I feel stupid as I say it but Dr. Bright just nods like it makes perfect sense to her. She asks a few more questions about Adam and before I know it, I’ve recounted the entire lunch to her. As I’m talking, something solid and satisfied settles into me.

“So his feelings didn’t overwhelm you?” she asks, and I feel bad about having to deflate her pride.

“Well, they did, sort of. I mean, I could feel them really strongly—he was nervous and confused and excited—but I was kind of all of those things too and it was just … it didn’t rub me up the wrong way like Caitlin’s emotions did.” I think about the strange squirmy, hot feeling from Caitlin and how the same kind of thing from Adam didn’t feel nearly as bad and realize they must have been completely separate feelings after all.

“I mean, it was a totally different set of emotions, I guess,” I say mostly to myself, “but they seemed to fit. Like, I could feel his emotions fine, but I could also feel mine pretty well. And I apologized for shouting at him last week and that made him less nervous and then it was just … I don’t know, it was easy.”

“I’m very pleased to hear that, Caleb.” She smiles, and my face warms. “Were you able to control how much of his emotions you were feeling? Balance them out a bit?”

“Um, I’m not sure. I didn’t really try.” I honestly didn’t feel like I had to, but admitting that feels like a trap for some reason. “Sometimes it did it on its own—like, it would be softer at times and bigger at other times and … ugh, I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Try a visual comparison again,” she suggests. “See if that helps.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think the color thing applies.”

“Then try to think of something that does. What else have you encountered in your life that was similar to this experience?”

“Um…” I think. The colors of Adam’s emotions don’t change but the levels do. There’s a rise and fall to them, except it’s not consistent, it’s unpredictable.

“… it’s kind of like—” I start. “… it’s kind of like the ocean.”

“The ocean?”