My Fake Boyfriend is Better Than Yours by Kristina Springer Read Free Book Online Page B

okay. Hold still a sec,” he directs.
    I put my hands on my hips and grin. Dad snaps a picture with his camera phone.
    Next we go to the prenatal development section of the exhibit. It’s this long wall of babies,
real babies
, from the different stages of gestation. From a teeny-tiny little embryo all the way up to a fully formed baby. The babies here passed away from one thing or another back in the1930s, and I guess their parents must have donated their bodies to the museum. I’ve seen it more times than I can count, but it always freaks me out a bit each time. I’m not sure if I’m more freaked out by the fact that they were once living or by the fact that this is what a baby growing inside a woman looks like. Seriously, the school system could skip the sex education lecture in fifth grade and bring kids here and show them what happens if they’re not careful.
    I step up to the display case and look at the first few babies. I don’t stay freaked out for long. Mostly because Dad always makes me laugh.
    â€œAh, yes. I remember when you were just a speck. I swore if you never grew another centimeter I’d carry you around just like that. If that big storybook elephant, Horton, could do it, well then so could I.” Dad nods for emphasis.
    â€œDad!” I scold, but then I giggle.
    We move to another case and peer in.
    â€œThe good ol’ tail days,” Dad says. “Yours was quite a cute one as I recall, and I’m not only saying that because I’m your father. Your mother worried that it might be there forever, and I said, So what? If our child has a tail, then we’ll teach her to be proud of it!”
    I shake my head, laughing. “You’re so crazy, Dad!” I say, though really I like it when he tells stories abouthim and Mom, things they said or did when they were still together. When Dad lived with Mom and me in the suburbs, we would drive down to this museum every New Year’s Day. It was sort of our family tradition. But then one year we didn’t go on New Year’s, and the next year Dad moved out. I don’t think Mom has even been back to the museum since. But Dad and I go a lot, so I guess Mom sees no reason to. We continue walking along the wall, and any fears I had of the babies have disappeared and my fascination has completely taken over, as it always does.
    Next, we head straight down to the fairy castle, this monster huge dollhouse that looks like an enchanted castle that Cinderella would live in if she was real. And five inches tall. It’s visually stunning, and I’ve always thought it a mad waste that it is locked up under the glass case, where no one can play with it. The castle was always Mom’s favorite exhibit, and she used to say she’d make me a little one someday. But I’m sure she’s forgotten that too by now.
    From watching other people here, I find that most museum visitors are boring and look at everything on one floor before moving to the next. But not us. We go in order of our favorite exhibits to least favorite, so we tend to bounce all over the museum. Dad says it’s good exercise.
    We go up one floor to Yesterday’s Main Street and walk along the brick and cobblestone streets in 1910 Chicago. We window-shop at the old stores, watch a short silent movie in the cinema, and stop at the old-fashioned ice cream parlor for a vanilla cone. Then it’s straight back to the top floor of the museum to see the transportation section.
    I climb aboard the once-in-commission United Boeing 727 airplane, the only real airplane I’ve ever been on, and take a seat. It’s suspended from the ceiling by some super heavy-duty wires, so it’s sort of like we’re flying. Except we’re not moving. There is a real cockpit up front and everything. A minute later Dad sits down beside me and buckles in.
    â€œSo what’s today’s in-flight movie?” he asks.
    I groan.
    â€œI