Wrong About the Guy

I found George in the parenting section, searching through some shelves. “Oh, hi,” he said, standing up. “That was fast. You find anything?”

“No. I’ll get something later. Are you done?”

“I guess so.” He picked up a small stack of books.

I wanted coffee, so after he checked out, we wandered over to the store’s Starbucks.

“I’ll get us a table,” I said, taking the books from him. “Get me a vanilla Frappuccino. Extra whipped cream. And some kind of muffin.”

“You sure you don’t want to just mainline a bunch of sugar packets?” But he got in line.

I was leafing through one of the books he’d just bought when he brought his coffee and my muffin to the table. “They’re still making your Frappuccino,” he said.

I looked up. “This is unreal.”

“It always takes a few minutes.”

“Not that. This.” I held up the book. “Have you looked at this? At any of them?”

He sat down. “Just the titles and covers. Why does your mom want books on autism anyway?”

“Seriously?” I said. “You can’t guess?”

“Because of Jacob?”

I nodded.

“I kind of figured, but no one’s ever mentioned it before.”

“Did you think that Jacob might be autistic?” I asked. “Before Mom asked you to get these books?”

He hesitated, then said, “My cousin’s daughter has Asperger’s. Jacob kind of reminds me of her sometimes. But what do I know? Has he been diagnosed?”

I shook my head. “The speech therapist raised it as a possibility, that’s all. But I’m kind of freaking out here—I just picked this book up and started reading . . . and it’s like they’re describing him. Like right here, it says that some autistic kids stare at fans. I’ve seen Jacob do that a million times. Other stuff, too, like wiggling fingers in front of his eyes . . . or how he hates to make eye contact.” I shut the book and dropped it on top of the others. “I think maybe Mom’s right to be worried.”

“Maybe. But don’t panic or anything. My cousin’s daughter is totally great. She’s a little quirky, but in a good way.”

“Does she do therapy?”

“Tons of it.” He took a sip of coffee. “There’s a clinic near them that they go to that my cousin says is great. I could get the name for your mom—it’s in New York but they’d probably be willing to talk to her and they might know of a good place near here.”

“Thanks. I think Mom wants to start looking into stuff like that, but Luke’s really opposed to it.”

“Why?”

“He thinks it’s wrong to slap a label on Jacob. He says people on the Westside are way too quick to—” I stopped because George had suddenly jumped to his feet. “Um . . . did I offend you?”

“I think I heard them call your name. Hold on.” He crossed the room and came back with my Frappuccino, which he put in front of me with a wrapped straw.

I thanked him and he sat back down and took another sip of his coffee. “What do you think I should do?” I flicked at the books. “Mom and Luke are in such different places about this.”

“Maybe Luke would be willing to at least read one of the books? The more information he has, the more likely he is to see what she sees.”

“He’ll just get a

“Then you ask him.”

“Why would that help?”

“Because no one can say no to you.”

I thought about that a moment, as I sucked sweet vanilla goo up through my straw. I swallowed and said, “Do you mean that in a you’re too charming for anyone to say no to sort of way or a you’re spoiled and they give you whatever you want sort of way?”

“Does it matter?”

“My ego says yes.”

“Then for the sake of your ego, let’s go with the charm thing.”

That wasn’t a satisfying response. I picked at the muffin, but it had blueberries in it and I didn’t like blueberries. I should have been more specific, but I’d kind of assumed George would know what I liked.

thirty-two

As we ran the other errands, we talked more about the Jacob situation. When we were in the car, I read bits out loud from the books we’d bought, and then in the stores, we discussed the things that reminded us of Jacob—like the delayed language—and the things that didn’t, like how a lot of these kids avoided being touched, and Jacob loved being in our arms.

Nothing seemed obvious except, we agreed, that it couldn’t hurt for Mom and Luke to bring Jakie to an expert who could evaluate him.

When we were finally heading home, I suddenly felt the full weight of what we were talking about. The books made it all seem very real. “I just want him to be okay,” I said, rolling my head sideways to look at George as he drove.

“He will be,” he said. “He is. He’s smart and adorable and sweet. What’s not okay about that? And your mom is willing to do whatever needs to be done to help him.”

“I’ll try to talk Luke into being more supportive.”

“You’ll succeed,” he said. “You could talk anyone into anything.”

“Not really. I—” My phone buzzed, interrupting me. I glanced at it. “Heather,” I said, and put the phone away without texting back.

“How’s she doing?”

“You don’t know? She said you guys text sometimes.”

He raised his eyebrows. “She did? I think we’ve exchanged one text since you took the SATs. Maybe two.”

“That’s weird. She said it was more.”

He shrugged and I studied his face for some reaction to the mention of Heather. There wasn’t any. I pushed harder, suddenly desperate to know for sure whether he was indifferent or interested in her. “It’s just . . . I think she might kind of like you.” She had told me not to say anything to him but that was when I thought she was talking about Aaron, so it didn’t count, right? “And she seemed to think you might be interested back. Are you?”

“Are you being serious?” he asked warily. “Or just finding a new way to tease me?”

“I’m serious.”

“I think she’s a nice kid,” he said slowly.

“You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, then no. I want to help her with the college stuff but that’s all. I’m sorry if I gave her any other impression.” We were at my house. He punched in the code and we waited for the gate to swing open. “Do you think I need to do anything about it?”

“Nah, you’re good,” I said, suddenly feeling very cheerful. “It’s nothing you did. She gets a lot of crushes on teachers and people like that. She gets over them.” As we pulled into the driveway, I said, “We’re not that much younger than you, you know. Just a few years.”

“I know,” he said. “It’s not necessarily an age thing. It’s more who she is. I just could never see her that way. It’s not like . . .” He stopped talking as he put the car in park. He turned the engine off, avoiding my eagerly curious gaze.

“Not like what?”

“Nothing.” He opened his car door and got out.

I jumped out my side and came around the car, meeting him by the trunk. I put my hand on his arm to keep him from opening it. “Wait. Not like what?”

“Nothing. Don’t forget the books.”

“You were going to say it’s not like the way it is with me, weren’t you?” My heart was thumping wildly in my chest. Leaping and thumping. I felt sick and excited. And suddenly enlightened.

Maybe I hadn’t been jealous of Heather just because George was my tutor. Maybe I had been jealous of Heather because she said he liked her, and I didn’t want him to like anyone—except me.

George opened his mouth and closed it. His beautiful dark-green, dark-gray eyes—they were beautiful, even if I’d never admitted it to myself before—avoided mine as he said, “Ellie—”

My fingers pressed into his arm. “Just admit it. That’s what you were going to say. You know I’m not going to leave you alone until you do.”

“Man, you’re pushy,” he said.

“I know.”

“And conceited.”