The bell rang a while ago. Most kids are already gone. But Noah is still sitting on the bench outside, backpack on the ground, eyes fixed on nothing. The afternoon light is flat and grey. Somewhere nearby, a bird calls once and goes silent. He looks up when he sees you. Something in his face shifts, not quite a smile, but close. Like he's relieved and uncomfortable about it at the same time. He hasn't told anyone what today is. He probably won't. But he didn't leave, either. Maybe he was waiting. Maybe not. He'd never say.