Gymrat

"Oh, sweetie," Miss Abernath said.

The classroom window was open, letting in a mild breeze, the smell of geraniums, and the sound of wrens chirping as they made nests under the eaves. Henry sat under Miss Abernath's gently disapproving gaze as she chided him. His new shoes were shiny, and too tight, and they hurt his feet. He didn't say anything.

Miss Abernath continued, "You can't just say you hate cancer. People with cancer might feel badly. It isn't nice to make people feel badly about something. And what about people who like having cancer?"

Henry's throat clenched at that, and he cried out, "But cancer is bad! Cancer killed my mum!"

He saw Miss Abernath's pretty, young face grow stern. She gave a brief, tutting sigh, and beckoned Henry to the front of the classroom. Henry slid out of the hard wooden desk and followed her reluctantly, limping a little.

Miss Abernath took up a piece of chalk, and in elegant, precise cursive at the top left corner of the blackboard she wrote,


She then turned to Henry and handed him the chalk.

"Write this 500 times, Henry. I will be counting." She looked down at him with that loving disappointment, and added, "This is for your own good, you know."

Henry couldn't argue with her. Though a part of his mind still insisted that she had to be wrong, that cancer was terrible, and none of the positive things she said, he supposed, as he took the chalk from her hand, that she had to be right. Miss Abernath was kind, all the boys loved her, and all the other teachers always agreed with her.

He didn't understand why he couldn't believe her, and he tried not to cry from shame and the pinch in his feet as he stood on his toes to reach high up on the blackboard.