By Joshua Vise – January 9, 2026

Published in the anthology Starved by CultureCult Press. Lulu: Paperback or EPUB (EPUB Coming Soon)

I turned to the next page.

“She stumbled along the rocky beach, collecting ‘snakestones’ to sell to tourists, until one special day.  That day, Mary and her brother discovered a huge skull staring back at them.”

Robin’s eyes, already the most prominent feature on her gaunt face, widened even more.

“What kind of skull?” she asked, her feathery voice almost a whisper as she leaned closer to the book in my hands.

“Well, let’s see,” I answered.

The next page was dominated with an illustrated image of a skeleton.  It could almost be a dolphin, except the snout looked much too narrow and the fins oriented in the wrong direction.  My finger traced the text as I read.

“Mary and her brother had found a skeleton of an animal that nobody had ever seen before, one that had lived and died millions of years ago, during the time of the dinosaurs.  Scientists studied the animal, and named it ichthyosaurus, meaning ‘fish lizard’.”

The large bean bag chair crunched as Robin nestled in closer to me, her tiny body pressing into the crook of my arm.

“What happened next?” she asked, reaching for the corner to turn the page herself.

“Mary Anning made many more discoveries along the beaches of Lyme-Regis.  Still, even though she was an expert at finding extinct animals…”

“What’s extinct?” Robin interrupted.

“Well,” I said, shifting position so that her sharp elbows wouldn’t jab me in the side.  “It means that some animal lived long ago, but all of them died, so they don’t exist anymore.”

“Like the dinosaurs?” she asked.

“Yes, exactly like that.  In fact, ichthyosaurus lived at the same time as the dinosaurs, but it was an ocean reptile.”

Robin nodded softly, both acknowledging my answer and pressing me to continue.  I picked up where I had left off.

“Even though she was an expert at finding extinct animals, and could identify different types of animals from just a few bones, the scientists of the day wouldn’t let her join the Geological Society because she was a woman.”

“That’s not fair.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“But why wouldn’t they let her join because she was a woman?” asked Robin.  Her shocking blue eyes, always seemingly on the verge of tears, stared into mine.

“Because a long time ago, people thought there were some things that only boys could do, and some things only girls could do.”

“But not now, right?”

“No,” I reassured her.  “Not now.  Girls can do anything boys can do.”

“So I could join the society if I wanted to,” added Robin, her statement as much a question as an assertion.

“Well, first you would have to make some kind of discovery, I think.”

“I’ve never been to the beach, though.”

I smiled.

“You don’t need to go to the beach to make discoveries.  Discoveries can happen anywhere.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know, anywhere.  Nobody knows the exact place, because it hasn’t happened yet.  That’s why they’re called discoveries, because they’re new.”

“So if I go to a new place and dig around, I can discover new things.”

“You could,” I answered.  “It’s not easy though.  Making a new discovery is quite rare.”

Robin squirmed this way and that, wrestling herself out of the bean bag chair.  Even standing in front of me, she was a tiny girl, with reedy arms and legs that made every one of her dresses look two sizes too big for her.  Had she been older, I would have suspected anorexia, but I’d never heard of a six-year-old suffering from body image issues.  She put her fists against her hips, almost striking a superhero’s pose as she spoke.

“If I start now, I can find something before everyone else!”

I closed the book and smiled at Robin’s confidence, which was so rarely displayed.  In front of her peers, she was withdrawn and quiet.  In class, she rested her head in her hands, as if exhausted from the effort of simply existing.

“I’ll need a shovel, though,” Robin added.

I laughed.

“I’m sure we can find one for you.”

*****

I had just passed through the yawning double doors leading into Jury Elementary School when assistant principal Greer waved me down.         

“Ms. Davenport.  A word, please,” said Mr. Greer, smiling almost in embarrassment at having to catch me this way.  The expression fit his character, which was overly kind and nonconfrontational to the point of making people suspicious.  You never knew where you stood with Mr. Greer, which made every meeting uncomfortable.  He offered me a seat, before taking his own behind his immaculate desk, yet another quirk of his personality.

“Ms. Davenport, I was on the phone with Robin Sloan’s parents yesterday.  Now, you’re in charge of her IEP, right?”

The individualized education program, or IEP, was usually drafted to ensure that students with disabilities received equal access to education.  Robin was an exception in that her IEP was created at her parents’ request to accommodate their particular religious views.

