The class filed in the room as the bell rang. "Okay class, take your seats. We've got a lot of work to do today." As she began to take roll, Ms. Sorenson noticed an empty desk near the back of the room. "Has anyone seen Stephanie today?" Ms. Sorenson asked the class as she got to her name on the class roster. Several students shook their heads. It was unusual for the little girl to miss class. She was always so eager to learn. As the last name was called, the door slowly opened and Stephanie walked quietly into the room. "Sorry I'm late, Ms. Sorenson," she said politely as she took her seat. Ms. Sorenson saw instantly that something was different about the little girl. "Class, take out your journals. You've got 15 minutes." As Ms. Sorenson walked down the row, she stopped by Stephanie's desk. "Stephanie, may I speak to you outside for a moment?" Stephanie bit her lower lip before responding. "Yes, Ms. Sorenson," she said as she put down her pencil and closed her composition book.
When they got into the hallway, Ms. Sorenson looked at her for a second before telling her, "Stephanie, you know bandanas aren't allowed at school. Please take that off your head." Stephanie hesitated a moment, before reaching up and pulling the bandana off that was covering her hair. Ms. Sorenson tried to hide her shock as she saw the little girl's hair. It looked like someone had taken a machete to it. At least 6 inches had been cut off and it was all uneven. "Stephanie, what happened to your hair?" She tried to hide her tears by wiping them away with the back of her hand. "It was my fault, Ms. Sorenson. I told my daddy I wanted a new haircut and I cut my hair by myself. I thought I could do it," she lied to her teacher. Ms. Sorenson took the rubber band out of her hair and tried to help Stephanie fix her hair the best she could. As she tried to fit the child's hair in a ponytail she asked, "Honey, is everything okay at home?" "Yes, ma'm." "I'd really like to bring your parents in for a conference and show them all the great work you've been doing. I tried to tell your dad yesterday when I saw him at the store." A worried look showed on Stephanie's face. "I-I-I don't know, Ms. Sorenson. They don't like to get out much. I'll ask them though." "Well, maybe I'll stop by someday then if they don't like to get out," she told Stephanie to see if she would speak out. "You know, I was looking at your school records last night. You were never enrolled in school in California. When did you say you lived there?" Stephanie stopped fiddling with her hands. "I don't remember Ms. Sorenson. It was a long time ago." "Oh. And you've been here how many years? Three?" Stephanie slowly nodded her head. "So where did you live before you moved to Utah, Taylor?" Both the teacher and little girl stopped and stared at each other. Ms. Sorenson hadn't even meant to say her name, but it was obvious from the little girl's reaction that it was true. The eleven year old girl standing in front of her was a missing child. Before Ms. Sorenson could react, Stephanie turned around and ran as fast as she could down the hallway. "Please, wait!" was all that she heard behind her as she ran out of the building.
A few hours later in Los Angeles, Brandon was sitting in a conference room at the newspaper when his phone started to vibrate. As an unfamiliar number appeared on the phone, he rejected the call but the caller continued to try to reach him. After about the fifth time, Brandon excused himself and went into the hallway. "Hello?" he answered annoyed. "Is this Brandon Walsh?" "Yes it is. Who's calling?" "This is Detective McAllister. Los Angeles Police Department. I've been assigned to your daughter's missing person's case." Brandon had received phone calls from a dozen detectives over the past few years asking for more information about Taylor's disappearance. "Listen, detective, I don't have any more information for you. I'm sorry, I wish I did. My wife and I have told you everything we know." "Mr. Walsh, we got a tip today from a small town in Utah. A teacher there believes your daughter is in her class." "What? What do you mean?" "She saw Taylor's story on a recent show about missing kids. There's a little girl in her class that seems to fit Taylor's description except for her hair color." Brandon was afraid to get his hopes up. "Detective, there have been so many leads from around the country. And every time they don't lead anywhere…" The detective didn't let him finish. "This one's different Mr. Walsh. I'll call you with any news." As the detective hung up the phone, Brandon rubbed his face in his hands. The family had been through so much. He didn't know how many more letdowns they could manage.
Stephanie swung open the front door of her home and ran inside. The man that she called her dad was sitting in his recliner watching tv and drinking a can of beer as her step-mom ironed clothes and smoked a cigarette. "What the hell are you doing home so early?" he asked as he sat up in his chair. "I'm not allowed to wear a bandana in my hair. The teacher sent me home." The answer seemed to appease the adults as she went into her room and shut her door. Stephanie spent the next couple hours in her room avoiding the rest of the household that could be heard shouting obscenities at each other. She laid down on her bed and put her earphones on to drown out the noise. As she was about to drift off to sleep, a loud banging was heard at the front and back doors. The next voice she heard made her sit up in bed, terrified. "Police! Open the door!"