The only thing that could help him answer his latest batch of questions was time and time alone.
Every night since his awful visit with Dr. Sherman, Sam watched his favorite episode of Wiz Kids to cheer himself up before falling asleep. Episode 313, “Prisoners of the Asteroid Belt,” followed Dr. Bumfuzzle as he chiseled through hundreds of asteroids and freed an alien species imprisoned inside them. The Celestial Angels, as they were called, were a beautiful race with pale transparent bodies and wide holographic wings. Once freed, the angels happily fluttered off into space, eager to rejoin their families in their home galaxy across the universe.
“Prisoners of the Asteroid Belt” resonated with Sam more than any other episode of Wiz Kids. At times he felt just like a Celestial Angel trapped inside an asteroid, but Dr. Bumfuzzle wasn’t going to appear and save him. If Sam wanted to be freed, he would have to free himself—he just needed to find the courage to start. Even if he had to make the transition on his own, finally feeling at home in his own body and finally being acknowledged as the person he truly was would make the journey worth every minute.
What Sam didn’t know was that a helpful hand was on the way, and it was a lot closer to Dr. Bumfuzzle than he could ever have predicted.
Chapter Four
OVERACTIVE IMAGINATION DISORDER
Mo Ishikawa set a Wiz Kids folder on her pink bedspread and faced the large mirror in the corner of her bedroom. Unlike her friend Sam, Mo loved mirrors—possibly a bit too much. She had three of them in her room and never passed an opportunity to check herself out, strike a pose like Amy Evans, or say “hey girl” when she passed by.
At the moment, Mo was staring into the eyes of her reflection for a very serious, nonquirky matter. She took a deep breath and recited a speech she had been working on for three months. She had practiced it so much it was ingrained in her memory like the Pledge of Allegiance.
“Dad, we need to talk,” Mo said. “I don’t mean to ambush you, but we need to discuss my education. I know it’s always been your dream to see me attend Stanford, but after a lot of thought and reflection I’ve decided it’s not for me. I never told you this, but after I applied to Stanford, I also applied to the creative writing program at Columbia University. I was accepted there, too, and that’s the school I’m planning to attend in the fall.”
She opened the Wiz Kids folder and spread her Columbia acceptance letter and the information about the university’s creative writing program across her bed, pretending to show her father.
“I understand why you think writing isn’t a secure profession, so to make you more comfortable, I’m planning to minor in economics. I apologize for not bringing this up earlier, but I knew you would be upset. I sent enrollment deposits to both Stanford and Columbia to buy some time so I could work up the courage to tell you, but I need to start choosing classes before they all fill up. Here’s a list of all the courses I’d like to take during my first semester.”
Mo set the list on top of the business school information.
“I don’t want to live with regrets, and going to Stanford for business will make me miserable. I’m a writer, Dad—it’s in my blood and it’s what I want to spend my life doing. As you’ve taught me, being an adult is about making tough decisions, so I hope you see this as an example of maturity and not disrespect. Now please look over the materials I’ve provided and let’s have a conversation about it in the morning. Thank you. How was that, Peaches?”
Mo anxiously glanced at her gray cat, Peachfuzzle “Peaches” Carter, who was lying on a pile of stuffed animals in the opposite corner of the room. The cat was twenty-one pounds of pure judgment and wore a jeweled collar that perfectly matched his demeanor. He looked at Mo the way he always looked at people—as if the voice inside his head was saying, Go fuck yourself.
Mo was used to her cat’s unsympathetic expression. Peaches’s green eyes had been filled with resentment since the day he was brought home from the animal shelter—like he knew his existence was a tribute to a fictitious television couple.
Naturally, Mo knew it was unlikely an animal that pooped in a box of sand, lived off canned salmon, and slept twenty hours a day was holding a passionate grudge against her. However, Mo had to remind herself the truth about most things from time to time. Her imagination had a mind of its own.