Wait,” he said. “That’s not a word.”<br /><br />I looked down to where, in a moment of desperation, I’d played zixic on a triple-word-score space.<br /><br />“Uh, sure it is.”<br /><br />“What’s it mean?”<br /><br />“It’s sort of like…quixotic, but with more…”<br /><br />“Bullshit?”<br /><br />I laughed out loud. I’d never heard him swear before.<br /><br />“More zeal. Hence the z.”<br /><br />“Uh-huh. Use it in a sentence.”<br /><br />“Um…’You are a zixic writer.’“<br /><br />“I don’t believe this.”<br /><br />“That you’re zixic?”<br /><br />“That you’re trying to cheat at Scrabble.” He leaned back against my couch, shaking his head. “I mean, I was ready to accept the whole evil thing, but this is kind of extreme.