Wonder of the Waves: The Tale of an Extraordinary Girl, And the Final Curtain

By Jim Lombardo

What if a person was walking the Earth who knew the answers to the greatest mysteries of life and the Universe?

What if everyone on the planet suddenly needed that person?

What if that person was a six-year-old girl?

Wonder of the Waves is the story of Hannah Blake, a child born with superhuman intelligence. After her meteoric rise to global popularity, the fun and games turn to serious business when the world is threatened by a veiled menace that no one is able to stop. In order to keep the Universe from disappearing, six-year-old Hannah must unlock nature's ultimate secret.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: May 2, 2019
• ISBN: 9781543959260

Book preview

Copyright © 2019 by Jim Lombardo

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Print ISBN: 978-1-54395-925-3

eBook ISBN: 978-1-54395-926-0

Dedication

This book is dedicated to Sophia, an extraordinary little girl I know, who thinks outside of the box.

All that we do is touched with ocean, and yet we remain on the shore of what we know.

–Richard Wilbur

Table of Contents

Foreword

Prologue

Chapter One: Worlds Colliding

Chapter Two: Echoes (Two years later)

Chapter Three: Simon Says

Chapter Four: Tempest

Chapter Five: Jigsaw

Chapter Six: Experimentation

Chapter Seven: Homecoming

Chapter Eight: Expectations

Chapter Nine: Miniature, Flat People

Chapter Ten: The Tiny Pupil

Chapter Eleven: Brian Blake

Chapter Twelve: Paroxysm

Chapter Thirteen: Gamma Waves

Chapter Fourteen: Monica Merrick

Chapter Fifteen: Hannah’s Brain

Chapter Sixteen: Little Star (6 weeks)

Chapter Seventeen: Pushing the Envelope

Chapter Eighteen: Aunt Doris

Chapter Nineteen: Wordplay

Chapter Twenty: Common Knowledge

Chapter Twenty-One: Prime Time (5 months old)

Chapter Twenty-Two: Playground (8 months old)

Chapter Twenty-Three: Wishes, Gifts & Friends (1 year old)

Chapter Twenty-Four: To Kiss a Mockingbird (2.05 years old)

Chapter Twenty-Five: Wondergirl

Chapter Twenty-Six: Premonition (2.25 years old)

Chapter Twenty-Seven: Genius Camp (3.25 years old)

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Robin

Chapter Twenty-Nine: Ode to Joy (4.35 years old)

Chapter Thirty: Salt Island

Chapter Thirty-One: StarPros (4.70 years old)

Chapter Thirty-Two: The Yellow Kittens

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Greatest Chess Move

Ever Played (5 years old)

Chapter Thirty-Four: A Useful Life

Chapter Thirty-Five: Ellie (5.65 years old)

Chapter Thirty-Six: Climbing Boys

Chapter Thirty-Seven: The Key to Success

Chapter Thirty-Eight: Anomaly

Chapter Thirty-Nine: Titan

Chapter Forty: Aurora

Chapter Forty-One: Tuning In (6.30 years old)

Chapter Forty-Two: Moving Day

Chapter Forty-Three: Mammoth Cave

Chapter Forty-Four: Volunteerism

Chapter Forty-Five: Breach

Chapter Forty-Six: Marblehead

Chapter Forty-Seven: Despair

Chapter Forty-Eight: Executive Order

Chapter Forty-Nine: Nothing

Chapter Fifty: Nightingale

Chapter Fifty-One: The Hum

Chapter Fifty-Two: Reconnecting

Chapter Fifty-Three: Adiemus

Chapter Fifty-Four: Faith and Fate

Chapter Fifty-Five: Green Light

Chapter Fifty-Six: Refuge

Chapter Fifty-Seven: The Grand Scheme of Things

Chapter Fifty-Eight: Stonehenge

Chapter Fifty-Nine: Safe Journey

Chapter Sixty: True

Chapter Sixty-One: Enlightenment

Chapter Sixty-Two: Sergio

Chapter Sixty-Three: Waiting It Out

Chapter Sixty-Four: Nature

Chapter Sixty-Five: Inner Oblivion

Chapter Sixty-Six: Sergio, the Update

Chapter Sixty-Seven: Blake Lake (Nearing 7 years old)

Chapter Sixty-Eight: A Curtain Closing

Epilogue

Foreword

Mrs. Blake — or Monica, if I may — please have a seat. The impeccably attired man motioned toward a mahogany conference table in the center of the room. I’m Marshall Goldrick, chief of the Crisis Management Team for the National Security Agency. He flashed a credential badge that was hanging by a thin rawhide strap around his neck. The two sat down across from each other, and the man paused briefly to collect his thoughts before commencing.

