GretaGreta sighed. This letter she’d just gotten from Shelly was a bit disturbing. Why can’t my sweet little boy just be happy?
“Something wrong, Mutter?” Her son looked her in the eyes. “I know that look. Something is bothering you.”
They sat, she on the sofa, he on the chair.
“Spill it.”
She held up the letter. “From Shelly. My sweet boy does not like his new school. He says it’s okay, but I can tell. There is a boy who is bothering him. My liebchen says he has a plan to take care of the problem—he didn’t say how—but I worry. Shelly has never fit in. He’s sensitive. And he never complained, but I think the other boys in his school here picked on him.”
“Because he’s a ballet dancer? I can see why boys wouldn’t like that. It’s not right, but I understand.”
“It’s more than that. Shell
