Page 65 of My Cosplay Escape
“What about this morning? I wanted to pick you up at your place, see where you live, meet your roomie, and I had to give all that up.”
“Because having breakfast with me was so terrible.”
“I don’t know how I got through it.” He smirks.
“Okay, 5% of your plan changed, but I’m still here in your car driving with you to Leto Con, where I will spend 95% of the day just as you planned.”
The smirk grows into a broad smile. “Is that a promise?”
I laugh to avoid blushing and answering.
Adam changes lanes, and we inch closer to downtown. “How’s work going?”
“It’s good. I’m still working the bulk of my shifts in the Kids Club, but I don’t mind. It’s surprisingly fun.”
“Surprisingly?”
“I almost didn’t take the job when Tony suggested the Kids Club. I was terrified of being surrounded by infants and toddlers, but it is fascinating.” I didn’t realize this before, when I had my hoodie sleeves to hide behind, but my hands are a mess. Chipped nail polish reveals bits of crayon stuck under my nails. I shouldn’t care about something so superficial, but I may as well have a tattoo of #hotmess across my knuckles at this point. “Did you know infants can count?”
“No way.”
“There was this study with teddy bears and five-month-olds. Babies can totally count.”
“Huh. I never would have guessed.”
“There’s this entire subset of our population that we just undervalue and dismiss because they wear diapers and can’t talk.”
“Two subsets if you count people like my great-uncle Howard. Is your Kids Club busy?”
“Yes.” I bunch my fingers into fists, trying to hide my horrible nails. “I thought it might slow down when school started, but we continue to be full with a waiting list every weekday and Saturday morning.”
“Wow.”
“There aren’t enough preschools.”
“I agree. The lack of early-childhood education in this country is a problem. I’m not going to fight you on it.”
“Fight me on it?”
“You keep making fists.”
Shirley Temples. “No. I’m embarrassed. I chipped off half my nail polish last night peeling the paper off broken crayons.”
“Oh?”
“Coloring is a really popular activity. Or it’s become one since I moved an old bulletin board from the staff room into the Kids Club.” I smile in spite of myself. “The kids want to make the wall.”
“Bragging rights. I get it.”
“So coloring is an awesome activity. Cheap. Minimal mess. Developmentally appropriate. Nontoxic. But it’s hard to hold a crayon in chubby fingers. Especially stubs of broken crayons. And no kid should have to sort through a broken mess…” Careful, or I’m not going to be talking about crayons for much longer.
I take a deep breath. “I was melting them down and remolding them. My roomie is a teacher and has a crazy collection of seemingly random things that are actually really useful if you work with kids. I took some of her silicone baking molds, melted the broken crayons in them, and now I have toddler-appropriate crayons for my Saturday morning regulars.” I splay my hands out. “But really ugly nails.”
“Let me see.” We come to another standstill on the freeway, and Adam gestures for my hand. “I don’t think it is bragging rights that are motivating the kiddies.”
“What then?”
Adam peers closer, studying my hand. He rubs one of my chipped nails with his thumb. “Enthusiasm is contagious.” He drops my hand. “What do the kids draw pictures of?”
