Chapter Two:
That evening, Dad came home at the same time as usual. You probably already know this, but after the war ended, Dad finished high school and college, then went on to become - of all things - a math teacher. I once got Mom to sort of explain his reasons.
"In math," she had said, "there's always just one right answer."
Whatever that meant.
Dad also coaches the high school driftball team. Driftball had been imported by the Andalites, and was fast becoming a very popular and very competitive sport. Not to brag, or anything, but my Dad turned out to be one of the best driftball coaches there is.
Dad isn't as tall as they make him look in statues and movies. He's got brown hair, brown eyes, and your normal, everyday, adult face. Except for his eyes. I've never seen deeper emotion expressed than in the eyes of my father.
Tonight, his eyes were happy. "Hi, Freedom!" he called, dropping his driftball sash on a couch. "Hi, Tobax. Hello," he said, his tone becoming sweet and low, "Mommy."
"Ewwwww, gross! They're kissing!" exclaimed Tom.
Mom disentangled herself from Dad, and gave Tom a look. "This from the boy who wants to know if we can eat dead dog?"
Tobax was perched on the arm of the couch. "He didn't ask that, did he?"
Rachel nodded. He did.
"Sick."
"It was just a question!" Tom defended.
"A sick question."
Who's sick? Marco asked, bounding into the room.
"Nobody is."
"Tom."
"I'm not either!"
You should take VitaPill! Good and good for you, VitaPill keeps you going strong, all day long! Uphill, upstairs, inside and out, VitaPill will make you feel better, because it's better for you! VitaPill - remember, "vita" is Latin for "life!"
We stared at him.
Dad turned to Mom. "Cassie, are you sure there isn't some of Ax in that boy?"
"I'm sure."
"You know best." He picked up an apple, and started shining it on his shirt. "Hey, when's dinner?"
"That depends," Mom replied. "Who's hungry for what?"
"I want Chinese!"
Steak.
"Fondue!"
Steak would be nice.
"I said Chinese!"
Hey, can we have steak?
"What does manna taste like?"
Mom and Dad exchanged a glance. "Steak?"
"Steak," Mom confirmed. "I'll call Alphonze." Alphonze is our cook. He and the cleaning service are the only staff we hire.
Dad snatched the phone out of Mom's hands, and dropped it back in the cradle. "I feel like grilling tonight, Mom."
"Fine by me," she said. "Must have been a good day on the driftball court."
"Actually, not that great," he called over his shoulder as he headed into the kitchen. "But this one kid I've been teaching *nailed* a concept he's been having trouble with!"
"Which student?" Mom asked.
I smelled the wash of fragrances as he opened the freezer door. "JF!" was the muffled reply.
"Oh, wonderful! How's his mother doing?"
Dad came back into the room with a plateful of frozen steak. "His mother?"
"You know, she had that case of pneumonia?"
Dad looked blank.
"Jake, you are so clueless sometimes, it's adorable."
Dad teaches the kids, but Mom knows them all better than he does. It's just this way my mom has with people. Pretty cool.
The phone rang.
"I'll get it!" Tom cried, lunging for the phone. "H'lo?" He glanced at Dad. "Yeah, hang on." He handed the device off to Dad. "Some lady."
"Tom, you're supposed to find out who's calling first," Mom admonished softly.
Dad settled a tolerant smile onto his face. It's the smile he uses when someone he doesn't know is on the phone. We used to get a lot of weirdoes calling up, and so he had mastered the art of patient politeness over the years. "Hello? Yes, this is Jake. I'm sorry, who?" His eyes grew wide. His smile became a grin. "Hey! Good to hear from you! Wow, where are you?"
Somebody he knows, Rachel commented privately.
No duh, I replied.
Dad was leaning on the counter, this big, goofy, happy look playing over his face. Over the line, we could all hear a woman's voice, saying something excitedly.
Mom leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching her husband.
Jealous, Mom?
"Maybe I should be," she muttered.
"Oh, so you're still . . . right. Uh-huh. So, how did the meeting go? . . . Do I have to order you?" He laughed. "Yeah, okay. That's fair. . . . what? Oh, that was Tom. . . . Yeah, I know! I can't believe it!" He mussed Tom's hair fondly.
