Rules for Moving (ARC)
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dren are demanding a sketch pad now. That it was out
of control and it has to stop.”
“That must have made Henry very upset.”
“More resigned than upset.”
He took that in. “Okay. The good news here? Henry’s
been using his drawing to communicate. You should
encourage that however you can. Make sure there’s al-
ways paper and art supplies available. Make sure he has
access to a space at home where he can draw whenever he
wants. And remember what I told you: it doesn’t matter
what he draws. Ask to see his drawings but don’t insist.
If he shows them to you, admire them no matter what.
You can always ask questions and be curious. But never
be critical. Prepare yourself to love the drawings equally, no matter what. This is nothing new. This is all about
following his lead. Sound like something you can do?”
“Of course.” She waited and then asked the question
on her mind. “So that’s the good news. What’s the bad
news?”
“How much time does he have left in the school year?”
“A few weeks.”
“Okay. Here’s what I recommend. Call the school and
tell them you need to take Henry out for the remaining
weeks of the term. Tell them you’re going to homeschool
him. Personal reasons, if they ask. None of their business, if they press. There’ll be paperwork to fill out. Packets for 248
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him to do. There’s a procedure is what I’m saying. They
won’t have to invent this.”
Lane was confused. “Homeschooling? For three weeks?
Why?”
“Structure is important for Henry. But it isn’t worth
destroying him. A teacher who takes away his notebook
like that—without discussing it with you—that’s dangerous
to his well-being. If it were earlier in the school year, I’d say get him into another class. I would help you navigate
it. But for three weeks? That kind of change isn’t worth
it. Best thing for him is to get him out of that class. Get him out as fast as you can.”
249
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Two seconds into the Live-Chat and already Lane was
burning up, boiling-hot mad. Roxie’s first ever online
Live-Chat Wednesday was turning out to be exactly
what she’d feared, the disaster she’d imagined from the
moment Bert said it was a green-light nonnegotiable go.
“A hot green go,” were his exact words. “No opt-
out option. Don’t worry,” he’d added. “It’s going to be
great. Have fun with it, Lane-Roxie-Lane. Summer will
be a clickety click away. She’s going to make it as easy as taking a bath.”
A cold bath, maybe. Within the first two seconds she
knew it wasn’t working because within the first two sec-
onds Summer had revised her intro so that now it sounded
nothing like Roxie. At least not Lane’s version of Roxie.
The voice was wrong. The first word was wrong. Guys!
All the words were wrong. Guys! It’s finally here! Roxie’s First Ever and Most Awesome Live-Chat!
It got worse. Guys! I’m Not Kidding! We’re Doing
it! Right Now! For a whole hour! I’m here just hanging out and waiting for whatever you got! This is it, guys! Ask Me Anything!
If Lane were to ask a question herself it would be,
Who are you and what have you done with Roxie?
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And where was the first question? Nothing was coming
in. Nothing! What would happen if one of Bert’s coveted
Guild-Plus subscribers logged in now and saw nothing?
Not a single question. This was a disaster.
Okay. She knew what she had to do. She had to give
up on her Eeze boycott and reach out to Summer. It
took a couple of tries before she logged on and was able
to send Summer a message. It was the first message Lane
had ever written in all caps.
WHY ARE THERE NO LETTERS?
Zoop. As if a reader had heard her complaint, a letter
arrived.
Hey Roxie!
This is so cool! I do kinda feel like we’re hanging
out together.
So, here’s my question: Paper or plastic?
LOL! Just kidding! My question is actually serious.
I mean, like, super serious. Like the most serious possible. My question is: do you have any tips for how I should tell my mom I’m pregnant? And before you
get all, how old are you? I’m old enough. I’m nineteen. Which is old enough! Except not to my mom.
Who is going to freak. Because I’ve always been a
total Goody TwoShoes. I’m sure she’s sure I’m a
virgin.
Before you ask, yes, the father of the baby knows
and, no, he’s not interested in having anything to do
with it. But no biggie. He’s not that great. I mean he
was great for one night but not for, like, an entire life.
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I’m not just saying that either. I’m super excited to
do this on my own. I’ve never done anything on my
own. I don’t have any regrets. I’m totally psyched. I’m
going to be the coolest mom ever. So much cooler
than my mom. Who I’m scared to tell. Because she’s
going hate me. She’s irritating beyond description,
but I love her. I don’t want her to hate me.
Easy one, right? LOL! Any tips?
