Page 69 of Script Swap
“Maybe.”But then I said again, “I don’t know.”
“What’s wrong?”Bobby leaned back as though to get a better look at me.“I thought you’d be excited.”
“No, yeah, I am.I mean, thank you.It’s a good idea.”
“Okay,” Bobby said slowly.
“I wanted, you know, to go the traditional route.”Bobby didn’t say anything, and for some reason, I kept explaining.“It’s a little more…legitimate, I guess.In terms of a career.Like, there’s a little more quality control.And you work with professionals.”
“But you’d hire professionals,” Bobby said.“I mean, if you don’t want to crowdsource because that makes you uncomfortable, we can pay for all that stuff up front, hire people who are good.I’ve got some money saved.”
“Yeah, I don’t know.I mean, one of the old truisms about writing is that money should flow to the writer.You’re not supposed to pay people for, like, anything.”
That crease in Bobby’s forehead deepened.“But you’re hiring people.It’s a business.”
“I don’t think that’s for me.”
Bobby hesitated.And it looked like it cost him—maybe a lot—to say finally, “Okay, babe.”
“Thank you, though.”More words leaked out of me.“I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry.I want you to be happy.You know that, right?”
“I know.”
“I don’t care how you publish your books.You’ve been so down lately, and I thought—” Bobby shrugged.“It’s your career.Whatever you want to do.”
“Well, it’s not a career.”
Bobby let go of my foot.He put his hands on his knees.The wind died down, and now the sky started spitting rain—harsh little flurries of drops striking the windows.
“Itisa career, Dash,” Bobby said.“It’s your career.And you’ve worked so hard at it.Just because it hasn’t happened yet doesn’t mean it’s never going to happen.”
I wrestled down the voice inside me that wanted to keep quibbling, keep picking at this thing between us, keep—I recognized with distant revulsion—trying to get a fight going with Bobby.Somehow, I managed to nod.
“You know, Jess said you can talk to her grandma whenever you want.She said she’d be happy to help.”
I couldn’t help it.Couldn’t help the words slipping out.Couldn’t help how brittle they sounded.“She’d be happy to help.”
Bobby gave me another of those long, considering looks.As he stood, he chafed my leg, bent, and kissed the top of my head.“Think about it, babe.You’re so talented.I think this could be a great opportunity.Do you want something to eat?A drink?”
I shook my head.
He lingered a moment in the doorway.And then he left, the door closing behind him.
The rain came down harder.
I stared at my laptop.My mind had this white, fuzzed-out quality like when your eyes are dry and you’re staring at a lightbulb and you can’t stop because Keme dared you.
Okay.
I opened the laptop.
That happened.
And then I started to cry.Even worse, it happened in slow motion.My eyes prickled.Then they stung.And then they filled with tears.I tried blinking them away, but they kept coming, and then the first one slid down my cheek, hot and slick.They fell faster and faster.My nose clogged up, and I had to breathe through my mouth.I pulled up the hem of my T-shirt to wipe my face, but for some reason that made me cry harder.I had to be quiet; if I wasn’t quiet, Bobby would hear me, and he’d see me like this, and he’d know—
I couldn’t even finish that thought.
