Felix heard me from upstairs. He hurried down so fast that he nearly missed the final step.
“What’s wrong?”
Then he saw her.
The color drained from his face. His eyes moved from Maya’s ruined haircut to me and back again.
“Who cut her hair?”
Maya remained silent.
Felix snatched his keys from the table. “I’m going to the school.”
“It’s already closed,” I said.
“Then I’m calling Susan.”
He pulled out his phone.
“Wait,” I said. “We need to know what happened first.”
I placed my hands gently on Maya’s shoulders. “Was it the same children who used to pull your braid?”
She shook her head.
“Did someone threaten you?”
No answer.
“Did anyone trap you somewhere?”
Felix muttered something under his breath and began dialing.
“I’m calling the police.”
Maya’s head snapped up. “No!”
It was the first word she had spoken since coming home.
Felix lowered the phone, but his expression remained hard with fear. “Then you have to tell us, sweetheart.”
His anger was not directed at her, yet I could see that it frightened her. I should have softened my voice. I should have held her and asked her to begin wherever she could.
Instead, every old incident crowded into my mind—the pulled braid, the whispered insults, the mornings she had begged not to go to school. I imagined her surrounded in a bathroom while someone cut away the thing she loved most.
“Maya,” I said, struggling to keep my voice steady, “we need names.”
Her eyes filled again.
Then she reached slowly into the front pocket of her backpack and removed a folded, crumpled sheet of paper.
