Eye Contact by Cammie McGovern Page A

for a teacher who might explain. Then with a click of her thumb and a tiny peel of feedback, she begins: “You all know why we’re here. You all know Amelia Best, a ten-year-old girl, was murdered in broad daylight during school hours about three hundred yards away from where we’re sitting right now. You may be children, but you’re not stupid. You know the perpetrator hasn’t been caught. That a very real danger to all of you—every single one—is still out there.”
    Morgan watches a girl in front of him start to cry. Beside her, another girl puts an arm around her shoulder. “He’s not going to kill you, Amy,” she says. “He’s not. ” Morgan twists around in his seat, looks to see if other people are crying. No one is.
    After the assembly, Morgan walks to Marianne’s office. To his surprise, two kids he’s never seen before are already waiting outside her office. Just as he arrives, Marianne pokes her head out. “Jeff, why don’t you come in, and then you, Fiona. And Morgan—” She smiles. “Do you mind sticking around?”
    â€œNot at all,” he says, nodding.
    He sits down across from the girl, who in any other context would terrify him. Dressed all in black with dark makeup around her eyes and silver jewelry everywhere possible: her thumbs, her ears, even her nose. Maybe he is studying her too intently, because after a minute or two she surprises him by speaking: “You want to know what I heard?”
    He shakes his head.
    â€œI hear that she did it to herself. She was a cutter.”
    Morgan has a hard time judging jokes, but he’s pretty sure this must be one until she looks up to the light and he sees she is crying. He’s had this problem himself before. After his conversation with Emma, crying at school was always a danger, and could happen any minute if he wasn’t careful. Once, when Leon caught him in the hallway off guard and pulled him into a hug, he came away with his eyes filled, like this girl’s. He had to go to the bathroom, sit down on a toilet until it passed. “I don’t think so. I think she was killed, like they said.”
    She turns from the light and stares at him. “But maybe she wanted it. Did you ever think about that? Maybe she was a sad girl who wanted something to happen to her. Maybe she saw the guy in the woods and thought, ‘I’m going to go out there and see what happens to me.’”
    Morgan stares at her. This is the first time a girl has talked to him in middle school. Ever since Emma, he has been so scared of them. He wants to argue with this girl, but the words escape him, he can’t think what to say. A minute later, Jeff walks out and the girl stands up.
    By the time he gets inside her office, Marianne looks exhausted. “Do you mind if I eat while we talk, Morgan? This has been such a long day, I haven’t even gotten a chance.” She pulls out a vinyl lunch bag, lifts half a sandwich out of it. “So here’s the question, Morgan. Why are you picking this kid to volunteer with?”
    â€œWell, I know him a little bit. I remember him. And I don’t know what’s wrong with him, but he’s not—you know—retarded.”
    â€œHe’s autistic.”
    â€œOh.”
    â€œThat shouldn’t scare you necessarily. It’s what makes this potentially a good idea. But we’d have to be very careful.”
    â€œOkay.” He smiles. He loves that she said “we.”
    â€œHe’s obviously been through a traumatizing experience. Something more terrible than we can imagine. I don’t know very much about him, but I brought up your idea in a meeting we just had. I learned that he has a single mother, and he’s considered moderately high functioning. They told me that he is generally very affable and well liked and that over at the elementary school, everyone is very worried about the toll