NOVEL NEXT Chapter 3: Thieving cat and Thailand trouble.
Chapter 3: Thieving cat and Thailand trouble.
Hey, it’s me again—Sierra Fox. Everyone’s favorite ex-space tyrant who definitely didn’t call people in the middle of the night to sell you a Nigerian prince scam. No, my scams are way more sophisticated. Like convincing my family I’m not dead.
While Dad and I were swapping stories, I gave him a (heavily edited) version of my adventures, and he filled me in on what I’d missed. Then, out of nowhere, Mom strides into WcDonald's like she’s about to stage a dramatic intervention. And I know that look on her face. That’s the I-caught-you-red-handed face. Oh no.
“I knew it! You were acting weird this morning! How long, Jim? HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN SEEING HER?!”
Wait... what? My brain short-circuited for a moment as I tried to process what just happened. Apparently, Mom wasn’t angry that I, her son, had suddenly returned from space. No, she was screaming at Dad… for some reason.
Then she pointed at me with the fury of a thousand suns. “And YOU!” She’s shouting at me now, in a WcDonald’s, full drama mode. “How DARE you steal my husband! You thieving cat!”
This is new. I’ve been called many things in my time as a space tyrant—villainess, heretic, irredeemable, irresponsible—but never once did anyone call me a thieving cat. Especially not my mom.
“Uh, Mom—” I tried to get a word in, but nope. She was in full Karen meltdown mode.
“Don’t ‘Mom’ me! I knew you were up to no good, Jim! I should’ve known! It’s always the quiet ones!”
"Mom, just because I’m relatively quieter than you doesn’t mean I’m the 'quiet one.' Everything’s relative."
“Dad, conveniently standing behind Mom, signals me to stop. ‘That’s not the point,’ he mouths.”
Oh, right. The point is Mom... thinks I’m somehow Dad’s mistress.
But seeing that I was looking at Dad, Mom turned to him. “I trusted you, Jim! And this is how you repay me? A silver-haired thief?!” Her voice echoed through the WcDonald’s, and I could feel all eyes on us now.
Alright, Sierra. Time to defuse this situation before it escalates any further. I took a deep breath, putting on my most sincere face, and carefully chose my words.
“Mom,” I said, trying to sound calm and reasonable. “It’s me. James. You know, your son?” I pointed at my face. “I just… look a little different now. But I promise, it’s me. I didn’t steal Dad or anything. I swear.”
Mom squints at me like I just told her I was a talking toaster. “James?” she echoes, her voice dripping with skepticism. “You... James?”
I nod, flashing her a sheepish smile. “Yep. Long story short: got sucked into space, turned into this, and now I’m back. Surprise!”
Mom stares at me, then at Dad, then back at me. Her face goes through a range of expressions—disbelief, confusion, a dash of irritation—and finally settles on sheer exasperation.
“James,” she says slowly, rubbing her temples like she’s dealing with a particularly stubborn Wi-Fi router, “you’re telling me that the middle-of-the-night phone call wasn’t just a really, really weird dream?”
How she thought it was a dream after yelling that loud is still a mystery to me. But asking her right now probably isn’t a good idea. So, I just nod. “Remember the zebra dog? And Dad’s 'secret' stash of knockoff Rolexes?” I try to remind her.
Dad winces. "Really? Bringing that up now?"
Mom glares at Dad. “And you’ve known about this?”
Dad raises his hands defensively. “She called me this morning too! You think I’d keep this a secret? I’m not that brave.”
Mom rolls her eyes, muttering something about “typical men” before turning back to me. “Let me get this straight. You disappeared into space, came back as this, and we’re supposed to believe it’s not some Jim’s avant-garde excuse?”
“Pretty much,” I say with a grin. “Though, if it helps, I still hate zucchini, and I still think your lasagna’s the best on Earth.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “Flattery won’t get you out of this one, young lady—er, young... person?”
“Still your kid,” I offer with a small shrug.
Mom sighs dramatically, throwing her hands up. “Well, I guess it’s better than thinking your father’s having an affair with some silver-haired hussy!”
That hussy is me, mom.
Dad jumps in. “Thank you! I’ve been trying to say that the whole time!”
Mom waves him off. “We’ll discuss that later.”
I can’t help but smirk. “Good to see you too, Mom.”
My story should have ended with us living happily ever after, but no, suddenly the police show up.
I kid you not, as we’re sitting there mid-conversation, two officers stroll into WcDonald’s like they’re about to bust a major crime ring. Why? Well, because some well-meaning guy decided to report that a “cute girl” (me, obviously) was being harassed by an “old man and woman.”
Good intentions, sure, but… thanks, random dude. Thanks a lot.
“Are they bothering you, miss?” the officer asks, all business. Apparently, the report was something along the lines of me sitting alone, minding my own business, when suddenly a suspicious old man (Dad) came in acting like a snake oil merchant, then an old woman (Mom) showed up and caused a scene. “To be fair, I was loudly being accused of being Dad’s mistress not five minutes earlier, so I get why it might’ve looked a little... sketchy.”
But seriously. Thanks but no thanks, good citizen. I'll have Grams stalk your Gacha pulls and turn them all into cabbages.
I open my mouth to respond, but Mom jumps in before I can even get a word out. “Oh no, officers! This is my daughter!” she says, a little too loudly, as if overcompensating for her earlier thieving cat accusations.
