The muscles in Ángel’s jaw and shoulder felt tight. He forced himself to relax. “You can read my mind when you touch me.”

“Certainly not.”

“Don’t lie. You can,” he said. “This is . . . this is about privacy. Which I know you don’t understand. But when you touched me you read me like a book, and learned things that I don’t actually reveal to people. And it scared me.”

“No. It’s no different than seeing the expressions on your face.”

“It’s totally different. It’s— You told me there was a difference between watching and searching. You searched me. I didn’t let you. I can’t do the same to you.”

After a pause, Oberon said, “I see. It is natural for me to touch my friends, to understand how they feel. I learned immediately that humans find my touch uncomfortable. But you and I are friends. Isn’t that right?”

Misery choked Ángel, replacing his anger. “I know I’m not being fair,” he said. “I touched you first. I didn’t not want what happened. And now I’m being a jerk about it. I just . . . I didn’t expect you were going to . . . It was really intimate, and I—I don’t—I don’t.”

Oberon’s voice, when he spoke, was soothing and warm. “Intimacy, like privacy, is a concept that I struggle to understand.”

“It’s when you’re with someone . . . in private? When you choose to share your privacy with someone? I don’t know how to explain it.” Ángel backed away from the counter, leaned on the refrigerator. “They say women are better at talking about stuff like this, but the girls I know don’t talk about it with me. My mom would cut off her hand before she sat down to talk about intimacy.”

“Then how do you know what it is?” asked Oberon reasonably.

“You ask hard questions,” complained Ángel.

He had no better answer than that, and after a moment Oberon said, “Ángel, I cannot read your thoughts. I am learning to read emotions on your skin, and these are always truthful, but I don’t always understand what they mean.” He paused. “Right now, I can tell that you are upset, but I don’t truly understand why. But I have made you feel unhappy, and I am sorry for that.”

Ángel nodded. “Same here.”

“Thank you. I cannot turn off my perception of your emotions, any more than you can strike yourself deaf. I would not if I could. But I will not touch you again, unless you invite me to.”

“Thank you,” repeated Ángel, through a dry throat.

“I did not learn anything about you that was not beautiful.”

Ángel laughed bitterly. “Oh, right. Okay.” Surely nothing about Ángel’s weak, confused nature was beautiful.

He grabbed an apple and fled up the stairs to his room.

Chapter 16