The space was blank.
We walked along the sidewalk toward the apartment.
The school form was still in my hand.
At the bottom of the second page was a small box.
Emergency contact other than guardian.
Other than guardian.
Yuna walked half a step beside me.
"Yuna," I said.
"Yes?"
"If there’s an emergency at school, who do you think they should call besides me?"
Her footsteps slowed for a fraction of a second.
Then returned to normal.
"What kind of emergency?"
"Fainting. An accident. A fight. Or if you start crying."
"I’m not a crybaby."
"You never know."
She stared straight ahead.
The pedestrian light turned red.
We stopped.
Traffic flowed past on the street in front of me.
"Can your parents be reached?"
She didn’t answer right away.
Usually, she was quick.
Not this time.
The light turned green.
We crossed.
Halfway across the street, she said quietly,
"There is one person."
"Who?"
She gripped her bag straps a little tighter.
"Someone."
We reached the sidewalk on the other side.
"Your father?" I asked flatly.
She didn’t nod.
She didn’t shake her head.
"He... cares about me... probably," she finally said.
Probably?
Who.
Her mother?
Her father?
Or
A relative.
I looked at the form again.
The empty box didn’t look very big.
But it felt like a single point connecting far too many things.
"Do you have the number memorized?" I asked.
"Yes."
"Write it down later."
She gave a small nod.
We continued walking.
The afternoon breeze lightly stirred the hair resting on her forehead.
I didn’t ask anything else.
Because the answer was already clear enough.
And for the first time since she arrived.
Maybe.
I would be speaking directly with the person who orchestrated all of this.