Hope Girl by Wendy Dunham

Author:Wendy Dunham
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780736964968
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers, Inc.

Dr. Crane says that what’s about to happen during my brace fitting will feel both awkward and embarrassing. But he insists it’s necessary.

To help get my mind off awkward and embarrassing, I make myself think of something I’m thankful for. I decide I’m thankful Dr. Crane’s not doing my fitting because he’s a man. The person who’s doing it is a lady. Her name is Ms. Honey Bunn. She’s nice and tries making me feel comfortable. But when she explains what I have to do, I find a second thing I’m thankful for—that Dad stayed in the waiting room.

Ms. Honey Bunn helps me put on a piece of material called a stockinet (it’s something like a really big sock but open at both ends). It reaches from my armpits, down past my hips. And I’m not allowed to wear anything underneath (Ms. Honey Bunn said it doesn’t bother her, so it shouldn’t bother me, which in theory should work).

She tells me to stand on a stool and hold my arms out to the side like I’m an airplane. While I pretend to be an airplane, she wraps rolls of warm wet plaster around me, covering every inch of stockinet.

“Now stand still while that sets,” she says. “Then I’ll cut it down the middle and get it off you.”

“You mean this isn’t my brace?”

Ms. Honey Bunn grabs her belly and laughs. “Oh no, River darling, you won’t be walking around in a plaster cast. This’ll be the mold I use to make your brace. I’ll make you a pretty one out of leather and metal.” She cocks her head. “Didn’t Dr. Crane show you what your brace will look like?”

I shake my head. “But I saw a picture of one in health class back in Punxsutawney. I thought maybe braces were different in West Virginia.”

“No, darling, they’re the same everywhere.”

“Well,” I tell Ms. Honey Bunn, “the brace I saw was made of leather and metal too, but it wasn’t pretty—the kid wearing it looked like a robot.”

“I know, darling, I’m just trying to make light. You can always dress it up with stickers.”

I think Ms. Honey Bunn has a screw loose. “Looking like a robot’s bad enough,” I say, “but adding stickers would only draw more attention.”

“I know, darling. Can’t say I blame you.” Ms. Honey Bunn cuts the plaster along an imaginary line down my middle and then pries it open so I can wiggle out.

Once my clothes are back on, Ms. Honey Bunn brings me to the waiting room. “She did wonderful,” she tells Dad. “Dr. Crane asked me to put a rush on her brace, so I’ll try to have it done next week. I’ll call the minute it’s ready.”

I’d like to tell Ms. Honey Bunn to take her own sweet time.

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