“Dad,” Tick groaned, not too happy about losing once again in Football 3000—in overtime, no less. The awful victory dance only made it worse, and the old man didn’t show signs of stopping anytime soon, shaking his larger-than-usual rear end from side to side.

“Watermelon, watermelon, watermelon rind! Look at the scoreboard and see who’s behind!”

“Dad, the neighbors might be watching through the window. Please stop.”

“Two, four, six, eight . . . okay, that’s enough.” Dad flopped back onto the couch, breathing deeply as if he’d just run a six-minute mile. “Whew, all that celebratin’ can really wear a man out. I wish you’d win more often and make it easier on me.”

“Hilarious. One more game?”

Dad leaned over to pick up the controller. “You sure enjoy punishment, don’t you?”

Just then, Tick’s mom walked in, and without saying a word, she sat next to her husband. Tick felt his heart drop when he saw the look on her face, like she’d just been told she had cancer or lost a child.

“Mom, what’s wrong?” Tick asked, feeling the controller slip out of his hands.

She didn’t answer for a moment, staring at the floor. Finally, she looked up, her eyes haunted. “Atticus, I can’t take it anymore. I have to tell you something. I told your dad several months ago—when he broke the news to me that you’d gone off to be recruited by the Realitants.”

“Honey—” Dad began, but cut off at a sharp look from Mom. “Well, I guess he does deserve to know.” He glanced over at Tick. “Don’t worry—it’s pretty neat, actually.”

“Neat,” Mom said in a deadpan voice. “Once again, Edgar, you’ve summed things up so eloquently.” She reached over and squeezed Dad’s hand. “Which is why I love you.”

“What are you guys talking about?” Tick asked, much louder than he’d meant to.

“Watch your tone, young man,” Mom said as she folded her hands in her lap. “It’s just that, well, I feel so bad for not telling you before. I think it might have helped you a little, helped you feel more confident. But then again, if I’d known before you winked away that first time, I might have locked you up in a dog kennel.”

“Uh . . . sweetie?” Dad said. “Maybe you should actually tell him what you’re talking about.”

Mom looked at Tick for several seconds without saying anything. Then, surprising him, she smiled. “I think the best way to tell you is to show you.”

As Tick watched, he felt like the laws of gravity had just intensified, pressing him into his seat.