“Um,” I start, desperately wanting to backtrack, “no, not hide. I just … you know. Like to wait until the coast is clear.” Caleb’s breathing slows and something close to understanding crosses his face. He’s starting to smile again, softer this time, and it makes me bold.

“You never know what uniformed sociopath is lurking just around the corner,” I say lightly. I’m expecting him to laugh or shrug or something at the dumb joke, but he just looks down, bringing his gaze, and mine, to the jacket he’s wearing. His letterman jacket.

Oops.

I’m about to say something more—take back the comment—but Caleb just shakes his head slightly before looking back up at me, hurt on his face.

“I’m not—” he stutters, “I didn’t mean to—I, uh, I should get going.”

He picks his backpack up from the floor, puts the book under his arm, and turns away.

“No, wait—” I start weakly.

“Have a good break!” he calls, barely turning his head to look back at me.

Caleb rushes out, leaving the library empty once again.

The house is as empty as the library when I get there, which is the case about ninety percent of the time. That’s what you get when you have two neuroscientists for parents. They’re good people—and smart—but most of the time, I think they had me by accident. They love me, I know, but they love cutting into people more. How’s that for a family hobby?

I kick off my sneakers into the front hall closet and make my way into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on the lights in the hallway. The house is wrapped in darkness and hush—the December sun having set thirty minutes ago—and I decide that the weather and the end of school both call for some hot chocolate. The encounter with Caleb still fresh in my mind, I grab our copy of Macbeth off the shelf in the library, thumbing my way through it as I put the milk on to heat. The book is well worn, a feat considering I’m the only one in the house who’s cracked the spine.

It’s been a bit of an odd upbringing. Once I was beyond the danger age for swallowing small objects, I was given models of the human body as toys. For my tenth birthday, they handed me an anatomy textbook. A lot of people like their jobs, but my parents love medicine like you wouldn’t believe. They are endlessly fascinated by human beings and all the ways that we can be broken and fixed. Medical journals pile up in every room of our house because new information is being discovered all the time, and my parents have to learn every piece of biological knowledge that is out there.