“Mr. and Mrs. Carter, thank you so much for taking the time out of your schedule to meet with us virtually today,” Rhoda said.

“It’s Dr. Carter and I am between patients. What is the matter with Adam?” Dr. Carter said.

“You said this was urgent. What do you say my boy did? Because you’re wrong. He’s a good boy,” Mr. Carter said.

“Calm down Penn. The school knows, he’s a good boy,” Dr. Carter said.

“Please, please, of course,” Rhoda said. “Well-liked by his teachers, Adam is bright and spirited.”

“But not too spirited,” Mr. Cqrter said.

“Penn, don’t start. Let’s hear what the principal has to say first. I am assured our boy is the right amount of spirited.”

Flustered, Rhoda Fine raised a hand to keep the meeting on the rails. Rhoda turned to her android for support but just received a sympathetic shrug. She wished Mr. Pressman were here instead of her. Anxious parents always made her head spin. She groped for the least antagonizing adjectives.

“Adam is a great kid, really, a good boy. We just noticed some … Interesting patterns reviewing his homework assignments. You can see his lexicon charts, certain keywords appear over and over again,” Rhoda said, sharing her screen with the Carters’ monitors.

Rhoda had shadowed numerous assessments and the beginning is always the hardest part. She reformated Adam Carter’s results in blue and yellow pie charts.

“I don’t understand Ms. Fine. Adam is our youngest and perfectly normal. None of our other kids had any problems!”

Mr. Carter leapt from his chair and away from his screen. They could hear him pacing in his office. His wife rolled her eyes. Sharing more windows, Rhoda pushed on.

“Do you see here under extra credit on Adam’s Lunar History exam he wrote:

In a coffin of paper so wide,

A politician tried to reside

But the lid wasn’t tight

and it let in the light

now he moonlights with lobbist guides

Dr. Carter was clearly checking her messages and Mr. Carter was still ranting off-screen. Rhoda mouthed to her android to do something. Smiling, the robot appeared to be slipping into sleep mode.

“Penn take your Insta-Smile or so help me. Aren’t there rules about spying on children, Ms. Fine? Should our attorney be patched into this video call?”

Rhoda decided to just pull off the bandage.

“Satire,” Rhoda whispered. “According to the algorithms your son has an 87% chance of becoming a social critic.”

Dr. Carter froze. Mouth agape, Mr. Carter returned to his seat.

"How dare you accuse this family of puns!”

Riveted, Dr. Carter sat up straight with fury. Mr. Carter’s eyes were wild. Rhoda opened another screen. A short verse filled the monitor screen:

Forget typing my shoelaces; I just keep tripping over my existential dread.

“This was Adam’s caption for the frosh yearbook. But all hope is not lost. The school can loan you a customized android tutor to gently redirect your child’s natural instincts into something more… um…social acceptable. After intensive one one-on-one tutoring many students become contributing members of society or at least marketers”

With an indistinguishable shimmer, the android tutor went from blank stare to compassionate teacher. Mr. Carter began to sniffle.

“87%,” Dr. Carter whispered.

“No worries, he’s a good boy,” the android said.