Page 39 of Script Swap
“Oh.Um, I don’t know.I mean, Hemlock House is here.”
“Indira would take care of it.And Fox.And Keme and Millie are going to need a place to live.They’d take good care of it.”
“Right, but I don’t know.Our lives are here.”
“Our lives are wherever we are.”
“But you’ve got a job.And I’ve kind of got a job.I mean, I’ve got two-fifths of a job, if you want to be technical about a full-time teaching load.”
“I could do something different.”
I actually stopped walking.
Bobby took another step, glanced back, and said, as though explaining, “Something that makes more money.”
Because I honestly had zero idea how to respond to that, I said, “Our friends are here.”
“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be a big change.”
The conversation had caught me flatfooted—metaphorically and literally—and now my brain finally caught up and pointed out the question that Ishouldhave asked: “Doyouwant to move?”
“I don’t know.”And then: “Maybe.”
Down the hall, Fox was waving for us.
“Oh,” I finally managed to say.“Okay.”
That conversation definitely would have continued, except Fox called, “Hurry up!”
So, I started walking again.When we reached Fox, they swung open the door to backstage and ushered us through.
The first thing I saw was a young man with dark hair wearing an Xbox hoodie that I was ninety-nine percent sure I owned and myexact sameMexico 66s.(Also, his joggers looked super comfortable, like maybe even loungier than mine.)
Facing him, her brow furrowed with concentration, Pippi Parker was saying, “The big blue bug bit the big black bear and the big black bear bled blue blood.You love New York, you need New York, you know you love unique New York,” and the boy was repeating after her.
That was when I finally recognized him.It was Dylan, Pippi’s oldest son.Normally, he was a dishwater blond.Like all of Pippi’s children, he was painfully polite and well-mannered, not to mention obnoxiously friendly.(Can you tell I’m good with kids?)
“Dashiell!”Pippi screamed with excitement.
Poor Dylan jolted back, probably because he’d lost an eardrum.
“Isn’t he your spitting image?Come over here!Come here!Come right here and stand next to him!You look like twins!”
“We donotlook like twins” was apparently my strongest retort.And then I said, “My God, what did you do to his hair?”
“Isn’t it wonderful?It’s the exact same color as yours.”
“It looks like you used Magic Marker on it!”
“Although I have to say,” Pippi said in a cloyingly confidential aside—playing to the back, so to speak—“I think my Dylan is a touch more handsome.”
“Gee,” Dylan said.“Thanks, Mom!”
I couldn’t help my voice from rising in a quavery “Bobby!”
“Okay,” Bobby said, squeezing my arm.
Pippi, of course, was unfazed.“Scoot that little tush of yours over here.You’ve got perfect timing.You can help me coach Dylan—he was Kyson’s understudy.What an opportunity, right?”
