That was enough.
In reality, Isaiah had been pointing at the QR code on his fundraiser card.
Lorraine supplied a different story.
The boy was checking the bags.
Isaiah thanked the woman and continued walking.
Lorraine tracked him with her eyes.
He approached another family.
Then another.
He stood near a man holding a theme-park shopping bag.
He looked toward the man's hands.
Again, completely normal.
Again, Lorraine interpreted it differently.
By the time Isaiah reached a couple standing beside the fountain, Lorraine had already decided she knew what he was doing.
“Excuse me,” Isaiah said to the couple. “Do you like robots?”
The woman smiled.
“Who doesn't?”
Isaiah brightened.
“Our school—”
Lorraine stepped between them.
“No.”
Isaiah stopped.
The couple looked confused.
Isaiah looked up.
Lorraine folded her arms.
“You need to stop bothering people.”
“I’m not.”
“Yes, you are.”
The woman Isaiah had approached frowned.
“He was just talking to us.”
Lorraine did not look at her.
She remained focused on Isaiah.
“Where are your parents?”
“My dad's at our booth.”
“What booth?”
Isaiah pointed.
“Hawthorne.”
Lorraine barely looked.
“And your mother?”
“At work.”
“Then why are you wandering around?”
“I’m not wandering.”
“You've been going from person to person.”
“Because I'm giving them these.”
He held out a card.
Lorraine glanced down.
She did not take it.
“You expect me to believe that?”
Isaiah frowned.
“It says Hawthorne Elementary.”
“Anybody can print something.”
“It has the park logo.”
That answer irritated her.
“You don't need to get smart with me.”
Isaiah looked genuinely confused.
“I’m not.”
Lorraine pointed toward the backpack.
“What are you carrying?”
“My stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Water.”
“Food.”
“Markers.”
He paused.
“Robot stickers.”
The couple nearby exchanged glances.
Lorraine said:
“Open it.”
Isaiah stared.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because it's mine.”
“If there’s nothing in there, then what’s the problem?”
Isaiah hugged the clipboard closer.
“I don't have to show you my backpack.”
Lorraine’s expression hardened.
There was something about a child refusing her that she took personally.
Especially this child.
“Listen to the attitude.”
The woman beside the fountain stepped forward.
“He doesn't have an attitude.”
Lorraine turned.
“He's a child walking around tourists without supervision.”
“He's talking about a school fundraiser.”
“You don’t know what he was doing five minutes ago.”
Isaiah raised his voice slightly.
“I was doing the same thing.”
Lorraine looked at him.
“Now you're getting aggressive.”
Isaiah stopped.
The word confused him.
He had not moved toward her.
Had not threatened her.
His hands were full.
“I’m not aggressive.”
“Lower your voice.”
“You're yelling at me.”
“I’m an adult.”
That sentence made something inside Isaiah tighten.
As if adulthood itself proved she was right.
A park employee named Jasmine Ortiz noticed the argument from a nearby merchandise cart.
She approached.
“Everything okay?”
Lorraine answered immediately.
“No.”
Isaiah opened his mouth.
Lorraine spoke over him.