OCR Text |
Show 67 need to decide on a story line right away or we'll have to give up on this TV project." "Okay." She thanked him kindly and hung up. Parker looked at the mouthpiece, feeling somehow incomplete, then returned to his breakfast. His egg was cold. "What'd she want, Son?" His father folded the front section and laid it on the chair that used to be Kim's place at the table. "I'm supposed to open the room for her." "Hmmmm." He lifted the sports page. What did it mean, "hmmmm"? Never mind. Another memorable exchange had just taken place between father and son. Chalk it up: Monday morning, 6:45 A.M. His mom, on the other hand, was six paragraphs into conversation by the time Parker finished his toast. Some day, he vowed, realizing his father's silences were defensive in part, I'm going to court just to listen to my old man talk. b1, dbl* In room 112, Parker discovered right off that nobody there wanted space to talk either, at least not about the TV script. "We can't agree, anyway," Debbie brushed him aside. "Wait 'til Simpson gets here," Tiffany sat at her desk and began working over her nails with an emery board. "I get a manicure next!" Eccles leaned over her shoulder. She stuck her tongue out at him. Parker shrugged. It was no skin off his nose. She said to tell them. He told them. He opened his notebook to his half-finished chemistry assignment and stared gloomily at the page of bonding symbols. Maybe he'd take up sheepherding instead of meteorology. Or ranching. He'd seen a good documentary on ranching once. He forced himself to open his chemistry book. "Here comes ol* dynamite," Derek whispered to Tiffany. "I dare you!" she whispered back, her face close to Derek's, her eyes wicked. Parker observed the conspiracy taking place two seats ahead of him, aware also that Dyna had already entered the room. Out of the corner of his eye he saw her wave hi to Lisa, then continue on toward her own desk |