“You have my lunchbox.” “Nooo,” the young, freckle-faced one said. “It’s not your lunchbox. It’s first come, first served. I got here first.” His hands clutched the lunchbox, the whites of his knuckles evident. “No. Dad told me I could have that lunchbox,” the tall one responded in an “I’m-trying-really-hard-to-control-myself” voice. His eyes widened. Tension…