Not a Bestseller

Test...One...Two Testing, Testing

"When there's a troubled teen, we won't hesitate to smack that discipline right into him. It is this conventional process that has made Judy's Academy for Juvenile Delinquents the number one program for troubled teens in the entire New York, California, and Florida regions."

My dad jotted down some notes. Mom's finger shriveled towards an object the woman clenched between her jagged fingernails.

"What. Is. That?"

The woman pondered down at her hand. "Oh, this? This is my slapping stick. Shall I demonstrate?"

✎✎✎

Remember how I said that my parents took little interest in me unless I was messing up? This is a fine example of one of those times.

My parents and I had six more one-sided discussions over the course of five hours. Their decision was final. We needed another professional to pick at my Tiny Person and make me normal, just like my beloved siblings. Teams of experts researched hundreds of thousands of the best programs, psychologists, and doctors. This came at no cost to my parents, ruling it necessary for Peterson's (the dude Dad works for) campaign strategy. Devoting time to help a troubled teen get the help he needs? What a saint. 

From there, the campaign team set up even more interviews with Doctor Conner and all of the trusted psychologists who I've had in the past. The top fifty were sent to talk with my parents.

Of course, Peterson wasn't present at these interviews. I was.

Don't worry, I'm won't describe every single discussion. That would be a novel in itself. A much more interesting one at that.

Instead, I'll give you some highlights:

The first ten names proved to be boringly unexceptional. Mary Sue. John Doe. Mary Doe. John Sue... Then, we hit the interview with Ryan Littleman. He was a self-proclaimed expert in experimental brain surgery.

Things got interesting.

"Doctor Littleman." Dad coughed. "Let me be frank. We've interviewed twelve people today, and so far, I've heard nothing-"

"With a wow factor?" Ryan Littleman waved his hand around and said, "Believe me, Mr. Wood, I understand your frustration, but this is not like any other old program. My team believes that all problems stem from the brain. Therefore, the best way to fix issues is to start with surgery. It's a bit of an...experiment. To enhance our understanding of the mind and what makes a youth such as your own so different from others undergoing adolescence."

Mom and Dad exchanged a glance. 

Mom swallowed. "So, what is the success rate of these experiments of yours?"

"Well," Ryan the rut elaborated, "There are many variables to be considered when researching cognitive development in a young adolescent. During the most recent experiment, with a shock ray as a stimulus, our subjects had a point four percent increase in brain activity. We found by reducing the means of survival, cognitive development increases during childhood. It would be a great step forward to see these experiment's effects on a human test subject not only for scientific purposes, but for the benefit of mankind."

The edges of Mom's face widened as if the man had performed some voodoo ritual on her. Her pulse strummed against my wrist when she grabbed it. 

Dad eyed me and frowned. "You mean to say that you haven't had any human test subjects?"

"Your son would be the first! Now, what do you say?"

✎✎✎

Well, that got shot down faster than Lincoln at the theater. There were several other psychologists and scientists eager to get their hands on me. Most aren't worth mentioning, but there were a few others who stood out from the rest.