I’m writing everything she’s saying as fast as I can, which is a challenge because the child speaks as though it’s all one long sentence. But now all the dots are laid out in a way that I can connect a few, and I look up from my notebook to find the girl staring at me, head tilted, upper lip sucked in.

“Do you always have to do that?”

“Do what?”

“Write everything down? Can’t you ever just, you know, do things without having to write it down? ’Cause you rub your hand a lot like it hurts.” Her eyes roll to the sky. “And also”—she starts to hop up and down on her feet—“it’s really cold out here, and we could have been back to BTI by now if you didn’t have to write so much down.”

I want to respond, I want to say something to negate her words, but the truth of them strips me down, exposes my farcical system that can’t even make a little girl think I’m normal.

She blows air through her lips until they flap. “Oh man; I’m sorry, Ms. Claire. I shouldn’t have said that. That’s probably a hard thing for you.” She shakes her head. “I’m too repulsive.”

I’m taken aback and then suddenly laughing because the girl is sincere and yet her words don’t fit at all. I cover my mouth to stop myself. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

She shakes her head and her glasses slide down. “No, that’s not it. Ms. Kiko says I can be impossible—no, I mean impulssible—no, not that one either.”

Another giggle tries to surface, but I push it down. The girl is so earnest in her attempt to apologize. “Impulsive?”

“Yeah!” She pushes her glasses up with one finger. “That one! You’re really smart.”

“Thanks.”

I try to be nonchalant when I check my notes, but I think she sees right through me. “You should help me in the gardens another time. I like company when I work in there.”

She hurries to my side, beaming. “You bet! I can’t wait!”

We walk back to BTI, Maree a chattering, skipping presence by my side, and I find her company a soothing balm to an unexpected sting of loneliness.

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE