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It was just past noon when I opened the door.

Shania stood there — hoodie up, face wrecked, fists stuffed in her pockets like if she let them out, they’d swing. Her lip was cracked, one eye already swelling. She didn’t look at me. Just past me.

“Come in,” I said.

She shook her head. “Nah. Put your shoes on. Grab your board.”

“What? Why?”

Her jaw tightened. “I can’t stay still. If I stay still, I’ll lose it.”

She finally looked at me then — really looked. Not for pity. Just to make sure I heard her right.

And I believed her.