Chapter 8: Turnip Stalling and Tyrant-Level Snooping

Hi, it’s me again, Sierra Fox. Everyone’s favorite ex-space tyrant who’s apparently found her new calling in life: planting virtual turnips in Stardrop Valley. Yeah, that’s right. You’d think after conquering star systems and accidentally causing galactic wars, I’d have moved on to something, I don’t know, grander? But nope, here I am, blissfully farming pixels while the universe goes on without me.

It’s around 6 AM when Lily finally stirs, stretching and blinking blearily at my screen. She stands there, watching me tend to my meticulously organized crops like it’s the weirdest thing she’s ever seen—and knowing our family, that's saying something. She yawns, rubs her eyes, and shuffles off to the bathroom, toothbrush in hand, not a word spoken. Classic Lily.

A few minutes later, she reappears, toothbrush still in her mouth, toothpaste foam dangling dangerously close to the carpet. “Mom says breakfast is ready,” she mumbles through the toothpaste, clearly still half-asleep.

I pause the game, my poor little turnips saved from virtual neglect for now, and head downstairs to join the family for what should be a very normal Earth breakfast.

The television in the living room is blaring the news—something about Ronald Dumbf, the President of the United States (and my brief, unfortunate abductee), who is still claiming he was kidnapped by a silver-haired, blue-eyed alien… Yeah, just casually being the subject of what the news is calling “the joke of the day.” The news anchor is trying not to laugh while discussing “President Dumbf’s latest space adventure.”

“The she-devil looked at me, but no, I’m not backing down. I faced her and said—” Ronald Dumbf retelling the story.

I sit down, trying to act like it’s no big deal. I mean, it’s not really a big deal. Right?

Wrong. The second I make eye contact with my family, I’m hit with that look—you know the one. The “what did I tell you about abducting world leaders?” glare. I swear, if I had a nickel for every time I got that look, I’d have enough to buy a small moon. Well, another one.

“I already told you guys about that,” I mutter, poking at my toast. “He was getting grabby, okay? It wasn’t a full abduction. More of a… trial run.”

Mom, sipping her coffee, raises an eyebrow. “Trial run or not, you know you can’t go around beaming up presidents.” She says it like it’s the most obvious rule in the book. No abductions at the dinner table, no taking over planets before dessert, and certainly no teleporting world leaders.

Dad, casually flipping through the newspaper like this is all just another Monday, nods along. “She’s right, you know. Gotta blend in. Can’t be attracting attention like that.”

“Yeah, blend in,” Lily chimes in sarcastically between bites of cereal. “Because nothing screams ‘normal’ like living in an interdimensional closet.”

Touché, Lily.

The family continues with breakfast while Ronald Dumbf continues to make a fool of himself on TV. But, as much as I’m trying to avoid another lecture about “responsible use of alien tech,” I get hit with something even worse: life advice.

“Since it’s Monday,” Mom begins, switching into Mom Mode, “everyone’s got work. Lily’s off to the university, I’m headed to the office, and your dad’s going to the car dealership.”

I glance up from my toast, bracing myself for the incoming blow.

“And you?” she asks with that dramatic pause that could rival the universe.

“Now,” she says, giving me the look, “since you just got back to Earth, it’s okay to take things slow. But eventually…” She pauses, and I can practically hear the dramatic pause cue from the universe. “Eventually, you’ll have to get out there and do something.”

“Right,” I say, nodding along, “eventually.” In the distant future. Like, maybe when I’m done with these turnips.

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Mom smiles, satisfied with her motivational speech, while Dad chimes in from the couch. “Hey, maybe you could get into sales! You can help out at my showroom if you want.”

I shrug. “Right, Dad. I sold a ton of weapons to alien empires. How hard could selling a used Tobota be?”

Lily snorts. “Yeah, because that’s totally the same thing.”

Breakfast wraps up with everyone scattering to their respective Monday duties. Lily’s off to catch the bus to the university, still grumbling about the homework I “helped” with, while Mom and Dad head out together—Mom to her accounting job, and Dad to his car salesman gig. I swear, if he tells anyone else I got a “makeover in Thailand,” I’m going to lose it.

As they head out the door, Mom shoots me one last glance. “Remember, Sierra—eventually.”

