I thought I knew what happiness felt like. That free, high-soaring feeling when you’re laughing with someone, doubled over, abs aching. It would make my body feel light and strong and untouchable—like I’ve floated so high, no one could ever pull me down.

That feeling doesn’t compare to what it’s like now. If I was in the clouds before, now I’m in space, soaring in a bubble among the brightest stars.

Whenever that happens, I feel like maybe my Problem is worth it. Worth all the sadness and anger. But then the sadness and anger come around again and I forget what the joy felt like in the first place.

But right now I’m still smiling and closing my eyes against the sun. I can feel my mom watching me out of the sides of her eyes.

“What, Mom?” I sigh.

“Nothing, sweetie. I just like seeing you happy,” she says with a smile. I can feel a bit of sadness drop into her happiness and it ripples outward, extending toward me. I open my eyes and look at her. She still has a smile on her face, but it feels a little strained.

And just like that, it’s over. The bubble of joy has burst and I come careening back down to Earth. My mom’s not overly sad, just a little bittersweet, so I level out before crashing into the surface. That’s what’s nice about my parents—I usually don’t yo-yo as much around them as I do at school. They’re level-headed grown-ups, so it’s easier to deal with.

“I’ve made you sad now, haven’t I?” she asks knowingly, seeing the look on my face.

“Only a little. I’m fine,” I reply truthfully. “I know you’re worried about me.”

“Oh, Caleb, I’m never worried about you. It’s other people that make me worry.”

I don’t really know what she means by that, and I don’t ask. Just because I can feel her emotions doesn’t mean I understand them. Adults are so freakin’ weird. Their emotions might be easier to read but then they’re always saying cryptic shit like that.

We spend the rest of the car ride in a comfortable silence. As we pull up to the house, I can feel my dad and my sister reaching out to me. Not in the sense that they know I’m there. It’s not like their emotions are looking for me. They just … find me. I’ve gotten so used to the way my parents and my sister feel that their emotions are easier to identify.