Page 129 of One Adult, Please

Shuffle. Drag. Thump.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me," I say.

Shuffle. Drag. Thump.

"Gregory."

Of course it's Gregory. Gregory who escaped the fountain and navigated the entire park just to interrupt the exact moment emotional and physical progress is being made. Gregory's sixth sense is specifically calibrated to ruin my moments.

"He can't get in," Joel says. "The door's reinforced steel. He could thump for a week."

Thump.

"Gregory, we're busy," I shout.

Thump.

"We're having a moment. A private group heart situation moment. Go away."

Thump thump.

Beck starts laughing first, naked, wheezing, full-body laughter that's so Beck it sets me off too. Grant's chest shakes under my head. Even Joel huffs a quiet laugh against my shoulder.

"Fuck off, Gregory," Beck calls, still cracking up.

Thump.

"I'm adding this to the crayon plan," I say. "New item. Gregory: banned from tunnel. Violators will be redecorated."

"Redecorated?" Beck says.

"I meant relocated. I said redecorated. Don't look at me like that. My brain just did a triathlon. It's not going to produce perfect vocabulary right now."

Thump.

"He'll wander off," Joel says. "Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty. He'll lose interest."

"Fifteen minutes of Gregory percussion."

"We could use the time," Grant says. "Hydration. Rest. Blanket redistribution."

"Blanket redistribution is code for something and I'm not sure what."

"It's code for you're lying on four blankets and everyone else is lying on the floor."

I look down. I am, in fact, a blanket dragon.

"I'll share," I say, rearranging. The rearranging involves my elbow encountering Beck's ribcage. "Sorry."

"Ow."

"I said sorry."

"Your elbows need their own insurance policy."

"My elbows are fine, they're just enthusiastic. They have a range of motion that exceeds social expectations and I can't be held responsible for..."

Thump.