A teacher hands out a test to fourth-graders. She points to the clock and tells them how much time they have to complete it and sits down at her desk. She pulls out a class plan and starts making notes. Fifteen minutes goes by.

She's glanced up now and then and now pays closer attention to the girl in the last seat in the first row. She reads the child face; there is fear, there is desolation. The teacher knows what has happened; likely a stormy family scene that prevented her from studying last night.

A bell brrrings through the silence, two dozen faces look up, hands drop their pencils and struggle with backpacks to get out of their seats. Papers pile up on her desk and the little girl's is last on the pile.

"Moira, why don't you come back after your last class and maybe we can do this together, okay?"

The little girl's face lights up in the same way she remembers a young guitar playing man's had years ago. His wife sang and gave her a flower.