A few days later, the phone rang. Todd had difficulty finding it under the tumbleweeds of paper.

“Is that you, Todd?” a woman’s voice said.

“This is Todd,” said a rasping voice that Todd took a moment to recognize as his own.

“Todd, this is Nora.”

“Hello, Nora.”

“Nora, your publisher.”

“Hi.”

“Are you okay, Todd?”

Todd thought for a moment. There were sores on his legs, and he thought one of his teeth might be loose.

“I’m fine.”

“Oh good.”

“I’m working on the book.”

“That’s great news, Todd.”

“I’m working really hard.”

“Todd, I have some slightly puzzling news, and I wondered if you could help shed some light on it.”

The woman sounded annoyed. Todd wondered what he was doing wrong. He tried to focus.

“Todd,” said the woman. “I looked into the movie rights like you asked.”

“Right,” said Todd. “I remember now.” Someone was going around his brain, turning all the lights on.

“I spoke to your lawyers, and they were about to draw up the contract, but first they did a routine check. And Todd, you’re not going to believe this. They’d been sold already.”

“Oh. Does that mean—”

“I know, it’s obviously a mistake. For a start, the book didn’t exist a year ago so how could the rights be sold? And there’s some problem with the name.”

“The name?”

“The name of the writer. Todd,” said Nora slowly. “Did you—have you ever come across another book of the same name as All My Colors?”

Todd sat up. He turned the light on.

“Todd?”

“No,” he said slowly. “If I had, I wouldn’t have called it that.”

“That’s what I said. But the lawyers are saying the only explanation is that someone already wrote a book called All My Colors.”

“Did they say,” Todd asked carefully, “did they say who the other person was? The other writer?”

“They did,” said Nora. “But the name slipped my mind. I can find out for you. Maybe it’ll help jog your memory.”

“Is this a problem?” Todd asked. By now he was fully back in the room.

“It shouldn’t be,” said Nora. “Lots of books have the same name as other books. It’s only a problem if what’s inside is the same.” She laughed. “But I guess we’re okay there, right?”

“Right,” said Todd.

*  *  *

Todd sat down and thought. It had to be a mistake. Nobody else knew that there was more than one All My Colors. Because there wasn’t more than one All My Colors. The only book of that name was written by yours truly, Todd Milstead. Accept no substitute, thought Todd.

It’s a mistake, he thought, turned the light off again, and waited for the shapes to form.

*  *  *