Chapters 1-3

- One -

"What?"

"We were hoping you could look after our son. Just for a few hours. Our babysitter canceled at the last minute."

I looked down at the little blond boy standing in front of Mr. and Mrs. Wilkens. He looked about ten years old, and something wasn't right here. I didn't know anything about these people; I'd just moved in a week ago. What about this seemed out of place?

The answer came in a quiet little flash, and I looked at the parents again. "Children should not be left alone with strangers."

Mrs. Wilkens laughed, waved my statement off. "Don't be silly, Jonah. You live right next door, and we've talked often over the last week."

True. Still, it did not seem right. The couple was dressed in semi-formal attire. Dinner, maybe? Perhaps a show? Probably nothing so important that they couldn't reschedule. Although I'd never had parents of my own, so I could not make a personal comparison. I looked down at the boy again, who was staring at his sneakers.

I had no intentions of hurting him. So, despite questionable judgment on the part of the parents, it would be alright that I took him for a few hours. "Are there instructions?"

Their shoulders sagged. Relief, I think. "Nothing to worry about. He's just a normal, ten year old boy."

I knew nothing of 'normal' ten year olds. The children I'd grown up with had all been... special. I wondered if teachers still used that term. There seemed to be a lot of talk about political correctness. I'd gotten in trouble for using the wrong phrase or word hundreds of times over the years.

A car door slammed and I realized they'd left already. The boy was still staring down at the sidewalk.

What did one do when meeting someone for the first time? "My name is Jonah Kayle. What is your name?"

"Jeremy," he said, not looking up.

We stood there, in silence, for several moments. It would have been better if his parents had given me instructions, but perhaps he could help me. "What would you like to do, Jeremy?"

He shrugged. "Can we watch cartoons?"

"I haven't unpacked my television yet."

Silence again.

I stared down at his bowed head. "Is there anything else you would like to do?"

"Can we..." He looked up at me, showing me his bright blue eyes for the first time. "Can we go to the park?"

"I don't know where the park is."

"I-I could show you."

I nodded. "Alright."

He shuffled forward, and I followed him. We didn't speak. I wasn't skilled enough to know whether the quiet was uncomfortable, but he seemed fine. I looked around, memorizing the path we took, taking note of the street names.

The park was already filled with people and children. This was a suburban area, so it was probably normal for it to be this way on a Friday afternoon.

Jeremy broke away from me, running to the jungle gym. He climbed the rope ladder, hung there as he spoke excitedly with a child at the top.

I studied the other adults, searching for my cue. A skill I'd been taught long ago.

Most of them gave the children plenty of space, spoke with each other or simply watched.

Alright. I could do that.

I spotted an empty bench, a few yards from the jungle gym. As I sat, a flash of movement to my side caught my eye. I turned my head, saw a boy of about 6 climbing a tree. Trees and boys seemed to be a fairly common combination, so I ignored him and went back to watching Jeremy.

He appeared to have many friends. Boys and girls alike were vying for his attention as he climbed over the gym, swung from the monkey bars.

Friends were good. I knew that much, although I did not have any of my own. Probably because I had no interest in obtaining them.

My parents had died when I was almost a year old. I don't remember them. I don't miss them.

When trying to place me, social services ran several tests to make sure I was healthy. I didn't cry. I was non-responsive to verbal cues, although tests proved I was not deaf. Being left alone brought forth no emotional response, nor did being held.

They thought I had autism, and diagnosed me as such. This greatly decreased my chances for adoption. Most people don't want a damaged child as their legacy.

For 7 years after that, I was in and out of foster homes. Most care givers sent me back within a month. I wasn't a lot of trouble, I don't think. A child with no emotions, a child with no facial expressions. I was just... creepy.

Like a robot. Kids teased me about it, then got angry when I didn't respond. Bruises and scrapes became the norm for me.

One of my foster fathers- the last one I would ever have- told me to fight back. Taught me how to do it. He was only trying to help. He didn't know what I was.

The next time a bully attacked me, I broke his wrist, and then his collarbone. He cried and screamed, but it didn't touch me. He outweighed me by 30 pounds, at least, and I'd put him into the hospital. The teacher who pulled us apart, as well as the child's parents, called me a monster.

