Page 13 of Trusting the Grumpy Mountain Man
After hanging up, I stand motionless, Margaret's words echoing in my head. My promotion has been dangled as incentive for the outcome they want, not the evaluation the program deserves.
A knock interrupts my thoughts. Jax stands in the doorway, holding a plate with a sandwich and an apple.
"Thought you might be hungry," he says, setting it on the desk.
"Thank you." I'm genuinely touched by the gesture. "That's thoughtful."
He shrugs, leaning against the doorframe. "Can't have you passing out from hunger during your important evaluation."
The sarcasm is there, but milder than before. Progress, maybe.
"The kids seem to be responding well to the program," I offer as a peace gesture.
"They're survivors." He says it matter-of-factly. "Most of them have been surviving their whole lives. I just teach them to do it better."
"Is that why you call it Peak Survival? Because they're already survivors?"
Something changes in his expression, a softening around the eyes. "Exactly. They don't need saving. They need skills."
I take a bite of the sandwich, simple but good. "Your data tracking surprised me. Most alternative programs don't maintain detailed records."
"Hard to argue with results." He moves into the room, sitting across from me. "Every kid gets assessed daily across five domains. Physical skills, emotional regulation, peer relationships, future orientation, problem-solving."
"That's... remarkably comprehensive."
"Judge Martinez insists on it. Says if I want to keep getting referrals, I need to prove it works better than juvie."
I set down my sandwich. "You know him personally?"
"He sent his nephew here four years ago." Jax stretches his long legs out, the picture of casual confidence. "Kid was headed for serious trouble. Now he's in college, studying forestry."
Another piece of the puzzle clicks into place. "That's why the program continues despite its unorthodox methods. Judicial discretion."
"That, and the fact that it works." He leans forward, elbows on knees. "Look, I know what the regulations say. I also know those regulations were written for institutional settings with dozens of kids and minimal supervision. This is different."
"Different doesn't mean exempt," I point out.
"No, but it should mean evaluated on its own merits." His gaze holds mine. "Which is supposedly your job."
The challenge hits its mark. "My supervisor expects a thorough documentation of compliance issues."
"But not successes?" He raises an eyebrow. "Sounds like an agenda rather than an evaluation."
Heat rises to my face. "That's not what I said."
"Didn't have to." He stands, suddenly looming over me. "I know how bureaucracy works, Riley. Your department wants my program gone because it's easier to check boxes than to rethink approaches."
"That's unfair." I rise too, refusing to be physically dominated. "I'm trying to be objective."
"Are you?" He steps closer, close enough that I can see the flecks of darker blue in his irises. "Or are you seeing what you expected to see?"
"I'm seeing plenty I didn't expect," I admit, the words slipping out before I can stop them.
His eyes drop briefly to my lips, then back to my eyes. The air between us seems to thicken with unspoken tension.
"Like what?" His voice drops lower, almost intimate.
"Like a program with strengths that should be considered alongside its weaknesses." I manage to keep my voice steady despite the hammering of my heart.