I nodded.  Mr. Greer nodded in response.

“Apparently, she came home yesterday, and I know this sounds a bit much, but she came home yesterday talking about digging up fossils…”

He set his elbows on his desk, palms upward in a defeatist shrug that seemed to say so you can clearly see the problem. 

The brief moment of silence that followed proved too much for Greer, who made explicit what he had acted out a second ago.

“So you can clearly see the problem…”

“No, sir,” I answered.  “What problem are you referring to?”

Mr. Greer leaned back in his overstuffed chair, and its springs groaned almost on his behalf.

“Ms. Davenport, you’re aware of Robin’s family’s beliefs and wishes…”

“I am,” I interjected.  “I don’t see how reading a book constitutes an infringement on her right to learn.”

Mr. Greer huffed.

“Now Ms. Davenport,” Mr. Greer began, his voice an odd mixture of contrite and patronizing, as if he felt the need to apologize for pointing out the obvious.  “You know that we can’t favor any religious viewpoint in the public school system.  The Sloans have asked for reasonable accommodation of their beliefs, and they felt that your choice of reading materials for her class was a breach of that trust they put in us to accommodate her.”

“Firstly,” I huffed, mirroring his original reaction, “Robin selects her own texts that we read.  Secondly, I am not going to police what ideas this little girl is exposed to.”

Mr. Greer shook his head slightly, intent on showing me that he disagreed even as I stated my points.  I decided to go the diplomatic route.

“Our IEP agreement with her parents states that we cannot explicitly teach certain ideas related to evolution.  It doesn’t stop her from discovering these things on her own.  If Robin discovers something that her parents disagree with, it is up to them to put those ideas in the context that they see fit.  Not me.”

“So you’re saying Robin picked that book herself,” challenged Mr. Greer.  The chair creaked again as he leaned forward, his eyebrows raised in an accusing stare.

“Yes,” I answered.  “Students in the independent study room are allowed to select their reading material.  There was no manipulation.  She just liked the cover.”

Mr. Greer thought for a moment.

“In that case, you are to approve her choices, using the parents’ wishes as your guidelines.  You can preselect appropriate books, and she can choose from among the ones you selected.”

“That’s ridiculous,” I answered.  “And so are her parents.  Clearly, she’s being abused.”

“I warn you, Ms. Davenport, don’t,” Mr. Greer chastised.  “Unfounded accusations like that could result in a lawsuit.  You’d lose your teaching license.”

I leaned forward, wanting to make my point as directly as possible without undue confrontation.

“Mr. Greer, how much does she weigh?”

“She is within the normal growth curves.  Some kids are just smaller,” Mr. Greer deflected, answering quickly and dismissively to hide the fact that he didn’t actually know.  Quickly enough, in fact, to make me think that he had entertained the same thought as me at some point in the past.

“She doesn’t bring a lunch to class.  She doesn’t receive anything from the cafeteria.”

“Ms. Davenport, that’s enough!” spat Mr. Greer in a rare display of authority.  “Robin’s parents follow a strict diet on religious grounds.  The school was notified of this in advance, and the district approved this exemption.”

“But is the nurse monitoring her?”

Silence.

“Ms. Davenport, you will submit Robin’s reading choices to me for my personal approval.  That is all.”

*****

“Ms. Davenport?”

Robin’s soft voice announced her presence in the doorway at the beginning of third period, our usual meeting time.  I waved her in, and gestured to a seat across from me at the table.  She made her way in, her footsteps so unlike the rambunctious bouncing of the boys her age, or even the poised march of the girls.  She shuffled, her scrawny legs barely bending at the knee with each stride, the way one might walk over a layer of ice, stopping just before her seat.

I had scoured the bookshelves just before our class time, and the dozen books I had selected sat face up on the table. 

“We can pick any of these we want today,” I said.  I grinned, thinking it would steer her enthusiasm towards these supposedly ‘safe’ choices.

Robin studied the covers for a moment.

“Can we read the Mary Anning book again today?” she asked, a hopeful note in her voice.

“I’m sorry,” I answered.  “We already read that one, so we have to pick a new one.”

“But if I read one of these, then can we read the Mary Anning book again?”  The hopeful note rang hollow in the question, and I could tell that even as she asked, she had already anticipated my response.