Monica…I’m sorry, but we need to transfer Hannah to a more secure facility, Marshall stated firmly.

"More secure than this?" Monica asked in angry disbelief, as an Apache helicopter passed overhead, shaking the blinds covering the single small window in the room.

It’s for her own protection, and we need her to be able to concentrate, without being distracted by the media or anyone else, with the proper equipment and support at her disposal.

You can’t take her anywhere without my consent, Monica protested, her voice quavering. "She’s my child, in case you forgot."

Look, we have an executive order from the President of the United States to do this, the chief quickly responded. But tell me, what other choice do we have? We’ve had the best people working on this 24/7 for the past two weeks, and they’re completely baffled. We need Hannah.

Why is my husband being held? Monica demanded. "Do you need him too?"

He’s comfortable and being cared for. Marshall lowered his head and began rubbing his temples up and down with his fingertips, trying to massage out the stress. He ran his fingers through his short, wiry hair that was losing out to gray, looked back up at her with bloodshot eyes, and pleaded for some common sense. Monica, let’s get real. You and I both know Brian’s never going to cooperate. He’s too much of a risk to the operation. I promise you, we’ll get you on the phone with him today.

Seems like you’re making all the decisions just fine for my family, sir, Monica sneered. So what exactly do you want from me?

"That part is simple, Monica. We want you on our side. Will you please come with me and Dr. Gordon Anderson — Hannah’s associate in the lab — to see your daughter? We want you to explain the situation to her, and tell her that a transfer is the right course of action. Hannah has to be in the right frame of mind for this, and we think you’re the only one who can ensure that."

That’s ridiculous! Monica laughed condescendingly. You’re acting like Hannah doesn’t understand the whole story here, and the part she’s playing in it. She’s already light years ahead of us on that. There’s no explaining anything to her. The fact is, you don’t need me for this. Hannah already knows exactly what’s at stake, and she isn’t about to let any emotion or person affect her thinking, not even her own mother. I could march down there, fall at her little feet, and beg her to stay or go, and it wouldn’t change a damn thing. I’m sure she’s already figured out that she may have to hurt me in the short term to save my life in the long run, so she’s going to disregard any feelings or opinions I have on this, one way or the other.

Monica halted. Her eyes strayed from the chief as she played out the likely scenario awaiting in the lab. A look of pained desperation crept across her face. She’s going to say, ‘I have to go, Mom.’ I guarantee it. So, where are you taking her?

We want to station her at Los Alamos National Laboratory in New Mexico.

"Station her? Really? You make it sound like my daughter’s an aircraft carrier, Mr. Goldrick."

Please, call me Marshall. She’ll be protected in a deep underground lab there, and she’ll be 1,700 miles farther away from the sphere…or creature…or whatever the hell it is, which might give her more time to figure everything out. Time is our enemy right now, and it’s hovering over us like a vulture.

Three loud thuds on the door interrupted the discussion, followed by a booming voice. Come on, Goldie, move it along! We gotta roll!

Marshall exhaled emphatically, and the two sat quietly as another Apache lumbered closely by. The room was overtaken by the clamor of whipping rotor blades and screaming twin turboshaft engines. As the amplitude of the sound waves eventually began to abate, the worry lines on the man’s forehead momentarily smoothed out as well.

"It’s funny, I remember one summer I had this job at a sub shop in my old hometown. I used to think it was so nerve-racking around lunchtime, like, oh my God we’re running low on pickles, he mused, trying to inject humor into the conversation despite the dire circumstances. We’ll set you up close by, so you can see your daughter if she wants to take a break."

Monica sagged limply back into her chair and relented with a fragile, Okay. She knew there was no argument.

Hey...Monica, Chief Goldrick said sympathetically, I’m truly sorry that the burden of an entire world is resting on your daughter’s shoulders.

Thank you, Marshall, she replied with a mixture of gratitude and resignation. Then she added one final plea. Just remind the people watching over Hannah that those shoulders are very small.

Prologue

(Syzygy – 4 Billion Years B.C.)

The sun blazed down upon the barren, boulder-strewn stretch of beach. Waves pounded against the shore rhythmically and relentlessly, as they had for millions of years. Here, on this particular day, the scene was bustling, but devoid of consciousness. Life had not begun yet on the planet, so there was no living thing to see this place, to hear it, smell or feel it. But nature pressed on all the same. Waves of sound reverberated, and waves of light reflected, though not a single organism existed to sense or interpret them in any way. Like the ocean’s waves, the energy of these other waves bounded and bounced around blindly until finally dissipating into the collective cosmic soup.