Marco and I exchanged a look. Okay, whoever this lady was, she had gotten Dad's attention.
"So are you . . . oh, okay. . . . yeah. No, why?" He stopped talking and listened for a while. His eyes got bigger and bigger. So, if possible, did his smile. "Awesome," he breathed.
Okay, Dad wasn't really the type to use turn-of-the-mil slang like that. Something was definitely up.
"That would be so cool," he said. He began digging through a stack of papers on his desk. Without even asking what he needed, Mom handed him his PalmComp. They have that kind of relationship. He tapped it a few times, then began speaking enthusiastically again. "Yeah, nothing planned! Sure, I'll have to clear it with . . . yeah, exactly. They sure do. Okay, then. I have to talk this over with them, but it looks good. . . . Right, okay . . . all right! See you soon, I hope!"
He hung up the phone, and turned a glowing face to Mom. "That," he announced, "was Rachel."
I glanced at my lethargic sister. Not her. Oh! He meant 'the' Rachel. Rachel the Animorph. Aunt Rachel!
"Rachel!" Mom gasped. "And you didn't let me talk to her?"
"She was calling from space, and only had a three minute transmission time," he apologized. "She'll call again tomorrow."
"So she and Tobias are back from that Interspecies Peace Meeting?"
Dad nodded.
"How did it go?"
He shrugged. "She couldn't discuss it." He glanced down at his PalmComp, then back up at Mom again. "Honey, we need to talk."
"Happy talk or hard talk?" she murmured.
"Happy."
"Good." She slipped her hand into his, and looked down at me. "Freedom, see that that meat gets put away and have Alphonze cook something, will you?"
Oui, madame, I grunted, imitating Alphonze's French voice.
That night, my mom and my dad agreed to take Rachel up on her invitation. Six weeks later, we were in an Andalite shuttle, on our way to the "Mona Lisa," the ambassadorial ship that carried Ambassador Tobias, his wife Rachel, and their daughter, Shorm.
That evening, Dad came home at the same time as usual. You probably already know this, but after the war ended, Dad finished high school and college, then went on to become - of all things - a math teacher. I once got Mom to sort of explain his reasons.
"In math," she had said, "there's always just one right answer."
Whatever that meant.
Dad also coaches the high school driftball team. Driftball had been imported by the Andalites, and was fast becoming a very popular and very competitive sport. Not to brag, or anything, but my Dad turned out to be one of the best driftball coaches there is.
Dad isn't as tall as they make him look in statues and movies. He's got brown hair, brown eyes, and your normal, everyday, adult face. Except for his eyes. I've never seen deeper emotion expressed than in the eyes of my father.
Tonight, his eyes were happy. "Hi, Freedom!" he called, dropping his driftball sash on a couch. "Hi, Tobax. Hello," he said, his tone becoming sweet and low, "Mommy."
"Ewwwww, gross! They're kissing!" exclaimed Tom.
Mom disentangled herself from Dad, and gave Tom a look. "This from the boy who wants to know if we can eat dead dog?"
Tobax was perched on the arm of the couch. "He didn't ask that, did he?"
Rachel nodded. He did.
"Sick."
"It was just a question!" Tom defended.
"A sick question."
Who's sick? Marco asked, bounding into the room.
"Nobody is."
"Tom."
"I'm not either!"
You should take VitaPill! Good and good for you, VitaPill keeps you going strong, all day long! Uphill, upstairs, inside and out, VitaPill will make you feel better, because it's better for you! VitaPill - remember, "vita" is Latin for "life!"
We stared at him.
Dad turned to Mom. "Cassie, are you sure there isn't some of Ax in that boy?"
"I'm sure."
"You know best." He picked up an apple, and started shining it on his shirt. "Hey, when's dinner?"
"That depends," Mom replied. "Who's hungry for what?"
"I want Chinese!"
Steak.
"Fondue!"
Steak would be nice.
"I said Chinese!"
Hey, can we have steak?
"What does manna taste like?"
Mom and Dad exchanged a glance. "Steak?"
