“Good,” Mara replied. “Then don’t eat.”
Damon’s eyebrows rose.
The boy looked surprised.
Mara reached for another grape.
“But if anybody wants food before eight, I can make eggs, sandwiches, or pasta. You choose. If nobody wants food, I will sit here until eight and then go home.”
The butter-sock boy frowned. “You’re not mad?”
“About the floor? No.”
“What if I put butter on the dog?”
Mara glanced around. “Do you have a dog?”
“No.”
“Then that sounds difficult.”
A laugh escaped Ruth near the doorway. She disguised it as a cough.
The boys exchanged looks.
Mara saw it then. Not chaos. Coordination.
They were testing for a pattern.
Every adult probably came in with a system, a voice, a chart, a threat, or a promise. The boys pushed until the system broke. Once the adult broke, the boys knew exactly who held control.
Mara had spent enough years with Bryce to recognize the exhausting logic of power games.
She also knew better than to announce that she understood one.
The boy on the island climbed down.
“Pasta,” he said.
“What kind?”
“The long kind.”
“Spaghetti.”
“With cheese.”
“Reasonable.”
The cereal-fort boy crawled out. “I want eggs.”
“Then you can have eggs.”
Damon finally spoke.
“They eat one meal.”
Mara turned toward him.