Nature’s play proceeded along peacefully until the giant yellow orb in the sky suddenly began to change its hue. An eerie-looking dark disk, like a ravenous predator, appeared to be slowly but inexorably consuming it, altering the perfectly spherical shape. The light on the beach rapidly faded as if storm clouds were approaching. An azure sky shifted to a peculiar shade of purple, while the shimmering blue sea degraded into an angry gray. There seemed to be deliberate intent as the event unfolded. Within a brief space of time, the once-glorious fireball was reduced to a frail, dim crescent before being completely blotted out, leaving the scene in utter darkness. The sun, as if protesting the attack, projected a spectacular halo of luminescence around the jet-black vanquisher, resembling the golden mane of a proud lion. I’m still here! it seemed to cry out from behind the brazen behemoth.

A short time later, a hairline sliver of light peeked around one side. As it grew, the opposite-facing crescent now seemed to be repelling the intruder and pushing it away, until the glinting arc burst forth brilliantly, lavishing the landscape with dazzling radiance, and resolutely reawakening the day. The mighty globe continued to battle, driving the invader off steadily, never wavering until victory was achieved, and its grandeur was fully restored.

Once again, the sun shone down upon a shore that was completely oblivious. But for some reason, this absence of sentience would not keep.

Chapter One

Worlds Colliding

Monica reflexively jammed the toe of her stiletto onto the brake pedal as hard as she could and stiffened her slender arms. Squeezing the steering wheel, she closed her eyes and prepared for impact. But the speeding ambulance — running a red light without its sirens on — swerved and narrowly avoided hitting her pearl white Prius before streaking off.

The woman had barely opened her eyes in relief when she was rammed from behind with a thunderous boom. Her car violently jerked forward a yard or two before coming to a dead stop.

Perched and frozen in a braced position, Monica managed to relax her grip on the wheel. Oh, dear Lord, why me? she whimpered, her long brown hair now disheveled. Trying to regain her composure, she tucked it behind her ears and summoned the courage to look into her rearview mirror, wincing at the sight of her now popped up and mangled trunk.

Dutifully, she unbuckled her seatbelt and emerged hesitantly from her car to face the culprit. A black Jeep 4x4’s front end was jammed into her back bumper, with smoke billowing from its hood. The front windshield was partially shattered, with a spider cracked portion blocking her view of the occupant.

Monica fished into her jacket pocket for her cell phone, then looked helplessly skyward as she pictured it reclining on its charging dock back in her bedroom. Her eyes darted about the vicinity hoping to spot a good Samaritan, but this was a desolate area of Gloucester, a coastal town in Massachusetts. The only signs of life were an abandoned strip mall, and a vast, weed-covered parking lot sprawled out before a giant, dilapidated drive-in movie screen from a bygone era. All the roads leading away from the intersection lay vacant, and her heart sank at the spectacle of each one narrowing into nothingness as they receded into the distance.

Reluctantly, she made her way forward, approaching the open driver’s side window which was spilling out the bass of AC/DC’s Highway to Hell. A broad-shouldered man in a dark tank top was sitting there with his eyes closed, his head reposed placidly on the bucket seat’s headrest. He was mumbling a steady stream of profanity as if in a trance. An unused lap and shoulder belt hung idly by his side.

Monica checked out his smattering of freckles and curly strawberry-blond hair. A couple of facial scars and puffy under-eye bags undermined his youth. On his head was a black and gold Boston Bruins cap, knocked askew by the collision. He was covered with a mix of salt, sand, and grease, along with broken bits of glass. She backed away for a few moments, searching again in vain for another car or person, then returned her gaze inside the vehicle and mustered the gumption to speak up. Hello?

The driver’s eyes abruptly sprung open and he jerked upright. Turning his head left, his woozy brain was confronted by this stranger staring at him from just inches away. "You…you thtopped, all of a thudden," he snarled, while inadvertently jettisoning two busted teeth at her.

Monica recoiled, but then leaned forward again. Are you okay? We crashed.

No shit. Grimacing, he tried to move his right leg which was contorted into a bizarre angle, while struggling to regain his wits and expel stray tooth fragments from his mouth.

Let me get you something.

Monica ran back to her car, grabbed a bottle of Poland Springs from the center console, and returned to the Jeep. Here, take this.

