He stopped in front of the bench, close enough that his shadow fell across the page. The girl did not look up. She put a finger on the line she was reading, as if to hold her place against the shadow, and kept going.
"Morning," Lloyd said.
"Good morning." Still not looking up.
"Pretty serious book."
She turned a page.
"No school today?"
"There's school today."
"But not for you."
"Not for me today, no."
He waited for the rest of it, the excuse, the lie. It did not come. She read. He could see the top of the page from where he stood. A lot of small type and a running header that said BOOK TWENTY-TWO in capitals, and he thought, Twenty-two. God help us.
"What's your name?"
"Lucia."