I don’t even mean to say it, not really. I’m not sure I even realize what I’ve said until after it’s out of my mouth. But I open my eyes (when did I close them?) to see Dr. Bright smiling softly at me, like she understands something. It’s both comforting and sorta unnerving.

“You feel calm when you’re alone?”

“Yeah,” I half whisper, realizing that’s what it is. That blanket; that soft, light, barely there warmth … it’s calm. The awareness of it yanks it away, and I suddenly become fully conscious of where I am.

“Would you say your mood swings happen only around other people?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess they do,” I say slowly. “That’s when I get overwhelmed.”

“By other people?” she clarifies.

“Yeah.” I take a beat, think back on the past few minutes, try to follow the path of her thoughts and start to put some pieces together. “What did you mean by me being in the opposite position?”

“I don’t think you have a lack of empathy, Caleb.” She closes her notebook and folds her hands. “I think you have an excess of it.”

“What … what do you mean?”

Dr. Bright shifts in her seat and for the first time, she looks uncertain.

“There are…” she starts, her hesitancy making me itchy again, “people in the world who are different. People who are able to do things that the average human cannot.”

“What do you mean?” I repeat, my heart beating faster and faster. I suddenly feel like I’m in a haunted house. Walking through hallways where at any moment something terrifying could come bursting out.

“These people are called Atypicals,” she says, and I can hear the weight behind that word.

“Atypicals,” I echo.

“Yes.” Dr. Bright nods. “And I believe you might be one of them.”

“So, are you, like, gonna be a total weirdo forever?”

I look up from my bio textbook to see Alice standing in my doorway. I just got back from my third therapy session and I guess Mom and Dad had “The Talk” with her. There’s a prickly kind of nervousness skittering up my arms but it doesn’t make me want to tear my own skin off. It’s familiar. I guess it must be Alice’s? God, figuring this out is going to be a real pain.

“I guess.” I shrug. “I mean, Dr. Bright seems to think it’s a pretty permanent thing.”

“Whoa,” she says, climbing up on my bed, uninvited.

“Hey, c’mon, don’t mess up my pillows,” I groan.

“God, you are such a neat freak.” Alice rolls her eyes. “Is that part of your whole thing?”

“Not wanting your sister’s dirty feet on your pillows is a totally normal thing.” I emphasize the point by hitting her with one of the pillows in question.