Mira stood at the school gate and watched her hands clench and unclench. Clench. Unclench. Over and over.
A classmate dropped his lunchbox. It clattered across the stones. Mira's hand jerked toward him — then she pulled it back.
At the park, Mira saw Mrs. Patel with three heavy bags on the narrow steps. She reached out both palms and took two.
'Thank you, sweetheart,' Mrs. Patel said. Mira noticed how strong her own arms felt.
Mira walked to the sandbox and set down her red bucket. A younger girl was already there, patting the sand flat.
They built a tall tower together. Then it wobbled, collapsed, and the younger girl burst into loud tears.
Mira scooped a handful of wet sand and patted it onto the new base. The girl's cries turned into hiccups. Then a wobbly smile.
On the walk home, Mira's shoes crunched on gravel. Then she saw Ben leaning against the fence, crying into his sleeves.
Mira sat beside him and pressed a clean tissue into his palm. Her fingers were careful and soft. Ben's sobbing slowed.
The sun warmed her neck. Ben's breathing steadied. Mira's hands swung easy at her sides as she walked the rest of the way home.