After that I was sent to live in an institution. Some of the doctors there still believed I suffered from autism, but most of them agreed that I had Anti-social Personality Disorder. Many of them also believed I was sociopathic. They tried dozens of therapies and drugs to get me to feel things, but nothing worked. In the end, they taught me to fake it, so I would be able to assimilate myself into society.

Dr. Burke- the only doctor who ever smiled at me- taught me other things. Because I had no fear, the threat of punishment was ineffective when disciplining me. So he taught me reason, taught me to think things through, to weigh the pro's and con's of my decisions. Sometimes I slipped, but for the most part my moral center was pretty good.

So now I was 23, having graduated from college at 19. My job paid me good money, and so I used it to purchase a simple, box shaped house on Sycamore Street. And, for the first time in my life, I found myself responsible for another human being.

Jeremy. His name was Jeremy.

People began to shout, run past me and toward the tree. I glanced up from my seat, saw that the boy I'd noticed earlier had managed to climb almost to the top. About 20 feet. He was hugging the trunk, shaking. Crying, maybe.

If he didn't like it there, why didn't he just climb down?

Curious, I rose and joined the growing crowd. My gaze rested on a broken branch at the base of the trunk, then traced the path a four foot child would take up the tree.

Ah, the route he'd planned to use coming down was no longer available. As I stared up at the tree, I realized that there were no alternatives for a person his size. Not his fault. The best laid plans...

A woman burst into tears beside me. His mother?

I scanned the crowd. People were on their cellphones, all of them calling 911. Everyone seemed very upset.

Why didn't they just go up and get him?

That seemed to be the most logical conclusion. Maybe they just hadn't thought of it yet.

I walked up to the tree. The smooth soles of my loafers wouldn't do me much good, so I kicked them off, took off my socks and tucked them into my shoes. I straightened, grabbed the branch nearest to me, and pulled myself up.

It was an easy climb, much like going up a ladder. Very soon, I found myself on the same branch as the child.

He didn't seem pleased to find me there, clinging to the trunk and whimpering.

I settled myself onto the branch. "Hello, my name is Jonah Kayle. What's your name?"

He didn't answer, didn't even look at me.

I tried again. "It's very high up here."

His whimpering turned into sobbing.

Why did people cry? Because they were sad, or hurt, or frightened.

He didn't appear injured. I took a chance on frightened. "Very brave, for you to climb so high."

His sobbing eased slightly, and he turned his head.

I looked out at the landscape. At the park, then at the little houses beyond. They looked like gingerbread houses. "It's nice up here. I'll have to visit again."

"C-Can you..." He sniffled. "Can you get me down?"

I nodded.

"H-How?"

I moved closer, turned my back to him. "If you hold on to me, I can carry you."

For a while, I sat that way, waiting. Eventually, I felt his hands slide over my shoulders, saw his little fingers link in front my neck.

"L-Like this?"

I reached up, repositioned his arms a bit to make sure he wouldn't choke me. "Wrap your legs around my waist."

He did, and I slowly stood, getting used to his weight on my back. Then I began to climb down.

He cried out, his grip tightening around me. I paused. "What's wrong?"

"Y-You didn't tell me you were starting."

"Oh." I thought about that, then filed it away in case a similar situation should arise. "I'm starting now."

"O-Okay."

It took a little longer to climb down, but we got to the ground without any mishap. I crouched low so that he could slide off my body. People clapped their hands... I wondered why as I retrieved my socks and shoes.

The woman I'd thought might be his mother rushed up to him and wrapped her arms around his small body. "Oh, Timmy! Thank god!"

Love, relief. Tears, too, and I puzzled over them.

She looked up at me, holding Timmy close. "Thank you so much!"

I glanced at the tree, then back at her, unsure about the passion of her gratitude. Climbing the tree was no great accomplishment.

But Dr. Burke had also taught me to be polite. "You're welcome." I watched them a moment longer, and then remembered my responsibility. I walked through the crowd, unaffected by the people patting me on the back.

"Jeremy?"

He ran up to me, threw his arms around my waist. "That was so cool!"

I glanced down at him. In retrospect, I realized I shouldn't have left him alone. "Cool?"

He jumped back, his eyes bright. "Yeah! The way you climbed up that tree like it was nothin, then you brought that kid down... it was like you were Spiderman!"

