“I’ll get back to you when I nail down the details, okay? ‘The Dream is Still Alive.’” “Did you…” I pause, and my mouth forms a little “O” of its own accord. “Did you just do my own bit to me?” Wilson lets out a husky laugh. “Bye, Brooke.” The click of the line going dead kills my opportunity for a rebuttal, but nothing can put a damper on my smile. Because by joining in just now, poor Wilson Phillips has solidified that my game of music with him will never, ever die.
