My dad is in heavy concentration mode and it makes me itch to sit down and get my homework done. My sister is somewhere in the house daydreaming. There’s a hazy pink fog around all of her emotions and she’s sleepy/happy. It mixes with my dad’s focus and leaves me feeling a little off-balance. Like when you stand up too fast and your vision goes fuzzy for a second.

“David! Alice! We’re home,” my mom shouts as we step inside. “Caleb’s with me!”

That’s the new warning cry of the Michaels family: “Caleb is here.” Code for: “make sure you’ve got your emotions in check because the super-weird family member is going to make you feel awkward for having them in the first place.”

“Thanks for the warning, Mom.” I roll my eyes. “Wouldn’t want anyone to be caught off guard by the family weirdo.” I don’t say it with much heat, but I still feel a twinge of annoyance from my mom.

“Come on, Caleb,” she says, “you know it’s not like that.”

“Nah, I know,” I agree. “I get it. You guys have to protect yourselves.”

“Not from you, sweetie.” She turns to me and rubs my arm. “Never from you.”

The warmth of her hand on my arm spreads through me as the exasperation gives way to those familiar yellow pokers, this time with a softer edge.

“You don’t feel like you have to hide from us, do you?” she asks, her worry wrapping around me like a blanket.

“No. No way,” I assure her. “I love being around you guys. It’s … easier.”

She smiles and the blanket loosens without leaving completely, her ever-constant concern for me creating a warm haven.

8

ADAM

“How’s your AP prep coming along?”

My parents and I are having the rare weeknight dinner together, and it’s been nonstop questions about school. Eating together is usually reserved for Shabbat, which I’ve never fully understood, as my dad isn’t all that religious and my mom isn’t even Jewish. But that’s how my dad grew up and I guess it’s a good excuse to have a family meal. On Fridays, my parents are capable of shifting out of work mode and having an actual, human conversation. But when they do catch me in the middle of the week, it’s like being interviewed by a college admissions board.

“It’s fine,” I tell my mom as I shuffle the nondescript pasta dish around my plate. My folks are geniuses but my god, are they bad at cooking.

“Do you need any help? You know that your father and I would be more than happy to—”

“Yeah, I know, Mom, thanks. I’ve got it covered.”