Meanwhile, Bella was in a hurry. She had dance practice in an hour, and she still needed to eat something, change her clothes, and review the choreography before Samantha arrived. Her bag was slung over her shoulder, her phone was in her hand, and her mind was full of steps, turns, and the music that played on repeat in her head like a broken record she could not turn off.
But then she saw Mira.
Mira was sitting alone on a bench in the garden, tucked away behind a large bush of white roses. Her head was bowed so low that her chin nearly touched her chest. Her shoulders were hunched as if she was trying to make herself smaller, invisible, forgotten. Her hands were limp in her lap, her fingers curled loosely around nothing. She looked lifeless, like a doll someone had discarded after growing bored with it.
Bella stopped walking.
