Dayton: The Junior Guardian Chronicles: Episode 60

By the time they drifted toward the front of the store, Little Mart had shifted into its late afternoon mood. The rush was thinning. The music got louder by default. The air smelled like sanitizer, citrus, and whatever artificial “cozy” note corporate thought meant safe.

They cut through Little Electronics on the way to checkout, and Kinsley’s whole body changed.

Not in a cute way. In a locked in way.

Her shoulders lifted. Her eyes sharpened. Her head tilted as she took inventory like she was scouting a field.

A habitat roomba rolled lazily in a demonstration pen, bumping a wall and correcting itself with quiet persistence. Little TVs played the same looping ad, a smiling Guardian and a smiling Little laughing on a couch that looked suspiciously like a staged showroom couch. A rack of controllers hung in bright colors, each packaged like candy. A tiny phone blinked on a pedestal. The display card read:

LittleCall Mini: Guardian-approved contacts only. Geo-ping. SOS chirp. Uses guardians phone for calls.

Kinsley stared at it like it was a personal insult.

“Dad,” she said, instantly and dramatically pointing at a Little sized gaming laptop in a glass case. “Please.”

Mr. Myers didn’t even break his stride. “We just got you the controller that works with the Nintendo Switch 2 that we just bought you girls.”

Kinsley’s face scrunched up. “Yeah, but I need Nicole or Dayton to use it with me or at least turn it on. This is something I could turn on in my habitat and play by myself.”

Nicole didn’t look up from the cart, but her mouth did that thing it always did when she wanted to laugh and wanted to pretend she wasn’t going to. “She means, ‘I want a device that removes my only remaining obstacle, which is human hands.’”

Kinsley shot her a look. “You’re so rude for somebody whose job is literally to be my Guardian.”

Mr. Myers sighed the way dads sighed when they’d had the same argument with the same kid a thousand times, only now the kid happened to be six inches tall and the argument happened in public.

“You also have the tablet we bought you a few months ago,” he said.

Kinsley’s eyes widened like he’d accused her of treason. “That’s for school. I needed that to study for the LSAT.”

“You are barely tall enough to see over a cereal bowl,” Nicole said, and finally cracked. “You are not taking the LSAT for years.”

Kinsley’s stare sharpened. “As your Little, you should be prioritizing my needs before your own.”

Nicole’s laugh escaped, quick and disbelieving. “That sentence is insane. We’re the same age.”

Kinsley leaned back against the cart basket like she was fainting on purpose. “I’m out here neglected. Practically wasting away. I live without s’mores pellets. I live without personal electronics. I live in a world that refuses to consider my suffering.”

Dayton, walking on the other side of the cart, sipped her lemonade and added, deadpan, “Don’t forget about the little cokes.”

Kinsley’s eyes lit up. “Thank you, Day. See? She gets it.”

Nicole turned her head slowly. “Whose side are you on.”

Dayton shrugged, innocent. “I’m on the side of peace.”

“You spilled the last little coke,” Nicole said, and nudged Dayton’s shoulder with hers. “So your loyalty is fake.”

“It was an accident,” Dayton said quickly.

“It was a tragedy,” Kinsley corrected, solemn.

Mr. Myers muttered, “I’m surrounded by drama queens,” and then immediately, reflexively, adjusted his grip on the cart so Kinsley could lean safely without wobbling. He did it without thinking. That was the thing. He’d absorbed the new physics of his daughter’s body like it was a language he’d always known.

They reached checkout.

Dayton stepped in and started unloading with that Guardian clipboard energy when she wanted to be thorough. Boxes of pellets. Bedding. A vented travel case. A tablet stand. Some tiny hygiene supplies, and a little tablet

Watching the pile grow made Dayton’s stomach tighten.

She’d built her allowance up for months. Babysitting. Dog walking. The humiliating little chores where her mom pretended it was about “responsibility” and not helping her earn extra money.

She didn’t want to ask for help.

Not because her mom wouldn’t. Dayton’s mom would move mountains for her. But Dayton could already hear the sentence that would follow the money.

Then we need to talk about what you can realistically manage.

And Dayton didn’t want “realistic.” She wanted controlled. She wanted capable.

She wanted to look the day in the face, the day the SEA walked into her classroom like it was a war zone, and not feel like she’d borrowed adulthood she couldn’t pay back.

“Oh, here,” Dayton said, and slid a card across the counter. “Discount card.”

The clerk was young. Nervous. Her name tag said CRYSTAL and her hands hovered over the scanner like she was afraid the items might bite.

“I didn’t know we had discount cards,” Crystal said, blinking at it. “Just a second.”

She called over a manager.

Elton the manager approached with the soft urgency of someone who’d learned through years of experience how to be calm while fixing problems. He had a Little Mart polo, a tablet in his hand, and the relaxed posture of someone who knew every camera angle in the store.

Like all LIttle Mart employees they went through the same screening that all generitech employees go through. They screened and scrutinized to ensure not that they have skills needed although that helps. But to ensure they are good people, aligned with generitech values and beliefs. That they are hard working and willing to learn. As those are the only traits that really matter to Generitech. They can teach skills and get people certifications and degrees if needed but they cant teach loyalty, or hard work, or a beliefs about littles.

He glanced at the card, then at Dayton, then did a double take.

Crystal started scanning.

The prices popped up on the screen and immediately looked… wrong.

Not “sale” wrong. Not “coupon” wrong.

Cost wrong.

