Opposite Day. Right. Jon snorted. Last year, his teacher tried to enforce such a holiday "for fun" (although he had an idea that it was some sad attempt to stop the rest of the class from picking on him, even if it was only for one school day) and it was ridiculous, a game he would refuse to play. Especially now, without warning.
While Shawn took to testing the stability of the furniture, Jonathan took the initiative to peer out the panoramic window. "No. This isn't California," he said, before pressing his palms and the tip of his nose to the glass. California was on the opposite side (there he went again) of the country. He'd seen pictures. Lots of beaches and movie stars, as he understood it. Bright, yes, but crowded. Not some place he cared to go, although his mother always promised him that, one day, she would take him there so he could see Disneyland. He would go, of course, if it would make her happy. "This is..." Not home. Nor was it his own impression of California. "...Wrong," he said again, only surprised this time to find it was true. "It's supposed to be Gotham."