"Steak," Mom confirmed. "I'll call Alphonze." Alphonze is our cook. He and the cleaning service are the only staff we hire.
Dad snatched the phone out of Mom's hands, and dropped it back in the cradle. "I feel like grilling tonight, Mom."
"Fine by me," she said. "Must have been a good day on the driftball court."
"Actually, not that great," he called over his shoulder as he headed into the kitchen. "But this one kid I've been teaching *nailed* a concept he's been having trouble with!"
"Which student?" Mom asked.
I smelled the wash of fragrances as he opened the freezer door. "JF!" was the muffled reply.
"Oh, wonderful! How's his mother doing?"
Dad came back into the room with a plateful of frozen steak. "His mother?"
"You know, she had that case of pneumonia?"
Dad looked blank.
"Jake, you are so clueless sometimes, it's adorable."
Dad teaches the kids, but Mom knows them all better than he does. It's just this way my mom has with people. Pretty cool.
The phone rang.
"I'll get it!" Tom cried, lunging for the phone. "H'lo?" He glanced at Dad. "Yeah, hang on." He handed the device off to Dad. "Some lady."
"Tom, you're supposed to find out who's calling first," Mom admonished softly.
Dad settled a tolerant smile onto his face. It's the smile he uses when someone he doesn't know is on the phone. We used to get a lot of weirdoes calling up, and so he had mastered the art of patient politeness over the years. "Hello? Yes, this is Jake. I'm sorry, who?" His eyes grew wide. His smile became a grin. "Hey! Good to hear from you! Wow, where are you?"
Somebody he knows, Rachel commented privately.
No duh, I replied.
Dad was leaning on the counter, this big, goofy, happy look playing over his face. Over the line, we could all hear a woman's voice, saying something excitedly.
Mom leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching her husband.
Jealous, Mom?
"Maybe I should be," she muttered.
"Oh, so you're still . . . right. Uh-huh. So, how did the meeting go? . . . Do I have to order you?" He laughed. "Yeah, okay. That's fair. . . . what? Oh, that was Tom. . . . Yeah, I know! I can't believe it!" He mussed Tom's hair fondly.
Marco and I exchanged a look. Okay, whoever this lady was, she had gotten Dad's attention.
"So are you . . . oh, okay. . . . yeah. No, why?" He stopped talking and listened for a while. His eyes got bigger and bigger. So, if possible, did his smile. "Awesome," he breathed.
Okay, Dad wasn't really the type to use turn-of-the-mil slang like that. Something was definitely up.
"That would be so cool," he said. He began digging through a stack of papers on his desk. Without even asking what he needed, Mom handed him his PalmComp. They have that kind of relationship. He tapped it a few times, then began speaking enthusiastically again. "Yeah, nothing planned! Sure, I'll have to clear it with . . . yeah, exactly. They sure do. Okay, then. I have to talk this over with them, but it looks good. . . . Right, okay . . . all right! See you soon, I hope!"
He hung up the phone, and turned a glowing face to Mom. "That," he announced, "was Rachel."
I glanced at my lethargic sister. Not her. Oh! He meant 'the' Rachel. Rachel the Animorph. Aunt Rachel!
"Rachel!" Mom gasped. "And you didn't let me talk to her?"
"She was calling from space, and only had a three minute transmission time," he apologized. "She'll call again tomorrow."
"So she and Tobias are back from that Interspecies Peace Meeting?"
Dad nodded.
"How did it go?"
He shrugged. "She couldn't discuss it." He glanced down at his PalmComp, then back up at Mom again. "Honey, we need to talk."
"Happy talk or hard talk?" she murmured.
"Happy."
"Good." She slipped her hand into his, and looked down at me. "Freedom, see that that meat gets put away and have Alphonze cook something, will you?"
Oui, madame, I grunted, imitating Alphonze's French voice.
That night, my mom and my dad agreed to take Rachel up on her invitation. Six weeks later, we were in an Andalite shuttle, on our way to the "Mona Lisa," the ambassadorial ship that carried Ambassador Tobias, his wife Rachel, and their daughter, Shorm.