Page 90 of That Rush

She holds it against her chest while the rest of the day-camp group files into the children’s library. Purple letters announce OFFICIAL PAGE-TURNER beneath her name, surrounded by three silver stars, a dragon sticker, and one plastic jewel already sliding from its adhesive.

“You said we would negotiate,” she says.

“I remember.”

“I asked Daddy, and he said negotiating means both people give up something.”

“What did you give up?”

“The rainbow.”

I examine the badge with appropriate seriousness. “A difficult sacrifice.”

“I still have six colors.”

“Then we both showed admirable restraint.”

Josie beams and takes her place on the small stool beside my chair.

The reading rug fills with its usual chaos—some children close, chins on their knees, others sprawling with parents and stuffed animals. I let the energy settle, a practiced pause, then hold up today’s book.

“I have an assistant,” I announce. “Josie is responsible for turning the pages and making sure I don’t skip anything.”

“I never skip pages,” she says.

A boy near the front raises his hand. “Why does she get to do it?”

“Because she volunteered first. We’ll choose someone new next week.”

Josie leans toward him. “You have to listen to the whole story.”

“I can do that.”

“You talked during the last one.”

His mother presses her lips together.

“Everyone gets a fresh chance,” I say before this turns into a formal hearing. “Including people with previous talking violations.”

Josie considers this, then nods. “That’s fair.”

I open the book about a dragon searching for a place to keep his treasure. I chose it because seven children voted for dragons on the program survey, though knowing Josie would enjoy it made the decision easier.

She turns the first page with both hands.

By page four, she has perfected the timing. She waits until I finish the final sentence, tilts the book so the children can see the picture, then turns the page without covering the words.

On page nine, the dragon tries hiding his gold beneath a library rug.

“That won’t work,” Josie says.

“Why?”

“Everybody looks under rugs when things go missing.”

A girl beside her shakes her head. “I don’t.”

“You would if you lost gold.”