A bridge connected mine and Whitney’s; another led to Owen’s; a small path wound toward her school.

In the middle stood a girl with a bright green backpack.

“That’s me,” she said.

“Where are you going?”

“Anywhere I want.”

I looked at the girl on the page.

She was standing upright, both feet firmly beneath her, the world open around her.

I taped the new drawing over my desk.