I desperately want to know more about these Monitor guys but I’m overloaded, the hard drive in my brain fritzing from a soda spill of foreign feelings. I can’t take any more information in or I’ll completely lose it. My world is dark and upside down and that’s when I realize I’ve closed my eyes, bending over to put my head between my legs.

Meltdown complete.

I blink and I’m back in my bedroom, the rest of my therapy and the drive home a blur. My mom is standing in the doorway, talking to me, but she’s far away. I find my ears again, tune them into her frequency, finding the static of her worry and holding on to it until the waves turn into sound.

“—nothing to worry about,” she says, contradicting her own emotions. “Dr. Bright shouldn’t have scared you like that.”

“She didn’t scare me, Mom,” I groan, irritated. Sometimes I think life would be easier if everyone could do what I do. “I just got overwhelmed. You know that happens sometimes.”

She nods and I can feel that she wants to step into my room, sit down on my bed, put her arm around me. But she won’t because she knows she’s already too close. If she touches me, I’ll just start drowning in someone else’s worry.

“I never wanted life to be this hard for you,” she whispers, and my vision comes into focus enough to see that there are tears in her eyes. Something in me unwinds. This is one of the things I love about my mom. She’s learned that trying to hide her feelings from me just makes it harder for me to process. So she’s honest with me about what she’s thinking, even if it makes both of us feel worse. I appreciate it more than I’ve ever been able to express to her, but I think she knows in that way that moms know.

“I know, Mom.” I sigh and we look at each other helplessly, a half-length of room between us. I scoot over on my bed, highlighting the space that was already there. An invitation. She jerks her head in an awkward nod and walks into my room, sitting heavily next to me. I’m already on her wavelength so the proximity doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t make it worse.

“You’re a very special boy, Caleb.” She pats my arm and I roll my eyes.

“Yeah, I know.” Just like that, I’m annoyed again. “That’s what everyone keeps saying.”

“Well, that’s because it’s true,” she says earnestly. “Even before we found out about your ability, you were always so sensitive. So caring.”