The driver snatched the container from her, took a swig, swished the water around in his mouth a few times, then spit it out onto the passenger floorboard, next to a rolled-up pair of rubber overalls and fishing equipment. Not in the mood for rock ‘n’ roll, he hammered the radio dial with his fist to silence it.

You stopped all of a sudden, he repeated firmly.

"Yeah? Well, you didn’t, she protested. Sorry, there was this ambulance coming right at me. Of all freaking things."

He paused to consider that. Brian Blake, he said civilly, reaching across for her hand, and for the first time noticing the allure of her eyes.

Monica Merrick, she replied as they shook hands gently, lingering longer than would be considered customary.

You hurt at all? Brian asked.

"I don’t know...I might be."

Well, if you don’t know, then you’re probably okay. Brian sucked in a deep breath and exhaled forcefully. Anyhow, you look fine to me. He positioned the shaky rearview mirror so he could see his face. It was sullied by remnants of his commercial fishing job and the accident. He removed his cap and examined the swelling bump on his forehead, more out of curiosity than concern. Brian then started pawing at his cheeks to groom himself. But he was only making things look worse.

"And I look just fine too," he pronounced sarcastically.

"Yeah, that goose egg on your head. The thing’s huge."

It’s not a problem.

But, I mean, that’s like the biggest goose egg I’ve ever seen in my entire life. It can’t be okay.

Are you just saying that to make me feel better?

"I’m sorry. But it’s unbelievable. In fact it’s….it’s actually growing as I’m watching it right now. It’s funny how it really does look like an egg."

Yeah, it’s hysterical, Brian deadpanned. Can we get off the goose egg and talk about something else, please? He tried to put his Bruins cap back on, but quickly realized it wouldn’t fit over the ballooning swell. He chucked it over his right shoulder into the back seat.

I see that you weren’t using your seatbelt.

Who are you, my mother? Brian retorted. What a character. How ’bout we talk about getting some help here.

Yes, do you have a phone? We need to call 911.

Nah, I’m just a lil’ dinged up. Let’s get a tow tru—, owww! Brian shouted as pain surged through his fractured leg.

Grimacing again, he pulled out his iPhone and handed it over to Monica, then gingerly slumped his aching head back onto the headrest in frustration. Okay…call an ambulance...but tell ’em not to try to kill anyone this time.

Monica fiddled with Brian’s phone for a moment, while he furtively stole a glance at her bare ring finger.

Oh, do you want to enter in your password yourself? she asked.

It’s 1-2-3-4.

"That’s your password?"

Yeah.

No kidding? Your password is just 1-2-3-4?

Yes.

"You know, you don’t have to have a password on these phones."

I know that. I want one, and that’s it, he stated matter-of-factly.

But...but 1-2-3-4? That seems secure to you?

Well, it’s easy to remember, he countered, before considering the weakness of both his explanation and his code. He shrugged. I don’t know, it seemed like a good idea at the time.

Monica smiled at Brian, whose eyes were now closed again, and entered the emergency number. As the call connected, the sound waves of her voice were instantly converted into digital electronic signals by the device and transmitted at the speed of light — about 186,282 miles per second — upon radio waves to the nearest mobile phone base station in the area. A network computer was directing the information to the base station nearest the emergency receiving phone, which picked up and converted the signals back into the sound waves of Monica’s voice for the person on the other end.

The two waited in silence for help to arrive. Brian felt a prickling sensation on the side of his burly left arm, and removed a jagged shard of glass from a tattoo that read Sue in fancy script. A pinhead of blood bubbled to the surface.

So, who might Sue be? inquired Monica.

Just a girl I was seeing.

"Was? As in past tense? Oh, no," Monica kidded Brian, considering this permanent declaration of love gone awry.

I know, I know. What can I say? It seemed like a good—

—idea at the time. Brian and Monica finished the rest of the sentence together.

You gonna get it removed?

Nah, that’s wicked expensive, and a pain in the butt. I just gotta find myself another Sue, that’s all. Hey, what’s your name again? Brian asked facetiously.

Sorry, it’s still Monica, she teased playfully.

Guess we’re both outta luck then.

A patrol car soon arrived, followed closely by a fire and rescue vehicle. Two EMTs hopped out of the truck and went to work extricating Brian from the wreck. Monica stood nearby giving information to a policeman, but was having a difficult time concentrating, repeatedly looking over in Brian’s direction to see how he was doing. The crew splinted his leg and strapped him to a gurney for transport. Monica excused herself from the officer and walked towards the back of the ambulance just as the medical crew was preparing to heave him into the patient compartment.