“Got it,” I say, giving her a thumbs-up that’s about 80% genuine, 20% stalling.

The house is quiet now. Well, except for the faint sound of Ronald Dumbf on the TV, still blabbering about his alien encounter. I roll my eyes, head back upstairs, and slip into the dimensional closet. It’s peaceful in here. And what better way to contemplate my next steps on Earth than with a little virtual farming?

Because let’s be real, before I conquer whatever life has in store for me next, I’ve got turnips to grow.

Eventually.

That’s what I thought a few hours ago. After an intense Stardrop Valley session that extended into the afternoon—and by intense, I mean watching pixelated crops grow—I’m officially done.

Why, you ask? Well, let me explain. You see, after spending way too much time dating every eligible bachelorette in the town, all six of them found out I was two-timing—no, six-timing—everyone. And boom, dumped. By all of them. In one day.

That has to be a record, even for a space tyrant like me.

So, yeah, I rage-quit. Alt-F4’d my way out of heartbreak and slammed my holographic keyboard for good measure. Who needs pixelated turnips and virtual love when you’ve got real life to deal with? (Okay, maybe “real life” is a stretch, considering I live in a spatially expanded closet, but you get the point.)

And what does a freshly heartbroken ex-tyrant do? That’s right—snoop through her sister’s stuff. Don’t judge me. Pixel heartbreak gives you a free pass, right? Right?

Lily’s room—or our shared closet-lair—was quiet. Her tablet was just lying there on her nightstand, practically begging to be investigated. It’s the same one she was giggling into last night before sleep, after she gave up on thermodynamics, and let’s just say my curiosity got the best of me.

I picked it up and examined it. Sleek, flat, and minimalistic. There was a half-bitten orange logo on the back with the word “oPad” written beneath it, and these circles here must be cameras. “Hmm,” I muttered. “Earth tech has come a long way in ten years, but it’s still not even in the same galaxy as space tech.”

I pressed the side button. And, of course, it was password locked. Oh, Lily, really? Did she think a lock screen could stop me? Please, even intergalactic banks are scared of me.

I willed the nanomachines to override the lock, and voilà, access granted. Oh, and bonus—I now knew her password: RobLover.

Wait. Who’s Rob?

My curiosity levels spiked. Who was this mysterious Rob, and why was Lily loving him? I started poking around. First stop: her messenger app. There it was—an entire conversation with someone named Rob. And what was Rob saying? Something about a coffee meet-up. Interesting. Since when did Lily do casual coffee meet-ups? And, more importantly, why was Rob sending three smiley emojis in a row? Like, that’s excessive. Tone it down, Rob.

I scrolled through their conversation, giggling like the nosy sister I am. “Man, this Rob guy is sweet,” I muttered to myself, rolling around on Lily’s bed like I was watching the latest drama series.

After poking around the messenger app, I tapped into her photo gallery. Nothing too scandalous—mostly pictures of her notes, some engineering diagrams, and a few selfies of her in a lab coat. Typical Lily. But nothing I could tease her with… yet.

I was just getting into the good stuff when the tablet blinked, showing a low-battery notification. Ugh, Earth tech. Always dying at the most inconvenient moments. I sighed and looked down at the tablet. It had provided me with a solid ten minutes of entertainment, so I felt like I owed it something in return.

“Alright, little oPad,” I said, patting it affectionately, “let’s give you an upgrade.” And boy, did I upgrade it. A processor so advanced it would make a quantum computer cry, memory storage so massive that it could hold the collective knowledge of a small galaxy, and a battery that ran on zero-point energy. Infinite battery life, baby.

Satisfied with my work, I placed the newly supercharged oPad back on Lily’s nightstand, no one the wiser. I couldn’t help but smile. You’re welcome, future Lily.

I was just about to start snooping through her laptop when Grams’ voice buzzed in my head.

“Sierra, Lily’s back.”

Oh, great. Just in time to catch me in the act.

Panicking slightly, I quickly arranged everything as it was and flopped onto my bed like I had been doing absolutely nothing suspicious. Perfect timing, as the door to our shared closet-lair creaked open.

“Hey, Sierra,” Lily said as she walked in, oblivious to my shenanigans. “What’ve you been up to?”

I smiled innocently. “Oh, you know… just planting turnips.”