Damaged Read Free Page A

it’s his nerves.” Edward pressed his glasses up higher on his long nose. “The kids make fun of him, call him names. Up-Chucky. Vomit Boy. Duke of Puke. They make throw-up noises when he comes into the classroom.”
    Mary felt for the boy. “First, have you taken him to a pediatrician?”
    â€œYes, but she said there’s nothing medically wrong.”
    â€œIt could be from anxiety. Have they evaluated him to determine if anything else is going on?”
    â€œNot that I know of.” Edward blinked, uncertainly.
    â€œThey should have done a social-emotional assessment, like the BASC test, which will pick up how he’s feeling. It’s a questionnaire that asks the child a series of question and it tells the psychologist if he’s anxious, depressed, or shutting down. The evaluation determines what his programming should be. If they don’t do the evaluation, they don’t know what services or counseling he needs.”
    â€œThe teasing only makes him more nervous, and his teacher sends him to the guidance counselor. They say they send him there to calm down, but I think it’s because they don’t want him to throw up in the classroom. They said it’s normal, they call it something.”
    â€œIt’s called a ‘cooling-off room,’” Mary said, supplying him with the term of art.
    â€œBut he sits there for hours, like a punishment.”
    â€œThe school can’t punish him for behaviors associated with his disability. For example, a child with ADHD will have a problem completing assignments on time. The teacher can’t say to the child, ‘you have to stay in for recess or you can’t go on a class trip.’ They can’t punish him for the manifestation of a disorder that he can’t help. It’s illegal and it’s just plain”—Mary searched for the words, then found them—“cruel.”
    â€œBut wait, Mary.” Edward leaned over with a new urgency. “The worst of it is Patrick got hit in the face by a teacher’s aide, Mr. Robertson.”
    â€œMy God, what happened?” Mary asked, appalled. She had heard horror stories, but this was the worst. Teacher’s aide was a misnomer; aides weren’t teachers, they could be a bus matron or a cafeteria worker. They couldn’t teach, nor were they trained to work with children with behaviors.
    â€œPatrick threw up and Robertson made him clean it up. Patrick got some on the desk, so Robertson punched him in the face and told him to ‘cut the crap.’”
    â€œThat’s an assault!” Mary said, angry. “Robertson should have been arrested on the spot.”
    â€œPatrick didn’t tell anybody what happened, and Robertson told Patrick that if he told, he’d beat him up.” Edward frowned, deeper. “Patrick was so scared, he didn’t say anything. When he came home that day, I asked him about the bruise on his cheek, it was swollen. He told me that he fell against the desk. I gave him Advil, I put ice on it. I believed him because he does fall, he can be clumsy.”
    â€œWere there any witnesses to the assault?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œAny surveillance cameras that you know of?”
    â€œNo, only in the halls.” Edward shook his head. “The next day Patrick was really afraid to go to school. He begged me not to make him, so I didn’t. By Friday, I started to think something was really wrong, and over the weekend, he finally admitted it to me.”
    â€œPoor kid.” Mary felt a pang. “Did you call the police?”
    â€œNo, I called the school and I told them what Patrick said, and they said they would look into it. So then the school called back and said that Robertson had quit. They denied knowing anything about Patrick getting punched. They said they were going to investigate the matter.” Edward dug into the manila envelope again and pulled out a packet of