Page 37 of The Dis-Graced

“My files suggest that it is the responsibility of the parent to feed—”

“Your files are probably based on ‘best practices.’ Quite a few kids fall between the cracks.”

“Fall between cracks? Did you fall into a sewer? Is that why you went hungry? I’m sorry, but some of what you’re saying is not logical, and I’m beginning to doubt your honesty even though your tone and pulse suggest you are telling the truth.”

“No, you can add that to whatever list of phrases humans say that are metaphorical.”

“Noted.”

“I’ve been working since I was thirteen. I didn’t have summer vacations. When I was fifteen, I had two jobs. They say you grow up and go off into the real world and start having real responsibilities, but honestly, when I went away to college at eighteen, my life got easier. Sure, I still had to work odd jobs, but I wasn’t coming home to deal with my parents. Of course, I still had to help them, but it was better. They just couldn’t get their lives together, even I left. They’re still a mess. I guess maybe I should take care of them. Luke sure as hell won’t, and they’re in steep decline.”

“Usually, it isn’t until far later in life that a child must take care of their parents.”

“Yeah, way to rub it in,” I say, feeling suddenly foolish at how I reacted to a virtual robot. “Anyway, my brother never had to deal with any of that. It was always “I’m going off to Europe,” and my parents were so damn happy. Sometimes I wonder what my life would have been like if Drake had never met my brother. Luke would have been at home, helping, Maybe I would have had some semblance of a social life. Maybe I would have gotten a boyfriend in high school.”

“Romantic relationships are—”

“Can it, C-3PO. I never went out on a date until I was twenty years old. Lost my virginity at twenty-two. Twenty-two! It was to Frank, the man who would become my fiancé. The man who…never mind.”

“The average age of when humans first—”

I slap the statue upside its tiny, golden head. “Didn’t I tell you to shut it?”

“I am programmed to analyze.”

“Well, can you program yourself to listen?”

“Very well. Please call me Dr. ALAN from here on out.”

“Did you just make a joke?”

“I attempted to, but gauging your lack of reaction, I would say it ‘fell flat.’”

“No, no—it’s worked. I’m just stunned. I didn’t think you could do that kind of thing.”

Is it time for third breakfast yet?

Yeah, that’s right, third breakfast. Since I’ve been basically quarantined from society, I’ve taken to eating about fifteen meals a day, anything from a normal run-of-the-mill bacon and egg breakfast to expensive caviar on crackers.

“How would you like to play a game?” ALAN asks.

“You liked Two Truths, One Lie?”

“Not that one, but similar.”

“Oh?” I say with an arched brow, interested in what robo-toddler has to say.

“How would you like to play Truth or Dare?”

A chuckle escapes my throat. “Truth or Dare? Oh my God, I used to play that in my college dorm.”

“I have never played it.”

“Okay, okay, I’m game. So tell me, truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What do you think of me?”