This morning there is a brand new satchelThe bag you carry on your back to take your things to school. on Nino's chair. It is blue, it smells of plastic, and it is almost as big as Nino. Inside there is nothing at all. Well, almost nothing.
Because Nino has slipped his cuddly toy right down to the bottom, under the snack. “Nobody must see him,” he whispers. “But he has to be there.” Mum nods, and she does not tell a soul.
Outside the school there is a lot of noise, a lot of parents and a lot of little ones holding one hand very tightly. Nino is holding Mum's hand very tightly too. Perhaps even a bit too tightly.
The teacherThe grown-up who looks after the children and teaches them things at school. is called Salomé. She crouches down to Nino's height and says: “Hello Nino. Would you like to come in with me, or would you rather have one more minute?” Nino thinks about it. “One more minute.” “All right,” says Salomé.
One minute is short. But it is already better than right now. When it is over, Nino lets go of Mum's hand, very slowly, one finger at a time.
Inside there are tiny tables, a round rug, and a box full of cars. There is also a little girl crying, and Nino lends her a red car without saying anything, because he knows exactly how she feels.
In the afternoon, out in the playgroundThe outdoor space at school where children play at break time. under the shelter, Nino opens his satchelThe bag you carry on your back to take your things to school. to check. The cuddly toy is there, between the snack and the box of tissues, exactly where he put him.
In the evening Mum asks: “Did you take your cuddly toy out?” Nino thinks, and shakes his head. He did not need to. But knowing he was there, right at the bottom, helped him all day long.
The end, sweet dreams.
