Honestly, how did anyone expect me to be adjusted and not filled to the brim with neuroses with role models like these?

“I’d love to come see you compete sometime.” Annabelle smiles, all teeth and no spark in her eyes. The tension hasn’t left my mom’s hand and the air in the whole room is thick with stress. Did I miss something? Mom and Annabelle’s monthly spat? Did my dad say something dumb? Or is it me? I’m not doing a good enough job of pretending to be human and they’re starting to notice and soon the weight of their collective concern is going to fall from the sky and crush me. I have to get the situation under control.

“Um, yeah,” I say, doing my best to inject enthusiasm into my response and almost certainly failing. “Yeah, we’ve got a competition next month sometime.”

“Son”—my father’s stern voice cuts through the tension before layering on more—“are you sure you’re all right?”

“Yeah,” I repeat, “I’m totally fine. Sorry, I’m just a little distracted today.”

“Fun plans for your Saturday?” Annabelle asks, her smile finally warming her eyes. She winks at me and I want to appreciate it—want to goof off with my aunt in these rare moments when she lets her hair down—but it just makes me flinch.

“Uh, no, not really.” I shrug before my whole body involuntarily seizes up in panic. I’m supposed to see Caleb tonight. He’s coming over. He’s coming over to my house and I haven’t even asked my parents about it yet because by the end of school on Thursday, a damp cloud had descended over me and I’ve spent the last seventy-two hours wallowing in it.

The conversation at the table has moved on—Mom and Dad are talking about one of their newest areas of potential research and Annabelle looks deeply interested in a way that makes me think she isn’t only looking for weak spots in my mother’s pride. There’s no further inquiry about my weekend plans because “um, no, not really” is par for the course when it comes to the life of Adam Hayes. My parents don’t expect me to have friends. They’ve tried—getting me to sign up for more extracurriculars, offering to let me throw small (read: very pathetic) parties at the house—but they know a lost cause when they see it.

“What about Caleb? What’s he doing this weekend?”

How much time has passed? Did they finish talking about work so soon? I look up from my plate again to see three pairs of highly intelligent adult eyes staring at me. I replay the last thirty seconds of my life, trying to remember what was happening around me as I was being pulled further into the dark spots of my body.