“I don’t know about your car,” he says, writing something down on a pad of yellow paper. It reminds me of the way Nathan would type notes in his tablet whenever we were talking.

“What are you writing down?”

“Notes,” he says.

“What do the notes say?”

“They’re notes about you.”

“I would like to read them and learn things about myself. As I told you earlier, I am built for cognitive development. Cognitive development means—”

“I know what it means. I have a master’s degree. Let’s go back to this idea of being a robot. Do you feel that you are somehow not real?”

“I am real. I am a real robot.”

“Yes. But do you feel as though you’re not a real boy?”

“I am a real boy. I am a real robot boy.”

“But you don’t feel like you’re a flesh-and-blood boy?”

“I am not a flesh-and-blood boy, unless you mean my syntha-derm covering and lubrication system.”

He writes more things down.

“Do you know the story of Pinocchio?” he asks.

“I saw the cartoon.”

“So Pinocchio wanted to be a real boy—”

“He was a real boy.”

“No, he was made of wood.”

“He was a real boy made of wood.”

“But, Cog, he wanted to be a flesh-and-blood boy.”

“Is flesh and blood better than wood?”

“Well, yes.”

“So trees would be better if they were made of flesh and blood?”

“No . . . no it’s not—”

“Are boys better than trees?”

“You’re not making sense.”

“I am sorry. It is frustrating when things don’t make sense. I will stop talking.”

“I don’t want you to stop talking, Cog.”

“Should I continue not making sense?”

He writes more. “Let me reword the question. I understand that you claim to be a robot, and that you believe you’re a robot or at least want me to believe you’re a robot. What I want to know is if you would prefer to be a regular, real, flesh-and-blood human boy.”

“No, thank you. Will Car be here soon?”

He ignores my question. “But real boys can experience emotion. Don’t you like feeling emotions?”

“I do feel emotions.”

“But if you’re a robot, you can’t feel . . . regular emotions. I’ve studied computer science and artificial intelligence. Even an advanced computer doesn’t have feelings. It can mimic human emotions, but it’s just doing what it’s programmed to do.”

“Isn’t that how humans behave?”

“It’s not at all the same.”

“Human emotions come from neurochemical impulses. My emotions come from electrical impulses. Human brains are the way they are from hundreds of thousands of years of evolution. My brain is the way it is because a human designed it and built it. I am content being different than humans.”

He taps his pen on his notepad. “Okay, let’s move on. Tell me about your parents.”