You know what? I don’t even want to think about that too much. I’ll just go back to playing online games. I glance at the clock on my computer screen. 10:51 AM. Actually, check that. Maybe I’ll write in the feeling log first.

I pull it out and write “9/8/2012 10:51AM. I’m surprised to hear that some languages lack things others have. And even English doesn’t have everything.”

How does that make me feel? Sad? Mad? Some weird mix of the two? I don’t actually know! Well, I don’t know how to describe it. Should I ask 35? Nah, that feels kinda awkward…

“I don’t feel good about it,” I go with.

Yeah, that’s right. I don’t know exactly how I feel, but I know it’s not good. Maybe I can come back to it later.

Back to playing William and Sly!

Running around as a fox in the rain in a coniferous forest and eating mushrooms puts me at ease, but also, I just…

Sometimes, I find a high place, and stand still, causing Sly to sit down like a puppy with his tail curled up. I take in the time to observe the scenery and listen to the rain and birds. What’s beyond the mountains in the background? It would be so cool if I could just enter the game and fly and explore. At least Sly can fly. (Hmph!) Well, kind of. He certainly has wings and can glide, but still, that’s better than nothing.

I hate how the entire world is mapped out. I wish there was somewhere to just…go and live. But no, all land is mapped and is owned now. Can’t just wander around. It’s like being in a giant cage. I hate it.

35 has just been laying on my unmade bed, switching between staring at the ceiling and watching me play. Mom knocks and comes in.

“Hey, sweetie, I’m sorry I was yelling earlier. I wanted to come in and check to see if you’re okay…”

I nod.

She turns her head “… and if you’ve made your bed.”

I definitely have not.

“Could you do that for me?”

Uggghhhh.

“Please?”

I really don’t like making my bed.

“I really don’t want to,” I object. I hate cleaning altogether.

“I recommend it. It might be good for you,” chimes in 35.

I can never guess who they’re going to side with.

Ugh! Why?

“See, even 35 thinks it’s a good idea,” Mom says with a small smile, shocked from her reinforcements. “and please get dressed.”

“okayyy…” I say reluctantly.

“Thank you, the agents will be here soon. Love you.” She leaves my room.

I turn towards the bed. Mom told me to make it. I’ve always hated doing it. Why do people even bother? It doesn’t change how soft the sheets are. Wait, maybe I don’t have to do it…

“Can you do it?” I ask 35.

Silence.

“Can you make my bed for me?”

More silence, until finally…

“You know what?” they respond. “I haven’t gotten to do that in a while, so, just this once, sure, I guess. Just please put on your clothes for the day, okay?”

“Okay!” That sounds good, I guess. I walk over to my closet, put on my cargo shorts, my t-shirt, and a gray hoodie. The dull color scheme is exactly what I wanted. Nothing too flashy or ridiculous. Maybe if I was a girl. Christ, I’d have a lot of different outfits. Eh, whatever. No matter.

“I’m ready,” I say, stepping out of the closet. “Whenever you are.”

“Alright then,” says 35. They hop inside my body like they do every school morning. There haven’t been visions when this happens for the last couple of weeks. It’s quite nice, actually.

And sure enough, they make my bed like they said they would. Using my body. I’m not sure if this is much better than doing it myself. I still feel like I’m being dragged along. Maybe even more literally that usual. I hate it. At least 35 seems to be enjoying themselves. They said it’s been a while since- wait.

How could 35 ever have made a bed? They’re a ghost of sorts; they can’t actually touch anything! Did they inhabit a body before me? Or did they…?

Did they hear that thought? I hope not. Do I ask them about it? Uhh…

“Everything alright, kid?” 35 asks as they finish making my bed. “You seem a little worried.”

Rats. Spill the beans.

“Did you used to have a physical body?” I ask suspiciously and nervously.

35 freezes. “Uh…”

Yep, that confirms it.

“You did,” I confront.

My lungs exhale.

“Yes,” they defeatedly admit. “I did.”

I would say “unbelievable,” but is it? Actually…

“Unbelievable,” I tell them. “When were you going to tell me?”

“As soon as we finished the mission,” they answer.

“So what happened? Did you just die and jack my body to save yourself?!?!”

Suddenly, I remember them telling me something. Something about being “a doomed soul…”

..and now I feel sadness. But not mine…

“I didn’t save myself,” they quietly answer after leaving my body. “I just delayed the inevitable by about fifty months at most. Maybe. I don’t know. Then again, Maybe a oblivion might still be a better fate, so in that sense I kinda saved myself.”

