My name is Temrash. The human I live inside is named Tom.

We returned from the Yeerk pool to Tom's home. It was a house, which is a specific type of building surrounded by grass, designed for a single human family.

Tom had one sibling and two parents, and they all lived together. This was a common arrangement for humans, though not invariable. Human families are certainly always smaller than the hundred-person litters of Yeerks.

In the upstairs hallway, Tom was walking towards his room when we heard sound from behind us. "Hey, Tom. Can we talk for a minute?"

Humans communicate by sound. Their throats and mouths could send words through the air like ripples across water. It took months for the ship's computer to teach me a new alien language, but connecting to Tom's brain let me learn English in an instant.

Tom turned around to see his dad, his male parent. "What's up?" Tom asked casually.

Humans also communicate visually. The subtle movements of their bodies and faces signaled their emotions. Right then, I could tell Tom's dad was gentle but also serious. "I heard from Jake that you quit the basketball team."

[Of course Jake told him,] Tom thought bitterly. It took all of his willpower and some of my help to stop himself from rolling his eyes and groaning - a rude show of annoyance.

Let me explain: Basketball was a game. The goal was basically to physically move a sphere across the area over and over. A basketball team was a way for students to play it regularly after school. Tom's dad was a fan of the game, and he was proud of his son's talent.

"He said you left over a week ago," his dad said. "Is that true?"

Tom had been stalling this conversation for multiple weeks. He wished he could skip it altogether.

"Uh . . . Yeah," Tom said at last.

"Why didn't you say anything?" his dad asked.

Was he angry? Probably not, but maybe a little disappointed. Human faces couldn't tell you everything.

"I guess," Tom said awkwardly, "I was worried you'd make a big deal out of it. When Jake heard, he acted like the sky was falling. It's really not a big deal."

"Isn't it? You were planning to turn pro someday." Meaning, to play the game as a profession. That's a thing on Earth.

Tom was exasperated. "No I - Why does everyone think I wanna be a pro athlete?!"

His dad's face looked confused. "You said you did. Didn't you?"

"I said that once when I was twelve! And before that I wanted-" Tom stopped himself from saying he once wanted to be an astronaut. He was still too embarrassed to admit that to anyone outside The Sharing.

I said nothing, of course. Tom's dad had no idea I was here. Whenever Tom talked with his family, I usually watched passively, like it was a human TV show or a Yeerk memory dump. Don't mind me; I'm just an innocent bystander.

Tom resumed with, "It stopped being fun, Dad."

"Is that the only reason?"

"Isn't that enough?"

"Well, nothing's fun all the time, Tom. Being on a team is about hard work, and commitment to your teammates. You shouldn't just walk away the first time it gets a little boring."

That made no sense to me at all. Basketball was literally a game. If it doesn't make you happy, give it up.

But Tom understood what his dad was saying. He remembered all the times his parents drove him to practice, and to away games. All the times they cheered for him in the stands. They spent a lot of time and energy indulging their child's hobby. Tom felt bad about telling them, 'changed my mind, don't care anymore'. Most of all, he remembered how often they praised him for playing well . . . He didn't have many memories of them praising him for anything else.

He covered up his guilt with anger. "So what? I'm not allowed to quit? Ever?"

His dad turned his head side to side. That meant no. "I'm not saying that. I'm just worried you didn't think it through first. After all, it could have meant a scholarship."

Another explanation for those of you who never had a human host: A scholarship was . . . It's sort of like an invitation to higher-level studies. They're given to students who excel in studying, or who excel in games. Don't ask me why for the latter. I don't get it either.

I felt the anger inside Tom flare up hotter. "I don't need-!" He stopped himself. He wanted to say that he could get a scholarship even without basketball, but he couldn't quite bring himself to believe it.

As Tom struggled to think of what to say next, his dad asked, "Does this have anything to do with that Sharing club?"

"No," Tom said like an automatic reflex. Then he added, "Well, maybe a little. I didn't really have time for both of them."

He winced internally. Tom was usually a great actor, but somehow he fumbled here. He sounded more defensive than he meant to.

The Sharing was a cover used by us Yeerks and the hosts. Sometimes we did charity work in the human community. But most of the time we just pretended to do charity work while sneaking away to the Yeerk pool or other alien-related missions.

Tom knew that his parents thought it was strange that he was so interested in this club. They wouldn't have thought anything of it if The Sharing was a state-wide organization with lots of members Tom's age. Or if they did fun things like bonfires or barbecues. But as far as his parents knew, The Sharing was just four adults doing volunteer work, who were mysteriously unable to get more members. It was getting harder for Tom to make up excuses for all the time he spent there.

His parents pretty much let Tom do as he pleased, and they didn't ask many questions. And Tom took advantage of that for all it was worth. But had he gone too far? He couldn't let them get suspicious about what he did at The Sharing. He couldn't.

[Well, actually you could,] I told Tom. [You just don't want to.]

[Not now, Tem.]

"Then wh-" his dad started, but Tom interrupted.

"Look, my teammates are jerks. My coach is all, 'win win win, nothing else matters'. And I was sick of it. I'm sorry about the scholarship thing but I'm not going back," Tom said firmly.

His dad looked at him strangely. "Tom, why are you so upset? I'm not saying you can't trade basketball for another club. I just want to understand what's going on with you."

"What's that supposed to mean?!" Tom said defensively.

His dad looked concerned as he spoke. "You used to be so open with us. These days, you're practically never home. And even when you are here, you're so quiet and lost in your own head. I thought you were at basketball practice all week. Now I find out you've been off the team, and you didn't even mention it."

He sounded hurt at that last part. He wasn't upset that Tom quit, just that Tom hid it from his family.