I tilted my head to the side. "You had fun... watching me?"

His grin nearly split his face in two as he nodded.

Interesting. "Would you like to keep playing?"

Jeremy opened his mouth, paused a moment before pressing his palm against his stomach. "I'm hungry."

"Hungry?" I glanced at my watch. 5:43. I usually didn't have dinner until 7:15, but growing children needed fuel. "What would you like to eat?"

"I get to choose?"

He sounded surprised. I tried to think of a reason why he shouldn't be able to choose his own meal, but couldn't. "Yes."

A little smile played on his lips. "Can we get pizza?"

"I don't know where the pizza restaurants are in this area."

He dropped his gaze. "Oh. Okay."

Disappointment.

I lowered my head. "We could go to my house, and I could call the operator. He or she will be able to give us a number to have one delivered. Would that be alright?"

His head shot up, he nodded. "Can we go now?"

"Alright."

Jeremy took my hand and led me back to my house.

His smaller hand in mine struck me as odd. I didn't have a lot of physical contact in my life, certainly not from children.

"Do you climb a lot of trees?" he asked.

The question was hard to answer. "I'm... I'm not sure. I don't have anyone I can compare myself with."

"Do you climb other things?"

"Yes."

"Like what?"

"Rocks."

He looked up at me. "Rocks? Like cliffs and stuff? Like in the movies?"

"Yes."

"Do you wear wires?"

"Do you mean safety cables?"

"Yeah."

"No."

"Really? Don't you get scared?"

"No, I don't get scared."

He continued to ask me questions as I unlocked my front door and let him inside. He was quiet while I ordered the pizza, then began again.

"You live alone?"

"Yes."

"I don't know anybody on this street who lives alone. Why did you move here?"

"The company I work for transferred me. This was the closest residence to my building that was readily available."

"What do you do?"

"I work with computers."

"Do you make video games?"

I sat down on a couch. "No."

He took a seat across from me. "You're not like other grownups."

"I know."

"Most grownups would have asked me to be quiet by now."

"Really? Why?"

Jeremy stopped short, as if pondering that question for the first time. "I don't know. I guess it bugs them."

"It doesn't bug me."

The doorbell rang, and I stood to get him his pizza. I set the box, along with the soda, on the coffee table in front of him.

He looked up at me. "It's okay for me to eat in your livingroom?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

"I might get food on your furniture or carpet."

"I have cleaning supplies."

A light frown touched him. "You really aren't like other grownups."

I returned to my seat. "Sorry," I said, although I wasn't capable of feeling apologetic. But I had learned that apologizing puts people at ease, and I was taught that it was important that people be at ease.

"Don't be sorry." He opened up the box, pulled out a slice of pepperoni pizza. "I like you."

Like me? Had anyone in my life truly liked me? Dr. Burke, maybe. Hard to tell. I leaned forward and took a slice of pizza for myself.

We ate in quiet but, again, he didn't seem uncomfortable. I watched as he polished off 6 slices. Was that normal for such a small boy? I looked him over. He appeared fit, and if he spent most days like today, he probably burned a lot of calories.

No further need to consider it, then.

Once he was done, I wrapped up the leftover slices and threw away the pizza box. When I returned to the livingroom, Jeremy was looking around.

"You sure have a lot of boxes."

"24."

He pointed to the one closest to him. "What's in this one?"

"Books."

"This one?" he asked, pointing to another.

"Also books."

He pointed to a third.

"Books."

"Wow. You must be really smart."

"My IQ has been scored at 165."

He glanced at me. "Is that good?"

"Yes."

He pointed to another box. "What's in this one?"

"Kitchenware."

"Why's it in the livingroom?"

"That's where the movers placed it."

"Oh." He looked at the medium sized box. "Want me to move it into the kitchen for you? I'm pretty strong."

There were no breakables in it, so I nodded.

He grinned, bent his knees and picked up the box. "See?" he said, carrying it to the kitchen. "Told you I was strong."

I followed him, indicated a corner and watched him carefully put it down. "Thank you, Jeremy."

He put his hands into his pockets. "So what now?"

"What would you like to do?"

He shrugged. "Want me to help you unpack?"

"Would that be fun for you?"