They perk up.

“It’s really too late for me. I am a doomed soul like I told you. There’s nothing that can be done. All I can do is help you and your family, and your friends. There’s nothing in it for me really except the knowledge that you’ll live a good life.”

They look away.

“Okay, maybe there’s one thing I can get from it…”

They think for a second, then turn back to me.

“Point is, I am doomed. All I can do is the most good I can until my very much borrowed time is up.”

“Whatever,” I scoff. “Still mad you kept that from me.”

“Fair enough,” they reply. “Since you’ve already figured it out, let’s go ahead and tell your mom and the Agents. “They’ll be here soon anyway.”

Yeah, they will.

Not knowing what else to do, I head out to the living room, waiting for the Agents to show up. I sit down in the left side chair. I start playing my world-building game. Just then, Delilah sends me a picture of a close-up of a guy’s light blue speedos, followed by a bunch of crazy texts.

What the heck?

I get up and run over to her room. I grab the handle-

“Please knock first,” 35 requests.

“But she-“

“Do it anyway.”

Ugh, fine. I let go of the handle, and knock. Delilah screams.

“You gotta see this! It’s horrible!” she calls from inside her room.

I’m going in.

I grab the handle again, and open the door. As soon as it’s open, I hear a guy sing “and when I’m at the beach, I’m in a speedo, tryin’ to tan my cheeks, what?”

What did I just walk in on?

“It’s horrible!” Deli yells.

“What is it?” I ask over the music.

The music stops.

“Courtney sent me this!” she yelps. “She said it came out last year!” She turns her phone towards me. “Just watch!”

She plays the video from the start. It starts with a group of guys walking down the street. One has a cardboard box on his head. Okay, they’re singing, dancing, and WHAT THE HECK?

He ripped his pants off! Uhhhhhh… and he’s uh…

“How are they even allowed to show that?!” she asks frantically.

“I don’t know!!!” I respond just like her.

What the heck?

I turn towards 35. They’re giggling!

“What’s so funny?” I interrogate.

“It’s just…nothing,” they don’t answer.

I turn back towards Delilah. “That is so messed up. Who would even…?”

I can’t find the words.

“I know, right?” she says. “Who would even find that attractive?”

“Not me, that’s for sure,” I say, looking away and rolling my eyes. “You?”

“Ew!” she exclaims. “That’s gross!”

“Yep, sounds about right,” I comment.

I hear 35 giggling.

“What’s so funny?” I ask them.

“The whole thing,” they answer. “The video you’re watching and how y’all are reacting.”

“But seriously, who would find this attractive? Definitely not me, and apparently not her!”

“Yeah, so B, about that…” says Delilah, looking down.

“What about it?” I ask.

“I, uh…” she goes quiet.

“It’s okay,” 35 assures her. “You don’t have to say anything. Especially not now.”

Say anything about what?”

“I don’t like guys,” she says.

“Uh, ow,” I state. “Then again, if you’re treating guys the way you treat me, then that makes sense.”

35 gasps with laughter.

“What?” I ask, confused.

“That’s not what she meant,” they explain.

“Then what did she mean?”

“I like girls,” she adds. “I think I’m a Lesbian.”

Oh, okay? I’m not sure how to react. Am I supposed to like that? Hate it? Eh, it’s whatever.

“Please, this is serious!” she begs.

“Yeah kid,” 35 adds. “Please do not tell anyone else about this without her permission.

“No one?”

“No one. Not your friends, not your parents.”

“Okay…”

Just then, there’s a knock at the front door. I run over to open it, and who am I greeted by other than Agent Collins and…Thompson?

“Whoa,” I comment at her.

“Yes, I know. No need to comment,” she responds.

I freeze and don’t say anything. It’s so weird. I’m so used to seeing her with long, wavy hair. She looks like a completely different person with her hair cut short like this! I kinda hate it. Why did she do that?

“Hey Sport, can we come in?” Collins asks politely.

Still caught up on Agent Thompson’s new haircut, I just say “Yeah, yeah,” without thinking much. I move out of the way for them to come in. They don’t hesitate.

“Is your mom around?” Collins asks as soon as he’s inside.

As if she heard that, she comes out of her room, dressed in a T-shirt and jeans. She greets them like she always does.