Yours,
Baby Bump
Exhibit A. The perfect example of why a Live-Chat
was a terrible idea. What was she supposed to tell this
person who sounded like she was twelve? What if she was
twelve? What if this was a joke? It was a joke. A joke on
Roxie. And on Lane. Because she agreed to this. Roxie
was live. Okay. She took a breath and typed.
Dear Baby Bump,
That was a start. Now what? She knew what she
wanted to say. She wanted to say:
Dear Baby Bump, Are you out of your mind? Do
you understand that once you have a child you will
need to put that child’s wellbeing above everything else for the rest of your life?
Or she could take the alternate route and say:
Dear Baby Bump, Are you kidding me? Is this some
kind a practical joke?
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Or she could cut to the chase and straight-out ask:
Dear Baby Bump, What year were you born?
She didn’t write any of that. She sat with her fingers
hovering above the keyboard until—what was happening?
The cursor started move, She watched as her comma was
deleted and an exclamation mark arrived. Two exclama-
tion marks. Three.
Dear Baby Bump!!!
What was happening? She’d agreed to Bert’s sugges-
tion that the Live-Chat would be on a one-minute delay
but the way Bert explained, it was for her benefit only. A safety valve so that if she got stuck—really stuck—Summer
would rescue her. The delay was not put in place so that
Summer could insert words and punctuation marks that
made her sound like a teenager.
Roxie would never say, Dear Baby Bump!!!
She clicked on Eeze again and typed a second message
to Summer. I am DELETING
all exclamation points. Do
Not Add Any More.
She eliminated the exclamation points and proceeded
to type.
Dear Baby Bump,
Congratulations! Having a child is one of the most
wondrous experiences in the world and I’m with
you all the way.
Ugh. Wondrous experience? With you all the way? Delete, delete, delete. She started again.
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Dear Baby Bump,
Congratulations! What great news! I’m so happy
for you! Being a mother is a privilege and an honor
and it sounds like you are clearly all aboard.
All aboard? What was she, a train conductor? Delete, delete, delete.
Dear Baby Bump,
Congratulations!
And … what? She had nothing. Nothing. She rubbed
her hands together and blew on them like she was about
to toss out a pair of lucky dice. But she had no dice and
she had no luck.
Okay, if she were answering this letter not in real time, what would she say? Nothing. Because she would never
choose this letter. It was a giant pothole, a sinkhole, of a letter.
Okay, if Bert forced her to answer this letter— not
in real time—if Bert said, You must answer this letter or you’re fired, what would she do? She’d call on her resources. She’d talk it through with a psychologist and a
social worker. She’d do a little digging into the issues a nineteen-year-old would face raising a baby alone in the
year 2017.
But on the spot? What could she responsibly tell this
young woman, who in her gut she still suspected might
be twelve years old? Either way, twelve or nineteen, she
sounded clueless.
Honestly, the letter raised more questions the longer
she thought about it. How pregnant was she? Had she
gotten any prenatal care? Could Lane ask? She had to ask.
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Dear Baby Bump,
Congratulations! I’m so happy for you. I’m curious,
though. Do you live with your parents or do you live
on your own? Are you working or still in school?
What’s your financial situation? Have you been to
the doctor yet?
No. Not right. Wrong tone. Delete. Delete. Delete.
Dear Baby Bump,
Congratulations!
Delete.
Dear Baby Bump,
Congratulations!
Delete.
She had nothing. This was exactly what she’d feared.
Roxie Live was like Lane Live. She had no idea what to say. Her mind was blank. It wasn’t that she wasn’t trying.
She was trying hard—trying to find the right words and
to say the right thing. But her mind was not cooperating.
It was as if her mind had gone on strike.
Henry. This sounded exactly like how Henry de-
scribed what happened when he wanted to talk and his
mouth wouldn’t cooperate. It was as if his mouth was on strike. Here, now, it was the same with her. She wanted to think, but her mind wouldn’t cooperate.
That wasn’t exactly true. She could still think. She
could think about Henry. She could always think about
Henry. What she couldn’t think about was an answer for
this Roxie letter.
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Okay. Focus. The letter. The letter was about …
What? A baby. A woman, a girl, was having a baby. A
girl who was afraid to tell her mom she was going to
have a baby. Okay. Roxie should advise the girl that …
Nothing. Blank.
Her mind went blank at the worst times. She’d been
like this for as long as she could remember. Maybe she’d
always been like this. No. Not always. It was only since—
blank. The thought was gone. What was left was blank.
