Page 4 of Changing the Play

He clears his throat a couple of times, his eyes darting around. The tap, tap, tap of his pencil is driving me freaking insane. “People were mad.”

I blink at him. People… were… mad…

People were mad.

I’m not getting paid enough for this.

I smile. “Right. About what?”

The tapping stops.Finally.“Uh—taxes?”

“Good. That’s good. The common people were overtaxed, but the nobility and clergy weren’t taxed at all. This caused problems.”

He nods, twirling his pencil around his fingers. It falls, clattering to the floor, and he picks it up. And back to the tapping we go. It’s fine. Really. He’s probably not doing it on purpose. Hopefully. “Okay. And what else?” I prompt.

“Food,” he says, though it comes out as more of a question. Hey, we’re getting somewhere, though. Bonus.

“Right. Bread, especially. It was a staple for many common people, so when the prices rose, they couldn’t afford it anymore. Okay, look at it like this. Gas.”

He cocks his head sideways. “Gas?”

“Yeah. It’s something that we all need, right? To get around, to work, to get goods from place to place.”

He nods, sitting up a little straighter. “I’m following.”

“So a major part of our economy is our gas prices. If they are too high for people to get to work, for trucks to deliver basic supplies, and for kids to get to school, how do you think people would react?”

“They’d be pissed.”

“Exactly,” I say, smiling at him. “Now imagine the people are complaining to the government and the government does nothing. People would start demanding change. It’s like that. Only instead of gas, it’s bread. And instead of being mad, it’s a revolution.”

He nods, scribbling something in his notebook. I look over and see he’s written gas equals bread. “Okay. I think I get it.”

“It was more than just bread, though. It was about survival. Is this making sense?”

He nods, a massive grin lighting up his face. “Yeah, I think it is. Like they were messing with people’s basic needs. That’s enough to make anyone crazy.”

Hallelujah.“Yes. Exactly. So now that you’ve got the principle, let’s go back and fill in the details.”

He groans, slumping in his seat. “More details?”

I can’t help but laugh. “That’s history, I fear. A long list of details.” I glance at my phone. “We only have fifteen more minutes. Do you think you can hang in there that long?”

He rolls his eyes, but it’s playful. “Yeah, I guess.”

I look out the window of the coffee shop, waiting for Parker to show up. They’re always a little late, and, unlike when I’m tutoring, I don’t mind. I think I’d be a little sad if they weren’t coming in somewhere late, paint smeared across their face.

Like my thoughts alone summon them, the door swings open and Park comes barrelling in. I grin when I realize I was right. Paint everywhere. “Hey! Sorry I’m late. I know you hate that.”

I shake my head with a laugh. “It’s fine. You know you’re the exception to my rule.”

They slump in the seat across from me. “God, this has been a day.”

I can tell. On closer inspection, there’s pink and red paint splattered through their hair, some on their lashes, and on the tip of their nose. “So,” I say through a laugh. “What’s… all this?” I wave my hand around like it can somehow encompass all the crazy Parker is covered in.

“A new project,” they say with a smug expression.

“Wow, really. I never would have guessed.”

---