She has inexplicably tidy handwriting - inexplicably has handwriting at all; inexplicably can spell fifteen words in twenty instead of zero - which she uses, rather a lot. She makes a list of things that are food and magnetizes it to the fridge for reference, adding to it when she locates more things that are food, and when she is trying to tackle complex books she takes notes on who all the characters are so she doesn't have to page backward to remind herself, and she discovers journaling, even though she doesn't have that many events to record.
One day, the event she has to record is: Chris says to morrow she wil go to the DMV and shud not have us ther becas it may take six ours. We wil be baybe sat. If I hav ben baybe sat be for I do not remembre it.
She is curious about the imminent babysitter, and is up bright and early on the day when same may be expected.
"I really don't want to touch it. It's not for touching." Katie gets up and goes to the bathroom and washes her hands and comes out again. She looks suspiciously at the euagh.
The euagh has been returned to its packet and partly folded up, and what little of it remains visible is looking very nonthreatening.
From her fingertip wells a drop of pale, clear liquid.
"I'm... not completely sure," says Chris. "Mostly because I can't think of an explanation that makes any sense."
"You don't!" she agrees. "You look like a person. But most people bleed blood, not... sugary flowery stuff."
"If something did, I have no idea what or how or exactly what it would've gotten in the way of," says Chris.
"Evidence seems to loosely suggest that you're a plant, because those don't have heartbeats and do leak sweet flowery stuff if you poke holes in them. But I have no idea what that would even mean, because as far as I know, plants aren't the kinds of things that get up and walk around, or think or talk or come in people-like shapes."
She'd probably be sunburned by the time the sun went down if - well, if.