"I dunno. We can talk while we do it, right? You said I don't bug you."

"That's right."

"Okay." He walked back into the livingroom and, again, I followed.

We spent the rest of the evening unpacking, speaking with each other. I don't think I'd ever had such a long conversation with someone who was not a psychologist, and that had been years ago.

By the time his parents arrived to collect him at 11pm, Jeremy was fast asleep on my couch. His father strode in, gently scooped him up.

"Thank you for this," said his mother. "Did he give you any trouble?"

"No."

Mr. Wilkens came out, and she ruffled the boy's hair. "Usually he can't sleep until we come and get him. He must really like you."

"He said he liked me."

Both of them glanced up. "Really?" asked Mr. Wilkens.

"Yes."

They looked at each other, then back at me. "I'd hate to put you out," said Mrs. Wilkens. "But would you be opposed to looking after him in the future? Just a few times, and only when you have time. It's so hard to find a sitter he gets along with."

I glanced at Jeremy's peaceful face. "Alright."

They smiled, thanked me profusely. I nodded and closed the door when they said goodnight.

I looked around my house. Many of my books had been neatly put away. Jeremy had laughed often as he spoke with me, which meant he'd probably had a good time. And he'd fallen asleep here, which meant he was comfortable. I considered these events a long moment.

Had I made a friend today?

If so, it was my very first.

- Two -

'A few times' turned out to be around twice a week. Jeremy was over so much that he became incorporated into my life. I planned meals around him, I learned his favorite activities and made certain they were available for him. He was very active and liked to spend as much of his time outdoors as possible. This was not an inconvenience for me.

He smiled a great deal and it appeared that I did, indeed, have a friend.

Once, while I was at a department store, my gaze found a video game console. Jeremy often spoke of video games, and so I purchased it, as well as a few sports titles I thought he might like.

Strange behavior, for me. I didn't usually think of others when I was alone.

Jeremy appreciated my spontaneity. He jumped up and down, hugged me tight. He spoke with unrestrained excitement as I installed it. He taught me how to play, and complimented me on how quickly I picked up the skills needed to compete with him.

Very soon, I was accustomed to his presence.

Then, when he turned 13, his parents decided he didn't need a sitter anymore, and he stopped coming over. I sometimes saw him doing chores, or playing games in the front yard with his friends. He always waved to me, and asked me how I was doing. Not much more than that.

I had barely realized 3 years had passed, and his sudden absence... There was an echo of something... As if there was a hole in my life. I was unsure how to fill it.

When the video game console began to collect dust, I packed it up and placed it in a closet.

Eventually, the echo faded away, and two more years passed.

I came home from work one day and heard the sound of metal clinking coming from the Wilkens's garage. Curious, I walked over my lawn and to their driveway.

Jeremy was doing bench presses, softly counting out his reps.

I walked a little closer, watched him for a while. He seemed to be working hard- his shirtless body glistened with sweat.

He racked his barbell and sat up. Then he spotted me standing just outside the garage door and smiled. "Hey, Mr. Kayle."

"Hello, Jeremy."

"My parents got me a new weight set. I'm hoping it'll help me get on the football team."

"Ah." I looked around. A variety of free weights were now scattered throughout the garage. Apparently Jeremy's parents planned to park on the street from now on.

"Do you think I'll make the team?"

My gaze returned to him. His musculature was quite good for a boy his age, but I didn't have enough information to answer his question. "I've never seen you play."

His brow furrowed, as if he hadn't been expecting me to respond that way. "Yeah, that's true."

I stood there in silence for several moments, and Jeremy's expression slowly changed.

For the first time since I'd met him, he appeared uncomfortable with my presence.

It was not good to make people uncomfortable.

I started to leave. "Goodbye, Jeremy."

"Mr. Kayle?"

I turned. "Yes?"

He leaned back against the bar, stretched his arms over it. "This is my first day with the weights, and I can bench 140 pounds for ten reps."

Sensing that I was supposed to respond a certain way here, I searched my mind, and then his face, for some cue. I couldn't find one. "Oh."

His brow furrowed again. I believe he was finally beginning to realize that I was not normal.

It was not good to make people uncomfortable.

I quietly left his garage.

