So I rebel instead and take my shower. The water warms my skin. It lulls me into believing things could be all right. I have someone who is going to help me find my mom. I am clean. I am warm. Then I start thinking about what the guy just said. Mom never really explained exactly what she did for work. She always made it sound stupid and dull. Mom was actually really brilliant—is really brilliant. She always knows all the answers on game shows like Jeopardy! or Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? I would tease her about going on and she would be all, “It’s too high profile for me, Mana. I want to be under the radar.” I pick up the soap that’s on the floor. It’s cracked in half, like someone threw it down hard. Mom always wears skirts. You can’t be an alien hunter if you wear flowing cotton skirts with beige slips. She makes chocolate-dipped pretzels. Alien hunters would make guns or bombs or sonic screwdrivers or something. There’s a dent in the soap, too. China’s obviously teasing me.
