Glass Shard Beach, 1979

"...And the Impossibeast subtracts… six-cubed hit points. Uh, remind me, how many hit points do you have left?"

"...Six-squared…"

"Oh… ooh, dear, that's, um… not good…"

With an uneasy look on his face - one that somehow seemed natural for the scientist - Uncle Stanford wrung his hands together, eyes darting all over the D&D&MD board. It was littered with the remains of attacks, downed summons, failed rolls - all attempts to bring down the feared Impossibeast once and for all.

Louise probably should have known this would happen - it's called the Impossi-beast for a reason, dummy!

"Soooo… I'm dead, right?" she said, casually.

Uncle Stan hesitated, nervously fiddling with his glasses. Oh yeah, he was probably a little weirded out to hear a rosy-cheeked eight-year-old girl just throw out the words 'I'm dead'. She once got detention for telling another kid about death. He'd cried for hours. She really was sorry, though, she only wanted to be informative!

"Yanno? Dead? Kicked the bucket?" she further 'clarified', glad she could at least be honest with Uncle Stan. "Sleeping with the fishies? Glub glub glub?"

"Uh, w-well, I mean… maybe not dead, more… put to sleep! For a very long time!" Stanford tried to soften the blow, grinning.

"Uncle Stan, I'm not a baby," Louise cut in, indignantly putting her fists on her hips just like grandma, "I know what death is!"

"R-right, yes, of course you do, dear" Stanford replied, wringing his hands together again.

Lou tried hard not to look at them. Made her fidget with her own hands.

"Y-you haven't been watching violent movies, have you?" he asked, chuckling "heh, I don't want your father to think you picked that up from me!"

Louise blew a raspberry in response. "-Pppht-! Don't be silly! You're too smart for that! No, it was grandpa. He made me watch one of those boring old cowboy movies where everyone dies."

"Well, that's… can't say I'm surprised…" Stanford muttered, sweating. She could tell from that forehead shine.

Louise frowned for a moment. She didn't understand why he was sweating. He was obviously uncomfortable. Embarrassed, maybe? Or - oh no, it's TV, of course! It rots your brain!

"Don't worry, I've been reading, too! Lots!" Louise quickly added in, sitting up and clasping her hands on the table, smiling. "I'm halfway through Viscount Discount in Black-And-Blue Friday by Agatha Thriftie!"

Louise leaned in to whisper to her uncle, as though she was sharing a secret, "I think Ms. Spencer did it, she's the one behind the counterfeit coupon operation! She's mad the jeweller didn't give her five percent off her engagement ring!"

"Ah! Good to hear!" Stanford replied, officiously putting his hands behind his back. "Though, I haven't read that one yet, so perhaps be wary of spoilers in the future!"

Louise gasped, slapping her palms over her open mouth. "Oops! Sorry!"

"That's quite alright, dear. Believe me, you're not nearly as bad as my old college roommate. Eventually I refused to discuss movies with him because I knew he'd spoil them!"

"Don't worry, Uncle Stan! No more spoilers! Bzzzzip!" she went, miming zipping her mouth shut.

Stanford laughed again, before a slightly awkward silence fell upon the pair, and he started scanning his eyes over the D&D&MD board again, obviously trying to puzzle something out in his big brain. The workings of his mind were an enigma Louise couldn't hope to understand, so she patiently sat and waited for him to finish, idly kicking her legs back and forth.

Dad, grandma and grandpa wouldn't be back from their Hanukkah shopping for another hour or so, so she knew they needed to make the most of this precious Louise-and-Stanford-only time. For all Lou knew, this could be the last time they get to meet here in Glass Shard - this time next year, she'll be living it up in the sun in Los Angeles, with her brand new mom! Hopefully Uncle Stan will get to see her more often, though, since Oregon is basically next door.

They stayed quiet for another few minutes, just taking in that sweet, sweet peace. Louise watched Uncle Stan intently. He kept stopping to tap his jaw, and he looked… almost a little worried. He'd hover his hands over parts of the board, flexing his fingers like he was about to pick up one of the pieces. He almost picked Lou's piece (a bright green pepper-shaker), but stopped himself at the last second, 'snapping' his hand back.

Louise's smile faded a little. As she watched his six fingers in action, a question popped into her head, something she'd always wanted to ask him but had been instructed never to do so.