“Looks like my reasoning rubbed off on her,” 35 silently comments.

“Thanks for showing up,” she continues. She notices Thompson “Oh wow, I see you got a haircut!”

“All the long hair wasn’t worth the trouble,” Thompson responds.

Mom goes back to where she was.

“Hmm. Okay.. Would you like anything to drink? Water? Milk? Coffee?”

“Do you have any Dark Columbian Roast?” asks Thompson.

“Yeah,” responds Mom. She turns towards Collins.

“I’m more of a medium guy myself, but just water, thank you,” he says.

“Alright,” says Mom as she gestures all of us to follow her into the kitchen and dining room. The agents stand on opposite sides of the island while I sit at the table. Mom silently fixes their drinks while I sit there. I’m a little nervous, waiting for the discussion to start. But eventually, Mom speaks up.

“So, Brock do you understand what we’re talking about here?” she asks.

“Uh, we’re talking about the interview?” I respond.

“Yes,” she confirms. “There’s a few things we need to go over first. Starting with that this is a live interview, and the questions will be screened ahead of time, so hopefully, no one tries to make you look bad.”

Well, that’s a relief, I guess.

“Who’s doing the screening? The Agents?” I inquire.

“Yes,” answers Collins. “And your mom.”

“I don’t have experience with interviews,” Mom admits. “But I’m a mom. We just know things. Call it a mom’s intuition.” She turns towards Thompson. “Not that other women don’t have an intuition of their own.”

I catch a brief smirk on Thompson’s face as well as a scoff. She then turns to tell me “Your mother will be present at all times while you’re on camera. Does that sound good?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“What about me?” 35 cuts in.

“Considering how much time you like to spend outside Brock’s body, I think it would be best if you’re outside for the interview too,” answers Agent Collins. “I think it would be most representative of the two of you.”

“I agree,” says Agent Thompson.

“I have no opinion on the matter,” Mom chimes in.

I honestly prefer them out of my body anyway.

“Thank you,” says 35. “I prefer being outside anyway.”

“We know,” says Thompson.

Mom, changing the subject, asks “Would you like to go first with the questions, or would you like me to?”

35 turns to me, waiting for my answer.

“I uh…I’ll let you go first,” I answer without much confidence.

“Are you sure?” she asks.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” I confirm.

“Okay. Anything else we need to talk about?” She looks around the room. We all shake our heads.

“Actually, wait,” I stop. “35 used to have a physical body.”

The agents look at each other and nod. Mom just shrugs.

“We figured,” Collins replies. “Anything else you wish to tell us?”

I think to 35 “Should we tell them that we can think to each other?”

“Might as well in the interest of keeping an appearance of being transparent with them,” they answer, then snort.

“We can think to each other without talking,” I announce.

“I know,” answers Mom.

What? WHAT?

“You know?” I ask, scared and confused.

“mm-hm,” she nods.

“How?!”

“I’m a mom. I just know things.” She smirks. “If it makes you feel better, your dad doesn’t know. I’m waiting for him to figure it out.”

…

“Anything else?”

I shake my head. The agents don’t seem bothered by the new information.

“Alright then. If anyone needs me, I’ll be cleaning around the house. In the meantime, feel free to help yourselves to more coffee.” She leaves the kitchen.

“I’m…gonna go read,” I announce before heading to my room. Maybe reading up on non-violent communication will help before the interview?

I pull the book off my desk before laying on top of my bed to read it. 35 sits in my computer chair. I start on chapter two. It talks about “life-alienating communication.” We judge. Even moral judgements cause problems. Okay, but aren’t people actually good or bad sometimes? “’Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right doing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.’”

That doesn’t make sense.

“You alright?” 35 asks, sensing my disbelief.

“It’s saying not to morally judge people,” I tell them. “But how? People are good or bad, right?”

“mmmmm,” hums 35. “While that is generally true, it’s not something to bring when trying to connect with someone.”

“But, what if someone is bad? Why would you want to ‘connect’ with them?”

“Maybe they’re trying to get better, and asking for your help? You don’t know peoples’ stories.”

I stare at the ceiling. Why would a bad person want to be good?

“So here’s a question: do you judge Delilah for being a Lesbian?”

I think for a second. Do I judge her? I mean, she can’t reproduce, but we’re kinda overpopulated anyway. I know some people can’t help being gay, even if some of my relatives from Kansas say otherwise. What’s there to judge?