“I’m sorry, Robin.”

Robin simply looked at her feet as she took her seat, sliding her backpack off of her shoulders and onto the floor behind the chair as she did so.  There was no fuss, no argument, no groan of frustration, no sigh, nothing that one would normally expect from even a mild mannered six-year-old.  As she looked over the book covers, I studied her for any telltale sign of disappointment, but found nothing, as if her body was too frail to hold an emotion for very long.  She rested her elbows on the table and propped her head up in her hand, a habit of hers that, given my conversation with Mr. Greer the day before, took on a more gloomy aspect.  At that moment, she looked for all the world like she was trying to hold herself up.

“Robin?” I said.

She looked up through her eyebrows, not bothering to lift her head.

“I want you to meet a friend of mine at the end of class today.  Is that okay?”

*****

“Great job today, Robin,” I offered as Robin gathered her things and made her way back to the door.

“Thank you, Ms. Davenport,” she said.  “It was nice to meet you, Mrs. Paige.”

She offered a little wave in our direction, which Mrs. Paige, the school nurse, returned while smiling.

Once Robin had left the room, I turned to Mrs. Paige, who had immediately gone for her phone.

“So?” I asked as she tapped something into the screen.  There was a pause as the search engine spit out its results.

“Her height is just a touch below average.  Forty-Seventh percentile.  Do you see that green band?”

 Mrs. Paige held her phone out to me so we could both study the charts, which tracked children’s growth by age.

“The line in the middle shows the average height and weight by age.  That green band covers a range of fifty percent, from twenty-five to seventy-five.  The two yellow bands are another twelve percent, and are areas of concern, but not necessarily extreme.  But beyond that…”

She pointed to a dot near the bottom of the curve.

“Twelfth percentile.”

“Meaning?”

“Just inside the red band, meaning severely undernourished.  If her height were comparably below average, one might suspect a condition or disease, but as I said before, she’s basically average that way.  That would suggest it’s diet-based.”

I paused, trying to wrap my head around the implications, until Mrs. Paige’s next statement pierced through my clouded thoughts.

“She’s six years old, and she weighs as much as a three and a half year old.”

The power of her sentence shook me, and I sat down on the table to steady myself.

“What can we do about it?” I asked Mrs. Paige.

“You’ve reported it to the administration?”

“Mr. Greer is aware of it,” I answered.

“Then you could call Child Protective Services.  Or I could.  We certainly have a justifiable concern.”

“My worry is that it’s faith-based,” I said.  “And the school already agreed to accommodate certain dietary restrictions.”

“What religion are they?” asked Mrs. Paige, her question tinged with the slightest hint of defensible scorn given the circumstances.

“I’m not sure.  Christian, I think,” I answered.  “They go to that church on the hill.  The one just before the highway interchange.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Mrs. Paige began, no longer attempting to suppress her derision.  “I’m Christian, and we don’t starve children.”

Flustered by her own display of emotions, Mrs. Paige shoved her phone in her front pocket and headed for the door.  She turned just as she was about to leave.

“Don’t worry,” she nodded, as if confirming her convictions.  “I’ll call CPS.  It’s anonymous, but if Mr. Greer gives you any grief, I’ll tell him it was me.”

“Thank you,” I said quietly, still resting my weight against the table.

“Sarah,” she said.  I looked up, my pooling tears holding on to the edges of my eyelids.

“It’s the right thing to do.”

*****

Our class had been put on temporary hold as the events of the last few weeks had played out.  True to her word, Mrs. Paige had contacted Child Protective Services, and an agent was dispatched to the school to assess Robin’s health.  Obviously displeased, Mr. Greer was nevertheless required to cooperate with the investigation.  The agent was admitted to the grounds and given access to her school medical history.  Details of his private interview with Robin were never disclosed in order to ensure that Robin could speak freely, but most of the agent’s questions towards me had been oriented towards my relationship with Robin and my concerns about her weight as an indicator of neglect.

As a standard operating procedure, Robin’s parents were only informed of this interview afterwards, and this led to a series of complaints against the school, with legal action threatened at one point.  During this time, Mr. Greer postponed our reading classes together pending the administration’s internal investigation into my conduct.  This was in part due to Mr. Greer’s own suspicions as to my being the source of the complaint, and the negative impact it had on the school.  Even Mrs. Paige’s admission that she had contacted CPS did little to stem his distrustfulness, instead expanding it to include her as well.  Still, his hands were tied, and our classes resumed after CPS determined that Robin, though subjected to a very strict diet, was not being neglected in the legal sense of the word.

