Page 23 of In What World

There’s a lot to unpack in what he’s said, but the Utah of it all takes top priority. If he’s making some kind of sideways joke, I’m struggling to figure it out. Does my hair look like the Utah TikTok moms who are always getting extensions? I feel mine are tastefully done, but perhaps I’ve lost my ability to discern an appropriate amount of extra hair? The dark red dye I’ve got going on has an undeniably artificial quality to it, but it doesn’t scream Utah to me. Maybe it’s the leopard print coat? Do women in Utah like leopard print?

Marlowe’s earlier warning for me to hide was—to put it mildly—pointless. These teenagers would be more interested in watching paint dry than they are to see me here in person.

“Hello!” I say enthusiastically. It’s not the first time I’ve walked out to a freezing-cold reception, and it won’t be the last. Dallas going missing for a day must have sucked the air out of the excitement they had for me when I announced their show back in December. “I came a little early for your final dress!”

One kid puts the final nail in the coffin of my hopes by saying a low, scathing “Cool,” eliciting snickers from her friends, who are all sharing a bag of hot chips covered in what looks like nacho cheese. My stomach gives a sympathetic gurgle as I think of the days I subsisted on nothing more than three stolen fries from my friends’ lunch plates and a packet of M&M’s from the vending machine. The resilient digestive system of a high schooler is the eighth wonder of this world.

“Forgive them,” Dallas tells me in a conspiratorial whisper. “They’re still heathens. I’m sure you remember what being a teen was like. Especially the two of you. Lord, the way you used to fight. They should’ve stuck a camera in here and filmed you for reality television.”

“We sure had our moments.” My skin starts to itch underneath my coat, which is way too thick for May. It was supposed to be a power move—power in what?I ask myself—now it’s only heavy and hot and wrong. I move through my rising discomfort, offering Dallas a shoulder nudge and a “What on earth have you been up to the last few days?”

“Whew,” Dallas says in his favorite world-weary way. “Whathaven’tI been doing?”

He looks back at Marlowe. She’s got her arms glued to her sides now, like one of those memes about little kids who throw up in the middle of the night and stand waiting at the edge of their parents’ bed to tell them the bad news. I’d love it if she came and joined me back on Earth.

“We should send the kids straight to the dressing room,” Dallas says to her. “I don’t really need to give another pre-dress speech anyway.” He tilts his head toward me again. “Did she tell you we cut the nudity from the show? I worry everyone thinks I’d make actual teenagers do that.”

“She didn’t share that yet,” I say. “But that’s good. I don’t do nudity myself.”

Dallas lets out his best wall-shaking laugh. “I’d imagine that would cause a lot of problems with the patients.”

“Not many opportunities to undress when I’m busy saving lives,” I reply. “Though I guess more than you’d think. But I still won’t show boob, even implied. Better to leave a littlemystery.”

“Isn’t it always?”

Oh, how the two of us canlaugh. We could go like this forever. On another day, I’d love nothing more than this. Today, I think I could use a few real answers.

“Seriously, where were you earlier?” I ask him.

“Honey, I was right here,” he says.

“Even when the police searched the school?”

Dallas’s smile fades. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, my darling, but that’s okay. I don’t think I need to.”

The truth is like a too-small ring stuck on a finger. It is not sliding out of Dallas, no matter how smooth I am or how direct with my pressure.

“Okay,” Marlowe says to him, her first words since her scream. It’s more of a blurt. I guess it’s a response to what he said to her a moment ago about sending the kids to the dressing room, but her timing is so off it jams the conversational rhythm.

Dallas says, “See?” like this strange behavior is more proof she’s scared of taking over his job. Not, you know, her very understandable confusion about how it is he’s casually reappeared after being missing for more than twenty-four hours. He directs his attention back to the students. “Cast, let’s get changed and put on an unforgettable show for our doctor.”

I give the students another friendly wave, better known as offering them one last opportunity to snicker at me as they file out of the auditorium.

Marlowe still doesn’t move.

“Darling, would you mind coming along?” Dallas asks me. “I have something I want you to check out.”

“Of course,” I say brightly. “Just give me one sec to chat with Marlowe.”

An invisible line has been drawn, where Marlowe and I seem to be the only two people aware of Dallas’s recent missing person status. It’s the kind of thing we have to address, if only to confirm we have not both lost our minds at the exact same time.

“He sure seems in good spirits,” I say once Dallas is out of the auditorium. “Are wepositivehe was missing?”

Marlowe ignores me, but she does finally move, hopping off the edge of the stage to sulk toward the exit.

“I’m just saying, he looked pretty radiant,” I continue, trailing after her. “To be honest, you’re the only one acting strange. Maybe this was all a ploy to get me alone in the Memory Machine with you? Quite the long con. You’ve always loved an elaborate game, haven’t you?”

“Don’t do that,” she warns, stopping so fast I almost crash into her.