About a month later, I came home to a card that had been slipped under my door. I picked it up.

I made the team.
Come and watch me play, if you want.
- Jeremy

Turning the card over, I took note of the date and time. Then I placed it on my end table and went to put my groceries away.

*****

People get very, very excited at highschool football games. They yell, they cheer, they jump to their feet. I did none of these things as I watched Jeremy play.

He was talented. And he played with a viciousness that was interesting. There was never any hesitation, nor any mercy as he tackled members of the other team. The people around me adored him, the people on the field seemed to feel the same way. He was probably quite popular in school. When I thought about it, that made sense. Athletic, handsome, outgoing, and now he played football. A good combination.

Jeremy's team won by 12 points. When the final score was announced, I rose from my seat and went home.

A few hours later, there was a knock at my door. I opened it up to find Jeremy, still wearing his football jersey. No padding, though. "Hello, Jeremy."

"Hey, Mr. Kayle. I saw you from the field today."

"Did you? You seemed quite focused on your game."

He took a step closer, and I noticed that he was only a couple of inches shorter than my 5'7". "How did I do?"

"You played well, and your team won."

Jeremy appeared to be growing distressed as he looked at me. "Why did you leave so soon?"

"The game was over."

"Why didn't you say hi?"

Glancing away, I thought about that. "I was supposed to say hello," I whispered, more to myself than to him. I met his gaze again. "I'm sorry."

My statement did not put him at ease. He released a harsh breath, ran his fingers through his hair.

His biceps drew my gaze, almost as big as a softball now. "You've grown a great deal in the last month."

He grinned, and I tried to understand how what I'd said fixed things. "Yeah, I'm getting bigger every day." He drew back the sleeve of his shirt, proudly flexed his arm, pumping the muscles bigger. "See that?"

This was quite a bit of development for one month. "You must have been working very hard."

"Yeah, but I fucking love it."

I'd never heard him swear before. But he was a teenager now. "It's good to like things."

He dropped his arm, and I realized I'd said the wrong thing again. "Am I bothering you? Being here?"

I met his gaze. His eyes were soft, very blue. "No. You never bother me, Jeremy."

His smile slowly returned. "Cool. I gotta get home before I break my curfew. I'll see you around, okay?"

"Alright."

He wrapped his arms around me in an embrace so powerful that I couldn't breathe. Then he let go and jogged into his house.

Hugs. Normally used to convey affection.

Was he still my friend?

Later that night, I climbed up the side of my house and sat on the roof. The cool air whispered over my skin, raising goose bumps on my arms. I closed my eyes to better experience it.

I couldn't feel anything internally, so often I would sit in a place like this and allow my body to feel different sensations.

Not uncommon for people with my disorder, I'm told. I remembered the other kids who had lived at the institution with me. Many of the ones with conditions similar to mine resorted to cutting themselves. I'd never had any interest in such activities, but I supposed it was understandable.

Images of Jeremy floated through my mind. He was very different now from the boy I had met 5 years ago. Taller, bigger, more mature.

But that's what children did, right? Grow up?

He'd known from the beginning that I was not like other adults. Now he was beginning to learn that I was not... right.

A monster, maybe. After all, the criteria that needed to be met in order to be classified as 'human' was complex. Not the least of which was basic, human emotion.

An image of Jeremy's flexed arm touched me, and I paused.

Why had I thought about that? There were a lot of things that seemed... new about Jeremy, although they must have always been there. The clarity of his eyes, his willingness to speak to me, his seemingly boundless energy.

And yet, something seemed different.

I laid back, stared up at the stars. I didn't understand people in general, and I certainly didn't understand the young man next door. But if he invited me to another game, then I would sit, and watch, and remember to say hello.

If he was still my friend, then that seemed to be the proper course of action.

- Three -

I paused when I saw Jeremy sitting on my porch steps. He'd been away at football camp for most of the Summer. I'd seen school buses around regularly these past couple of weeks, which meant classes had started. His Junior year. "Hello, Jeremy." I walked up to the porch.

He stood. I noticed he was 4 inches taller than me now, and quite broad. I stared at his mouth, the part of his body level with my eyes. "Hi, Jonah."

I tilted my head back to meet his gaze. "I believe it's inappropriate for you to call me by my first name."

"Why?"

