Nice or mean. Nice or mean. When the one she spoke to first turned toward her, the look on her face told Marigold that she’d been wrong to think these ladies were nice. But then the blonde lady smiled at her, and the worry faded away. She shifted the stuffed pony in her arms so that she could wave back.
They had strange-sounding names. Marigold watched them curiously. It was usually only the people in the white coats who had names like that. Names with letters instead of numbers. Marigold wasn’t a good speller yet, but she knew enough to recognize when a name was spelled with letters instead of numbers.
“Those are funny names,” she said with a laugh.
When the blonde put her hand out, Marigold knew vaguely what was expected. She’d seen grownups do that kind of thing a lot. She put her hand in the lady’s, in the awkward, unsure way that children do. “Sixteen,” she answered, giving the number that represented her name.