I skimmed the surface of the leftover milk with the bottom of my spoon. Part of me wanted to take Matilda’s hand and not let go, but then Leah went to get her coat and brought mine, as well. I slipped it on and Leah put her hand on my back and Matilda waved and then the choice, if there even was one, was made.

My mother turned and hugged me. “Have fun and don’t worry about us!” She smiled and pulled me close. “Leah will take care of you.” She squeezed the top of my shoulder so hard it hurt and then she whispered something that I didn’t understand because I was too busy rubbing my nose in her hair because I loved the smell of her shampoo. She pulled me back a second time, but then Leah held out her hand and I took it. When I turned back around again, my mother was gone. Leah and I walked out the door and into her car.

Dangling from the mirror was a crystal that sparkled in the sun. I fixed my eyes on it, watching it turn the sunlight into hundreds of strands of magical light. Neither of us said a word. Leah turned on the radio and we listened to the music. It was the longest time I had ever spent not spelling in my head.

When we got to the museum, Leah led the way up the steps and I couldn’t help but notice the large groups of school children pinching and prodding each other.

“It’s okay, Franny.” She put her arm around my shoulders and, even though I didn’t usually like being touched, I stuffed my hands into my pockets and moved in closer to her. The museum noises flickered in my ears and then blended into one big vibration that bounced around the inside of my head. She took my hand and led me through the exhibits, but I didn’t look at the paintings or the people; I just stared down at my feet because the noise felt close enough to touch. Letters appeared like doorways offering escape, but I held on to Leah’s hand instead.

She took me to see Monet’s paintings. I had seen them in books at the library, but all I remembered were images of lilies and haystacks. Leah pulled me along and I kept my eyes down, counting steps until finally we stopped in front of a painting. “This one. It’s my favorite.”