I pick him up and try to calm him. “It’s okay, boy.” I turn to Zoe. “I think we’re in Wiley’s Picture Post profile on the Internet!”

“No.” Zoe points to a screen that has the Picture Post guidelines listed on it. “You have to be thirteen to sign up for Picture Post. But, judging by these pictures, I’d say this is his mom’s account.”

Of course. This is exactly what my mom’s Picture Post account looks like! My first step, my first words, my first day of school . . . my whole life’s been recorded on this app.

All of a sudden, the trampoline starts to bounce us, without our help! And we can’t control how high we go or our trajectory.

“This is CRAZY, Arcade!”

“Yeah, but it’s NOT boring! Just like I ordered!” I laugh and hold Loopy tight as we fly higher with each bounce.

“Watch out, Arcade! You almost hit your head on that screen!” Zoe grits her teeth and points up at a large screen with a picture of little Wiley riding a two-wheeler with training wheels in the street.

“I can’t control where I’m going!” The next time I land on the trampoline, it bounces me a little too hard. Zoe too. And when we reach the TV screen, we break right through it!

*  *  *

We’re picking ourselves up off a sidewalk. Our head cams still have the green lights flickering.

“Wiley! That’s so good! You’re being brave!” A young woman stands in the middle of the street on the Upper West Side, holding her arms out to little Wiley Overton as he rides his bike toward her. “See, honey? I knew you could do it!”

Wiley jumps off the bike and hugs the woman. “Can I do it again, Mommy?”

“You bet, champ!” She helps him turn his bike around and then runs down to the other end of the street. “Okay, come on down!”

Wiley gets on his bike. A group of bigger kids are walking on the sidewalk across from us. “Hey, Wiley! You still using training wheels? Little baby! Can’t you ride a bike yet?”

“Yeah! Maybe next you’ll finally learn your ABCs! HAHAHAHAHA!”

“Hey! Leave him alone!” The group of kids runs away as Wiley’s mom rushes back to her son. “Ignore those mean kids, Wiley. Come on. Ride your bike over to me.”

We watch as Wiley starts to cry. Then he kicks his bike over in the street. His mom comes to try to hug him, but he pushes her away, runs and grabs a rock from the gutter, and heaves it at one of the brownstones. He hits a window, breaking it.

“Whoa. That’s some serious anger,” Zoe says.

“And he has great aim,” I add.