I ask, “So how was school today?”

“Good.”

I wait, having learned that sometimes another sentence will come, if only I give her the time. Sure enough, she says, “I worked on my research project.”

“What are you researching?” I ask. I try to sound casual, as if I am not greedy to hear more. This fourth-grade year is the first one when she has been willing, or able, to give me details about her day consistently.

“Down syndrome,” she says. “My big question that I wrote on my piece of paper is, ‘Why is Down syndrome scary?’”

“Huh,” I say, with a lump in my throat.

“I haven’t answered the question yet. I know you were scared when I’s born. But I don’t know why.”