"Did you like nursery school?" I asked the standard question. "Oh, yes," she exclaimed enthusiastically. "It was fun." "And what did you learn today, little girl?" She played it straight back to me. "Not much. I tried to cut out paper dolls, but the scissors kept slipping." Was there an elfin deviltry back of her sober expression? "Now, look," I cautioned, "don't overdo it. That's as bad as being too quick. The idea is that everybody has to be just about standard average. That's the only thing we will tolerate. It is expected that a little girl of four should know how to cut out paper dolls properly." "Oh?" she questioned, and looked thoughtful. "I guess that's the hard part, isn't it, Daddy--to know how much you ought to know?" "Yes, that's the hard part," I agreed fervently. "But it's all right," she reassured me. "One of the Stupids showed me how to cut them out, so now that little girl likes me. She just took charge of me then and told the other kids they should like me, too. So of course they did because she's leader. I think I did right, after all." "Oh, no!" I breathed to myself. She knew how to manipulate other people already. Then my thought whirled around another concept. It was the first time she had verbally classified normal people as "Stupids," but it had slipped out so easily that I knew she'd been thinking to herself for a long time. Then my whirling thoughts hit a third implication. "Yes, maybe it was the right thing," I conceded. "Where the little girl was concerned, that is. But don't forget you were being observed by a grownup teacher in the room. And she's smarter." "You mean she's older, Daddy," Star corrected me. "Smarter, too, maybe. You can't tell." "I can," she sighed. "She's just older." I think it was growing fear which made me defensive. "That's good," I said emphatically. "That's very good. You can learn a lot from her then. It takes an awful lot of study to learn how to be stupid." My own troublesome business life came to mind and I thought to myself, "I sometimes think I'll never learn it." I swear I didn't say it aloud. But Star patted me consolingly and answered as though I'd spoken. "That's because you're only fairly bright, Daddy. You're a Tween, and that's harder than being really bright." "A Tween? What's a Tween?" I was bumbling to hide my confusion. "That's what I mean, Daddy," she answered in exasperation. "You don't grasp quickly. An In Between, of course. The other people are Stupids, I'm a Bright, and you're a Tween. I made those names up when I was little." Good God! Besides being unmeasurably bright, she's a telepath! All right, Pete, there you are. On reasoning processes you might stand a chance--but not telepathy! "Star," I said on impulse, "can you read people's minds?" "Of course, Daddy," she answered, as if I'd asked a foolishly obvious question. "Can you teach me?"