Serena hated reading aloud or being asked to write on the board. She shrunk inside and out if a classmate got to close, or heaven forbid, the teacher should lean over her shoulder to see what she hadn’t written.

            She’d learned these things at home, where a wrong look, a too loud sound, a spoken word could get her smacked around. Or maybe just shaken up a bit.

            Her father insisted she keep her eyes down, at all times, because he said he hated the golden outlines around her pupils. They sickened him. Made him think of devils. Caused him to beat the shit out of her.

            So at school, Serena kept her eyes focused on the top of her desk, all day long, not wanting to call attention to herself. The teacher might hate her eyes, too.

            The only time she raised her eyes was when the teacher had written something on the board. Or when her name was called.

            Serena jumped one Friday afternoon when the teacher tapped her desk with a ruler.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” Ms. Brown barked.

Serena raised her eyes, just far enough that she hoped would satisfy Ms. Brown. She blinked a dozen times, trying to keep tears from dripping down her cheeks.

“Good,” the teacher said. “Now, answer the question: who built the pyramids in Giza?”

Serena shook her head. “I…I don’t know.”

The classroom filled with laughter, as it did every time Serena spoke up.

“Shush,” the teacher said as she waved her hand at the rest of the class. “Get to work. Right now.”

Serena read the next question on the quiz. “What’s the lion-shaped pyramid called?” She brought her pencil to her chin and tapped, once, twice, three times, but nothing came to her.

School had always been incredibly difficult for her. When her classmates began reading chapter books, Serena tried to pick out the few words she did recognize. When it came time to answer questions about the passages, she remembered nothing. And when the teacher called on her to answer aloud, her classmates always, always laughed until they were bent over from the effort.

Serena sighed. If she wrote nothing, she’d earn a red check mark. If she wrote the wrong answer, she’d get the same mark. She shrugged, started writing The King, when a shadow fell across her desk and the tiniest movement of air caressed the back of her neck.

“Are you okay?” Ms. Brown whispered. “Do you feel safe at home?”

Excellent questions, Serena thought, ones she’d been asked a million times. “Yes,” she squeezed out.

Ms. Brown leaned over and rested her elbows on the top of the desk. “I want you to tell me the truth, not some made-up answer you give to send everyone away.” She bent her head over until her chin nearly touched the wood. “I promise that you won’t get in trouble.”

Serena had heard all this before and knew that Ms. Brown was lying. No one could protect her from her father. Her Aunt Marg had tried to remove her from the home, but her father had punched her Aunt in the stomach so hard that the air whooshed out in a painful-sounding grunt.

“Serena, blink twice if you are scared to go home or if you don’t feel safe there.”

The girl thought about it. Nodded once, then blinked twice, just in case this time it might make a difference.

Ms. Brown nodded, sighed, then slowly raised her head. “Don’t go home when school ends. Someone will be here to take you to a safe place.”

Serena raised her head, and for the first time all year, joy lit her face.