"Um… Uncle Stan?"

"Yes, dear?" he answered, not taking his eyes off the board for a second.

"Uh… umm…" she stammered. No, she couldn't ask him, she'd get in so much trouble. But she'd already started! Nuts! She had to think of a diversion!

"C-can I have some Louce, please?"

Stanford still didn't shift his attention. "I don't know, Louise, is your digestive system functioning properly? Can it metabolize that much sugar?"

Louise rolled her eyes. Walked right into that one.

"Bleh! May I have some Louce, please?"

Stanford smirked. "Yes, yes you may. Remember, not too much! I'm sure your father doesn't want a repeat of last time."

"Yes, sir!" Louise sounded off, even giving him a little salute, as she clambered off her seat and into the kitchen. She didn't want to think about 'last time'. She was banned from even touching cola and mints for months afterwards.

Opening the refrigerator, she pulled over the convenient getting-to-the-restricted-upper-shelves chair and carefully climbed onto it, retrieving her pre-made pitcher of Louce. This was a special experimental batch - she hadn't used any jelly beans, instead combining some of her neighbour Teddy's homemade lemonade with one of those cherry Tweety-Pops with the stick pulled out. The lemonade had turned a faint pink, and the Tweety-Pop was floating at the top like an ice cube. The result was a sharp, yet foamy consistency when sloshed around the mouth. She called it Twerrylemon No. 3!

As she prepared herself a glass, she kept catching a glimpse of her reflection. Whenever that happened, she always stopped for a second or so. She couldn't look past that mole on her face. Somehow, this time, she did; she saw her smile. It didn't seem real. Like she was faking it. What was she doing, faking a smile for Uncle Stan? She could be honest with him!

It faded immediately.

...It was because of that stupid question. What if she never gets to ask? She has to ask sometime, so it may as well be now! Right? ...But what if it's a stupid question? Stan is the smartest guy in the world, what if the answer is something obvious and he laughs at her for not figuring it out, and she looks like a big dummy-dum? Or worse, what if it's some super-duper secret and he hates her for it? What if they never talk again? She didn't want to imagine that.

She gulped hard. No, she had to ask him. She had to be brave, for once. He's the one who's always telling her to ask hard questions, he'd like that! And even if he hates her, she's sure it won't last forever. That's just dumb. She can make it up to him if he gets upset. She'll swear off Louce for the rest of her life if she has to!

Finally, she pitter-pattered back over to the table with her glass to see Uncle Stan scribbling something on his notepad.

She inhaled sharply, and took several deep gulps of her sugary concoction to psyche herself up. She spilled a little as it dribbled out of her mouth and onto her green sweater-dress-thingy, but hey, it's been through worse.

"Uncle Stan," she began, no longer smiling, "can I ask you a question?"

"Certainly, dear," he replied almost immediately, still note-taking.

Louise gingerly placed the glass down on the table, nervously playing with her sleeves. "Um… promise you won't get mad? Dad told me to never ever ask you this question…"

That got his attention. He stopped writing in mid-word and he looked at her, clearly confused as he saw her anxious state. He placed down his pen and leaned forward in anticipation.

"...Yes. Yes of course."

"No, Uncle Stan, I need you to say 'I promise'."

He placed his six-fingered hand on his chest. "Louise, I promise I won't get mad. You have my word."

She gulped ahead, and as if bracing herself for impact, shut her eyes.

"...Why do you have six fingers?"

Silence.

Oh no. No, no, no, no, she'd messed up, she'd messed up good…

"I-I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry…" she started muttering, unwilling to open her eyes.

Then to her surprise, she heard her uncle start laughing. And she'd heard him laugh enough to know it was the same kind of laugh as when she'd told him a joke, not a mocking 'ha ha let's point at you' kind of laugh she sometimes hears at school.

"That's it? That's the 'forbidden question'?" he asked, incredulously. "Honestly, I was expecting you to ask much sooner! I think your father may have overreacted somewhat!"

She slowly opened her eyes, and sure enough, he was smiling. It was a big smile, too, possibly the biggest it's ever been.

"S-so… you're not mad?"

"Louise, my dear, of course I'm not mad! It's just a simple question, after all! I do appreciate your concern, but still!" he affirmed, giving her a quick hair-ruffle. Then he sat up straight, putting on his 'serious face' - Louise mimicked him to the best of her ability.