“Hello, Ms. Davenport.”

I looked up from the desk and smiled. 

“Come in, Robin!  It’s so nice to see you again!” I chirped.  I meant it, too.

“Nice to see you, too.”

She took her seat across from me at the table, the line of pre-approved books between us. 

“Robin,” I began, knowing what I wanted to say, but still unsure of how to broach the subject.  “Before we start today, is there anything you would like to ask me?”

I could sense Robin’s own uncertainty at this conversation, and she lowered her head, studying the book covers as she answered.

“Not really.”

“I mean, about the last few weeks.  Do you have anything you want to know more about?”

“No.”

She picked a book and slid it towards me gently, her way of changing the topic.  I obliged.

“This one today?”

“Okay,” she answered, with no particular emotion in her response.

“Robin, can you look at me?”

Robin raised her head, her gray eyelids watery with the beginnings of tears.  I leaned across the desk and put my hand on her shoulder in sympathy.  I could feel the sharp lines of her shoulder blade through her shirt.

“This is OUR time, Robin, and we can talk about anything you want.  Do you understand?”

“Daddy said those men who visited our house wanted to take me away.”  She sniffled as the first few tears spilled over her eyelids and ran down her cheeks.  “He said they came to take me away because we fast.”

Her directness, even through her tears, broke my heart, and I could feel my own tears beginning to form.

“Oh, Robin,” I said, rounding the table and scooping her up into a hug.  She buried her face in my shoulder, and I could feel her tiny frame shaking as she cried.  “Nobody wanted to take you away.  Those men were just there to make sure that you’re healthy.  They wanted to help.  That’s all.”

I patted her back as she continued to cling to me, her shaking easing even as her tears continued to flow.  She rubbed her head against my shoulder, clearing the water from her eyes, before looking at me again.

“Did I do something wrong?” Her voice was tremulous.

“Not at all, sweetie,” I said consolingly.  “Everyone cares for you, and sometimes adults just want to be extra sure.  That’s all.”

She nodded, accepting my answer, though I could tell that some doubts remained.  She didn’t look up at me again as I rounded the table back to my seat, instead flipping open the book cover, and tracing the title with her finger.

“What Do You Do With an Idea,” she spoke quietly as her finger followed the words.

“Great job, honey,” I said, feeling the smile cross my face.  “You know, your reading has gotten so much better.  I didn’t help you at all with that title.”

She didn’t smile at the praise, nor did she look up as she turned to the next page.

*****

In the eyes of administration, the issue was considered settled.  CPS had followed up on Mrs. Paige’s report, and the school had complied with their investigation.  The parents’ grievances had been noted, and Robin’s IEP had been further clarified in order to prevent issues with her education in the future.  For the most part, Mr. Greer avoided me, even more than his nature would usually have him do.  Our contact was limited to very brief exchanges in the front office in which he asked about Robin’s book selection.  Though I could tell he still harbored resentment at the handling of my concerns with Robin, he considered the conclusion of the CPS investigation to be the conclusion of the matter.

Robin’s weight, at least her appearance, improved in the months following the investigation, which gave me hope that perhaps her family had finally begun to take her condition seriously.  This would have been the optimum situation, given that they could engineer an acceptable diet that also accommodated their own, perhaps unique, religious views.  However, the gains in her weight didn’t stick, and she seemed to return to her previous self around the middle of the semester.  She would occasionally come in with large bruises on her arms and legs, the cause of which Mrs. Paige identified as vitamin-deficient anemia.  Watching her progress reverse itself was heartbreaking to both of us, especially when the cause was so easily treatable.  It was then that I became determined to make a difference, surreptitiously if necessary, consequences be damned.

One evening, after the other faculty and staff had left, I returned to the school, a mini-fridge in the trunk of my car.  Mr. Howard did most of his janitorial work in the evenings, and with his help, I was able to move the fridge to my room, just behind my desk, where it would be completely hidden from any other viewpoint in the room.  A few grocery bags worth of food later, and my own plan was ready to be implemented.

