“Mr. Sibley,” she said, “may I tell you about another fire? Do you have time to hear about a girl named Venita, who died?”

“Yes.”

She liked how Mr. Sibley answered. He didn’t step away. He said yes. Austin answered like that. One syllable. Austin was gone.

She told him about Venita and a friendship that had been the privilege kind. She told him about Saturday Group, the stubs of crayons, the children without toilet seats at school, and the photocopies of Hamlet. She told him about the fire and the shooting and the letter from Dorothy Edna Loomis.

She began to feel strangely cheerful. At last she had an audience who would care, who would look up for a moment, pay attention. “I feel as if I have a promise to keep, Mr. Sibley,” she finished. “But what?”

“Why don’t you call Reverend Warren and ask him?” said Mr. Sibley briskly. “He’s right there, he can tell you what your high school can do, what your friends can do, where the money is needed, where the attention should be brought, what the television station should be filming, where to take the governor, what to tell to the legislature.”

She almost let go of the telephone, as if it were carrying a virus. As if the voice coming out of it was going to trap her. “You’re kidding,” she said, trying to laugh. This was not what he was supposed to say.

“Macey, you found out everything you need to know. Life isn’t fair. Silence doesn’t help. Good neighbors have to step in. If nobody drives down the road to help the guy who lost his house, he can’t go on. And if nobody goes back to Venita’s world and makes sure the crayons are whole and the sidewalks are safe, none of those little kids can go on, either.”

She had expected him to tell her how good she was. How her heart, as opposed to older, crueler hearts, was in the right place. She felt attacked. She tried to brush his words away. “Mr. Sibley, I can’t solve the problems of the world.”

“Nobody has figured out how to solve the problems of the world. But you got your assignment from Mrs. Loomis. You have to try. Otherwise there’s no privilege left in the friendship with Venita. Not unless you step forward.”

Step forward. Step forward where? There were no steps for Macey Clare to take. She tried to end the conversation courteously. “And—are you still teaching, Mr. Sibley? Do you—um—still like teaching?”

“Oh, I see,” said Mr. Sibley. “You were hoping to settle the past with this phone call. Because the past is their responsibility. You aren’t too happy to have me bring up the present. Because the present—that’s your responsibility. And you’d rather step aside.”