"Because I'm several years older than you. Children should use surnames when addressing their elders."

He grinned. "I'm not a child, and you're not that old. What are you, 25, 26?"

His math was not very good. "I'm 30, Jeremy."

"Really? You don't look it."

People often said that. I think it was the lack of expression lines marking my skin. "Nevertheless, it's true."

He took a step forward. He was standing quite close. Most people grew uncomfortable if I moved this close to them. "I'm taller and a lot bigger than you, though. I feel silly calling you 'Mr. Kayle.'"

That seemed to make sense. "I don't want you to feel silly."

His smile widened as he edged even closer. His chest, so much thicker than mine, nearly brushed against me. I could feel the heat of his body enveloping me. "So it's okay that I call you Jonah?"

"Yes." Goose bumps rose on my arms. I couldn't discern the cause. "Is there something I can help you with?"

He stepped back from me, shoved his hands into his pockets. "I forgot my key this morning and now I'm locked out of my house. Can I hang with you until my parents come home?"

I unlocked my door and opened it for him.

He picked up his backpack and strode inside. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," I replied, closing the door behind me.

"Wow." He whistled when he saw the interior. "You have even more books than I remember."

I suppose it had been a couple of years since he'd last been inside my house for anything. Now, stacks of books were neatly piled in the corners, waiting to be organized. "I need to build more cases."

He turned to look at me. "You built all these cases you got by hand?"

"I watch a lot of Do It Yourself network."

He grinned. "Well, if you need me to haul any wood in for you, just ask. I'm pretty strong."

"You've said that already."

"That I'm strong?" He tilted his head to the side. "When?"

"The first day you were in my house. You picked up a box for me and carried it into my kitchen."

He burst into laughter. The sound was... masculine. "I forgot about that. I'm a little stronger than I was back then, though." He walked over to my couch, the one he'd spent so many nights sleeping on as a child, grabbed hold of it, and lifted it over his head. "Check me out."

Jeremy pumped the couch up and down a few times with ease. 323 pounds. I didn't think that this was normal, but defining 'normal' was always difficult for me. "If you are able to do this, then you should be able to break the lock on your front door and go inside."

The smile faded and he set the couch on the floor. "I guess."

I'd upset him. I went over my statement, but I could not pinpoint my insensitivity. "You must have a reason for not doing so."

He crossed his arms over his chest; his biceps and triceps stretched his short sleeves tight. "My parents would get mad at me if I broke down the door."

"Ah." I hadn't thought of that. "A good reason." My gaze rested on his arms, and I found myself fascinated, although I didn't know why.

"Y'like my guns, Jonah?"

I lifted my head. "Guns?"

He tapped his upper arm.

Oh. Slang. "Your body is very developed, Jeremy."

"I've been workin really hard this year."

"You always work hard, at whatever you do."

He stopped short, making me wonder if I'd said the wrong thing again. But then he smiled. "Yeah. Most people think everything comes easy to me because I got so big so fast, but I pumped those weights like there would be no tomorrow."

Tomorrow... "You'll be 17 tomorrow, won't you?"

Sometimes I took tangents people could not follow, and it took him a moment to absorb the question. "Yeah."

"Would you like your birthday present now?"

His expression changed, to one I couldn't place. "You got me a present?"

"I get you a present every year."

He chuckled. "Yeah, I guess you do. Sure, bring it on."

I went to the hall closet, pulled it from a shelf, and gave it to him.

"A football?" he asked, turning it over in his hands.

"Yes."

He took a closer look at it. "It's autographed. Cliff Branch... Ted Hendricks... Henry Lawrence..." His head shot up. "Is thing signed by every member of the Super Bowl XVIII team?"

"The Raiders, as well as their coach."

"No fucking way," he whispered.

Swearing. Usually done when one is upset. Difficult to tell with teenagers, though.

"Is the gift unacceptable? Should I have wrapped it?"

He hooked his arm around my waist and lifted me against his body. "This is the greatest present I've ever gotten."

His arm tightened around me, but it didn't occur to me to return his embrace. "People should enjoy their birthday presents."

He looked down at me, his gaze considering again. "When is your birthday, anyway?"

"January 21st."

"I've never gotten you a present. Have I been hurting your feelings all these years?"

