The Alice Device (part 1)
“Ugh!” My daughter, Madison, splayed dramatically across the dining room table, without removing her backpack first. I bit back a sigh and looked up from my laptop. Putting her head down on the table and pretending to be dead was not a new occurrence— becoming a teenager empowered my daughter with preternatural levels of melodrama, and the wife and I had grown accustomed to it by now— but today she didn’t even bother to sit down first. So she stood, doubled over, arms out and face pressed against the table, with her backside stretching out her black leggings. Genes and a love of track and field were giving the material a major work out. At a glance, the seams of her underwear were easy to see and maybe a print, too, through the spandex. Hell, …