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were cool.”
    “We’ll see,” said Dad.
    Mom shook her head and stared out the window.
    I looked down at Zan. “Dad, what you said at the party, about how Zan might be a moron and the whole thing wouldn’t work. You didn’t really mean that, did you?”
    Dad didn’t reply for a second. “You’re not supposed to go into an experiment with any particular bias, or it can affect how you structure your experiment—and how you see the results.”
    “But it’s impossible to be completely unbiased,” Mom added. “You wouldn’t have embarked on it if you didn’t think there was a good chance something interesting would happen.”
    “I’ve got to be very careful with this project, though,” Dad said. “Some of the people in the department have their doubts.”
    “Who?” I asked. All those men around him at the party, hanging on his every word, laughing. “Theo Schaffter for one,” Dad said. “The guy with the pipe?”
    “He thinks I’m crazy. He’s probably not the only one.”
    “But they just hired you!” I said. “Why would they do that if they thought you were crazy?”
    “The university wants a big splashy project that’ll get funding and a lot of attention,” Dad explained. “Godwin likes me, but just because he’s head of the department doesn’t mean everyone else has to like me. We’ll win them over soon enough, though, once they see what Zan can do.”
    “You think he can learn to talk, right?” I said.
    “Absolutely,” Dad said. “Zan’s going to go all the way, right into the history books.”

F OUR
D OMINANT M ALE
    “Z an, stay still!”
    I hated changing Zan’s diaper. It was fine the first few weeks, when he’d just lie there on the changing mat. But at four weeks he’d started grabbing at the diaper with his fingers—and his toes, which were just as nimble. It was like he had four hands. At five weeks, he’d discovered he could roll over. Now, at over six weeks, he could crawl. It was almost impossible to keep him still.
    It was a few days after the barbecue at the Godwins, and I was babysitting. Mom had had to go out and she’d asked me to watch Zan for a couple of hours. Dad was home, but upstairs in his study, working. He was too busy with graphs and charts and making phone calls to other important people to actually take care of his own chimp—which was pretty typical. Dad was a big fan of the hands-off approach when it came to parenting.
    I managed to get Zan’s poopy diaper off and was crazilywiping his bottom clean as fast as I could. He looked at me solemnly and, with a hoot, flipped over onto his stomach.
    “Come on, Zan!” I pleaded. I grabbed him firmly around his furry hips and turned him back over.
    “Hey, Dad,” I muttered to myself, “how about
you
change him now and then. How’s that grab you?”
    I wanted to get the new diaper on Zan before he peed all over me. I’d seen it happen to Mom, a big golden arc splashing everywhere.
    I unfolded the new diaper, but before I could slide it under his bum, he snatched it with his toes and was waving it wildly all around, panting softly, the way he did whenever he was excited and wanted to play. I grabbed the diaper, but just as quickly it was back in his toes again.
    “Okay, fine, you play with that one,” I told him, taking another diaper from the pile. I could feel myself getting angry. I didn’t want to be babysitting Zan right now. I didn’t
want
to change his diapers. This was
Dad’s
project.
    I slid the new diaper under Zan but he rolled towards me, and grabbed hold of my shirt. Before I could get him off, he’d climbed around to my back and was lowering himself down my right leg.
    One of his favourite blankets was there on the floor and he grabbed it in his hands and slid across the floor, pushing with his legs.
    “No way, Zan!” I said, catching him up in my arms. He peed all over me. All down my chest and pants. He had lots of pee.
    I swore and put him back down on the