Mildred

Mildred’s scared of us. She’s afraid of what we might write. When we yell and kick the door she hums loudly, happily, and says it must have been the wind slamming a shutter. She will not recognize us. When we tackle her alone she cries and pretends we’re PMS or something. She is the most capable of a job, being sociable and sunny, but she is such a little kid; she cannot be relied upon.