Elton leaned in. His face shifted into professional alarm, then recognition, then surprise.

Then he looked up fully and his whole expression changed.

“Dayton,” he said, like he couldn’t believe he hadn’t clocked her sooner. “I’m so sorry. It’s been busy today.”

Dayton’s mouth twitched. “Hi, Elton.”

He gave Crystal a quick, gentle nod. “Crystal, this is Dayton Harris. She’s… basically a friend of the store. She’s friend of Chloe Gracewood and she’s Sarandipity’s sister..”

Mr. Myers’s mouth actually opened in that way of surprise every time he heard Dayton spoke about like this.

Elton kept going, warm now, pleased. “You must have finally gotten your Little.”

Dayton’s chest tightened. She didn’t show it, but it hit anyway.

“Yeah,” she said. “He’s at home. It was a really… intense day.”

Elton’s face softened. “I saw the news. I wondered if it was connected to your claim.”

Nicole’s expression flickered quick. The news. Like this wasn’t just their day, their hallway, their class. Like it was a headline now.

Dayton lifted her chin a hair. “He’s safe.”

Elton nodded like that mattered. “Good. Do you need a lemonade for the road?”

Kinsley’s head snapped up so fast it was almost comical. “I’d like a little lemonade for the road.”

Nicole and Mr. Myers both turned toward her at the same time.

Kinsley didn’t flinch. She just looked back sweetly, weaponized innocence.

Elton chuckled. “Of course. We can do that.”

Dayton cleared her throat, suddenly aware she’d been rude by default. “Sorry. Elton, this is Nicole Myers. And Kinsley Myers. My best friends and their dad.”

Nicole offered a small wave, still trying to process the fact that Dayton apparently walked into Little Mart and got concierge drinks like she owned stock.

Mr. Myers stepped forward and extended his hand. “William Robert Myers. Nice to meet you.”

Elton shook it firmly. “Pleasure. And friends of Dayton are friends of the store.”

Then, casually, as if he were complimenting Dayton’s shoes, he said, “She’s a good kid. She comes in on Sundays and volunteers in intake. Helps settle new Littles when they arrive. It can be a lot for them.”

Nicole spun to Dayton. “What.”

Dayton’s cheeks flushed. “It’s not a big deal.”

“You volunteer on intake Sundays,” Nicole repeated, like she was testing whether the words were real.

Dayton shrugged, too fast. “I don’t brag about it. It’s just something I do.”

Kinsley stared at Dayton a long second, quiet. Not teasing. Not joking.

Then she said, softly, “That actually is a big deal.”

Dayton’s throat bobbed. She swallowed and looked away, like she didn’t want the moment to land.

Nicole recovered first, of course, because Nicole always did. “Is this why you’re ‘busy’ every Sunday,” she said, eyes narrowed. “You little liar.”

Dayton shot her a look. “I’m not a liar.”

“You are a liar,” Nicole said, delighted now. “A charitable liar.”

Elton smiled like he’d just watched a friendship do what it was supposed to do. “If you ever want to come, Nicole, we can arrange it properly.”

Nicole’s eyes lit up. “Yes.”

Dayton blinked. “Actually?”

Nicole nodded hard. “Yes.”

Mr. Myers looked between them, then sighed like he’d already accepted this was happening. “Of course you want to volunteer at the Little store.”

Kinsley muttered, “They have lemonade.”

Elton laughed. “I’ll let the team know to expect you.”

Crystal finished scanning, eyes wide as the total settled.

“Okay,” Crystal said, reading the screen like it was personally offending her sense of math. “Two hundred eighty dollars and fifty-nine cents.”

Kinsley leaned forward, outraged. “You bought a whole tablet setup and a bunch of stuff and it’s only $280.00?”

Dayton kept her face neutral, but the relief inside her was sharp. She could do this. She could keep her allowance intact enough to not look like she’d overreached.

Nicole slid Kinsley’s s’mores pellets onto the counter. “Add this.”

Dayton handed the discount card again. Crystal scanned.

The screen changed.

Crystal blinked, then blinked again. “That will be… seventy-eight cents.”

Kinsley’s eyes widened in genuine awe. “Dad.”

Mr. Myers didn’t even look at her. “No.”

“Dad.”

“No.”

Kinsley pivoted to Nicole. “Nicole.”

Nicole stared down at her. “Do not.”

“I’m just saying,” Kinsley said, voice suddenly silky, “this is financially irresponsible not to take advantage of this.”

Nicole put a dollar on the counter. “You are not being a big back, Kins.”

Kinsley gasped like she’d been stabbed. “Excuse me.”

Nicole leaned in, smiling like a shark. “But we are shopping with Dayton from now on.”

Dayton snorted. “That’s what you got from this.”

Kinsley smiled sweetly. “That’s what I got from this.”

Mr. Myers pinched the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to age ten years.”

Elton waved a hand. “We’ll have the little lemonade brought up.”

Dayton tucked the receipt into her pocket, watching the bags stack up, watching the reality of this settle into objects.

This wasn’t a concept anymore.

This was Ezra’s food. Ezra’s bedding. Ezra’s life, packaged in branded paper bags and a hard-shell carrier like it was normal.

And she was the one paying.

She was the one choosing.

She was the one responsible.

Dayton lifted the bags with both hands.

Nicole took the cart.

Mr. Myers took the heavier load like it was nothing.

Kinsley sat in the child-seat of the cart like a tiny queen being chauffeured through a kingdom that had been designed for her as she sipped on a lemonade.

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