One wrong move, and they would shut the whole thing down again.
“Leo,” Arthur said quietly.
The boy’s eyes flicked to him.
“I’m sorry, son.”
Leo nodded once.
Hard.
Like he had expected it.
Like he had learned long ago not to look surprised when adults built doors where there used to be tables.
Then Mateo stepped back too.
So did three other kids.
A sixth-grade girl named Riley whispered, “My grandma forgot to sign mine.”
Another boy mumbled, “My dad works nights.”
A girl in a thin pink sweatshirt said nothing at all.
She just wrapped her arms around herself and stared at the steam rising from the dispenser.
The kids with wristbands drank in silence.
The kids without them stood in the cold pretending they didn’t care.
And Arthur felt something inside him crack.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just a small fracture in the place where hope had recently started to grow back.
At 7:24, the light changed.
Arthur stepped into the crosswalk and lifted his stop sign.
The students crossed.
Leo was the last one.
As he passed Arthur, he leaned in just close enough to whisper.
“They turned it into a club.”
Arthur swallowed.
“No, they’re just trying to keep everyone safe.”
Leo looked at him then.
His eyes were not angry anymore.
They were hurt.
“That’s what grown-ups always say right before they leave someone out.”
Then he walked away.
Arthur stood in the middle of the road until the last child reached the curb.
Behind him, the cocoa dispenser hissed softly.
Warm.
