The blind girl kept reaching for the cane that was no longer where she had placed it.
A few feet away, two wealthy girls stood watching, barely suppressing their laughter.
Each time she turned toward the sound, they silently shifted the cane somewhere else.
The girl carefully stretched out her hand.
“Please, give it back.”
One of them whispered, “Come and find it.”
I was standing near the foot of the staircase.
Watching.
The blind student took one uncertain step forward.
Then another.
She had no idea how dangerously close she was coming to the edge of the stairs.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I hurried toward her before she could move any farther.
I took the cane from the other girl’s hand and returned it to her.
She instantly closed both hands around it, pressing it tightly against her chest.
A moment later, tears started rolling down her cheeks.
She turned her face in my direction.
“Thank you.”
I knelt beside her.
“Are you okay?”
She nodded, but her hands were shaking.
“I’m used to it.”
Those three words hit me harder than anything else.
I asked why none of the teachers had ever stepped in to stop this before.
Her answer made my frustration rise.
She lowered her voice.
“They already know.”
I asked, “How long has this been happening?”
She whispered, “Since I started school.”
Since she started school.
