The cursor blinks between Tonight 7 pm and Tomorrow after 10. Jace lets the day answer for him.
Jace:Tomorrow after 10 is better. Same terms. Rails + Q&A.Mara: locked—C109, 11:00–12:00 tomorrow. Can you send a 1-page handout by 09:30?Jace: Yes. I'll deliver 09:30.
He sets the phone face down like you set a glass: careful, not precious.
"Tomorrow," Max says, pleased. "Look at us pretending to be grown."
"We are grown," Jace says. "We just label it."
They drift toward dining with the air of men who have decided to like food again. The swipe at the turnstile is a small ceremony that requires no magic: meal plan takes it, the gate blinks green, and the world says enter. The line is modest; the trays are institutional; the steam tables glisten like they're proud of something.
Max builds a plate like a DJ—protein, color, something crunchy. Jace picks into simple: grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, rice that tastes like the idea of rice. He grabs two waters because hydration is rails for bodies.
Window table. The glass shows a campus that's practicing blue between bouts of rain. Jace opens his notebook and writes Budget Bootcamp — 60 min (C109) at the top, then numbers down the margin:
Rails before luck.— Define rails (time, variety, public space, transfer-only).— Cap thinking: "how floors keep ceilings honest."
Spend ladders without heat.— Variety (register, time, category).— No re-entry when advised; how to cool patterns.
Receipts & labels.— "Paper before mouth."— How to build a ledger you actually look at (tape flags, folder logic).
Income cleanly.— "Transfer only" peer deals; tutoring blocks; campus gigs.— Say no to cash, favors, IOUs.
Q&A.— Five-minute guardrail answers.— Handout: TRAP SHEET (Money) analog to the math one.
He boxes Handout by 09:30 and draws a tiny checkbox next to it, empty for now on purpose.
Max watches him write with the same love people reserve for cooks. "Do we get to put constants in jail for money?" he asks.
"Fees," Jace says. "We cage fees."
His phone hums, polite. Maya, photo of a graded page that looks like it just got told it's enough.
Maya:87. they tried to kill me with ∫ x cos x, i killed it first. your little jail saved a point. coffee owed.Jace: Proud of rails. Coffee tomorrow after 10; I have a talk at 11.Maya: i'll clap in the hallway like a feral stage mom.
Jace grins without showing teeth and tucks the phone beside the notebook.
Another ping: marketplace glow.
Marco: monitor $329 today? i can do $330 transfer.Jace:Tomorrow afternoon. No re-entry today.Marco: ok. after 3?
Jace pins Marco — 3:30 on his planner margin without turning it into a promise in his mouth.
Max spears a vegetable like it owes him money. "So if tomorrow is C109 at 11, store window is either before or after."
"Before means fewer crowds, more policy attention," Jace says. "After means warmer clerks, LP nap, but more foot traffic."
"Both mean visible hands," Max says, palm up like a sermon.
They eat like men who understand the afternoons that come from food. Jace drinks water like a taxpayer. He doesn't chase the totals in his head; he lets the cap numbers sit in the corner like polite furniture.
His phone buzzes again—Taj, square and to the point.
Taj: memo tweak: ID logging goes live tomorrow morning (corporate decided not to wait a week). same rails. Over $1,000 cumulative/day → log ID. Manager eyeball ≥ $1,000 single still. i'll be on 2–10. Sandra opens. Tip: if you must do a neat thing, either 10:45 (before lunch), or 4:30 (post-lunch, pre-commute). Register variety helps.
Jace taps copy and feels the plan rearrange itself a centimeter to the left. He flips to a clean half-page and writes Tomorrow. Under it, two columns:
EARLY (10:45)— Quiet floor.— Sandra on; fair eyes.— ID log happens; bring ID; accept the paper.— Risk: right before talk; if attention, clock squeeze.
LATE (4:30)— Post-lunch lull; Priya/Kenny rotation.— LP coffee tired.— ID log still; less bored clerks.— Risk: foot traffic returns; more witnesses.
He prints visible hands under both because some words want to be tattoos.
Max points with his fork. "If we go early, we wear our best 'we are boring' faces, then you give a talk about being boring and get clapped for it."
"Accurate," Jace says.
"If we go late, we nap in between, then stroll in like people who have opinions about sunsets, and we buy a pack of screws with our $13 to retire the envelope like a war hero."
"Also accurate," Jace says. He adds retire $13 with screws under LATE, then writes or keep $13 for receipt art under EARLY to be honest with his own weird.
His phone hiccups again—Sandra:
Sandra: ID log live tomorrow open. Not a big deal. Tell neat friends to bring ID and not make speeches. If you're early, I'll put 'calm' on your clip; if you're late, Priya will.Jace: Copy. Choosing window now. Good exit today.
He closes the notebook for three bites to see if the world changes when you stop writing lists. It doesn't; it just gets quieter.
Max finishes his plate with the poise of a man who will never be ashamed of starch. "I vote late," he says. "We honor no re-entry, we nap, we talk pretty at 11, we keep the afternoon for Money and bodega fruit."
"Early stacks confidence," Jace says. "Late stacks rest."
"Rest is money," Max says, sage-wrapping a napkin around a truth.
Jace opens the notebook again because pens are how he breathes and prints Bootcamp handout—09:30 with a tiny checkbox next to it and outline underlined twice. He writes TRAP SHEET (Money) on a fresh quarter-page and drafts:
Cash:no.
Transfers:yes (names match).
Receipts: photograph + file + label.
Variety: time/register/category.
Cool-down: the discipline that pays you twice.
End recommended: when the night says stop, stop.
He doesn't ink it in black yet. He lets the pencil be the promise.
They bus the trays because the back end of a building deserves the grace the front gets. The door pushes them out into a campus that has changed its mind about rain again. Drops stipple the stone. Umbrellas bloom like slow fireworks.
"Pick," Max says, lifting his face to the weather like a challenge. "Early or late."
Jace turns the pen in his fingers and feels the groove it has made over days of saying no to ideas that don't belong. The pen is the yes he chooses.
He pulls the envelope from his inner pocket just enough to see NO RE-ENTRY and tucks it again like a superstition that works because you decided it did. He thumbs a line under EARLY (10:45) and another under LATE (4:30) until both underline themselves.
He hovers the pen over the one that will be the day.
Rain dots the page. The ink hasn't met the choice yet.
His hand waits.