Page 108 of Salvation

She grabbed the tablet and furiously scrawled a message, her hand shaking as she shoved it at me, wiping away her tears with the back of her hand.

I glanced down at the words and felt my heart shatter into a million pieces.

“They call you names because of the burns on your back?”

“They sing ‘burn, baby, burn’ as well,” she whispered sadly, clearing her throat as she used unfamiliar muscles.

“Oh, darling. I’m not going to make any excuses for them, and I’m certainly not going to fill your head with bullshit nonsense of them picking on you because they like you. Kids can be cruel, and you don’t deserve any of this. What I will say, though, and it doesn’t make it any better, but usually children who bully people are very unhappy children.”

She snatched her tablet off me, quickly wiping off the previous words, and then angrily wrote more.

They tell me I should have died like my mother did.

“That’s a disgusting thing for anyone to say. Look at me,” I demanded, placing my hand under her chin and tilting her head back until we were looking into each other’s eyes. “You are an amazing, sweet, kind, caring, beautiful young girl, and the world is a much,muchbetter place because you’re in it. Do noteverallow them to make you think any differently. Yes, you have a few burns on your back. And I know you’re probably self-conscious and hate them. But those burns do not take away who you are in here,” I said, placing my other hand over her heart. “Those burns do not take away how sweet you are. They don’t take away from your intelligence, your generosity, your warmth. You are amazing, inside and out. Nothing can ever take that away from you.”

She silently sobbed, shaking her head at my words.

“Listen to me,” I said firmly. “I will deal with this. Tomorrow, I will be coming to school with you, and we will be putting a stop to this. But I want you to do something for me.”

“What?” she whispered.

“I want you to go over to that mirror,” I said, pointing at the mirror hanging on the wall. “And I want you to… In fact, come on.”

I pulled her to her feet and walked her across the carpet. I stood her in front of the mirror and crouched down behind her. I gathered her hair in my hand and pulled it over her shoulder, placing my head on her other.

“Tell me what you see,” I said.

Bee shook her head, her huge eyes brimming with tears, her tiny hand reaching out to touch the burn creeping up over her shoulder to the back of her neck.

“I see those scars too, sweetheart. And those scars tell me you are a fighter. They tell a story,yourstory. Those burns tell us you’re a fierce warrior. A survivor. They don’t take away anything from you.”

Her cheeks flushed, and a tear escaped, rolling down her cheek.

“You matter, Bee. You are important. And I want you to tell yourself that. I want you to look at yourself and say the words.”

She frowned at me through the glass, but I remained firm, raising my eyebrows at her.

“I am important,” she said quietly, without any conviction.

“I am unique and special.”

“I am unique and special,” she repeated.

“I can achieve anything I want. Because I am strong. I am resilient. I am afighter.”

She stayed quiet.

“Bee,” I warned.

“I can achieve anything I want. Because I am strong. I am resilient. I am afighter.”

“Again. And this time, like you mean it!”

“I am a fighter.”

“Again!”

“I am a fighter!” she burst out, her small chest rising and falling as she sought to steady her breathing.

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