We're driving to the gas station after school when Emma says, "Luca's daddy has a bomb."
"A what?" I look at her in the rear-view mirror. She's staring out her window at the Jura.
"A bomb. He told the whole class. He says it's big enough to blow up a house."
While this reeks of childhood fabrication, I can't help but try to remember which dad is Luca's. "Really? What does he use it for?"
"Luca says he uses it if someone kicks him."
I bite my bottom lip to keep from laughing out loud. "Kicks whom-- Luca or his dad?"
"I don't know."
We're both quiet as the wheat fields between us and the Tamoil station slip by. I'm tempted to let the conversation end. Kids lie for all sorts of reasons and this one of Luca's is a whopper--at least I hope it is. But curiosity gets the better of me and I ask another question. "So what do you think about that?"
Emma looks at me in the rear-view mirror and smiles. "I don't want us to ever have a bomb."
"Me neither. Do you want to know what I think?"
"What?" She's looking out her window again.
"I think Luca doesn't want to be kicked."
Emma nods. She already knows.