Page 9 of Trusting the Grumpy Mountain Man
"I'll manage."
"You'll manage to get trench foot." I stand and move to a storage trunk near the door. After digging through it, I emerge with thick wool socks. "These should help the boots fit better."
She takes them with a nod of thanks, then glances at Kevin on the couch. "Should we wake him?"
"Let him sleep. He's got the easy assignment tonight."
"As punishment for provoking Darius," she clarifies, pulling on the socks.
"As a natural consequence." I hand her the boots again. "He sabotaged someone else's shelter, so he forfeits his spot in one. Simple cause and effect."
"There's nothing simple about rehabilitating troubled youth." She struggles with the oversized boots.
"Never said it was simple. Said it was natural." I open a closet and pull out rain gear for myself. "Nature doesn't negotiate or make exceptions. Neither do consequences in the real world."
"These aren't adults in the real world. They're children who need guidance."
"Teenagers," I correct her, shrugging into my jacket. "Almost adults with almost adult problems. Treating them like children is why traditional programs fail them."
She stands, testing the boots.
I hand her a flashlight. "State success average is what? Forty percent success?"
"Thirty-seven," she admits reluctantly. "But that doesn't justify methods that put them at risk."
"Calculated risk under supervision isn't the same as danger." I check that Kevin is still asleep before lowering my voice. "These kids live with danger every day in their normal lives. Gang violence. Domestic abuse. Addiction. A night in a shelter they built themselves is probably the safest some of them have been in years."
Something flickers across her face. Understanding, maybe. She doesn't argue further, just zips up the oversized jacket.
"Ready?" I ask.
She nods, and I lead her into the storm.
The rain hits us immediately, driven sideways by the wind. I instinctively put myself between Riley and the worst of it, using my body as a windbreak. The path to the shelters is slick with mud and debris, but the flashlight beams cut through the darkness.
"Stay close," I tell her, unnecessarily as it turns out. She sticks to my side like a shadow.
We check Mia and Tyler's shelter first. Their lean-to has held up surprisingly well, though water pools at the entrance. I kneel down and call softly.
"Status check."
"Mostly dry," comes Mia's response. "One leak, but we fixed it."
"Need anything?"
"We're good."
I move to the brothers' shelter next. Theirs is nearly invisible in the underbrush, the best design of the group. Both report being completely dry, their voices steady with well-earned pride.
Darius is last, his hastily rebuilt shelter the most vulnerable. I expect to find him soaked and miserable, a hard lesson learned. Instead, his structure has been reinforced with additional branches woven into the original frame. It's crude but effective.
"Where'd you get the extra material?" I ask him after confirming he's relatively dry.
"Found it," he answers, not quite meeting my eyes.
"After curfew?" I press, knowing he must have scavenged after dark.
"Had to." He shrugs, defiant but nervous. "Wasn't gonna spend the night getting soaked."
