Children could be ruthless—it was all down to their remarkable urge to live. It sounded like a paradox, but to Teresa it made perfect sense; they savored each moment as if it were an exhilarating adventure and couldn’t afford to waste time adhering to meaningless formalities they didn’t even understand. They were alive, so what else could they do but live?

Diego Valent was one of the last to come out of the school, walking alongside a younger boy who looked emaciated. They were whispering to each other as they walked, and when it was time to say goodbye, Teresa saw Diego stroke the other boy’s cheek. It was unusual to see this kind of gesture between friends at that age; it suggested that young Valent harbored a strong protective instinct toward his friend. When he spotted Teresa, Diego hesitated, then finally came to a stop.

Teresa walked toward him, followed by Marini who was trying to keep her dry under the umbrella.

“Hello, Diego,” she said in greeting. “Do you remember me?”

The boy didn’t reply, but his fretful eyes looked silently at them. He seemed scared, and he began to shiver. Teresa squatted beside him so that they would be the same height.

“Don’t worry, nothing bad has happened,” she told him. “We’ve come to pick you up and take you home. Your mom had to run an errand and she asked us if we could help. Is that all right with you?”

Diego looked at her in astonishment.

“Y-you’re n-not h-here about the s-s-sweet?” he asked. The stammer was exacerbated by his nervousness. Teresa wanted to hug him.

“That licorice was meant for you,” she said. “I’m glad you took it.”

Diego smiled—only the slightest of smiles, but more than what Teresa had hoped for.

She held out her hand and he took it.

“What was wrong with your friend?” she asked as they headed toward the car. “He seemed sad.”

“O-Oliver often c-cries in s-s-school.”

“He doesn’t like it?”

“The j-j-j-janitor is m-m-mean to him.”

Teresa stopped. Glancing over at Marini, she saw that he, too, had been surprised by this unexpected declaration. It looked like Diego was used to seeing his friend in that state—which, in turn, suggested it was something that happened frequently.

“Mean how?” she asked, but instantly wished she hadn’t. It was the kind of cold, cynical question only a grown-up would ask. If the boy was unhappy, did it really matter how the janitor was being mean to him?

Diego slowly loosened his grip on her hand, his trust in her slipping away. He didn’t answer Teresa’s question, and she knew he wouldn’t tell her anything else either, at least not that day.