“You sure can,” said Teddy. “Well, kinda. They tend to curl and drop off after a while.”

“All the same, I wish I had some of these back at the tree house to tell my dad where things are supposed to go.”

“Is he here in the station, too?”

“Yes,” said Peter. “He’s having a medical.”

“Well, now you can leave notes for him all over the place. You can stick one on me too if you like, just so you don’t forget I’m Teddy and that I’m here to show you around.”

Peter looked across the desk and smiled. Teddy was all right. Or he might be, in small doses.

The door flew open and Teddy bolted from his seat.

“If that boy’s walking around the office pointing at things and naming them, you can leave him a rotten review on TripAdvisor, not me.”

The man was chunky looking and worn-in like an old couch. His voice had the kind of booming warmth that’d charm chocolate out of a kid’s hands and it was clear from his position as the town’s sheriff that Peter wasn’t the only one to think so. The man kicked the door shut with his heel and collapsed back into the chair. Peter glanced at the sheriff star pinned to the breast of his cable-knit cardigan and wondered if the weight of the thing would eventually damage the wool.

“Sheriff O’Hurn’s my dad,” said Teddy.

“Yeah,” said the sheriff wiping coffee foam from a thick handlebar moustache, “but only when I need to wheel you out so we seem real friendly to the newbies, and don’t you forget it.”

Peter sat up in his seat and smiled. “He just brought me a cup of tea.”

The sheriff winked. “Talked you through his Christmas knitwear collection, dint he?”

Peter didn’t contradict him so the sheriff gently patted Teddy on the butt. “Skedaddle.”

“See you later,” said Teddy.

“Yes,” said Peter. “OK.”

The sheriff tugged on a couple of pulley strings next to his seat, making the blinds close. He waited until Teddy had shut the door behind him before dropping a folder with Peter’s name on it.

“You scored high in math and reading,” he said lifting the mug to his moustache. “Higher than the average for those born after. Tuition of our youngens has varied from park to park so it’s just good to know what any one person might need before final reintegration.”

Peter sat forward. “My dad taught me.”

“Tom?”

“Yes. Thomas Nordstrum.”

“Nice fella. And what did he do before?”

“He worked for a bunch of lumber firms.”

The sheriff turned the page, running his finger down the list of scores. “And it says you sew.”