On the way home we stopped at KFC¡ªI mean Kentucky Fried Chicken. The name hadn't yet been shortened to accommodate people evidently too lazy to say the entire name.
Nubia set the table with paper plates and plastic forks, and as we took our seats Mom eyed Bill. "Where are your parents?"
Bill placed a chicken breast onto his plate without looking at my mom. "I left home when my parents didn't believe me."
Mom shook her head. "But how does a boy your age¡ªI mean a boy who looks your age¡ªget as far as you have?"
"Well, I'm not alone," Bill said. "I have people who pretend to be my parents, and we live off my investments."
"And your real parents?"
"I don't have a relationship with my real parents." Bill said while fiddling with a bit of chicken skin. He stared at her. "It's not like y