Actually, Tom had been bottling up his feelings even before he bonded with me. In this family, Jake was always the quiet one, and Tom was the loud one. That started to change when Tom started high school. It got worse when he became a symbiont. And his parents were finally starting to notice the change in him.

"I . . . I just . . ."

"And to be honest, I'm a little confused by your interest in this Sharing club. Why exactly did you join that?"

There it was. The dreaded question.

Tom started to panic inside. He wasn't ready to tell his dad about aliens. But I figured he could say his other secret: the reason he went to that first meeting.

[I'm not telling him that either,] Tom thought.

[He's already suspicious. You gotta tell him something.]

Tom refused. His mind raced. He didn't want to tell the truth, but he couldn't think of anything else.

As for me, personally, I tired of his stubbornness. So I decided to stop being an innocent bystander.

I forcibly took control of Tom's speech. It wasn't hard; these words had already been on his mind since he started high school. It only took a little push to force out what he was thinking.

"Because I'm sick and tired of feeling stupid!" I quickly made Tom say.

His dad blinked in shock.

Tom's eyes widened. His face felt hot. He was blushing - an involuntary reaction to embarrassment. And anger.

He turned his head away and clenched his jaw. He was furious at what I did. He fantasized about pulling my body out of his head and throwing me against a wall, which I thought was an overreaction.

"You're not stupid, Tom," his dad said gently.

It was out now. There was nothing Tom could do about that.

"I'm not smart," he mumbled quietly. "I'm the dumbest one in this family."

His dad asked, "Why would you say-"

After that little leak, the dam burst open. Tom turned back to his dad and shouted, "Dad, you're a doctor! Mom's able to think up all these creative ideas for her scripts. And Jake - who's younger than me - is like two steps away from getting on the honor roll . . . I had to struggle to stay above a D-average!"

Tom interrupted again before his dad could open his mouth. "And don't tell me 'just do your best' or 'you're good in other areas'. That's just code for 'we know you can't do any better'!"

"That's not what it means," his dad protested. "Of course, your mother and I want you to get good grades, but don't beat yourself up over it. You don't have to get straight A's, Tom."

"I know I don't have to, Dad. I want to," he stressed. "I want to be the smart guy that people turn to when they need help. And, yeah, I like sports, but I don't want it to be my whole life. But when I tried to do something new, everyone acted like I was being weird . . . The Sharing never acted like that."

After being so honest, Tom switched back to lying. He thought up a new way to explain his time at The Sharing. "You know all those meetings we have? They're actually tutoring sessions. I mean, not all of them. Some of the volunteer stuff is real. But a lot of it was just me talking with Mr. Tidwell or Mr. Chapman. And it's been helping. My grades are getting better. A little."

The real reason was me. I was the one who had spent all that time studying math and physics, plus several other subjects Earth schools didn't test for. I understood String Theory. More than that, I understood why String Theory was wrong and why the rest of the universe moved on to the Harmonic Theory. I at least knew the basics. And since Tom had access to my memories, he could sort of follow along when I thought about it.

But Tom still felt insecure. He didn't feel smarter because he couldn't recall all the details when we were separated. He couldn't really take the credit for my intelligence.

Except he could, because we were almost always together. Our two brains made up a shared larger brain. Sort of. Right?

Tom somberly said, "I don't want to be a dumb jock anymore. I'm sorry if quitting basketball disappoints you, but . . . I needed a change."

His dad looked at Tom sympathetically. "Why didn't you just tell us you felt this way?"

He stared. "I dunno. I . . . I was embarrassed.".

After a moment, his dad said, "I'm sorry if we made you feel like you couldn't come to us. I want you to know, you can talk to your mom or me about anything, Tom."

[If only that were true,] Tom thought sadly.

Out loud he just said, "Thanks, Dad."

"Just curious," his dad added. "It's fine if you don't know. But since you don't want to be a pro player anymore, have you thought about what it is you do want to do when you grow up?"

Tom knew the answer without having to think about it.

[This. I'm already doing exactly what I want. Yeerks. Alien encounters. Defending the Earth. I want to do this forever.]

But he already knew it wasn't a real career option. Investigating UFOs wouldn't pay the bills.

"I dunno," he answered mostly honestly. "I wanna do something important. But I still don't know what though."

"It's fine if you don't have it all figured out yet. But I hope you'll let me know when you do."

Tom nodded.

A few moments later, we were alone in his room. He shut the door behind him.

Tom leaned his back and head against the door. He stared into space.

[I'm not happy about what you did,] he told me.

I was a little sorry, but I also thought, [It worked out for the best though, right?] Tom still hid so much from his family. I felt it was good for him to be honest wherever he could.

Tom and I thought alike on a lot of things. But we still had disagreements.

Recently, I'd been worried about "going native". If I kept connecting to Tom's brain, would I stop being "me" someday, and become "Tom 2.0" instead? Maybe I already did. How would I notice? Was I already too far gone from that young Yeerk studying at a computer?

Meanwhile, Tom didn't mind cutting all ties his old self.

Was changing into someone else really possible?

More importantly, was it good or bad?

There was no way to measure such a thing.

There was another big issue. [You're never going to tell your family about me, are you?] I asked.

We knew all of each other's thoughts, of course. I could have looked up the answer in the same time it took to address him. I only put it in the form of a question for the sake of conversation. That's how things were with mental symbiosis.

[If I told my parents, they might force me to stop investigating aliens. They might even try to separate us.]

[You don't know that they will.]

[And you don't know that they won't.]

Tom paused, trying to organize his thoughts.

[I like the way things are now,] he concluded. [Right now. I wish we could stay like this forever.]

[That would be nice.]