"Okay, on three...1-2-3."

Brian’s and Monica’s eyes met as he was pushed inside, and he raised his head to keep her in view.

Be careful, Brian. I mean, they almost have your password figured out, she ribbed him.

He raised a hand to her in acknowledgement as the stretcher was being secured, and their eyes remained locked until the driver swung the large metal doors shut.

Where are you taking him? she asked.

Gloucester Hospital. You can ride with him in back if you want.

Oh, no. I’m with the car he hit. I was just wondering.

Monica watched intently as the ambulance drove off, gripped by a strange pang in the pit of her stomach. Her eyes strayed to the drive-in movie screen, solitary and forsaken, major rips visible across its long-neglected surface revealing the corroded metal skeleton beneath. She started thinking about Brian saying, guess we’re both outta luck then.

Chapter Two

Echoes (Two years later)

The ultrasound technician wrapped her right hand around an inverted tube and squeezed firmly, releasing a liberal stream of jelly onto the expectant mother’s bump.

Sorry if this is on the cold side, she said, pulling the wheeled display screen closer with her free hand and turning it toward her patient. You ready to see your movie star?

Monica grinned while looking up. Yeah, glad I could be here for the premiere, she replied, appreciative of the nurse’s efforts to put her at ease. What up to this point had felt like a dream was now about to become much more real, and it was hard to contain her bittersweet mixture of worry and excitement.

The screen flickered to life. Unrecognizable shadows and shapes zigzagged about as the nurse maneuvered the transducer probe, trying to get her bearings. The scanning tool emitted high-frequency sound waves, and converted the echoes that it received back into images. Monica raised her head off the pillow, squinting and straining to make out something, anything familiar. Time seemed to stretch out to match the intensity of her impatience until she finally saw the unmistakable profile of a human face grace the monitor. Her breath hitched, and she gulped hard as a flood of emotion washed over her.

"There you are, she said softly. Hi, baby. She lowered her head back to the pillow while keeping her eyes fixed firmly on the screen. I wish your daddy wasn’t at sea right now."

He a fisher?

Yeah. He’s on a week-long up in the Gulf of Maine.

I’ll get you some pics you can take home, Mrs. Blake, the sonographer said as she began meticulously recording key growth measurements onto a corner of the screen. She hovered the sensor over the fetus’s skull, pausing for a few moments because the anatomy looked a bit peculiar. After documenting the atypical diameter, she moved down to explore and make notations on other organs and extremities for the doctor. Your baby looks right on schedule, normal heart rhythm, and even ahead of the curve on brain growth, probably the next Einstein. She zoomed out to show the entire developing body for the mother-to-be. They both watched as the baby, now at 12 weeks’ gestation, appeared to reach out towards the scanner, and check out its surroundings, moving its hands back and forth in a steady rhythmic motion.

Looks like your baby’s measuring for new curtains in there, the technician joked. She zoomed in on the baby’s face, which turned towards the screen, revealing two large black skeletal eye orbits. With its chin jutting forward, it almost looked like it was longingly trying to get a view of the outside world. Monica gazed into the baby’s eyes and drifted deep into them while the outside world disappeared. She found herself falling back in time, to memories of her childhood.

Look at how beautiful those flowers are, Monica honey. Beautiful just like your mother was.

I don’t like them, Auntie Doris. They’re stinky, replied seven-year-old Monica.

No, they’re pretty, and they show how much everyone loved your mother. Here are some from your Aunt Lena too.

Monica took stock of the multicolored floral bouquets surrounding her mother’s lifeless body sunken deep into her casket, adorned inside with white linen and lavender lace.

See how peaceful she looks? No more pain now.

"But I want her to wake up…wake up, Mommy!" Monica demanded.

The movie playing out in the blackness of the baby’s eyes shifted back even further in time. Monica’s petite hand was now donning an oversized oven mitt, and she was pushing a spatula into a slot on the side of an Easy-Bake Oven. A plume of grayish-black smoke emerged out of the opening as she delicately retrieved the mini silver baking tray upon which her prized creation sat.

Be careful. It’s hot, her mother Sarah cautioned, fighting the urge to intervene.

"I made it all by myself," Monica boasted.

The lopsided cake was sagging and scorched on one side. On the other side, a very unfortunate golf-ball-sized air bubble covered with a thin, doughy membrane had developed. Assorted vegetables could be seen protruding randomly all around it.

