“Caleb?” This time the word is a question and I hate how hurt my own voice sounds to my ears. I find myself in a moment that is the photo negative of the one that came before it. Caleb is now making an effort to avoid eye contact, and the electricity has been replaced with dead air.

“Do you want to take a walk?” he blurts out.

“What?” I have that two-steps-behind feeling again and I really, really hate it.

“I just—I need some air.” He stands and pulls his letterman jacket from the back of the chair, shrugging it on. I rush to my feet and silently follow him down the stairs, absently waving at his parents when he tells their confused faces that we’re going for a walk, and soon we’re outside, walking away from his house to who knows where.

“Caleb,” I say again, “what are we doing out here?”

His hands are shoved in his pockets, his jaw clenched as he stares straight ahead. He’s stiff and quiet and I want to scream at him and shake him because I’m so disoriented from the last five minutes.

“It’s kinda warm tonight,” he answers flatly. “I don’t know, I thought it’d be nice to get out of the house.”

The back of my neck is prickling—Caleb isn’t behaving like himself and I’m not sure what to do. I’m reminded of my birthday, that sudden shift in behavior and, not for the first time, I wonder if Caleb might have a serious mental health problem. As in, more serious than mine. The thought scares me like it did the first time I had it, but this time it comes with a sense of hopefulness. That, at least, would be an explanation. Maybe, like me, he’s been fighting invisible demons this whole time.

“Caleb,” I repeat, like saying his name has been working at all. This time I gently grab his arm, stopping in the middle of the sidewalk and trying to get him to look at me.

“Are you okay?” I ask, craning my neck to try and get him to look at me instead of the ground. He steps back from my grasp, scrubs his hands over his face, and sighs.

“There’s something I have to tell you,” he groans, face in his hands.

“Okay…” I try to keep my face neutral but my heart is beating like I’m a rabbit running away from a wolf.

“So, you know that fight with Tyler I got into last semester?” he asks, sounding overly casual.

“Yeah…” I answer, and then, when it seems like maybe he wants me to say more, “I remember being pretty surprised when I heard that you’d beat someone up. You always seemed like a really nice guy.”