Ask Eva by Judi Curtin

been crying?’
    ‘That’s what it looked like. ‘Whatever’s wrong, you can tell me,’ I said, and for a second, it looked like she was getting ready to talk, but then the teacher came in and startedgoing on about some stupid geography test, and we couldn’t talk any more.’
    ‘And what happened after class?’
    ‘Aretta disappeared, and I haven’t seen her since. I feel like she was ready to talk to me, and now the opportunity has gone.’
    ‘Well maybe you’re going to get another opportunity,’ said Ella. ‘Look who’s coming.’
    Aretta was walking towards us. Her eyes weren’t red any more, but she looked sad and tired.
    I slid across the bench to make room and she sat down between Ella and me.
    ‘Hey, Aretta,’ said Ella. ‘Do you want one of Eva’s sandwiches? They’re totally delicious.’
    Aretta shook her head. ‘No, thanks. I’m not hungry.’ Her voice was so quiet, I could just about hear her.
    I put my hand on her arm. ‘I know you like to keep your personal stuff private, and I promise we’re not trying to spy on youor anything, Aretta,’ I said. ‘But if there’s something wrong, you know you can tell us.’
    Aretta stared at me for a second and then she put her head in her hands. Ella and I looked at each other.
    ‘We only want to help you,’ said Ella.
    ‘ No one can help,’ said Aretta from between her fingers.
    ‘Try us,’ I said.
    ‘Eva’s great at helping people,’ said Ella. ‘She’s done all kinds of amazing things. I’ve told you before about how she saved Ruby’s swimming trials, but there’s lots more. Once she saved an ancient old tree from being cut down, and last year she solved a crime that had been a mystery for nearly a hundred years. Sometimes, when a problem is really big, only Eva can sort it out.’
    I could feel myself going red. Ella’s confidence in me was nice, but I didn’t want Aretta to have false hopes. It’s not like I canwork miracles.
    ‘And even if we can’t help,’ continued Ella. ‘Just talking about stuff might make you feel better.’
    Aretta looked up again.
    ‘Can I tell you about my life?’ she said.
    ‘Sure,’ said Ella, and I nodded in agreement. Somehow I knew this wasn’t going to be a funny story about the cool things Aretta used to do with her mum in Nigeria.
    ‘Like I told you before,’ Aretta began. ‘Eight years ago I came to Ireland with my dad and my brother, and at first we lived in Kilkenny.’
    ‘Kilkenny’s nice,’ I said. ‘We went there once on a school tour.’
    Ella nudged me and I stopped talking. Aretta probably didn’t want to hear about my day-trip to Kilkenny.
    ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Go on.’
    Aretta gave a tiny smile. ‘My school in Kilkenny was great. I told you about thebasketball already, but we played loads of other sports too. I made lots of really nice friends, but …’
    ‘Go on,’ said Ella, in a gentle voice.
    ‘Because we were asylum seekers, we had to live in a direct provision centre.’
    ‘Like the one you live in now?’ I said.
    ‘Not exactly. We are guests in this country, and we are grateful for what we get, but …’
    There was a long silence, and I began to wonder if Aretta had changed her mind about confiding in us. Then she spoke in a big rush.
    ‘The direct provision centre in Kilkenny was really, really awful. The manager, Mr Richards, treated us like we were animals. Whole families had to live in one tiny bedroom, and these rooms were too cold in winter and too warm in summer. We had no facilities to cook our own meals. We had to eat in a big ugly hall that always smelled bad, like rotten vegetables. The food was nasty, as if the managerdeliberately picked things we wouldn’t like.’
    ‘So why did you stay?’ I asked.
    Aretta shrugged. ‘We didn’t have any choice. It’s not like we could move up the road to a five star hotel or a fancy penthouse apartment. We had to stay with the horrible Mr Richards.’
    ‘That all sounds awful,’ said