her chest with one arm, her favorite blanket was over her shoulders, and in her other hand was the 'Waterful Ring Toss' toy.

Steve sat on the floor in front of her fort, choosing to respect the crudely written sign taped on her fort that said 'No Stevie's Allowed', that he helped her spell, by the way.