“I guess not,” I answer. “It’s not like she can have kids.”

“I see, but why does that need to be brought up?” 35 adds. “It’s not like you want a niece or nephew that badly.”

I snort and almost choke.

“Well, no, but we’re overpopulated anyway,” I stumble.

“So, even if you’re not judging her about it, you have some thoughts about it, and you’re focusing on them,” they analyze.

“What’s all of this even matter?” I retort.

“There’s probably a reason she came out to you like that.”

“Like what?”

“Ultimately, you’d have to ask her, but the one reason I can think of is that maybe she wanted to connect with you.”

“Connect with me?”

“Yeah. She trusted you with that info. There has to be a reason for that.”

She…trusted me?

“How does that idea make you feel?”

I put my book down and pull out my Feeling Log. I write down that I’m realizing that Deli trusted me with a secret. I feel…

I don’t know how I feel. I guess I’m surprised. I’m supposed to feel good, I suppose.

Maybe I don’t feel anything, but I do know that 35 is right. Maybe she did want a connection. Should I give it to her? Do I want to have a connection with her? Do I deserve one? Does she deserve one? She’s annoyed me, and I’ve…retaliated. And that’s the least of what we’ve done.

“I don’t want a connection with her, I don’t deserve it,” I say out loud.”

“I see,” replies 35. “And I do respect that.”

At this point, that no longer surprises me.

“However, I feel like you might be hurting yourself with that mindset, and would like you to consider a different perspective. Would you mind doing that?”

Yeah, sure, “I guess.”

“Do you remember the movie The Dark Knight?”

I saw it a few years ago, but “Yeah.”

“Batman is described as ‘Not the hero we deserve, but the one we need.’”

“No he’s not. That was said about Two-Face. For Batman, it’s the other way around.” I correct.

“Oh,” they admit. “My bad. But the point still stands.”

“What point?” I ask.

“That sometimes ‘needs’ and ‘deserves’ don’t always agree with each other. But one is more important, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I guess?”

“So I think you should give the connection a try, because I think it’s what you both need. Besides, you can always change your mind later.”

I…uh…uh……..uh…….

 They’re right. It’s not what I deserve, but I need it. I need it. I need the connection! I’m gonna have it!

I jump off my bed and dash over to Deli’s room, but just as I pass the front door, the doorbell rings.

I snap towards the door and shout “I’ve got it!” while redirecting my speed through the foyer. I practically crash into the wood of the door as I open it. Yeah…what else was I expecting?

“Oh, hi! Are you Brock Weaver?” asks the reporter closest to the door.

Before I could answer, I hear footsteps fast approaching before Collins tells them “We can take it from here.” Thompson comes up and gestures me away. I awkwardly retreat to the living room. I sit on the couch, trying to get away from the commotion between the agents and the reporters. Mom soon comes out of her room to deal with them as well. I just sit on the couch, burying my mind in myself. I don’t care much for the noise. I get overwhelmed by it pretty easily. Not quite as bad as the classroom the other day, but still, I hate it.

“Everything alright, kid?” I hear 35 ask in my head. “I get it, it’s a little much.”

I exhale.

“Yeah, thanks.” I look up to see them…not in the couch? “Where are you?”

“Around the corner of the foyer,” they answer.

I look towards the front door. Sure enough, they are hiding around the corner where the reporters can’t see them.

“Can we go to your room real quick?” they request in my head. “It’ll be quieter there, and no one will have to see me before they’re ready.”

“Yep!” I sharply agree. I bolt straight for my room, closing the door behind me.

35 stands next to me. “Thank you.” They sigh in relief. “Should be good for now. Their eyes relax and their mouth rests flat. Wait…

Mouth?

“Say something,” I tell them.

“Like what?” they wonder, their mouth moving as they talk.

“I can see your mouth!” I shout.

“You can?!!?” they exclaim. Excitement fills their eyes, pulling up the corners of their mouth.

“I can!”

“Swweeeeeettttt! Yes!” they squeal. “Ohmygoshohmygosh, this is awesome! Not only did you just make some progress, you also might have made me look more sympathetic to the interviewers! Thank you so much!” They reach out, but then stop. “Can I hug you?”

“Uhh, sure?”

They jump in immediately. Somehow, despite the fact that 35 doesn’t have a body, this is the warmest hug I can ever remember having.