“She’s in the auditorium.”
“Is she hurt?”
“No.”
“Suspended?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
He looked toward the building.
“Nothing in my twenty-eight years as an educator prepared me for this morning.”
That answer terrified me even more.
He opened the auditorium doors.
The room was nearly full.
Teachers stood along the walls.
Students filled the seats.
Parents had started arriving.
For one impossible second, I wondered if I had walked into the wrong building.
Then I saw Letty.
She was standing alone on the stage.
Her uneven shoulder-length hair framed her tear-streaked face.
Beside her stood another little girl.
Tiny.
Fragile.
Completely bald.
Millie.
The classmate Letty had told me about.
Neither girl was speaking.
The entire room was silent.
“What is this?” I whispered.
Principal Harris pointed toward the front row.
“Sit.”
“I don’t want to sit.”
“Please.”
I reluctantly lowered myself into the nearest chair.
Only then did I notice another group standing near the stage.
Three boys.
Heads lowered.
One of them had his hands stuffed into his pockets.
Another wouldn’t stop crying.
The third refused to look at anyone.
I recognized none of them.
Principal Harris leaned closer.
