David was whispering into the telephone, “are you sure you can’t get here any earlier?” He shifted his weight and scratched his bare midriff absently, then glanced down and noted that a sneaker was untied. A monstrous yawn was token of the hour: 6:30 A.M. “I’m sure,” a sleepy-sounding Liz replied. “I told you: today’s the only time Dad’s got to help me move. I’ve still got some packing to do, and it’s gonna take all afternoon to lug my stuff down to Gainesville. I’m lucky I can come back at all.” “See? See?” David chided. “That’s what you get for moving away from me: just a bunch of hassle.” “What I get, David Sullivan, is a better education!” “Maybe too good.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” David could practically see Liz’s eyes narrow and her fist smack on her hip in indignation. “What do you think?” He chuckled. “I’m not gonna be going out with other boys, if that’s what’s bothering you!” “It wasn’t.” “Wasn’t it?”
