Sky watched them walk down the hall toward the bathroom. Her heart pounded. She knew what she was supposed to do—go back to the kitchen, stay out of the way, protect her mother’s job.
She followed.
She pressed herself against the wall outside the bathroom door and listened.
“You let someone touch your hair,” Miss Calva said inside. “You know the rules.”
“I’m sorry,” Eloin whimpered.
“Sorry doesn’t fix anything.”
Sky heard a soft metallic click. The sound of metal against metal. She leaned forward and peered through the tiny crack where the door didn’t quite meet the frame.
Miss Calva stood over Eloin, who now sat trembling in a chair. In the woman’s hand was a small silver tool that looked like something from a doctor’s office, long and slender with a needle-thin end.
She pushed Eloin’s hair aside, exposing a small patch of scalp.
“Hold still,” Miss Calva said.
Sky watched, horrified, as the woman inserted the tool into Eloin’s scalp, twisted, and pulled. A thin metallic strand came out, glistening with something dark.
Eloin gasped. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Always so dramatic,” Miss Calva muttered.
She dropped the metal strand into the sink and turned to rinse the tool.