. . .

“I don’t want to kill humanity,” says Tom Friedman, “but now it’s a historical necessity!”

Amelia takes his hand. She looks at his fingers. She wiggles them even though he is perfectly capable of wiggling them on his own.

“I should sleep with somebody and get you a baby brother,” she says. “You’re too isolated!”

“Mom!”

“You shouldn’t be alone like this,” she says. “Always hiding in your room and brooding about how you’re going to inevitably destroy the human race or whatever. It’s not healthy! A boy your age should be hanging out with other kids and running and playing and going on archaeological expeditions and cultivating a spirit baby!”

“I’m not cultivating a spirit baby!”

“I worry about your yang energy,” explains Amelia.

“Don’t worry about my — God, Mom!”

Tom storms off. He goes up to his room. He locks his door.

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