“It still works.” My mom sounds a bit awed when she says this, and I can imagine the expression that’s on her face. It’s how she sounds when she explains a concept to me that she finds particularly interesting. It’s her geek-out voice.

What the hell are they talking about?

“You mean—the subject can still—?”

“Yes.” I can practically hear my mother nodding excitedly. “Well, not exactly—not as strongly or cohesively as before. But there are residual effects. Heightened perception—”

Her voice gets quieter and I lean toward the door.

“But not the same that we see in atypical—”

I lean a little too much in my eagerness, and the door jumps a bit, swinging slightly on its hinges. My parents stop speaking and I rush back to the sink, turning the faucet back on and loudly continuing the dishes.

Atypical what? The cloud that’s been hovering over me today is lifted as my curiosity burns inside of me and dries up all the dampness in my bones. My parents’ work has always been a bit of a mystery—they work for a hospital and sometimes consult for outside projects that are usually pretty confidential—but this … this is something else.

The door swings open and I try not to tense up as I hear someone walking up to me. I turn my head slightly as my dad puts some more dishes in the sink.

“I can do the rest of these, boychik,” he says a little too cheerfully. “You go upstairs and finish your schoolwork.”

“I already did all my homework,” I say.

“Of course you did.” He’s smiling at me like I’m the best son in the world, and for a moment I forget about the weird argument and bask in it. “Then go read or something. You do enough around here.”

“Okay, Dad.” I give in, trying not to be too suspicious. “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, everything’s fine, Adam,” he assures me as he picks up the sponge and starts scrubbing away at the pasta pot.

“I thought I heard you and Mom arguing about something.” I shrug, trying to act casual.

“It’s nothing. Just a little work drama.” He smiles, his eyes going big like, Aren’t adults silly. Normally I’d agree, but there’s a tightness around his eyes that makes me question the levity.

“Dad,” I say flatly, showing him that I’m not buying it. He sighs.

“Scientific innovation is hard, Adam.” Oh god, am I gonna get some sort of inspirational science talk? I did not sign up for that. “It’s hard and imperfect and there’s not always a right answer. There’s so much left to discover about the way the brain works, and there’s no perfect way to go about it.”