"No."

His hold on me loosened, and I slid down his body. He felt... strong. Even through both our clothing, I could feel every hard curve, every groove in his muscles. His hand remained flat against the center of my back, pressing me against him. "Can I ask a favor, Jonah?"

I looked up at him.

He nodded his head toward his backpack. "I'm having some trouble in algebra. Could you help me with my homework?"

"Alright."

He grinned and released me, retrieved his bag, and strode to the diningroom table.

I stood there a long moment. Something was... changing. I could not tell if the change was in me, or in him, but I believed I was unprepared. Off balanced. I wasn't sure...

"Jonah? You coming?"

Algebra. I understood algebra.

I sat next to him at the table. He'd already opened his book, pulled out several sheets of paper. I glanced at the problems on the open page. Simple. "What is the best way to help you?"

He handed me a pencil, then tapped the first problem with his forefinger. "Could you go through this one, step by step? I think if someone just explained it to me, then I could get it."

"Your teacher doesn't explain it to you?"

His mouth twisted. "He talks fast, and he thinks I'm kinda stupid, so he doesn't like to waste time with me."

"But you're not stupid."

He turned his head, bringing his face within inches of mine. "You really think that?"

I nodded.

His face... softened. I didn't understand why. It hadn't been a compliment. It had only been the truth. "Help me prove him wrong, okay?"

I took a piece of paper, wrote out the problem. His face remained close to mine, and whenever I began to go too fast, his hand would settle over mine to slow me as he asked questions.

He smelled like sandalwood.

His hand was warm.

His voice was low, but smooth.

Why were these thoughts running through my head?

After the first couple of problems, he caught on quickly, and was able to do the rest of his homework unaided. I sat beside him, watched with interest.

The look of concentration on his face held a great deal of fascination for me. The cords in his forearms as well, for they moved with strength and elegance beneath his skin as he wrote.

"Hey, Jonah." He turned his head, too quickly for me to anticipate, and his nose bumped mine. "Oops," he said, grinning as his hand went to my face.

"Sometimes I get too close," I said, by way of explanation.

He chuckled. "I didn't think that was too close." His thumb slid down the bridge of my nose before he pulled away. "I was going to ask if I could have something to drink?"

"Would you like a glass of milk?"

He grinned, and his blue eyes seemed very bright. "Why do you suggest milk?"

"Because milk does a body good."

The chuckling returned, but I sensed it was not at my expense. "Sure, I'll take a glass."

I rose from my seat, went into the kitchen to get his drink. As I poured it, I watched the white liquid splash against the sides of the glass, watched it rise until it reached the top. I lost myself a brief moment, and some of it spilled over the edges, onto the counter. I closed the carton, put it into the refrigerator, and picked up a towel.

"Don't cry over spilled milk," I said softly, as I cleaned up the small mess.

I'd never understood that phrase. Why would anyone cry over such a thing? It wasn't painful, it didn't cause any real or permanent damage.

Perhaps I was being too literal. I was often literal.

I thought about it a while longer, then remembered the young man at my dining table. Picking up the glass, I carried it to the next room and handed it to him.

"Thanks," he said, after taking a long drink.

"You're welcome." I sat next to him and returned to my study of his face, his forearms.

When he finished his math homework, he glanced up at my clock. "My parents should be home by now. Time to go."

I stood, pushed my chair in. "Alright."

He threw his things into his bag, swung it over his shoulder as he finished off his milk. "Thanks again."

My gaze rested on his mouth, on his milk mustache. "You could be on a billboard."

His eyebrows drew together. "Say what?"

I touched my fingers to my lips. "Got milk."

His hand copied my movement, then he laughed when he felt the moisture. "Oh." He wiped the milk away. "Clean?"

I nodded.

"See ya around, Jonah," he said, winking at me just before he left my house.

Wink. A movement of the eye meant to convey a hint or a suggestion.

I stared at the closed door a long moment, trying- futilely- to decipher his meaning.

Jeremy did not know that such subtleties were beyond me.

Hopefully, he hadn't been trying to tell me something important.

Jonah's Giant

Rowan McBride

Jonah's Giant © 2006 by Rowan McBride. All rights reserved. This story may not be reproduced in whole or in part without author's permission.

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