The girl—Lizie—didn’t look up. Her gaze remained fixed on the linoleum. Her sneakers were worn at the toes. And when she turned slightly, I could see the outline of her ribs through the thin fabric of her T-shirt, beneath her open hoodie.
She looked like someone who desperately wished she were small enough not to cause any trouble.
“Hi,” I said, trying to make my voice warmer than my thoughts were at that moment. “Have a plate, love.”
“Thanks,” she murmured. The words barely reached the edge of the table.
She ate with the meticulous precision of someone who has learned not to take more than she is allowed.
I watched her, pretending not to see her.
