Dinner was stupid.
Mom, Dad, and I sat at the table, eating some kind of chicken, rice, and broccoli concoction that had been frozen until a few minutes earlier when it met the microwave. Normally we have either home-cooked food for dinner or carryout. This wasn’t normally.
Even though Dad told us that Norman can nibble food, the robot wasn’t with us. Besides the eye problem, he had bent his nose and loosened an arm when he wall-crashed, and was waiting for repairs in the workshop, or what I like to call the Mad Science Lab. That’s where Dad tinkers with his computers.
Almost nothing was said during dinner, but there were a few tries.
“Perhaps I can alter Norman’s appearance so he looks less like Lucien,” Dad offered, spearing a sprig of broccoli and examining it like it was a lab specimen. “Change his hair color and eye color. Restitch his eyebrows. Putty his nose.”
Mom was separating the chicken from the rice: She’s not a big fan of overlapping food. “Don’t go to the trouble. As long as it’s gone in a month I’ll deal with it.”
Dad’s small smile quickly morphed into a defeated frown, like he was doubting he’d be able to talk Mom into extending Norman’s stay.
I slumped miserably. This should have been a big, happy day. The most advanced robot ever built was living with us—easily the most exciting thing to happen to us ever. But instead of being happy we were all bummed out and having trouble finishing dinner. It just didn’t seem right.
After downing some mushy broccoli, I told Dad that even though Norman acted weird and had a loose eye, Annie hadn’t figured out that he was a robot.
“That’s great news, kiddo,” he said. “We’ll consider it a successful first test.” I got a slow wink from him and a thumbs-up.
But my mom was skeptical.
“Annie is a child,” she said, “and not the brightest of the bunch.” Good point, Mom! “I think any adult with half his wits will be able to tell that the thing is a machine. I don’t want reporters invading our building when they find out we have a robot living here that we are trying to pass off as a person.”
“I’ll make sure that doesn’t happen,” Dad said, going back to his miserable voice.
I thought about Mom’s words and wasn’t sure she was right, that an adult would more likely detect Norman’s robotedness. I think adults will look at Norman and see just another boy. But when kids first meet Norman they’ll study him, wondering if he’s the kind of kid they might want to goof around with, or, if not, the kind they want to make fun of or mess with. (Or if you are a love-crazed girl like Annie Bananas, if Norman is the kind of boy you want to play kissy-kissy with.) They’ll watch Norman’s every move and listen to each word he says before deciding if he’s their type of kid. If Norman is accepted by Annie and other kids at school as a human, he might not have to worry about being busted as a robot by an adult. Either a kid will figure it out or no one will.
Mom, Dad, and I quietly finished dinner. I wasn’t dumb enough to ask if there was going to be dessert.