Page 43 of One Adult, Please

We walk out of the Haunted House. Through the stone archway. Past the LED torches. Into the daylight, or what's left of it, the sun low and orange on the horizon like even the sky is tired.

I pull out the where picture. Seafoam green crayon. I draw an X through the last building.

Four X's. Four buildings. Zero team casualties. Multiple wrong people neutralized or contained across the adventure part.

I fold the where picture. I put the crayon behind my ear. "Okay," I say. "The adventure part is secured."

Beck's arms shoot up. "We fucking did it."

His voice starts climbing toward a whoop. Joel points one warning finger at him, and Beck converts it into a silent victory dance that somehow makes more noise visually.

Joel nods. But the nod is deep, a full head movement, and I'm counting that as Joel's version of a whoop.

"Back to the crime boat," Beck says. "Victory funnel cakes."

"We need to plan next steps," Joel says. "Wonder Garden. Solar Plaza. Entry points, coverage, supply mapping."

"Victory funnel cakes and next steps," I say, because I want a funnel cake and planning is better with sugar. "We go back to the crime boat. We eat. And then we figure out the rest of the park. We need a room for that."

"Beck's cabin has a table," Joel says. "The captain's quarters. On the ship."

"The captain's quarters," I say. "The thinking box."

Joel stares. Beck grins.

"Because it's a box," I explain. "A room where we think. The thinking box, Joel. Come on."

"I know what you meant."

"Then why are you staring?"

"Because I always know what you mean and it never stops being..." He pauses. "It never stops."

"Is that a compliment?"

"It's an observation."

"It felt like a compliment."

"It was an observation, Grace."

But his eyes are doing the thing. And the almost-smile is back in the lobby of his mouth again, refusing to check in.

"To the thinking box," Beck says.

The park speakers are warbling Wondie's broken loop, the hydration reminder stretched into a ghostly drone that follows us through the empty avenue.

I trip on a cobblestone. Beck catches my elbow. Joel's hand twitches toward me. I straighten and keep walking, trying not to think about the fact that I now have two people who reach for me before I hit the ground.

I'm used to getting myself back up. I'm not used to being caught.

The ground and I will eventually have to renegotiate our arrangement. Not today.

12

THE THINKING BOX

GRACE