Ginevra brightened, poking her chest with her own finger. “Me, too. Smartest of all.” She grimaced at her own words, at how far from smart they sounded.
“I can tell, Ginevra, do not worry, I can.” I could. It was there, plain to see, as though someone had painted intelligence upon her face.
The creases upon her skin smoothed, a churning sea coming once more to rest.
“And then we go coaching, a grand coaching parade.” I continued.
“A p…parade? Whata is parade?”
“We all dress up—very fancy—get in our coaches and all drive up and down the streets, Bellevue Avenue and Ocean Drive, and then we drive back.”
“Up and back,” she repeated, but not because she couldn't understand the words.
“We do it every day. Everybody does,” I giggled. “I don't know why they started it or why they keep doin
