I spend the whole walk back to the LIV space trying to convince Dad what a horrible idea it is to keep that Zorb. I even tell him about those movies I saw.

“Well, son,” he says, “I used to watch The Three Stooges when I was a kid. You don’t see me worrying about having a pie thrown in my face or getting poked in the eye with a rake handle, now do you? HAR!”

Glad to see he’s taking this so seriously.

“Look, Kelvin. I understand your concern, but everything is going to be fine. You’ll just have to trust me on this one.”

Yup. That’s just what those movie scientists would say.

We reach the door to our unit. I wonder if Mom’s home yet. She left the lab early to pick Bula up from preschool. Maybe she’ll have enough sense to see my side of things. Mom, that is. Bula doesn’t have enough sense to put her underwear on frontward. How she ended up in this family, I’ll never know.

“Uh-oh. What did you get into this time, Lightyear?”

Dad brought Lightyear home from one of the labs a couple months ago. He had lapped up a puddle of what they call matter replication liquid, so now he barfs up exact duplicates of whatever he happens to be looking at when he’s eating. Like his ball. And he’ll eat anything, including rocks. Sure, it’s gross. But it’s awesome, too!

“I’ll clean this up,” I say to Dad.

“Okeydokes,” Dad says. “I’ll order a new seat cushion and start dinner.”

When Dad says “start dinner,” he means pick out the picture of whatever food we want for tonight.

“Make dinner” means pushing the Select button on the food synthesizer. “Skip dinner” is what I usually feel like doing, since everything tastes exactly the same—like pencil erasers. Even the hot-fudge-covered chocolate chip brownies.

I pick up the cushion balls and take them to my room. I’ve got a whole dresser drawer filled with these things made out of everything from toothbrushes to dirty socks. Hey, you never know when you might need a ball made out of glass (Mom’s favorite vase) or wood (Mom and Dad’s wedding picture frame) or synthesized grilled cheese (Bula’s lunch).

I can’t really get mad at Lightyear, though. I mean, he’s already used his special talent to save my life once, so he gets some leeway. And he’s also responsible for my awesome trophy collection.

I hear the whoosh of the front door sliding open.

It’s Mom and Bula, home from preschool. Before she even gets the chance to put her bag down, I hit Mom up with my whole Zorb-must-be-destroyed pitch. I give her everything I’ve got, including some very convincing hand gestures and facial expressions. I even throw in the movie references. She’s holding her chin in her hand, so I know I’m getting through to her! Now she’s nodding her head! Yes! With her on my side, I know we can change Dad’s mind on this!

“I understand your concern, Kelvin, but I’m afraid I’m with your father on this. Everything will be fine. There’s absolutely nothing to worry about. You’ll just have to trust us on this one.”

Gee, where have I heard that before? I guess this is the downside to having both your parents be scientists. Now what am I supposed to do? And why is Bula grinning at me like that?

“Anyway, we have some news. You know how Bula was having trouble focusing in class?”

Because she’s got a hamster wheel instead of a brain? Yeah.

“Well, they did a special evaluation to figure out what was going on. You know what they found?”

I’m sticking with the hamster wheel thing.

“Our little Bula here… is a genius!”