Page 61 of Thorne

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"Yes."

"How much faster?"

"Depends on how far you want to go."

A pause. "What's the fastest?"

I draw three circles on the paper. Inside each one, four dots. I push it through.

"What do you see?"

I hear her looking. "Three circles."

"What's inside them?"

"Four dots. In each one. So—three groups of four dots."

"If you had to add the dots the long way, what would you write?"

A pause. I hear pencil on paper. "Four plus four plus four."

"What's four plus four?"

"Eight."

"Plus four more."

She hops it. "Twelve."

"Multiplication is a shortcut for that." I tap the paper. "Instead of writing four plus four plus four, you write three times four. Three groups. Four in each. Same twelve."

A silence.

"So the dinosaur takes bigger jumps." I hear a soft gasp of understanding.

I stay still. Her intuition is staggering.

"Instead of hopping one rock," she continues, working it out, "he jumps four rocks at a time. And he does it three times."

"Yes." I smile in the darkness of the cell. "Exactly that."

"Multiplication is big-dinosaur math."

"Yes."

The sneakers shuffle with restless energy. "I want to do big-dinosaur math."

"You just did."

A pause while she processes this. Then, slowly: "Oh."

The jazz from the grandfather's radio cuts out. I'm on my feet before the last note finishes.

"Lily. You need to go. Right now."

"But I …"

"Quietly and right now."

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