“Robin, come in!” I called before she announced herself at the door.  My normal enthusiasm was buttressed by the nervous excitement of finally setting my designs in motion.

Robin entered, shuffling slowly as she always did, her smile genuine, if a bit languid.

“I’ve got a surprise for you today,” I announced as I leaned over the table, pretending to cover our book choices for the day.

“What is it?” Robin asked excitedly, her eyebrows arching over her wide-open eyes as she dropped her backpack to the floor.

“Before we pick our book for today…,” I began, drawing out the words to play out the event, “…look behind my desk.”

Robin grinned before shuffling over to my desk.  She peered behind it, her smile slowly fading as she looked around for anything resembling this ‘surprise’ she imagined.

“Do you see the fridge under the desk?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Each day, before we read our book, you’re allowed to pick one thing to eat.  A special snack that you can have while we’re together.”

Her smile returned, and she disappeared from view as she crouched behind the desk.  I could hear the fridge’s door open.

“I can pick anything?” came the tiny, muffled voice from the other side of the desk.

“Anything you want!” I exclaimed.  I had stocked the fridge with healthy choices.  Bananas, juice, yoghurt, vitamin and protein-enriched smoothies, and more.  I purposefully avoided meats and other items that I felt could impinge on some religious beliefs, as well as anything potentially containing common allergens. 

Robin suddenly appeared, a banana and a small carton of milk in hand. 

“Can I have two things?” she asked.

“Sure,” I answered as I stood and moved to the door.  “There are only two rules.  One, you have to eat it here.”

I closed the classroom door and threw the deadbolt.  The small vertical window had been covered with construction paper, ostensibly showing off other students’ class work.

“Two, you can’t tell anyone that you’re eating.”

Robin and I arrived at our chairs at the same time.  As I sat down, I noticed her enthusiasm had lessened somewhat, even with her snacks in hand.

“But isn’t that lying?”

“No,” I replied.  I had prepared an answer for this kind of question, but I fumbled a bit at the words even as I said them. 

“It’s okay, because I gave you permission.  But if I give snacks to you, and someone else found out, I would have to give snacks to the whole school, and I don’t have enough money to do that.” 

I knew it was a lie, but I also knew that it sounded truthful enough that she wouldn’t question it.

“Besides,” I added, “this makes our classes extra-special.”

She beamed again, the evident relief on her face mirroring the relief I felt in my heart.  I had taken a moral stand, and having done so, started to really believe in the rightness of my actions.

*****

Our secret buoyed me through the rest of the semester.  Seeing Robin eat during our class time always lifted my spirits, and by the Christmas break, her weight gain had become noticeable.  Her cheeks were fuller, and the gray bags around her eyes had nearly disappeared.    She became happier and more energetic.  She read eagerly in a loud voice, and in more engaging parts of our stories, would bounce around excitedly in her chair.  I took immense pride in my actions, and viewed these positive changes to her health and personality as vindication that I had acted rightly.  Mrs. Paige and I shared a hug after class on the day that Robin’s weight finally entered the green zone on the growth charts that February.

*****

“Ms. Davenport.  A word please.”

There was no hesitancy in Mr. Greer’s voice as he called me into his office.  Rather, he spoke with a dry conviction so out of character for him that I knew he knew.  Still, he avoided eye contact as he ushered me in.

“Have a seat, Ms. Davenport,” he said flatly as he gestured to the chair across from him.

Dutifully, I took my seat.  He rounded the desk and sat down, the chair groaning again on his behalf.  He began, gazing down at his desk as he spoke, almost as if reading a statement from a notepad I couldn’t see.

“I received a call yesterday evening from Robin’s family.  Robin had a stain on her shirt.”

“Some other student might have shared a snack with her at recess,” I speculated aloud.  “Or even bumped into her while carrying something.”

“I never said it was a food stain,” remarked Greer, finally moving his glare from the desk to me. 

I’d slipped up, and groped for an idea that would get me back on track.

“It’s a kid.  I mean…what other kind of stain could you be…” I faltered.

“Save it,” he interjected mercilessly.  “Robin already told her parents everything.”

For the first time in our working career, I heard Mr. Greer raise his voice as he continued.

“What’s more, she said that YOU said it was okay!  Would you care to explain yourself?”