The officers exchanged glances, clearly not buying it. “So, you’re claiming this girl is your daughter? May I see your ID?” one of them asked, raising an eyebrow at me like I’m some kind of extraterrestrial (which, to be fair, isn’t entirely wrong).
I handed the officer my freshly prepared ID, doing my best not to look suspicious. She raised an eyebrow as she glanced at the ID, then at me, then back at the ID.
"21, huh?" She muttered, clearly unconvinced. "You don’t exactly look like you’ve been of legal drinking age for a few years."
I gave my best innocent smile. "Good genes?"
The officer blinked. "Uh-huh." She held the ID up to the light, probably checking to see if it had been printed on a napkin. "And you’re telling me this is legit?"
"Absolutely," I said, a little too quickly. "Completely legit. The government doesn’t mess around with these things."
The officer wasn’t buying it. She turned to her partner. "Run this through the system, will you?"
The other officer took the ID and walked back to the patrol car, leaving me standing there, trying not to sweat under the scrutiny of the remaining officer.
Dad leaned in and whispered, “21? Are you for real?”
“Sue me, Dad,” I whispered back. Knowing full well that I’m stretching it a bit, but as an ex-space tyrant, I refuse to be stopped from drinking a cold glass of beer.
Mom and Dad watched with bated breath until the officer returned from the car, shaking his head. "Well, it came back clean. Everything checks out… somehow."
Of course, if an ex-AI overlord couldn’t fool you, who will? I thought, a smirk tugging at my lips.
The female officer shot him an incredulous look before turning back to my parents. “Then why doesn’t she look like either of you?”
Mom freezes. I can practically see her brain short-circuiting as she tries to come up with a reasonable answer to that one. And let’s be real, how do you explain to the police that your son left Earth, turned into a silver-haired girl, and returned from another galaxy without getting committed to a mental institution?
That’s where Dad, in all his dubious wisdom, steps in.
Now, let me remind you that this is the same man who sold knockoff Rolexes out of his car in the ‘80s. He may not have a lot of common sense, but he does know how to think on his feet when he has to. And right now? He’s pulling out his best Rolex salesman techniques.
“Well, you see,” Dad starts, his voice smooth like he’s about to sell them the finest fake Rolex in town. “She used to be our son, James. He disappeared about ten years ago, and we thought we’d lost him for good. Turns out, he went to Thailand for... plastic surgery.” He gestures to me with a flourish, like I’m a shiny new product on display. “So when he came back home looking like this, we were surprised. My wife here thought I was having an affair, but nope, it’s just our long-lost, newly transformed daughter!”
The police blink at him. I blink at him. Everyone blinks at him. Even Mom looks like she’s unsure whether to be impressed or horrified.
But Grams? Oh, Grams is having the time of her life. She messages me, “Updating the government database to reflect your current circumstances. LoL.”
“Grams,” I hissed under my breath, trying not to laugh, “this is not helping.”
The officers, meanwhile, still looked skeptical. The female officer motioned for me to step aside, separating me from my parents for questioning. She gave me a once-over, her gaze sharp.
"Is this true?" she asked, her voice low and serious. "Did you… come back from Thailand?"
And here I am, faced with the ultimate dilemma: Do I blow the whole charade and explain that I’m actually an interdimensional space tyrant with nanomachines in my veins, or do I go along with Dad’s ridiculous story and pretend that I got a makeover in Thailand?
Considering the alternative might involve an awkward trip to the police station—or worse, having to explain everything all over again in a psychiatric ward or Area 51—I decide to bite the bullet.
I nod, doing my best to look sincere. “Yes, Officer. I just got back from Thailand.” I mentally facepalm as I say it, but hey—desperate times call for desperate measures.
The officers glance at each other, clearly unsure of what to do with this... unusual situation. But after a long, awkward pause, they seem to decide that this is above their pay grade.
The officers exchanged uneasy glances, each clearly waiting for the other to take the lead. After a moment, the female officer cleared her throat. “Well… this is definitely one for the paperwork pile.”
The male officer scratched his head. “Yeah, uh, we’ll just… make a note of this, and you all can… carry on. Just… try to keep the noise down, alright? No more scenes.”
“Absolutely!” Dad says with the confidence of a man who just sold the world’s best fake Rolex. “Thank you, officers. We’ll keep it quiet from now on.”
As the police walk away, I let out a long breath of relief. Disaster averted. For now.
Grams seems strangely happy today, messaging me again. “Should I change the ship's identification to Thailand? That way you wouldn’t technically be lying about where you’re from. LoL.”
“Stop LoLing!” I hissed.
But before I can finish my threat, Mom speaks up, her voice filled with a mix of exasperation and disbelief. “Thailand, Jim? Really? That’s the best you’ve got?”
Dad, looking far too pleased with himself, grins and crosses his arms. “Hey, it worked, didn’t it? I told you I’ve still got the magic touch.”
Mom glares at him, clearly unimpressed. “This isn’t over, Jim. Not by a long shot.” She turns to me, eyes narrowing with suspicion. “I’ll accept this for now, but don’t think for a second I’m convinced. I’ll be keeping an eye on you, Sierra.”
I can’t help it. I start laughing too. Because at the end of the day, no matter how ridiculous my life has become, mom and dad are still the same.
And that’s it, two down, one to go. And as for Mom? Well, let me round it up as a success.