When Mrs. Bradbury called out Adam's name, followed by Chris's name, a rumble of young voices went around the room. Sounds of relief, mostly. Nobody wanted to write to the autistic kid.
Relief was immediately followed by snickering, and Adam was elbowed in the side by Henry. "That's gonna be so hard!" Henry jeered, loud enough that Mrs. Bradbury heard. She frowned.
Children were too honest. Yet, Mrs. Bradbury couldn't deny that Adam might have a difficult time thinking of compliments for the other boy. The children rarely spoke to Chris , and he rarely spoke at all, so what was there to know about him?
"Quiet, Henry," Mrs. Bradbury said. She glanced towards Chris , who sat at the desk in the front corner of the classroom, hidden under the hood of his brown sweater, unreacting. There was no real way to know he'd even been listening. Sometimes he wasn't.
Taking a breath, Mrs. Bradbury returned to announcing the pairings she'd chosen for her class.
Adam was a smart kid. He'd figure something out.
··· ♥ ···
"Adam," Mrs. Bradbury called when the bell rang for recess. Adam looked up from his gym bag, busy stuffing his sneakers inside. Mrs. Bradbury let out a slow breath, standing up from behind her desk. "I need to speak with you."
Adam gulped, looking down at his bag.
Henry got up from beside him and shoved his head in a friendly way, and Adam watched him leave the classroom, hopping out into the sunshine to join the rest of the school for recess.
Mrs. Bradbury went to perch on the desk beside Adam's, both her hands together on the lap of her floral skirt. "I checked over everyone's postcards while you had gym class," she said, concern weighing heavily on her words. "I noticed something. Do you know what I noticed?"
Adam looked up, his blueish green eyes rounded, eyelashes fluttering as he blinked halfway. His lips parted but he didn't reply.
Mrs. Bradbury sighed. "You didn't hand your postcard draft in, did you? Did you get anything written down?"
Adam shrugged.
"Chris is going to be the only student in this class who doesn't get a postcard," she said sadly. "That would really hurt, wouldn't it, being the only one without a compliment?"
She wondered if it was fair to ask this of him. Just because Adam excelled at science, gym class and making friends, and was progressing well in the art of spelling, it didn't mean he would be good at this, too. Mrs. Bradbury had seen Adam be kind to his fellows – and on the flipside, she'd pulled him out of physical fights – but deep down she was sure he was capable of thinking up at least one kind word to share.
Adam murmured something, head lowered.
"What was that?" Mrs. Bradbury asked, leaning closer.
Adam glanced up, a blush on his tanned, freckled cheeks. "It was stupid."
Mrs. Bradbury raised her eyebrows. "What was stupid?"
"My card." Adam looked down at his grubby fingers and twisted them together on his desk. "Was stupid."
"I'm glad you set a high standard for yourself, Adam, but I think I'll be the judge here," Mrs. Bradbury smiled. "Let me take a look at it. Tomorrow we're going to write it out neatly, remember, with all the spelling tidied up. If there's mistakes in it now, you'll have a chance to fix it tomorrow before you give it to Chris ." She held out a hand, expecting Adam to put his card in her palm.
Adam was blushing as bright as a lollipop, his ears red, his cheeks blotchy and pink. He didn't move for a while.
"Adam..." Mrs. Bradbury slid off the desk and crouched beside Adam , looking up at him. "Is something the matter?"
