Something righteous and indignant flares inside of me. That’s not right. I’m more than this. I don’t have to be the sad kid who sits on his bed, staring at his phone, wishing he could say the things he wanted to say. I don’t have to be the guy that aces classes but can’t even carry on a conversation with his parents or muster the strength to get out of bed some mornings.

The fingers on my free hand curl into my comforter as my other hand clutches my phone, staring a hole through it like that will give me answers.

… it was easy to confuse that with my own feelings …

What does that mean?

The righteous fire glows stronger in my chest. I’m smart—top of my class, will probably be in the running for valedictorian next year. I see a difficult problem and I solve it. I figure things out. That’s just how I work. But I cannot for the life of me figure Caleb out. That is unacceptable.

Before my brain can communicate with my hands, I’m hitting the little phone icon next to Caleb’s name. The ringing stops and he doesn’t even have time to say hello before my mouth takes on a mind of its own.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” I shout, far too loudly and completely at odds with the small, hopeful-nervous person I am in my bedroom in this moment.

“What do you mean?” Caleb’s voice sounds tinny and tight and it makes my heart clench. I try to stay focused—get answers, Adam. Puzzle it out.

“What feelings would you have to be confused about?” I demand. This is it: the heart of the matter. A clear question will yield a clear answer. That’s how it works.

“Well, like,” Caleb stumbles, “when I’m feeling something and another person is feeling the same thing, I can’t tell what’s coming from them and what’s coming from me.”

Okay, so apparently, that’s not how it works. I want to be patient, want to understand that Caleb is operating off a totally different system than the rest of humanity. He’s bound to have a different way of processing, communicating. I should be sensitive to that.

I’m not.

“Caleb, I swear to god, if you don’t start making sense in the next ten seconds—”

I’m pacing the room again, unaware of ever standing up, my hands pulling at my hair as Caleb’s voice shouts out of the speaker from where the phone sits on my bed.