Three Little Words by Harvey Sarah N. Page A

day.”
    â€œI know,” Megan says.
    â€œI divided a whole bunch of pages for her. Enough for a couple of weeks. I drew myself coming home on the last page, so she won’t forget. Could you help her write a story a day in the bottom box of every page? When I come back, I’ll illustrate it for her.”
    â€œSure, sweetie,” Megan says. “No problem. And maybe you could call—check in every now and again. Even if she doesn’t talk, I’m sure she’d like to hear your voice.” She laughs. “Oh, who am I kidding? I’d like to hear your voice.”
    â€œHow about I call every other day around suppertime?”
    â€œSounds like a plan,” Megan says. “You ready?”
    â€œReady as I’ll ever be.” Sid hoists his backpack over one shoulder and pulls Megan into an awkward hug with his other arm.
    â€œOnward and upward,” Megan mumbles into his armpit.
    Sid throws his backpack into the back of Miss Havisham and gets into the front seat as Phil says his goodbyes to Megan and Caleb and Fariza. Chloe hasn’t spoken to Sid since he told her he was going, so she isn’t here to say goodbye. He has left email and phone messages telling her he’ll be back soon, but she remains as silent as Fariza, who is standing with one arm wrapped around Megan’s waist and the other arm clutching Fred.
    â€œBye, Fariza,” Sid calls. “See you soon. Don’t forget to draw in your book.”
    He waves jauntily at her, trying to look cheerful rather than upset. She gives him a small smile and then buries her face in Megan’s side. He feels like the worst person in the world. Selfish. Inconsiderate. Foolish. But also excited. And more than a little anxious.
    â€œReady?” Phil slides into the driver’s seat and puts on his sunglasses.
    Sid nods, and Phil backs out of the driveway. Sid doesn’t look back. He is silent on the ride to the ferry. He stays in the car when they get on board, while Phil goes up to the passenger lounge. Sid shuts his eyes and slumps down in the seat. He doesn’t want to see the familiar scenery slip by: the red wharf, the white fish boats, the green islet in the cove, the blue water, the ferry’s frothy wake. He doesn’t want to hear the squeak of the ferry against the pilings, the clang of the ramp coming up, the casual chatter between passengers as they make their way upstairs. There’s a great audio system in the car. Maybe he should dig out his iPod and plug it in. Phil’s iPod is sitting in the well between the seats. Between them, they probably have more than enough music for the five-hour trip. Sid prays that Phil isn’t a fan of either Dixieland or disco. Anything else he can stand, although he wonders how Phil feels about Foo Fighters or Mother Mother.
    As they near the other side, Phil returns to the car and they sit in silence, waiting for the ramp to come down and connect them to the next part of their journey.
    â€œYou go to Victoria very often?” Phil asks.
    â€œNope,” Sid says. “Usually Vancouver. Megan likes Ikea.”
    Phil laughs. “Who doesn’t?”
    â€œMe,” Sid says. “Too crowded. Too noisy.”
    â€œGotcha.” Phil is silent for a few minutes, but as they reach the turnoff to the highway, he says, “You always such a hard-ass?”
    Sid laughs. “You think I’m a hard-ass?” No one has ever called him anything like that.
    â€œWell, aren’t you? The silent treatment’s pretty harsh.”
    â€œIt’s not meant to be,” Sid says, although this is a bit of a lie. He really doesn’t want to talk to Phil. Phil is the messenger, and Sid still isn’t sure whether to shoot him or welcome him. “It’s not personal. I’m just not much of a talker.” No way he’s going to tell Phil that he feels like he’s going to puke.
    â€œI got that.” Phil shoots