I can’t wait to try it! her mother exclaimed, feigning excitement. I’ve never seen a cake that had lettuce before. What a brilliant chef you are.

Dig in, Mommy, Monica gleefully encouraged.

Sarah grabbed a butter knife and carefully positioned it above the cake so as to remove the smallest piece possible without offending her daughter. She began to slice, applying the necessary elbow-grease to make her way downward through some carrots and green beans inside and guided the piece onto her plate.

"Oh, this is so delicious, she said, trying to chew and fight the gag response at the same time, wondering how swallowing was ever going to be possible. And it tastes nice and...salty?"

Well, I couldn’t reach the sugar bowl, so I used salt instead…and some pepper too, the youngster explained with self-satisfaction. Should I maybe put this in the Town Festival bake-off?

You simply must.

Just then the bubble popped with a resounding snap, releasing a steaming jet of dry flour into the air.

Hey! My cake just tooted, Mommy, Monica cried out, giggling with delight.

Her mother grabbed the spatula, slid it under the cake and began moving it up and down, pretending the cake was talking to them in a low, raspy voice. Sor-ry I too-ted, Mo-ni-ca. It won’t hap-pen a-gain. Can I still be in the ba-king con-test?

The shaking caused another, larger, festering air pocket deep within the cake to suddenly explode outward with a bang, sending the assorted filling airborne, including a chunk that attached itself to the mother’s forehead. They howled with laughter.

Sarah pretended to be angry, pointing her finger at the cake menacingly while scolding it. "That’s it. You’re grounded, Mr. Cake. No bake-off for you." The pair laughed as they fell in towards each other in a cloud of flour.

The technician jerked Monica back to the present by abruptly removing the sensor, and applying some towelettes to clean off her stomach. As the screen went dark, Monica closed her eyes and felt the tension of a mother’s worry melt away, at least for now. The sonographer turned away briefly, pulled a notepad from a hip pocket on her lab coat, and hastily jotted down, Baby Blake/brain issue? She replaced the notepad in her lab coat for the afternoon consult with the doctor.

You can see the doctor now. At the next visit, if you want, we should be able to let you know the sex of the baby.

Monica thanked the woman, then announced politely, but with conviction, Oh, it’s a girl.

Chapter Three

Simon Says

Monica struggled up the circular flight of stairs with two oversized bags of groceries, one at each hip, book-ending her burgeoning belly. She kicked at the door that was the back entrance of the duplex apartment and bellowed, Brian!

Monica and her husband had lived in the modest but comfortable home since their wedding a year before. They rented the second floor, and a couple with twin girls lived on the first. Brian came jogging into the kitchen, swung open the door, and scooped up the bags from his wife’s full arms.

I got ’em. Jeez, you’re gonna put yourself into labor, honey, he cautioned.

"Good, I don’t want to be pregnant anymore."

Almost there. So, how were the pee-wees today?

Monica had been teaching third grade at one of the town’s elementary schools for the past few years. She loved the job and the kids, and usually had at least one amusing anecdote to share with her husband at the end of each workday.

"They were alright. Jack was a charmer again. He went up to Mya who was wearing a sleeveless blouse and said, ‘You’re exposed,’ which freaked her out. Mya said, ‘I am not! You don’t even know what that means.’ So then Jack comes marching up to me and says, ‘Mya’s exposed, isn’t she?’ So I guess that was good, we all got to learn about the word exposed. I just hope they don’t go home and tell their parents."

Brian chuckled. "I just hope you’re exposed tonight, sexy."

Oh, please, Bri’. I look like a Volkswagen Bug.

"I don’t care. I love cars."

Monica playfully swatted him. Yeah? Well, this one’s in the shop.

She became still for a moment and peered downward. Woah, that was a big one.

The baby was kicking again. The couple hurriedly made their way through the dining room to the living room. Monica lay down on her back on a loveseat and pulled up her cardigan to reveal her now almost full-term tummy. They waited for more movement, but nothing happened. Monica pushed down on her belly button that was now flat from the pressure built up behind it. They waited. Suddenly her belly button popped back towards her.

Wow, Babycakes is saying hello! she said. Don’t go to sleep, little baby. I want to play with you, Monica pleaded, imitating a child, and then she poked at her belly button two times in rapid succession.

They both watched as Monica’s belly button pushed back out two times at the exact same pace.

That’s funny, Brian said. The baby copied you. He poked her belly button himself two times, and it was instantly mimicked by the baby. What the—! Are you making it do that, Monica?

No, I swear that’s not me…that’s Babycakes!

Kneeling