She went very still. Then she said, "It's okay."
"Is it?"
"They were for Finn's class. There was exactly enough. Mom counted." She said it the way she'd recite something for school, the state capital, the parts of a plant. "Tucker had two, but that's because he asked nicely."
"You asked nicely."
She shrugged. It was a small shrug, a seven-year-old's shrug, but there was something old in it. "It's his birthday."
"Did you have lunch?"
"Mrs. Fjelstad gave me half her sandwich. It was egg salad. I don't really like egg salad, but I ate it, because it would be rude not to."
"Where's your lunch?"
"Mom forgot. She had to do the cupcakes." She looked up at me fast. "It's not a big deal. She forgets sometimes, but there's the school lunch, except today's a picnic so there isn't school lunch, so Mrs. Fjelstad gave me half. She does it a lot. She says she always packs too much because she's still used to packing for her husband but he died."