She seemed to have no control of her mind at all. Did
other people ever feel like this? She’d never met anyone
who admitted they did.
Something on the screen caught her eye. The cur-
sor was moving again. How long had that been going
on? Words were appearing. Streams of words. Sentences
forming on the screen. But her hands were not moving.
These were not her words.
Dear Baby Bump!
Congratulations!!! You are going to be an awesome
mom! I mean, look how super concerned you are
about finding the perfect way to tell your mom
about your baby! Too bad there’s no such thing as a
Pregposal! Like a Promposal but for pregnancy?
Wouldn’t that be awesome? Maybe you should do
that. You could get all your friends together and
they could help you figure out a really fun way to
tell your mom you’re pregnant and then they could
film it while you did it and you’d have it forever!
How awesome would that be?
Lane stared at her hands. Still not moving. She stared
at the screen. Words still coming.
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If you don’t want to go with the Pregposal idea,
that’s cool. You can always sit your mom down with
a big glass of vodka and say, Congrats Granny!!!
Roxie would never say that. No one would ever say
that. A Preg-posal was a ridiculous idea that sounded like something a high school student would come up with.
Was Summer in high school? Had a high school intern
taken over her Live-Chat?
Just make sure she’s sitting down when you tell her
so she doesn’t faint. LOL!
Never ever would Lane write LOL. Her eyes skipped
to the top of her screen. Eeze messages were floating by.
Summer: Are you there? Are you there? Are you there?
Bert: Take it over, Summer. You’re on. Right now. Go.
Summer: Awesome!!!
Having a mind that went blank under pressure was
the exact opposite of awesome. It was an incontrovertible
truth: her mind went blank when she needed it most and
had done so for as long as she could remember.
Her mother used to tell her it was for the best. “Nothing
to be gained from ruminating,” Sylvie said.
Why had her mother said that? What did she have to
ruminate about then?
She stared at the screen. It was too late to save the
chat. The one-minute delay was ten minutes too short.
She shut her laptop, went to the kitchen and made herself
a cup of tea. As she drank it she let her mind go as blank as the screen on a dead computer.
257
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Lane made the proposal over the phone. The principal
immediately agreed. “I totally understand,” Miss Oppido
said. “I want what’s best for Henry too. There’s three
weeks left to the term. We’ll call it an independent study.”
Lane kept her tone neutral. “What is an independent
study for a first grader?”
“Packets,” Miss Oppido said, as Doctor Bruce had
predicted. “Miss Fiske will put some together. Worksheets.
Mostly review. There is a year-end culminating activity
he’ll miss. But I don’t imagine that will be a problem. He’s a bright boy. He’s ready for second grade. You’ll need to
fill out some forms. Arlene will call you when she’s got
everything r
eady.”
The school situation settled, Lane turned her atten-
tion to the parade of contractors marching through the
house. This was the week repairs had begun in earnest.
Workers had fanned out, measuring doorways, opening
walls, threading wires, laying pipes. There were so many
contractors coming in and out, Henry stopped bothering
to run upstairs every time the bell rang. Or maybe, Lane
thought, he stopped running because he was already feel-
ing less anxious, now that he knew he could complete
the rest of the school term at home.
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With Henry less anxious, Lane felt lighter too. Now
she was able to laugh with the workers who, having over-
heard that she was looking for a new place to live, were
making a game of offering suggestions. The electrician
said she should move to Lake George. The plumber’s
assistant advocated for Hawaii, the dry side of the Big
Island. If she moved there, he told her, he’d be happy to
come fix her plumbing for free in exchange for a room.
Nathan had come along with the army of contrac-
tors. She assumed he was there in the capacity of general
contractor until an actual general contractor showed up.
Later, when she overheard him telling the man replacing
the window sensors for the new alarm system to check
with him first, before going into a room where the boy
was, she wondered if that was why he’d come—to run
interference between the subcontractors and Henry.
His daily offerings were what made her finally un-
derstand, he was coming because he wanted to make
amends. He took it personally that the house was in dis-
repair, despite every worker assuring him no one could
have known what was happening behind the walls. He
came anyway, with prepared food on the day the water
was turned off, with flowers on the day the house smelled
of wet plaster.
She tried to make him understand that she didn’t
blame him for the failings of the old house. She assured
him working in the middle of chaos was not a problem
for her; she had a highly honed ability to tune things out.
What she didn’t admit—what she was embarrassed to even
think about—was that she had come to look forward to
his visits. On the one day he didn’t come by—because
he had to work—she felt the sting of disappointment.
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