Talk to nicely.

Critter Boone didn't want to talk about it.

Not to his teachers, or to the school nurse or the principal.

And the boy certainly wasn't going to talk about it with his uncle Jimbo.

His mother was dead.

That was it.

That was the whole thing.

What else was there to say about it?

As he climbed out of the school bus, shivering against the chill in the air, and set off

down the winding driveway, critter sniffed and wiped at his nose.

The bleeding had finally stopped, but his nose was still sore and his head was dizzy.

The punch hadn't been too bad.

Critter had certainly experienced worse.

But the school nurse had taken the opportunity to ask him about his home life since Mama's

passing.

Critter hated those kinds of questions.

He didn't like having to lie, so he always found his safest bet was to just stay quiet.

Grownups didn't like that.

The nurse had given him a peppermint candy when he stood up to return to class, whispering,

Don't go telling no one. I know it ain't good for your teeth, but sometimes we all need

a bit of sweetness. Hey, Critter. Critter had stowed the hard candy in his jeans pocket,

and now he pulled it out, untwisted the plastic wrapping, and held it up to his nostrils.

...