Imani’s presence wrested Ava’s attention from the adults beside her. One was a woman of fifty or so with dark hair pulled into a severe bun and a string of pearls topping a black turtleneck leading up to a thick black mask. The ensemble seemed a costume to Imani. Ruth Bader Ginsburg feminist assassin, or something. The older man beside Ava with a Spread Kindness mask over his mouth was Headmaster Steve Goodman.

“Is my dad okay?”

The squeaky hope in Ava’s question nearly made Imani lose it. Tears bubbled behind Imani’s eyes, hot bile threatening to spew forth. She forced them back, imagining a cement dam dug deep into the ground, its foundation bolted to New York City’s bedrock. Ava would eventually want loved ones who could share in her grief. Right now, she needed adults to assure her of safety.

“As we explained to Ava, we haven’t been able to contact her mother.” Ninja Ginsburg leaned forward over her thighs, changing Imani’s assessment. The body language screamed school therapist. “Not since Mr. Walker suffered his serious accident.”

The last few words answered Imani’s earlier questions. The school had clearly been informed but had chosen to keep the news secret from Ava. Telling her would be Imani’s job.

“We’ve told Ava that we’re here and available in any way to help her,” Goodman said, rubbing his right thumb over his left. Imani had never observed the nervous tic in him before. As headmaster, Goodman was both educator and marketer, a telegenic evangelist for the school’s project-heavy curriculum. Imani was accustomed to him standing behind a podium, delivering chummy speeches to auditoriums packed with the city’s rich and powerful. It was disconcerting to see him hunched over, looking up from beneath thick gray brows, worrying his knuckles.

“And that she shouldn’t be concerned about missing any classes,” the woman added. “The most important thing is her wellness.”

The last word solidified Imani’s assessment of the stranger. She was definitely the school counselor.

“They took my cell.” Ava stood as she spoke. Both her reedy voice and slight teenage body trembled. “I can’t look up what happened. I don’t understand why my mom isn’t here. Is she with my dad in the hospital? Is she home?”

Ava gestured to the school therapist. “She keeps saying that she doesn’t know anything. But there must be something online or else they’d let me have my phone back. Just tell me. Why won’t anyone tell me anything?”