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His eyes dropped to his sneakers.
“It might help to talk.”
The boy’s shoulder rose and fell on a sigh. “I like this school.”
“But?”
“But Toby and his friends don’t like me.”
“There must be nice kids here too?”
Ritchie nodded.
“So, hang out with them and stay away from Toby and his friends.”
“I want to, but they always find me.”
“What do they do to you?”
“Steal my lunch. Rub my face in the dirt, and yesterday”—his lip quivered—“they said my mom was a bitch.”
Oh hell no!
“Do you know the thing I’ve always found about bullies, Ritchie?”
The boy shook his head.
“They’re cowards, and making other people feel bad makes them feel good.”
The boy was silent for a minute. “They’re bigger than me.”
“Have you told your teacher or your mom what’s going on?”
He shook his head.
“You here alone today, Ritchie?”
“Mom’s here. She’s a teacher.”
“What’s your mom’s name?” But Ford already knew.
“Autumn.”
“That’s pretty.”For a pretty woman.
“She’ll be sad if she sees me crying, so you have to promise not to tell her, okay?”
“Sure, and you don’t want her sad, but I bet she’d rather know what was going on with you than not.”
“Do you think so?” The big green eyes widened.
“I know it, bud. So how about you help me get these supplies back to the workers because I need a big, strong boy like you to help me do that. Then we’ll go find your mom.”
The boy’s shoulders went back at his words.
“You take that wood there, Ritchie.”
“I don’t think my mom would like me carrying heavy things like this.”
