The Nicest Person I Know

I am on the playground, talking to a seven year old girl with a severe speech impediment. It is difficult to describe her speech problem because it is so complicated. That she pronounces her K's as T's, as in the Buckwheat-ian "Otay" is but one small component of the problem. Another is her horrible grammar, stuff like "Him are eating gum." It has taken me a long time to be able to talk with this girl, and am now able to only because she is making such good progress in her speech therapy. We are talking about bugs, specifically a new group of them that have infiltrated the sandbox, keeping this girl from her favorite part of the playground. She is not angry though. She is almost never angry, and then usually for short periods of time. She wishes she could be in the sandbox, but she doesn't blame the bugs. Neither does she blame me for making her stay away from the bugs. She has moved on. For someone with so many difficulties she is surprisingly mature.
"Prudence stepped on a bug," she tells me.
"That was mean. Why did she?"
"I don't know. She didn't like him I guess. She shouldn't have done it."
"When did she do that?"
"Before snack, on the sidewalk. I told her not to, but she doesn't listen."
"No, Prudence doesn't listen much. Nor, for that matter, do you."
"I know."
"Why is that?" I ask her, "Why is it that right now we can have a nice talk, but then when I make announcements to the group later you won't listen? You lie on your back and kick your feet in the air. Why do you do that?"
She doesn't have to think for more than a second.
"Because I don't care."
"About what I'm saying?"
"About games, or going first."
"Do you think you could pretend to care? You don't have to really care, just pretend so I won't get my feelings hurt?"
"Okay."
And she hugs me and runs away. Later as I announce what rooms are open I see her in the back of the room sitting quietly with her hands in her lap. She cares more about hurting my feelings than going first.