A girl had fallen in the snow. Sara ran down the road, breathless, wanting to help. There was no one else around. People were locked up inside their homes, waiting out the storm. When the girl looked up with a grimace, Sara gasped. It was Taylor Stokes. Taylor was the reason why she’d had to change schools. The reason why she’d cried herself to sleep every night her freshman year. The reason for the jagged scars on the inside of her arm.
They limped slowly down the street to Sara’s warm house. When they came through the door, Sara’s mother, Faye, was waiting. She hadn’t seen Taylor since that awful day in the principal’s office. The morning after she’d caught Sara with the nail scissors. They’d moved to a new school district to keep the two girls apart. And now here she was, in their home, needing help.
Faye iced Taylor’s ankle and elevated it, then called her mother, who said she would be there shortly.
“What were you doing out there in the storm?” Faye asked. Taylor looked sheepish. They realized suddenly, she was there to do something nasty. There had been little pranks, every once and a while, since Sara had moved. A rude name spray-painted on the garage door or the driveway, an egg splattered on the car. Faye said nothing. Taylor’s mom arrived shortly after, full of humility and gratitude, and then they were gone.
“Why did you help her?” Sara asked Faye later.
“Because it was the right thing to do.”
That night, Sara reached for the secret pair of scissors she kept under her mattress and threw them away.