She had once filled every notebook margin with horses, flowers, dogs, cats, and imaginary veterinary clinics.
She told everyone she would grow up to heal animals because animals never lied and never laughed when someone was scared.
Then her laughter stopped.
Her drawings darkened.
Her voice became a whisper.
At recess, she no longer ran with her braids flying behind her like two brown ribbons in the wind.
She sat near the fence and watched other children play, one hand always pressed against her stomach.
Miguel first told himself there might be a simple explanation.
Children changed.
Children got stomachaches.
Continue on the next page:
