“You okay?” I asked, upon witnessing her arched back and awkward exit from thevehicle.
“Do I look allright?”
I froze, instantly understanding that she was setting a trap for me to tumble into. Any answer I gave would be thewrongone.
“Discombobulated,” I answered,hastily.
Her eyes narrowed in on me as her hands went to the spot where her hips used to be. “You can’t evoke the ‘safe word’ every time I ask you aquestion,Finn.”
“You said, and I quote, ‘Whenever I get to be a scary bitch, call out the safe word.’ And you, my friend, are teetering ontheedge.”
“Well, it’s a stupid safe word, if youaskme.”
In an effort to thwart her protest, I paused my hand in front of her face. “My safe word, mychoice.”
“My idea was waybetter.”
“No offense, Emma, but if I’m running for my life, I hardly thinkbutterscotchwillsaveit.”
“Indy!Indy!”
At least a dozen half-naked kids came rushing toward us. They were glistening in the sunlight, and something told me it wasn’t sweat. I caught sight of the slick substance on their chests and instantly pushed the crowds back before they could rub it off on Emma. As much as she was trying to be less phobic, Emma was still in the baby stages of recovery, and a group of slimy rugrats would be enough to set her backdecades.
“What is this?” I asked gesturing to theirsoiledskin.
“Oil,” a boy replied, without furtherexplanation.
My eyes narrowed in on several empty canola oil bottles lying in the dirt and abluetarp.
“A slip ‘n slide,” Nike said, confirming my suspicions. “I’ve been practicing my back handspring, Indy – watch.” He then tried his luck at one and landed firmly on hisbehind.
I helped him up. “Looking good. You’re gettingcloser.”
“I’m going to be a stuntman like Indy when I grow up,” he saidproudly.
“Aww, that’s so nice.” I ruffled his hair. “But you know, I stopped doing that. I’m actingagain.”
“Do you know what I want to be when I grow up?” another young boyasked.
“No. What?” Emma bent down to the boy’s level with a smile onherface.
“I want to be a professional nerf gunbuilder.”
“Oh, that’s….” She and I exchanged an amused glance. “Great. I’m not sure what you’d major in, butawesome.”
“I want to be a doctor,” onecalledout.
“I want to be apizzaman.”
Posy peered up at us with wide, innocent eyes then said proudly, “When I grow up, I want to be an adultactress.”
Emma and I both choked out alaugh.
“That’s great,” I said, “but, sweetie, next time someone asks you what you want to be when you grow up, just sayactress.”
Then trucks started rumbling down the driveway, carrying giant trash containers. Every little kid eye in the place quadrupled in size as three large bins were dropped off. Emerging from their dens, adults flooded into the driveway, squinting in the daylight sun. Shelby broke through the crowd and stomped overtome.
“What the hell’s wrong with you, Indiana-Jones?” Spit from her irate mouth flew at me from all different directions, and I ducked to stymie the flow. She stopped screaming at me the second she laid eyesonEmma.
