Page 117 of Clean Slade
Grams shook her head. “What is that?”
“Oh my God! I need to educate you. Do you have a TV?”
“I don’t. But I do have cake. You know us Italians love to sit around and chat with good cake.”
Mac grimaced.
“I don’t think that’s just Italians,” she said, making Grams laugh.
“True. Very true. Does that mean you’d like some cake?”
Mac bit her lip and looked from her great-grandmother to the table and back.
“What’s wrong?” Grams asked.
“Nothing,” Mac said, shaking her head faster than normal.
“Are you full?” Mac shook her head. “Shy?” Mac shook her head again. “Then what is it?”
I sighed and stepped forward.
“Mac, honey. Is this about the bully again?”
Just when we’d thought this whole issue was getting resolved. She’d been doing so well. We’d managed to build her confidence and Mr. Crawford had reassured us the student had changed classrooms to give Mac some space.
Not that she’d share their name. And there was no amount of begging that would make Mr. Crawford give it up.
“What bully?” Grams asked.
“Nothing.” Mac hugged herself and looked away, which only made Grams more persistent.
“Is someone bullying you at school?”
Mac glanced at me and pursed her lips again before she nodded.
“What are they doing to you?”
“Just…calling me names. And stuff.”
Grams looked up at me, and I sighed again.
“What kind of names?”
Mac fidgeted, rubbing her arms, playing with her fingers, dangling her legs. “Like fat and stuff.”
Grams’s gaze narrowed, and she kissed her lips.
“Is that it?” Mac nodded. “Oh, sweetheart, ignore them. People are all kinds of shapes and sizes. That doesn’t mean anything. We’re supposed to all be different.” Mac sunk farther in her chair. “Do you think I’m fat?”
Grams spread her hands to show Mac her figure, and Mac shook her head.
“Well, believe it or not, I used to be bigger than this and skinnier than this. We’re not dolls. We’re people. We go through phases. We change, both inside and outside, but the most important things we have is our hearts and our minds. Everything else is subjective.”
“I guess,” Mac mumbled.
“There’s no guessing. Trust Grandma Alessia. I know what I’m talking about. And I’ll tell you what. It’s probably got nothing to do with you anyway. I bet the person calling you names is doing it because they don’t have a heart or a mind, or both, and because you have them in abundance, they don’t like it!”
“I know, but…”
