She knew the reason. Adults like Mrs. Stonewood were easy to read. They all held the same expression. The first time I encountered that look had been a day my mother picked me up from grade school. My teacher had seen a bruise on her arm when my mother reached for me. She had gasped and we both stiffened. My mother pulled down her sleeve quickly but my teacher’s eyes had already changed. They flicked to our car nervously, and she asked if everything was all right.
