"How old are you?"
"Eight," said the bespectacled girl with the toothless grin. Well, toothless in the regard that she was missing her right canine.
She clutched her stuffed huskie doll protectively, holding it awkwardly so that it rested over her belly. Her short, dark hair was tied into two separate little stubs on either side of her head - pigtails, Cara supposed.
"What's your name?"
"Gretch Althea."
Not good, Cara thought to herself. Weird-looking kid with a weird-sounding name, and a stuffed animal everywhere she goes… She’s going to have a rough time…
“It’s very nice to meat you, Miss Althea. If you have any trouble with any of the other children, do not hesitate to tell me about it, and I will help you.”
Little Althea beamed. “Thank you ma’am!”
And she skipped away.
---
"He looks like he's kind of insane," remarked Hel.
"Well, he is," said Gretchen Althea, who seemed to be looking at her iced mocha in a most guilty way.
"But in an undiagnosable kind of way."
Self-consciousness engraved itself on her face. She was embarrassed.
Hel contained a prideful smirk and slid the photograph back at Althea, who quickly confiscated it and tucked it into her colorful sack.
"Al," Hel began cautiously, "Are you sure about...?"
"Positive," said Althea. She scowled inwardly and drained her cup in a rather cruel swig.
Hel sighed and scratched her forehead. "You never make sense. One moment, it's all, 'See you in Holland!' and the next, you're --"
"Helen, I believe I can keep track of my own whereabouts without you," Althea interrupted cooly. "But thanks for the coffee."
She stood up abruptly, pushed her chair in, and dropped a five by her crumpled napkin.
She went by many names. Althea, Altha, Alth, Al, Ally, Thea, Thee, Atie, Althie. And that was the surname, of course. People only rarely bothered to put her first name into use. When they did, it was never Gretchen. Just Gretch. Short and heartless.
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