Gym day, as far as anyone was concerned, was one of the best days of the week. Dada hated it, but that was to be expected; he was there to stretch out leg muscles he didn’t really have anymore, and she garnered it was an all-around humiliating experience. But Dad always went with Dada, and Islay didn’t really like being home alone, so she went with both dads to the gym and ran alongside Dad on the track and practiced her cartwheels on the tumble track and got hecka buff lifting weights. It was an important bonding time, and she was privileged to be there, as opposed to anywhere else.

Today, as they circled the gym, Islay was relating one of her tales of true horror. “And then Matilda said that Dada was completely too hot to be real, and then she asked about whether he could still have sex, and then Rachel was like oh my god you guys don’t you know their things don’t work anymore and it was completely terrible and I wanted to die. Why do I have to go to school there.” She knew why she had to go to school there: first off, it was where Dad’s contemporaries all sent their kids, and second off, because she got in free for Dada teaching there, and third off, it was the safest campus in Destiny City. Everywhere else had apparently caught monsters.

“Dada says I shouldn’t ‘start drama’ about it, but it’s not like it just affects him! It bothers me a lot! And I don’t know what to do!” She was fifteen. She knew what to do about a lot of things, but people expressing their desire to have sex with one of her fathers was definitely not it. “People suck.”

Silverah
Dale Conrad, otherwise known by his top-secret superhero monicker of Dad, was feeling strong heading into mile two. He was a former college baseball player, which was not exactly a sport known for its athleticism, but it had introduced him to his husband, so that was cool. (They’d been co-captains of the DCU Varsity lineup in 1995, natch.) But anyway, athletics were much more important to his image now, as a local politician. Destiny City constituents expected their city councilmembers to be trim and well-dressed. It was just a thing.

He had not adopted his niece strictly because he needed a running buddy, but it was certainly nice that Islay could keep up with him at the track. On the downside, it meant he was treated to a play-by-play of the latest gossip at Crystal Academy, which happened to revolve around the functionality of his husband’s p***s?

“Well, I don’t think you want to know the answer,” said Dale, although it was that it worked fine, thank you very much. “Just tell them gross, guys, that’s my dad, and keep on it until they stop.” He had never been a teenaged girl. He had very little experience of what they could be like.


Izzy had exactly one response to even the possibility of learning about the status of Dada’s thing, and that was to wail, “Dad, ewwwwwwwwww!!” She put on a burst of speed, getting a gap of two hundred yards between herself and her dad before slowing down enough for him to catch up. “Dad that’s gross. And I already tried that! They just laughed at me!” Life was hard. Life was hard and her father didn’t appreciate how hard it was at all. He thought it was all a joke, she thought mournfully, as her ponytail bounced against her shoulders. He didn’t understand how terrible it all was.

She guessed, if she really wanted to avoid the further topic of Dada’s private parts, she could change the subject. “Dad, are they really thinking about putting up an earlier curfew for teens? Is it because of those monsters everyone claims are hanging around? ‘Cause I still haven’t seen even one, and all the videos look fake.” There were no scholarly articles backing up the existence of the great hulking beasts that apparently mauled one of her classmates. She didn’t want to say that they were lying, but really. It sure looked that way to her.

Silverah
Dale had expected that reaction, and while the burst of speed he put on did not in any way match hers - he was, like, not a spring chicken that way? But he caught up without getting out of breath and shot Islay an apologetic expression. “I am unfortunately not a fifteen-year-old girl,” he said, “And I don’t know how their minds work.” He was under the impression that figuring out how to deal with your classmates was, like, an important part of growing up? Like, as long as his daughter wasn’t being bullied…

Which it didn’t sound like she was being.

“I think they’re looking at setting it to ten PM for anyone under eighteen,” he said, grateful for the change of subject - based on her reaction, he really did not think that Islay had any desire to continue discussing Aska’s junk. “They talked about doing eight PM but decided that was way too restrictive.” Anyway, he knew how Islay felt about giant monsters roaming the city. Namely, that there were not any.

“Regardless of whether there are actually horrorterrors invading Destiny City,” said Dale, “There is still a lot of unsavory stuff going on after dark that the city council all agrees we should be protecting young people from.”


“Fifteen-year-old girls are lame,” she said. “Except me. I’m very cool, right Dad?” She smiled at him, totally confident he would agree, even if it was just in the tone of ha ha yes I must humor my teenage daughter or risk a hysterical outbreak. Not that Islay had many of those. Islay was a very calm, reliable, sensible girl. Who was good at making friends.

She sighed. “But the symphony doesn’t even get out until after eleven. I don’t want to go to the children’s show. You and Dada said I could start going to the longer shows this year if I kept my grades up and I did.” Her report card had come home straight A’s at the end of her freshman year and at midterms, which meant she got to go to the longer show. But if she had to be home by ten, then she’d have to leave early, and what then was even the point? “They’re doing The Planets,” she pointed out. “I’ve never gotten to see the whole symphony all the way through.”

Silverah
“Of course you’re cool,” said Dale, reaching over to ruffle Islay’s hair without missing a beat. It was an absolute privilege that he got to call her his daughter. Honestly, his brother’s misfortune was his gain (and he could say that because his brother was not dead, only incarcerated, and because they were not on speaking terms).

“Well, the curfew hasn’t passed yet,” he said encouragingly, “and if it does, then I’ll take you to the symphony. You can’t get in trouble if you’re with your dad.” Although he half expected Islay to recoil from the thought of spending time with him in public. She was trying to be cool, after all, and though it would look great from a campaign standpoint to be seen supporting Destiny City’s arts and culture scene… he didn’t want Islay to feel like a prop.

“Your call, though, kiddo,” he said.


Islay considered her options here. She didn’t actually doubt the curfew would pass--it always seemed to, which was as much a disappointment to her as it was to anyone else with half a brain--so she could either declare her dad terminally uncool (which he was) or miss the symphony, for ever, until she turned eighteen. One option was really not an option. The other completely was an option, especially if she could drag Dada into it. Although, Dada got headaches sometimes, and she didn’t want to make him sit through something if he was hurting. So, really, just one option.

“Okay,” she said, nodding firmly. “So it’s a promise, then.” She wasn’t going to ask Dad to promise to vote against the curfew, because he had to do what he thought was right. That was what his constituents had elected him to do, after all. Still, if it happened to not pass… “You’ve gotta buy your own ticket, though,” she told him. “Otherwise the season would end before I got anywhere close to enough.”

Spotting Dada waiting in the lobby through one of the cut-glass walls, Islay slowed to a stop and waved. “Looks like Dada’s done early,” she said, brightly.

Silverah
At the mention of his husband, Dale looked towards the lobby. Aska was parked near the cafe, reading an issue of People magazine from at least 2011 (he knew because it was a Royal Wedding cover story). He waved. Aska did not see them. “Kiddo,” he said to Islay, “I will buy both our tickets.”

Honestly, what was the point of being wealthy if you couldn’t treat your kid to season passes to the symphony? Islay didn’t ask for much. He could give her this.

“Okay,” he said, taking a swig from his water bottle. “Get cooled down and changed, and think about what you want for lunch.”