Page 31 of Small Sacrifices

"You destroyed his donuts?" The right corner of her mouth can't seem to decide where it wants to be. It keeps dancing up and down.

"Yes. And I feel bad about it," Reid says. "Do you know who I could give these to so that he gets them?"

"I think there may be a chance that they'll get destroyed if you give them to just anyone. There are security protocols about food, you know?"

Oh. That... Reid hadn't thought about that. Why didn't he think about that? There are protocols about anything and everything in this place.

"But..." Now, McNaulty looks like she's scheming. There's still a smile dancing on her lips. "Say there was someone who knew that you've become friends. Someone who would be willing to overlook that rule if it meant a chance to remind that boy of his horrible manners.Hypothetically.Then you could give your donuts to that person, and they might ensure that they get where they're supposed to be."

Now, they're not friends. They don't even really know each other. But the rest of that sounds good. "And you know someone like that?"

The smile slides off her face. "Mr. Maxwell. I was talking about myself."

"Oh." He should've known. People never usually mean it when they say something is hypothetical. Or literal, for that matter. "Would you do that? I'd appreciate it very much." He'd even offer her a donut as a thank you if he weren't still worriedthat might be construed as bribery. He's not Everett. If anyone found out, he'd be in trouble.

At his desk, Reid dives into his emails. For the first time since he started working here, his mailbox is full. It should be overwhelming, but instead, he feels a sense of satisfaction. He's finally doing something right. He's actually working.

That feeling fades when he reads the emails. They're from parents and health services in Chesterton, asking for more information about the meeting and phone numbers for healthcare funding because they're having trouble accessing it. Most of them were sent on Saturday, so Reid hopes they've seen the statement from CalEPA by now. Nevertheless, he replies with the information he can find through a quick Google search. He wants to reach out to the task force himself, but he realizes it might seem odd.

As his colleagues filter into the office, the air fills with the aroma of coffee. None of them pay him any special attention, offering only brief greetings. Reid takes this as a good sign. No one seems to know about Friday's incident. Even Marisol, who slams her body down into her desk chair, doesn't appear to be in the know.

Reid focuses on his work, even though his tasks are minimal. He's drafting an email to Mr. Wright about the itinerary when Marisol nudges him. Reid continues typing, earning an elbow to the ribs.

"Ow! What’s wrong with—" he starts to ask, but by the time he's followed where her finger is pointing, he sees the problem.

Everett is lingering in the doorway to their office, donut box in hand. Oh. His eyes are flitting over the people in the room as if he's looking for Reid—which would be a difficult feat to accomplish, given that the office is huge, and Reid is sitting at the very back of it. Somehow, he looks awkward, and Reid wonders why. Does he not want the donuts? Or maybe he'sworried that something is wrong with them.Orhe can't eat them, but wants to show he received them, anyway. That would be considerate.

"What's he doing here?" Marisol asks under her breath. Reid would like to know that too, but it's not like he can shout the question across the room.

"I'll find out," he says and gets up. His path along the wall of the room keeps Everett from noticing Reid until he's almost reached him. But when he does, his eyes light up, and a grin spreads over his face. He raises the cardboard box in salute.

"Got this handed to me by a grumpy security officer. You have anything to do with that?"

Reid purses his lips. "I plead the fifth."

Opposite him, Everett squints at him, but then nods. "Good answer. Wanna share? Max is at school, and I'm craving sugar."

Oh. That... Reid doesn't know what to do with that. Because he's not very compatible with sweet baked goods. The cloying sweetness closes up his throat and makes it difficult to swallow. He likes the taste, but that doesn't mean much when he can't properly swallow it. What he needs is fresh food, veggies and fruit. That's why he always makes himself sandwiches or wraps for lunch. But is Everett going to understand that?

"I bought those for you," he says, and immediately wants to facepalm. Why is his voice so high?

Everett laughs softly and leans closer, like he's sharing a secret. "You know, we still ate those other donuts. They don't need structural integrity to taste good. This is nice, and I really appreciate it, but it wasn't necessary."

Oh."I wanted to say thank you."

It gets him a small smile. "You don't need to do that either. But, I mean, youcouldalways share them and spend a little time with me."

Reid's stomach feels wriggly. That doesn't sound like it's just about the donuts. Could Briana be right, and Everett wants to be his friend? If so, what does he do with that? Reid rarely makes friends. He just has people take him under their wing sometimes. That's much less stressful than whatever this is.

"Counteroffer," he says. "I spend time with you, but I eat the lunch that I brought for myself."

It takes effort not to explain why he would rather do that. But his dad always tells him it's annoying when he explains too much. He doesn't want to be annoying.

"Scared of a little sugar, are we?" Everett grins broadly. "Well, come on."

Embarrassingly, Reid now has to make the trek back to his desk to retrieve his lunch with a lot of eyes on him. People have noticed Everett, and since Reid was talking to him, they're now noticing Reid. He'd prefer they didn't.

Marisol looks at him with wide eyes while he's rooting around for his lunch box in his bag. She's moving them with purpose, like she's trying to tell him something. Or maybe she's asking a question? Either way, it's unintelligible to him, and he doesn't want Everett to wait for too long, so he leaves with an apologetic shrug.

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