Journal Entry

Apparently saving the world is more important than building a playground.

At least according to the adults.

Maggie and I spent almost a month planning the thing.

We had diagrams.

Measurements.

Security plans.

Even a schedule.

The boys colored the title page.

Mom shot it down in under five minutes.

Dad made it six.

The worst part is they weren't even listening.

I know they're trying to save everyone.

I know what they're doing matters.

But we're trying to keep the kids alive too.

Not physically.

The other kind.

The part that still remembers how to be kids.

The presentation lasted exactly four minutes.

James knew because he'd been watching the clock.

Four minutes.

Four weeks of planning.

Four minutes of dismissal.

"We don't have the manpower."

Karen hadn't even sat down.

"We literally have the manpower," James argued.

"Not for something like this."

"It's a fence."

"It isn't just a fence."

"It is."

His mother sighed.

The sigh.

The one that meant she'd already decided.

"We need everyone focused on priorities."

James glanced toward the stack of papers he'd spent weeks working on.

The diagrams.

The measurements.

The supply lists.

The patrol routes.

All ignored.

"It is a priority."

"No, James, it's not," Karen rolled her eyes at her son's childish need.

"It would go a long way for Maggie and myself," James pleaded.

In her defense, she began to feel bad for the burden placed on the teenager's shoulders.

"Maybe someday." It was the best she could give them.

There it was.

Someday.

The word adults used when they wanted something to disappear.

Maggie jumped in.

"The kids need somewhere safe."

Karen nodded.

"I agree."

James immediately knew what was coming.

The tone.

The expression.

The look.

"But."

There it was.

The death of every good idea.

"We have bigger concerns."

"The cure."

"Security, power. Food. You're asking for a lot of resources for something they won't use."

The other adults started listing reasons too, annoying the teenagers to the max.

One after another.

Each one logical.

Each one reasonable.

Each one making James angrier.

Because they weren't wrong.

That was the worst part.

His father finally spoke.

"It's a good idea."

James looked up.

Hope flickered.

Briefly.

"But not right now."

And there it died.

The room went quiet.

Nobody seemed to notice.

The adults had already moved on.

Talking to each other.

Discussing schedules.

Research.

Supplies.

The conversation was over.

At least for them.

James stood.

Nobody noticed.

He gathered the papers.

Folded them.

Set them aside.

Still nobody noticed.

Then he grabbed his bow.

That got attention.

"James."

His father.

No response.

"James."

Karen this time.

The front door opened.

Then closed.

The woods swallowed him.

He wasn't going anywhere.

Not really.

Just walking.

Fast.

Branches snapped beneath his boots.

The familiar trail wound toward the lake.

The bow bounced against his shoulder.

His pulse refused to settle.

He wasn't even sure why he was so angry.

The playground wasn't life or death.

It wasn't necessary.

The adults were right.

So why did it feel like somebody had kicked him in the ribs?

Because they hadn't listened.

Because they never listened.

Because they disappeared downstairs every morning and somehow still acted like they knew exactly what life upstairs looked like.

A branch cracked behind him.

James stopped.

Another step.

He turned.

"Maggie."

She stood twenty feet back.

Hands in her pockets.

Completely unapologetic.

"You're following me."

"Yep."

"Go away."

"No."

"I mean it."

"So do I."

James groaned.

"Maggie."

"No one goes anywhere alone," she pointed.

"That rule is for children."

"It's for everybody."

"My rule."

"Your rule."

"You're being annoying."

"You're being a pissed off child."

James rolled his eyes so hard it hurt.

Then started walking again.

She followed.

Of course she did.

For several minutes neither spoke.

The lake eventually appeared through the trees.

Gray and calm.

Completely indifferent to human problems.

Finally Maggie broke the silence.

"Aren't you pissed off?"

James stopped.

"Seriously?"

"What?"

"You're asking if I'm pissed off?"

"Fair point."

He laughed once.

Sharp.

Humorless.

"We worked on that for a month."

"Yep."

"We made diagrams."

"Yep."

"Color-coded diagrams."

"The boys colored the title page."

That almost got a smile.

Almost.

"They didn't even look at it."

"Nope."

"They spent more time talking about why it wouldn't work than they spent looking at the plan."

"Also true."

The anger came rushing back.

"This was supposed to help."

Maggie looked toward the water.

"I know."

"No."

His voice cracked.

Not from yelling.

From exhaustion.

"You don't."

She stayed quiet.

Good.

Because now he couldn't stop.

"We do school."

Silence.

"We do chores."

Silence.

"We watch the kids."

Silence.

"We break up fights."

Silence.

"We teach."

Silence.

"We protect them."

Silence.

"And somehow we're still the children."

That one hung between them.

Because it was true.

For the first time since she'd arrived, Maggie didn't have a comeback.

Instead she sat on a nearby log.

And nodded.

"Yeah."

Just that.

Yeah.

Because she understood.

The anger drained a little.

Not gone.

Just less sharp.

Eventually Maggie kicked a rock into the water.

"We'll work on them."

James laughed.

"You don't know my mother."

Maggie snorted.

"I've been living with her for two months."

"That's not enough."

"It's enough."

"It isn't."

"It's enough to know she might be the most stubborn person I've ever met."

James pointed at himself.

"What about me?"

"I'm including you."

"Fuck you, Maggie."

"That's fair."

"I'm not stubborn."

"James."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

"I'm tired."

The answer came instantly.

"You're both."

That shut him up.

Because she wasn't wrong.

Neither of them had slept enough in months.

Neither had taken a day off.

Neither had been allowed to just be teenagers.

The realization settled heavily between them.

Eventually Maggie spoke again.

"We started too big."

"What?"

"The playground."

"It wasn't that big."

"It absolutely was."

"It was a fence."

"It was a compound."

"It was a playground."

"It was a playground compound."

James sighed.

Annoyingly.

She had a point.

"We start smaller."

"How?"

Maggie shrugged.

"We make them help."

"The adults?"

"The adults."

James stared.

"They already help."

She gave him a look.

A look.

The kind that required no explanation.

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"We force them to babysit."

James blinked.

"What?"

"A night off."

"For us."

"What would we even do?"

"I don't know."

"Fish."

"Read."

"Swim."

"Sit quietly."

"Stare at a wall."

"Literally anything."

James slowly raised an eyebrow.

Maggie immediately realized what she'd said.

"Oh my God."

"I didn't say anything."

"You made a face."

"I did not."

"You absolutely did."

Now he was laughing.

Actually laughing.

For the first time all day.

"You're into me," he teased.

Maggie's face turned bright red.

"Shut up."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"You absolutely are."

She stood.

"I'm going back."

"You followed me."

"I'm leaving first."

"That's not how following works."

"It does now."

James watched her stomp back toward the cabin.

Still muttering under her breath.

Still embarrassed.

Still stubborn.

He smiled despite himself.

The playground was dead.

For now.

But maybe Maggie was right.

Maybe they didn't need a playground first.

Maybe they needed a break.

A real one.

And for the first time since the adults shut them down, James felt something other than anger.

A plan.

Which, in his experience, was usually much more dangerous.