"Anyway, to answer your question… It's called polydactyly, derived from the Ancient Greek term 'poludaktulos' - literally, 'many fingers'. Or toes. It was something I was born with. A random condition. That's really all there is to it, honestly."

Louise's shoulders slumped. That was… kind of an anti-climax.

"Oh. That's it?"

"Yes, that's it. In objective terms, at least. When I was your age, your grandmother used to tell me that my sixth finger made me 'special'," he mentioned, doing an 'air quotes' gesture, "but… I'm not sure if the kids at your school are different, but during my elementary education there were many boys and girls who weren't very nice about it. They made sure I knew that my sixth finger did not make me 'special'. Less than special. Your father used to be rather protective of me, so that likely explains why he didn't want you asking me about it."

Louise put on an appropriately furious look. She knew right away what he was getting at.

"Did they call you a freak?"

"...Yes."

"Ugh!" she gave a grunt of disgust, clenching her fists. "That's so unfair! It's not like you chose to have a sixth finger! It's just like my mole! See?" she pulled down on her cheek to stretch her face out, pointing out the mole in question. "There's these dumb girls who keep saying I'm ugly 'cause of this thing! Or they're calling me squinty-eyes, or big-nose, or saying I dress like an old lady, or stealing my headband or knocking my book outta my hands, just… URGH!"

"Oh… I see," Stanford almost whispered, seeming surprised. "To be honest, I always assumed the school experience had improved since my day. Then again, it's obviously quite different for girls. I hadn't taken that into consideration."

Louise didn't stop her ranting - the floodgates had been opened. "Oh, boys are dumb, too! I wanted to join the school D&D& more D club so bad, but they wouldn't let me! They said girls aren't allowed to play, it's a 'boys-only game'! An' one time for Valentine's, this boy called Paulie gave me a box of chocolates but instead of chocolates there were live rats!"

Stanford let out a short, but harsh chuckle. "Heh… yes, take it from me. Us boys can be rather stupid. And unhygienic..."

"And the teachers, the teachers are the worst! The other day we were asked to tell everyone what we wanted to be when we grow up, an' I said I wanted to be a detective - 'cause I do! Mrs. Turnback thought I was joking and she laughed at me! And one time, Mr. Pistachio, the history teacher, told us that America was discovered by Columbus, and then I asked him how could he 'discover' it if there were people already living there, and he yelled at me for 'back-sassing' him!"

"Huh… you know, I used to be taught by Mr. Pistachio. I'm surprised he hasn't been fired yet," Stanford commented. "He once told us that the capital of Vienna is Sydney and gave me detention for correcting him. Not only is Vienna a city, not a country, the country it's the capital of is Austria, not Australia, and the capital of Australia is Canberra, not Sydney!"

"I know!" Louise confirmed, before slumping forward onto the table, resting her face on her hands. She sighed. "What can I do, Uncle Stan? Dad always tells me to just ignore it, but how? It's so hard! I don't wanna be 'Ugly Louise' or 'Cyanide Breath'!"

"'Cyanide Breath'? That's a new one…" Stanford mused, before clearing his throat. "Anyway, uh… I'll admit, I'm probably not the best person to ask about this. Do you have any friends?"

"Well… I'm friends with a couple girls at the after-school book club…" Louise admitted.

"Then you're doing far better than I did. I…" Stanford began twiddling his thumbs, glancing at an empty seat at the table, "...I didn't have any friends."

Louise looked at him. From the shaky way he said that, to his frowny, vulnerable look, he almost seemed like an entirely different person to her. Even now, at eight, she sometimes failed to remember that every adult she met - every parent, every teacher - was once a kid just like her, going through the same things she's going through. She was long past the point where she just imagined adults were birthed fully-formed in school offices before getting 'anti-fun' training, but that didn't mean she couldn't be surprised. Especially coming from Uncle Stan, the smartest guy in the world.

She always figured he just breezed through school no problem, even enjoyed it. Maybe that was true for classes, but she hadn't thought about the whole 'friends' thing. To imagine what sort of garbage he had to go through, and that he didn't even have a single friend, or even someone he could relate to, made her feel almost kinda guilty. Like she was dumping her problems on a man for whom they seemed so small, so stupid, so trivial.

