The girl's eyes widen. "Really?"
"Yeah, of course. What do you think?" I hold the nonexistent piece of fabric in front of her face. "My goodness, Frida, where's your head?"
She leans to the side as if peering out from behind a curtain. "I'm here!"
"Thank goodness. I thought..." I pretend to be relieved, wiping away imaginary sweat from my forehead. The numerous plastic bangles around my wrist make a dull clacking sound while I wrap Frida in the imaginary cloak. One last time, I hug her tightly. "Now you can follow me unnoticed to the restroom. On the count of three, okay?"
"Okay," she whispers almost inaudibly. She nods against my shoulder.
Hand in hand, we make our way through the group room. Fortunately, none of the other children take notice. Melinda and her best friend David are drawing ships, and the preschoolers are having a tea party with the dolls.
Only Nadine notices that we're sneaking outside. She scrutinizes me, the color of her eyes resembling aniceberg. Without reacting to her, I turn toward the exit. Only Frida matters now.
After tending to the girl, I reluctantly take a seat next to Nadine at the craft table. I can feel her eyes on me as I reach for the scissors. Immediately, I'm filled with tension, which threatens to overwhelm me.
"Did she wet herself again?" Her thin eyebrows rise. The hot glue gun in her hand oozes, and the adhesive smell fills my nostrils.
I shouldn't lie to her; that has gone wrong several times already, leading to reprimands. "No, she just wanted to show me something," I say anyway. For Frida's sake. After all, I made her a promise. Hastily, I take the pine-green cardboard and place the leaf-shaped stencil on it. My brightly painted fingernails add a cheerful mood to the plain surface.
"Don't get too attached to the little ones, Maya. You supervise them, teach them something, and when they're old enough, you release them into their future lives." She lazily sticks a tissue paper flower onto the wire stem. "That's it. They're not your children."
Is it supposed to be that simple? Even though my intuition tells me otherwise? "I understand that, but..."
She raises her hand. "I don't want to hear it."
"Something may be wrong at Frida's home." I shouldn't speak that thought out loud, but I can't help it. "Her shoes are too small, and her clothes are frayed and rarely washed. Shouldn't we do something?"
Heat rises within me as I think about what could be happening in her life.
"Enough of that," Nadine warns me emphatically. "Maybe her parents don't have much money, but they're doing their best. And it's not uncommon for athree-year-old to forget to use the toilet while playing. I can recognize children with problems, and Frida isn't one of them."
Surprised, I let the paper and scissors drop. So she has been observing the little girl too. Has she been to her home or talked to her parents? Perhaps Frida's family isn't as bad as I imagined?
It's possible, yet I search Nadine's face for signs that she might be lying to me.
"You're just an intern." She suddenly sounds as if she pities me. She puts her hand on my forearm. "Why do you think that after a few weeks, you can assess a situation better than a seasoned educator?"
Ashamed, I lower my gaze. Because the facts can't be denied. She's the professional, and I'm the intern.
For now.
This internship is the foundation for my special education studies. Only if I accumulate the required practical hours, submit a written assignment, and pass the four partial exams for study eligibility will I be allowed to attend university. If I had completed school until graduation, it wouldn't be necessary. But that's just not how it turned out. At twenty-six years old, I haven't accomplished much in general.
That's about to change.
I want to help children with problems. Children like Frida. This dream has accompanied me my whole life, and a few months ago, I finally found the courage to pursue it.
I'd love to tell Nadine about it. But I don't dare. She wouldn't believe that I could follow through anyway.
Her strained cough doesn't bode well. "And one more thing: I would strongly advise you to dress likean adult. Just a tip." With a disdainful sniff, she scans my rainbow-colored T-shirt.
The children love my cheerful style. And so do I. "A little color brightens up anyone's life," I reply defiantly, but I can't even look her in the eye while saying it.
With a loud creak, Nadine pushes her chair back. "Did I ask you a question?"
No.
"Exactly." She stands up and tugs at her mouse-gray T-shirt as if trying to conceal her rounded hips beneath the fabric. Then she tilts her chin up and calls the children to the gymnasium at a deafening volume.
