The Parent Participation Evening

The gymnasium of Eden Academy blazed with festive banners and the cheerful chatter of families. Loid Forger stood near the entrance, his posture impeccable, his smile calibrated to precisely 34 degrees of warmth—a number his briefings had deemed optimal for parental approachability. Inside his jacket, a folded sheet listed seventeen contingency plans, ranging from 'Accidental Food Spill on Suit' to 'Unexpected Encounter with Target's Third Cousin.' Beside him, Yor wore a serene expression and a floral dress that somehow made her look both harmless and slightly menacing. She had offered to bring snacks, and Loid had politely declined after remembering the incident with the poisoned cupcakes during her last 'friendly gathering.' "Papa, Mama, look!" Anya tugged at their hands, pointing toward a row of activity stations. "The three-legged race! We have to win!" Loid's eye twitched. Winning would attract attention. Losing would disappoint Anya. His plan 9B detailed a controlled third-place finish—respectable, but unremarkable. "We'll do our best, Anya. Strategically." Yor tilted her head. "Winning is good for bonding, right?" She flexed her fingers, and Loid noticed a faint cracking sound. He made a mental note to adjust plan 12. The first event was a relay involving egg-and-spoon carrying. Loid moved with practiced economy, his pace calculated to avoid both victory and humiliation. Yor, however, sprinted like a gazelle with a hidden rocket booster. The egg didn't even wobble. They finished second, and she beamed. "We were almost last!" she said cheerfully. Anya's telepathic radar pinged chaotic static from nearby parents—worries about tuition, judgments about other children's manners, and a stray thought from a bald father wondering if his toupee was slipping. She giggled, then focused. During the three-legged race, she could read her parents' intentions perfectly. Papa was thinking: left foot, right foot, slow down near the finish. Mama was thinking: don't break Anya's leg. Sweet, but unhelpful. They tied their ankles together with Eden's official blue ribbon. Loid's internal chronometer ticked. "On my count, Anya. Synchronized steps." "Or we could just run fast!" Yor suggested, her eyes glinting. The starting pistol fired. Loid executed his gait precisely—left, right, left, right. Anya matched him, but Yor's longer stride threw off the rhythm. They wobbled. A rival team surged ahead: the Henderson family, with their impeccable posture and matching sweaters. "Mama, don't think about killing the finish line!" Anya blurted. Yor gasped. "I wasn't—!" Her foot slammed down, accidentally propelling them forward five meters. Loid stumbled, grabbed Anya, and they crossed the finish line in a tangle of limbs and dignity. They were fourth. Not winning, but not last. Anya's face fell for a moment, then lit up as Yor ruffled her hair. "We'll train next time!" Loid promised, already composing plan 18. Later, as families gathered for tea, a teacher approached. Mr. Green, Anya's homeroom instructor, had kind eyes and a clipboard. "The Forgers! Anya has been doing wonderfully. She's very... perceptive." Loid's smile remained fixed. "Thank you. We encourage her curiosity." "Yes," Yor added earnestly, "we let her explore everything. Safely." Anya, reading the teacher's mind, heard: *I wonder if they know she can read the answers off other students' papers.* She mentally shrugged. That was last week. She had been bored. The evening ended with a group photo. Loid stood rigid, Yor accidentally smiled so hard her cheeks hurt, and Anya made bunny ears behind both of them. As they walked home under streetlights, Anya squeezed their hands. "I want to do that again." Loid allowed a small, genuine smile. Operation: Parent-Teacher Night: a qualified success.