I hug the sling. “Exactly! I’m her little buddy!”

Another head-tilt. “Oh. I thought she was your little buddy.”

I make a big face. “Then I would need the vest!”

We both laugh again until Grace clears her throat. Here it comes. “This is, like, so awkward.” She cringes, lowering her voice to a whisper. “But you guys are really really behind on tuition.”

“I know!” I cringe and whisper, too. “I’m so sorry!”

“I’m sorry, too!” Grace looks truly pained. “So many people are struggling right now. It’s such a bad time in the world.”

Relief washes through me. I grab her arm, a little too hard, I realize a little too late. “So it’s not just us? We’re not the only ones barely staying afloat? No matter what I do I can’t seem to get ahead.” My voice trails off the way it does when I forget I’m with a person and not just talking to myself and I almost tell her about how truly awful the last few years have been—in detail—but something—her awkward smile, the half step back she takes—stops me. Because I realize suddenly that she probably can’t wait to get away from me. Who could blame her?

“I’d just hate for Teddy not to be able to come back next year,” Grace whispers. “Everybody loves him.”

“Really?” I blurt. “I just mean—he’s gotten so quiet. Sometimes I worry that people mistake that for unfriendliness or hostility.”

Grace shakes her head. “Oh no. It’s just a phase.”

“You think?”

“He’s a teenager. They all get like that.”

“You mean that awkward phase of adolescence when they seem like sociopaths?” I joke. I think of him on the fringes of the multipurpose room that morning, of how quiet the house has become; how he barely ever picks up his guitar or talks to me in the morning before school or while I’m cooking dinner the way he used to and wonder if every mother of a teenager is walking around like a cored apple, completely hollowed out inside.

“Teddy’s always been so special,” Grace says, smiling. “I still remember the first day he came to Morningside. He had that long rocker-hair that covered half his face and purple skinny jeans. He was wearing a Frank Zappa T-shirt. He was so shy at first, but everyone thought he was incredibly cool. Including all the teachers.”

I hug the dog and bite my lip, but still the tears come.

“It’ll work out.” Grace takes a step toward me now, rubbing my arm and reaching into the sling to pet the dog. “He’ll come back. Boys always do.”

“Do they really?” I’m crying now, and so, I see, is Grace.

“Of course they do. They’re just scared. Underneath it all, they’re just little children in big bodies. They still need us.”

Grace hands me a tissue and keeps one for herself. We blow our noses, and as we do I look at her face, her skin, trying to get a sense of how old she is. Younger than me, I’m sure—everyone is now—but beyond that, I’m not sure.