He stood and watched. She had already filled one-third of the blackboard. No sign of stopping. And he read along: How she was too scared to talk. How she was sure people hated her for it, just as she hated herself. How she couldn't join the others at lunch and had to eat alone for three years during Junior High. How she kept trying to start conversations despite failure after failure. How she wouldn't know what to do if she succeeded.
She looked like she was about to cry. Was a handkerchief really all he could offer?