Maya’s voice carries faintly from the sunroom as she laughs at something one of the other residents says. I glance through the glass before returning to the file in front of us.
“That’s the idea.”
Blossom begins walking Josie through the next intake exercise, and I listen as she asks the first question in a softer voice than before. A smile creeps onto my face as I watch Josie relax a little.
5
Maceo
I’ve titled the spreadsheet Nutritional Incentive Mapping, though it’s really a cookie log, and Rosalie is already trying to change the numbers. She stands beside me at the kitchen island with her pink crown sliding toward one ear while I point to the mark beneath her name.
“You already had one after lunch.”
“That one had oats,” she says, as though that settles the matter. Before I can answer, she pulls a sheet of dinosaur stickers from her pocket and presses a bright triceratops onto the corner of my tablet. “This is for one more.”
Samuel runs into the kitchen before I can remove it, his socks slipping against the floor as he catches himself on the island. “I did ten jumps. I need a snack for my work.”
“Jumping off the couch doesn’t count as training.”
James comes in behind him and leans over the tablet, studying the columns with enough concentration that I know another argument is coming. “If we eat it before dinner, it isn’t after-dinner dessert.”
I look from James to Samuel, then down at Rosalie’s sticker. The log lasted less than a week before they turned it into a barter system, a training-reward program, and a debate over the meaning of dessert.
“The chart says one,” I tell them. “One means one.”
Rosalie taps the sticker. “That means one more.”
“It does not.”
“It’s a trade.”
Samuel reaches toward the cookie jar while I’m looking at her. I catch his wrist before his fingers touch the lid and set his hand back on the counter.
“You’re not helping your case.”
“I’m hungry from my jumps.”
“You ate twenty minutes ago.”
“That was food. This is fuel.”
James nods as though Samuel has made a serious contribution to the discussion, then points to the top of the spreadsheet. “You didn’t write what kind of dessert counts. You only wrote dessert.”
“I didn’t think I needed a legal definition of cookie.”
Luther enters while I’m correcting the number beside Rosalie’s name. He doesn’t interrupt or ask what the argument is about. He simply reaches past me, takes a cookie from the jar, and bites into it while reading the chart over my shoulder.
I turn my head slowly. “Luther.”
He breaks off a piece and hands it to Rosalie, who accepts it with both hands before hurrying away from the island. Samuel follows her immediately, and James closes the tablet for me as though the ruling has already been overturned.
Luther’s hand settles at the back of my neck once the children are out of reach. “I know.”
“You waited until I was looking at the chart.”
“I didn’t want to interrupt.”
His thumb moves against my skin while I watch the children divide the stolen cookie in the den. Rosalie holds the larger piece because she supplied the sticker, Samuel claims he deserves the next one because of his training, and James has already begun explaining why Luther’s half should count against the adult column.
