Cosmic by Frank Cottrell Boyce

down the side.
    “What is it?” said, well, everyone really.
    “That,” said Dr. Drax, “is the Possibility Building.”
    “But what’s inside?”
    “Inside there is our main attraction. Inside there is the Rocket.”
    “But what is the Rocket? What kind of ride is it? What’s it like?”
    “What’s it like? It’s not like anything. It’s unique. It is the biggest thrill ride in the history of the world, that’s all. I can’t describe it because it’s indescribable.”
     
    When I was being a grown-up in Liverpool, I got free yogurt. In China I got My Own House! The minibus thing dropped us off at a little cluster of bungalows with lawns and street-lights and traffic islands, like a housing development.
    A whole bungalow all to ourselves. I said to Florida, “Isn’t this brilliant?”
    “Basically you’ve kidnapped me and taken me to a desert, a desert in China.”
    “I suppose. But come on—apart from the fact that it’s in China—what d’you think? I mean, look at this house!”
    “There’s nothing apart from being in China, Liam. Being in China is major.”
    The house was mostly one big open room—with a kitcheny bit at one end and two huge couches at the other and a weird kind of little garden full of cacti in between.
    “And,” said Florida, looking all around it, “it’s got no TV.”
    “Well, maybe we could ask for a TV. Anyway, it’s probably good that we haven’t got one because we’re supposed to get up early in the…”
    Florida had found a little panel of buttons in the arm of the couch. When she touched one, the whole living room wall turned blue and started to hum, and then a picture appeared with sound. The television was an entire wall of the living room.
    “Now this,” said Florida, “is good.”
    We both flopped onto the couch. We were hypnotized. It was amazing even when it was only showing farming news in Cantonese, but after a bit of channel flicking we found an American channel that was showing Celebrity Séance (where living celebrities try to contact the spirits of dead celebrities) and Florida looked like she’d gone to heaven.
    “Look!” she yelled. “There’s Lindsey. Aaaah!” Lindsey was the presenter, but Florida acted like Lindsey was like her mom, her sister, her cat and her favorite blanket all rolled into one.
    I said, “As soon as this is finished, lights out and bed. Big day tomorrow.”
    “Liam, stop talking like a grown-up. There’s no grown-uphere—that’s the only good thing about it.”
    “But I’m supposed to be your dad. That’s the whole point. I’ve got to act the role of your dad. So I’m getting into character, like Lisa said.”
    “If you’re going to be a dad, be like my dad, not like yours. Get me presents, and ice cream; don’t sit there telling me about history and stuff.”
    “D’you know what time it is? Isn’t it a bit late for ice cream?”
    “It would be if you were a real dad. But you’re not. You’re a kid. I’m a kid. We can do what we want. If we want ice cream for supper, we can have ice cream for supper.”
    And apparently we did want ice cream for supper. Luckily there were buckets of ice cream, including Chocapocalypse flavor, in the freezer.
    Florida took it back to the couch and sat there in front of the TV. Every few seconds, she’d poke her spoon in. “And if we want to watch TV all night,” she said, “we can.”
    “Yeah, but—”
    “Not ‘Yeah, but.’ Just ‘Yeah.’”
    While she was busy with the ice cream, I sneaked another look at Talk to Your Teen and found a bit about how to lay down ground rules and make sure your teen has barriers. I was just going to set a few barriers in place when Florida yelled, “Liam! Come and look at this!”
    She’d discovered that you could send pictures from her Draxphone to the big screen. She made me video her doing an acceptance speech and then project it onto the wall.
    “I want to thank my mom and especially my dad. I hope you’re proud of