The Checklist by Addie Woolridge (famous ebook reader txt) 📕

“You are. The top-donor speech, as it is. Only the special donors get a guided tour.”

“From a director, no less.”

Mike gave a lopsided smile at his own title, tugging half of Dylan’s heart along with the curve of his lips. She took a deep breath, practically begging her misbehaving thoughts to go back to their corner. She was here to see if she could help, not to ogle. “Don’t get too excited,” he said. “A donation of two hundred fifty dollars or more constitutes a ‘special donor.’”

“That will change. Soon as you get this room up and running, Crescent is going on the map as a cutting-edge children’s facility.”

“Facility? That sounds clinical.”

“It’s not clinical. It’s professional,” Dylan corrected, watching the other half of his smile catch up to the first.

“If it gets me a paneled sensory room, you may use all the business jargon you want.”

“You may as well start calling it a children’s facility now. I don’t lose often, buddy.”

“I wouldn’t have asked you here if I thought you did.”

“I was kidding.” Dylan laughed as they rounded a corner and passed through another set of heavy doors, complete with a brass lion handle from the movies.

“I wasn’t.”

Dylan almost tripped over his confidence. If she hadn’t been a professional high-heeled sprinter, she might have. Mike did not break eye contact with her, self-assurance vibrating off him. She wasn’t sure what to do with the compliment, so she redirected the conversation toward the massive stage at the back of the room. “So this is the theater?”

“Yes. This is the point in the tour where I dazzle you with childhood-development theory and my vast knowledge of experiential learning.”

“By all means. Dazzle away.” Dazzle away? Dylan hoped he developed sudden amnesia and forgot the entire trip to the theater, or at least the part where she stopped forming cohesive thoughts.

“Right.” Mike nodded solemnly. “At Crescent our mission is to provide children with experiences. Not unlike adults, most children learn by doing. By providing kids with more than a nameplate and facts, we give them a chance to act on the knowledge they have gained. Our theater offers children the opportunity to dress up and act out different concepts and professions. Chances to be doctors, astronauts, and scuba divers all in one location.” Mike paused and looked at Dylan a little sheepishly. “This is the part of the tour where I admit to rigging the space so there are guaranteed to be children playing in here for donors to see. Your visit caught me off guard.”

Dylan laughed, feeling less self-conscious now that she had some company in the self-deprecation department. “Impressive. Please explain the mechanics of staging playtime. I may need this trick later.”

“Homeschool groups. They usually require a couple of days’ notice, though.” Mike shrugged the sheepish look off, replacing it with the confidence he had worn moments ago. “Continuing on, unlike adult museums, which are largely observational, Crescent subscribes to the experiential-learning model. Take, for example, our waterworks space.” Mike began walking in reverse up the sloped auditorium. “This is where I impress everyone with my ability to walk backward while answering questions.”

“It is impressive. You are out here giving away tour trade secrets. I might steal your job.” Dylan felt her smile surface as her Gunderson-induced panic subsided. Crescent and Mike, the self-narrating tour guide, were just what she needed.

“Honestly, this one comes with years of practice as an undergraduate campus tour guide. I’m not worried about people in the consulting world mastering this skill overnight.”

“Someone’s getting cocky. If you trip, I want you to know I’ll laugh.”

“I wouldn’t count on it. Never fell once in over ten years.” After throwing a quick glance over his shoulder, Mike twisted around to face the installations as they walked into the next room. Dotting the room were dozens of freestanding structures, all brightly colored and built at elementary-schooler height. Looking to her left, next to a glass case Dylan could make out a massive cartoon drawing of a raindrop explaining how clouds worked. In the case was a tiny ecosystem, miniature clouds dropping even smaller buckets of rain on a little cityscape of Seattle. As Dylan watched, the clouds slowly stopped raining and cleared up. Despite the twenty-five-year age gap, both Dylan and the sticky-handed child watching the display were astonished.

“The clouds will reform in fifteen minutes,” Mike said, noticing her squinting in the direction of the display. Dylan arched an eyebrow in lieu of asking for an explanation. “There is a heating coil under the city that—” Mike broke off midsentence, moving from Dylan’s side and making a beeline for one of the installations.

“Oh, buddy, you really don’t want to drink that,” Mike said, scooping a child away from a dripping stalactite in an impressive arch. The rumpled little boy, surprised by his impromptu flight path, clung to Mike’s forearm until his feet were on the ground. He looked up at Mike and gave a small forlorn glance at the stalactite display before toddler-running back to an aggressively bored-looking teenager furiously tapping on his phone.

“What no one tells you in school is that being here is one part museum advocate, one part childcare provider,” Mike said, walking back toward Dylan and readjusting his sleeve, which had been pushed farther up his toned forearm.

“What happens if the kids drink the water? Does an alarm go off?” Dylan asked, remembering the feel of his arm under her hand. Taking her gaze off him, she watched the teen as he took the rumpled boy by the hand, still oblivious to his previous antics.

“No, no alarms. We don’t want to traumatize any of them. And we chlorinate the water to kill germs.” Mike shook his head and smiled before adding, “But last week I caught a kid trying to pee in it, so really, I wouldn’t vouch for its potability.”

“I can kind of see where it looks like a big toilet,” Dylan reasoned. Mike guffawed, throwing her a sideways look. “What? I know I