Chapter 8: Un-Isolated

I'm having troubles with the last part of Waterloo World. It was easy enough the first time: jump up on the vertical thingy, levi-ball, float, hit, TK. I've tried other ways this time, but now I'm down to 12 ammo and having troubles aiming. What the heck am I supposed to do?

First, he had to face reality. He hadn't seen Lili in four days, and he was lonely.

What had happened, that he had such a crush on her that he had a hard time when he didn't see her for four days? Crushes were screwy.

So, he had taken up teaching. Actually, substitute teaching. It seemed that any psychonaut was automatically eligible to teach psychic abilities. Plus, he understood the Psycadets who he was expected to teach because he was their age. So everything was good. Almost. He had known, when he had decided to try to become a psychonaut at ten, that he'd get bored in between missions. Considering the amount of psychics, there was a very large number of psychonauts, and all of them were more advanced than he was. Homework just didn't take up enough time anymore. God forbid he ever took up gymnastics, the more domestic equivalent of acrobatics.

So he was bored all day. No Lili, Milla was on a mission with some other person, and Sasha was doing some "extremely delicate experiments." Of course, with Sasha, "delicate" was anything from baking (which he never did anyway) to something that could blow bits of the capitol all the way to California and made a crater the size of Mexico.

So he sat there most of the day, read a book he'd found in Boyd's mind (meaning that he was actually still in Boyd's mind) and ran around Fred's and Milla's minds trying to get all the figments.

Boredom.

Pure and utter boredom.

He went to sleep.

The alarm clock went off and he jammed the "Alarm" button down.

Then he remembered.

Today was the day.

He went to the woman in the front room, the same one as when he'd gotten there.

"Where's the psychoisolation chamber? My girlfriend's getting out of there today, and I want to be there."

"I have no way of confirming that information, and you have no right to be there."

"Okay, but if Lili asks why I wasn't there so she could tell me to get lost, I'll tell her the receptionist told me I couldn't talk to her when she came out."

He could feel her getting tense when he said that; no one messed with Lili. Ever. "You're the psychonaut ten-year-old, right?"

"Yep."

"Where it says 'High-security experimentation and training rooms' on the big map? That's where the psycho-room is."

"Psycho-room?"

"Slang. It's a room, right? And only crazy people would do things to get themselves thrown in there. So we call it the psycho-room."

"Oh. Okay. Thanks!"

"Let's just hope she's not a wreck like last time."

"She isn't. I've talked to her in her mind."

"In that case, the psycho-room needs a fresh lining."

"How about not. Don't tell anyone about this, and I'll forget everything I don't like about you."

"Deal. Now, get a move on. You don't want to get Miss Zanotto mad. Believe me, you really don't want to."

"Okay. Thanks!"

He went to the big map, the same one he'd used to find his room, looked up "high-security experimentation and training rooms" and went there.

He got there just as Lili got out. Then, right on cue…

"Get out of my way, weirdo. Only a freak would rush to see his girlfriend get out of psychoisolation."

He just smiled. Her mind was screwed up, her body probably felt like sludge, and yet she was still the insulting, evil, and occasionally sweet Lili he knew.

"That's a lie. I'm never sweet. I'm not evil, either. Just kind of mean to people I don't like. And people I do like. Whatever."

He still smiled, but he stepped out of her way as she ran into her father's arms. Psychoisolation was like prison, but worse: no communication, no being pitied, and no escape. It was nice to see her happy. Then it was over, and she went to her room, and, he assumed, to bed.

.-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-..-.

Oh, my god. I have so much homework it isn't even funny. It's time for a calculator.

That's like cheating. Plus, you have two and a half weeks to make it up.

Yeah, and I chose to do my worst subject first. And it's only cheating if it's a fair amount of homework. This is insane.

So… you're trying to catch up to two weeks of math in one day?

Wouldn't you?

No. I'd do social studies. Or English. They're my worst.

Zig likes math. It's so annoying.

That would be. Why are you talking to me if you need to do homework? It's… 5:30 AM.

Yeah. I always do my homework in the morning. I'm just getting in some extra. Plus, this stimulates mental and psychic… stuff, so it wakes me up some. Zig does her homework in the afternoon if she doesn't finish it in class, so she gets up at 7. Probably because she can't get to sleep by 11. Well, bye!

And she pulled out of his mind. That was the weirdest school-related conversation he'd ever had.

So, since he was up, he did the extra credit he was supposed to do the day before (He had always been home-schooled, or wagon-schooled or whatever, so he was in eighth grade and did things on his own schedule, but he liked to think he set dates to do things. Not that he actually did, but he liked to think he did.) and typed his report on the Civil War.

Boring.

He got breakfast.

Bored again.

Wow.

Big surprise.

So he went to a Psycadet training room and worked on his skills.

Then he did the inconceivable and registered in a gymnastics class. He was a circus acrobat, and, as much as he'd hated them for most of his life, he had to admit that life was more of an adventure when he did them.

The internet is a wonderful thing.

The day passed and was just as boring, so when he went to sleep, he was mentally and physically exhausted, and he was hoping that the next day would be more fun.

Yeah, after the climax, the story got kind of dull. There wasn't that much more to say. So I just made it part of the chapter.

About guys and gymnastics: if you're a guy and you want to do gymnastics, then you're cool because you want to express yourself. However, when I was in gymnastics a few years ago, there was only one class of boys and several classes of girls. Some things are just more oriented toward male or female stereotypes. For example, to middle school girls, rugby is a "dumb guy thing." I think gymnastics gets to be more of a guy thing when the guy in question gets older. However, rugby remains being just an excuse to hurt people for the sake of the possession of a little ball.