Since first starting my plan, there had been moments when I had imagined this kind of confrontation.  I had planned out my response carefully, pointing out how it was immoral to starve a child, how Robin’s weight had been dangerously low, how our choice of snacks didn’t have any bearing on her family’s faith, and how my actions had neither cost the school anything in terms of time, money, or effort.  Still, as I sat across from Mr. Greer, his eyes fixated on me, I knew that nothing I said would sway him.  It was wrong.  I had knowingly violated school policy and procedures.  I had purposely circumvented concessions the school had made to the Sloan family.  I had involved Mrs. Paige, and I had lied to Robin.

“I take it from your silence that you have nothing to say in defense of your actions,” Greer remarked.

“It was the right thing to do,” I answered softly. 

With this short statement, I had admitted my guilt.  Mr. Greer’s tone shifted to one of exasperation.  To his credit, he wasn’t out for the kill, even though he had caught me.

“I’m sure a part of you believes that, Ms. Davenport, but there are other factors at play.  Important ones that you chose to ignore.  Do you understand that?”

My silence only provoked him to anger again.

“The Sloans called me from the hospital,” Greer continued in a low tone, his words dripping with a quiet malice.  “Robin went into anaphylactic shock, and had to be given supplemental oxygen.”

I felt as if I had been involved in a car crash, the impact of his statement having knocked all the wind out of me.

“Fortunately for everyone, she’s okay.  She responded well to epinephrine, and was discharged this morning, though she won’t be coming to school today.”

I couldn’t breathe.  I couldn’t move.  My limbs had turned to concrete.

“Because of the stain, they suspected food had something to do with it.  They need to know exactly what you fed her yesterday.”

My mind spun rapidly, trying to visualize the contents of the fridge the last time I restocked it. 

“I’d…I’d have to check,” I stammered.  “I always let her pick what she wanted.”

Still reeling from everything that had just been revealed, I blurted out my next question.

“How could this have happened?  I was careful.”

Mr. Greer rested his arms on his desk, his aggressive energy clearly spent.

“I’m sure you were, Ms. Davenport.  I thought about that all night myself,”  he said.  “The only explanation I could come up with is that Robin is extremely allergic to something that she’d never been exposed to before owing to her family’s dietary choices.”

He paused, breathing deeply.  I did so, too, after realizing that I had been holding my breath.

“I couldn’t have known,” I said aloud, more to myself than to Mr. Greer.

“I think that will play in your favor.  The fact that nobody was aware of this allergy.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I was on the phone this morning with their family’s attorney.  They’re considering a lawsuit against the district, and given your admission, I have no confidence that we would win.  However, they’ve offered an alternative.  One that the school will take.”

Greer stood and turned to the window, his arms crossed in front of him, as if bracing himself for the fallout of his next statement.

“You will no longer be in charge of Robin’s IEP.  She will receive supplemental reading instruction from Mrs. Kettering, who will pick up where you left off.”

He sighed.

“Furthermore, you will be allowed to finish the semester.  At the end of the academic year, you will resign as an instructor at Jury Elementary School.”

This fresh shock shot through my nerves like a thunderbolt.  Before I could even think, I was up on my feet.

“But that’s not fair!  I have rights, too!”

“I’ve already spoken to your union representative.  He agrees that this would be the only way for you to retain your teaching license.  Otherwise, we will have to go through a long, tedious mediation process, one that you won’t win due to your blatant disregard for a student’s religious beliefs.”

I sat back down, feeling numb, a dozen thoughts simultaneously calling for my attention.  After a moment, one rose above the others.

“Can I say goodbye to Robin?”

“You’re to have no further contact of any kind with Robin.  I’m sorry.”

Mr. Greer turned and faced me.  This time, his gaze was different, a frosty compassion that read as I’m sorry, but you did this to yourself. 

*****

I never spoke to Robin again.  Mrs. Kettering’s class was on the opposite side of the building, so even a chance meeting with her in the hallway was out of the question.  As the end of the school year neared, I cleared out my desk, hauling boxes to my car.  That particular day, I parked in the east lot.  Even though it was further away, it gave me the chance to peer into Robin’s classroom one last time.  In between boxes, I would stop at the closed classroom door and peek through its narrow, vertical window.  It wasn’t hard to find her; she was the girl with her head in her hands, looking every bit as small as the first day I had met her.