“Sorry, sweetie.” My mom’s face crumples in sympathy. “We just didn’t realize you were making new friends! It’s been a while since you’ve had anyone over and we’re happy that you’re getting back out there.”

“Don’t make him sound like he’s some sort of sad spinster,” Alice says indignantly. A little ball of warmth swells in my chest. Alice shares my hatred of being pitied and it’s nice to know that we’ll always back each other up when it happens.

“We’re just happy you’re socializing, son.” My dad awkwardly pats my hand. Alice rolls her eyes.

“It sounds like you’re having an easier time with things,” my mom suggests, and I feel that light, tentative spark of hopefulness reach out for me.

“Yeah, I guess.” I shrug. “I don’t know, it’s a little easier to deal with it around him.”

“His emotions don’t overwhelm you?” my mom asks. She’s met with Dr. Bright a couple times to talk about how to raise someone like me—an “Atypical” kid, I guess—and it leads to dumbass therapy questions at the dinner table.

“I mean, sometimes, yeah, but I mostly have it under wraps.”

“Mostly?” my dad asks.

Fuck. Can’t give parents an inch, can you?

“He hasn’t picked up on anything weird, I don’t think,” and god, why did I just say that? My nervousness had pretty much gone away but it’s back now and it’s not entirely mine—my parents are worried about something.

“You haven’t told him anything, right, Caleb?” My mom’s voice is gentle but I feel the anxious edge to it.

“No, of course not!” I say. “But would it really be so bad if I did? I mean, it’s not like I can move stuff with my mind or anything, I don’t get why it has to be this big secret!”

“It doesn’t have to be a big secret,” my dad says, and there’s something about this whole conversation that feels like my parents have rehearsed it. “But remember what Dr. Bright said, you have to be careful about who you tell.”

“Yeah, whatever.” I stare down at my half-eaten dinner. “It’s not like I was planning on blurting it out, I barely know the guy. But I just—I hate being the freak with the secret, that’s all.”

“You’re not a freak, honey.” Now it’s my mom’s turn to pat me, this time on my shoulder. “But we just need to make sure you stay safe.”

“What? Safe?”

My parents glance toward each other, something significant passing between them, and I feel a tight coil of stress squeeze their hearts. They’re—they’re actually concerned about something. Scared.