In that moment, she deflated. Her childlike sense of self-centredness vanished, and she became aware just how small she really was.

"Aw… I'm sorry, Uncle Stan," she croaked out. "I thought I had it bad, but you had it way worse."

"I wouldn't think of it like that," Stanford was quick to interject, sitting up straight again. "I think all kids go through 'school trials' like this. It's not a contest - just because I may have had it 'worse'," he said with air quotes again, "doesn't make your trials any less of a problem."

"I guess…" Louise said, reluctantly. "I don't get it, though. How could anyone pick on you? You're so smart! And who cares if you have six fingers? I think it's pretty groovy! I've seen loads of girls with moles, but I've never seen anyone else with six fingers!"

Stanford chuckled harshly again. "Heh… you're a good person, Louise. I wish more people were like you. Many humans can only accept what they are used to, what classes as 'normal' - to them, anything that falls outside of those parameters is an aberration that must be removed. It's an outdated and frankly dangerous way of thinking, but too many people still think like that. Even something so small and insignificant as my sixth finger, or your mole. Even though beauty can be found in all that's natural. For what it's worth, I know some boys find moles very pretty. That's why they call them 'beauty marks'."

Louise's expression lightened up a bit, and she sat up again, brushing her hair out of her face. "Really? ...Do you think I'm pretty?"

Stanford smiled. "Of course I think you're pretty, dear. And I'm certain I'm not the only one."

"Aw, th-thank you!" she jabbered out, her big grin coming back. "Does that mean there's someone who thinks your six fingers are pretty?"

"Probably, though I'll admit I haven't found any yet…" Stanford conceded, "but to be honest, I don't particularly care. It was my sixth finger that spurred me on in my studies, to track down anomalies - I wanted to learn more about the unusual, and perhaps in doing so find a kindred spirit. And I suppose I have found some, in my research - because I too am an anomaly, in my own way. That's why I found it ridiculous that your father advised you to not to ask me about it - what was once a source of shame for me is now a source of pride. It's ideal if others come to accept that about you, of course, but sometimes that pride is all you have. It is to be cherished. I know there exist surgeries that could remove my extra fingers, but I would never go through with one, not for all the money in the world."

Louise's mouth fell open, taking in his words of wisdom. "So you're saying I should be proud of my mole? Even if no-one else is?"

"That's the short version, yes. You'll know who your real friends are if they can accept that about you, too."

"Wow… that makes so much sense…" Louise marveled. It took a few more moments for her to get over this surely life-changing epiphany, and her mouth closed into its cheerful smile. "Thanks, Uncle Stan! You're so wise! Like an old owl! And you kinda look like an owl, too!"

Right on cue, Stanford did that funny pouty face he does when he gets annoyed. "I do not look like an owl."

"Nuh-uh, you do!" she repeated, pointing at his face. "You're doing that owl face right now!"

"I am not."

"Am too!"

"Am not!"

"Am too!"

"Am not!"

"Am not!"

"Am too! Wait, wh-"

Louise burst out into a fit of laughter. He fell for it, the oldest trick in the book! She thought that only worked in cartoons!

"Heh... I suppose I deserved that for the 'can/may' trick earlier…" Stanford conceded again, rubbing the back of his head.

A solid minute of laughter passed. Once Louise was out of breath, she began wheezing and took another long gulp of her Louce. That got her energized again, but the jolt of energy made her realize they were still supposed to be playing a game! Or… were they? She had messed up, that's how her character had died in the first place. Uncle Stan had tried to warn her…

As if he was reading her mind, Stanford spoke up. "So, anyway… uh, did you want to roll a new character? Or should I resurrect your current one? You made it this far, it'd be a shame for it to end here."

Louise shrugged. "Eh, I don't mind! ...Maybe we should try something else, actually. I can always try fighting the Impossibeast again next time we see each other."

"Fair enough. I suppose it does highlight the gravity of the situation."

Louise nodded in agreement. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do now. Maybe just sit on the couch and do something dumb, like watch TV. Or they could read a novel together? Or just watch the snow fall outside? So many options! Honestly, she wouldn't mind if this moment lasted forever. Uncle Stan is the best. And already, she couldn't wait until next time, when they'd get to hang out in the sun, by the sea, with a new mom.

But 'next time' never came.