Logical y, based on what I knew of boys general y and speci cal y of Dash, I would have expected Dash to bolt in the opposite direction at this

point.

Instead, he asked, “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know.”

“Can I come with?”

Seriously?

I said, “That’d be awesome. Where do you think we should go?”

“Let’s just wander and see what happens,” Dash said.

seventeen

–Dash–

December 29th

It was rather awkward, insofar as we were both teetering between the possibility of something and the possibility of nothing.

“So which way should we go?” Lily asked.

“I don’t know—which way do you want to go?”

“Either way.”

“You sure?”

She was de nitely more at ractive sober, as most people are. She had a winsome quality now—but smartly winsome, not vacuously winsome.

“We could go to the High Line,” I said.

“Not with Boris.”

Ah, Boris. He seemed to be losing patience with us.

“Is there a certain dog-walking route you take?” I asked.

“Yes. But we don’t have to take it.”

Stasis. Total stasis. Her sneaking peeks at me. Me sneaking peeks at her. Teeter teeter teeter.

Final y, one of us was decisive.

And it wasn’t me or Lily.

It was as if a dog-whistle orchestra had suddenly struck up the 1812 Overture. Or a parade of squirrels had marched into the other side of

Washington Square Park and started to rub themselves with oil. Whatever the provocation, Boris was o like a shot. Lily was caught o balance,

dragged onto a sleety patch, and knocked from her footing entirely. The bag of poop went ying in the air. Much to my deep delight, as Lily fel ,

she let out a raucous “MOTHERSUCKER!”—a curse I had not heretofore heard.

She landed gracelessly, but without injury. The bag of poop narrowly missed popping her on the temple. Meanwhile, she had let go of Boris’s

leash, which I foolishly grabbed for and caught. Now I was the one who had the sensation of water-ski ng over pavement.

“Stop him!” Lily yel ed, as if there were some but on I could press that would shut the dog down. Instead, I simply added worthless bal ast as he

charged forth.

It was clear he had a target in mind. He was storming toward a group of mothers, strol ers, and kids. With horror, I saw he’d zeroed in on the

most vulnerable prey around—a kid wearing an eye patch, chomping on an oat bar.

“No, Boris. No!” I cried.

But Boris was going to go his own way, whether I was on board or not. The kid saw him coming and unleashed a shriek that was, frankly, more

appropriate to a girl half his age. Before his mother could whisk him out of harm’s way, Boris had barreled into him and knocked him down,

pul ing me in his wake.

“I’m so sorry,” I said as I tried to pul Boris to a stop. It was like playing tug-of-war with a garden party of NFL linebackers.

“It’s him!” the boy squealed. “IT’S THE ATTACKER!”

“Are you sure?” a woman I could only assume was his mother asked.

The boy lifted his eye patch, revealing a perfectly good eye.

“It’s him. I swear,” he said.

Another woman came over with what looked like a wanted poster with my face on it.

“CRIMSON ALERT!” she yel ed into the air. “WE ARE UPGRADING FROM MANGO!”

Another mother, about to take her baby out of its strol er, let go in order to blow a whistle—four short bursts, which I had to imagine

corresponded to crimson.

The whistle blowing was not a wise idea. Boris heard it, turned, and charged.

The woman jumped out of the way. The strol er could not. I ung myself to the ground, trying to make myself as heavy as possible. Boris,

confused, crashed right into the strol er, dislodging the baby inside. In slow motion, I saw it y up, a shocked expression on its docile face.

I wanted to close my eyes. There was no way I could get to the baby in time. We were al paralyzed. Even Boris stopped to watch.

In the corner of my eye: movement. A cry. Then the most magni cent sight: Lily ying through the air. Hair streaming. Arms outstretched.

Entirely unaware of how she looked, only aware of what she was doing. A ying leap. An honest, bona de ying leap. There wasn’t any panic on

her face. Only determination. She got herself under that baby, and she caught it. As soon as it landed in her arms, it started to wail.

“My God,” I murmured. I had never seen anything so trans xing.

I thought the crowd would break into applause. But then Lily, recovering from her ying leap, took a few extra steps, and a mother behind me

yel ed, “Child stealer! Stop her!”

Mothers and other bystanders al had their cel phones out. Some in the mommy circle were arguing over who would send out the crimson alert

and who would cal the police. Lily, meanwhile, was stil in her golden moment, unaware of the fuss. She was holding on to the baby, trying to

calm it down after its traumatic ight.

I tried to get up from the ground, but suddenly there was a formidable weight on my back.

“You’re not going anywhere,” one of the mothers said, sit ing on me rmly. “Consider this a citizen’s arrest.”

Two more mothers and the eye-patched kid piled on. I almost let go of the leash. Luckily, Boris seemed to have had enough excitement for the

day, and was now barking out orders to no one in particular.

day, and was now barking out orders to no one in particular.

“The police are coming!” someone yel ed.

The baby’s mother ran over to Lily, who had no idea that it was the baby’s mother. I saw her say, “One sec,” as she tried to get the baby to stop

crying. I think the mother was thanking her—but then a few other mothers descended and boxed Lily in.

“I saw this on Dateline,” one of the louder mothers was saying. “They create a diversion, then steal the baby. In broad daylight!”

“This is absurd!” I yel ed. The kid started bouncing up and down on my tailbone.

Two police o cers arrived and were immediately besieged with versions of the story. The truth went vastly underrepresented. Lily looked

confused as she handed the baby over—hadn’t she done the right thing? The police asked her if she knew me, and she said of course she did.

“You see!” one mother crowed. “An accomplice!”

The ground was cold and slushy, and the weight of the mothers was starting to rupture some of my choicer internal organs. I might have

confessed to a crime I hadn’t commit ed in order to get out of there.

It was unclear whether we were being arrested or not.

“I think you should come with us,” one of the o cers said. It didn’t seem like Actual y, I’d rather not was an appropriate answer to give.

They didn’t cu us, but they did march us to the squad car and make us sit in the back with Boris. It wasn’t until we were back there, with some

mommies cal ing for vengeance and the ying baby’s mother concentrating on making sure her baby was okay, that I got a chance to actual y say

something to Lily.

“Nice catch,” I told her.

“Thanks,” she said. She was in shock, staring out the window.

“It was beautiful. Real y. One of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

She looked at me for what felt like the rst time. We held like that for a few heartbeats. The squad car pul ed away from the park. They didn’t

bother with the sirens.

“I guess we know where we’re going now,” she said.

“Fate has a strange way of making plans,” I agreed.

Lily had relatives al across the ve boroughs, but unfortunately none of them were in law enforcement.

She listed many of them for me, trying to gure out who would be best suited to get us out of this jam.

“Uncle Murray got indicted, which is pret y much the opposite of what we need. Great-aunt Mrs. Basil E. dated someone in the district at orney’s