“Yes,” says his mom. “Do his voice, talk like him, do whatever like him. Oh, that would be fun.” Jake’s father puts down his cutlery. “This is such a good game.” “I’m not—It’s just—I’m not very good at that kind of thing.” “Do his voice. Just for a laugh,” his mother insists. I look at Jake. He won’t make eye contact. “Okay,” I say, stalling. I don’t feel comfortable trying to imitate him in front of his parents, but I don’t want to disappoint them. They are waiting. Staring at me.
