“Come on in, Caleb.” Mr. Hayes pats my shoulder as I step over the threshold. I’m bombarded with questions about how I am, about how my parents are, how’s school going, so nice of you to come over, Adam’s just in the kitchen he’ll be so glad to see you—I lose track of the actual words as their excited voices are drowned out by their feelings. Energized nervousness, hopefulness, and the warmth that comes from people’s bodies when they’re trying to make you feel comfortable.

I’ve met Adam’s parents exactly once before, when they dropped him off at my house a few weeks ago. They came in for about two seconds to do the whole hand-shake-so-nice-to-meet-you thing with my parents and kind of look me up and down before going off to whatever fancy dinner they had that night. Adam’s parents go to a lot of fancy dinners.

Standing in Adam’s front hall right now is the complete opposite of that night. The first time, they’d been stiff and formal—all dressed up and awkwardly polite to my drab-by-comparison parents. My parents are smart and accomplished and all, but the Hayeses are that kind of smart that makes you feel nervous the moment you make eye contact. Adam is the same way—there’s a fierceness to how smart he is. The conversation in our doorway—because the Hayeses never came in far enough to justify closing the front door—was short and devoid of any actual substance, but it lasted long enough for me to know that Adam’s parents were suspicious of me. They had their walls up—easy for me to find because they’re built with the same bricks as Adam’s defenses—and didn’t thaw by the time they waved a polite good-bye.

I didn’t tell my parents this, that the Hayeses were wary of us. But I think they could tell. They would never admit it, but my parents were a little intimidated. I definitely was.

But now, here the Hayeses are, warm and grinning at me. There’s a swirl of bubbly happiness and a frenetic orange stress radiating from them. The wall is gone—they are inviting me in (literally and figuratively) and I’m thrown by being cast in the role of “person to impress.” I know what wanting parental approval feels like, I feel it basically any time a classmate interacts with their folks (and sometimes when they interact with certain teachers). It’s a desperate, jittery energy, like drinking a soda that’s too sweet. This is like that except the Hayeses are the parents and I’m the kid, and the topsy-turvy ride I got on when I entered the house is starting to make me feel nauseated. I need Adam.