Betsy sat up straight in her little chair, seeing mostly kneecaps in front of her. She sat there, glowing. That was her job.
“What do you say, Betsy?” the Teacher asked. It was her turn again. The words that flowed through her sounded soft and whispery, even to her own little ears. Why don’t they know the answer? she thought as her eyes followed a sun-kissed butterfly flitting through the garden.