Too Late

I nod. “My brother had Asperger’s. I know the signs.”

He runs his hands over his face. “Shit,” he groans. He quickly stands up, reaching for my hand when he does. I stand up with him.

“Get your stuff,” he says, pointing to my backpack and notebook. He turns around and throws his stuff on the table behind him, then reaches for my backpack and does the same. He looks up at the guy and points down to the seats we were just occupying. “Sorry, man. I didn’t realize they were your seats. We’ll move.”

The guy quickly walks back to the row we’re in and claims his seat before Carter changes his mind. Realizing most of the class is probably watching the commotion between the three of us, I still can’t help but smile. I love that he just did that.

We both walk back to the seats we occupied on Monday, then unpack our stuff onto the table.

Again.

“Thank you for doing that,” I say to him.

He doesn’t respond. He gives me a half-smile, then looks down at his phone until class starts.

Things are a little awkward once the lecture begins. Not wanting to sit by Carter has left him questioning me. I can tell, because it’s written clearly in front of me in black ink as I stare down at the paper he just scooted toward me.



Why didn’t you want to sit by me?



I chuckle at the simplicity in his question. I pick up my pen and write a response.



Dude. What is this? Kindergarten?



He reads my response and I swear I can see him frown. I was trying to be funny, but he missed the humor, apparently. He writes something down, something long, and slides the note back to me.



I’m serious, Sloan. Did I cross some sort of line the other night? I’m sorry if I did. I know you’re with Asa and I respect that. I honestly just think you’re fun and want to sit by you. Spanish bores the hell out of me and sitting next to you makes the urge I have to gouge my own eyes out a little less imminent.



I stare at his note for a lot longer than it actually takes me to read it. He’s got incredibly impressive handwriting for a guy, and an even more impressive way of making my heart race.

He thinks I’m fun.

It’s a simple compliment, but one that affects me way more than I wish it did. I have no idea what to say in response, so I press my pen to the paper and don’t even think when I write.



People in Wyoming don’t really exist, and I can never find the right outfit to wear when I shop for penguins.



I slide the paper back to him and when he laughs out loud, I put my hand over my mouth, covering my smile. I love that he gets my sense of humor, but hate it at the same time. Every second I spend with him just makes two more seconds I want to spend with him.

He slides the paper back to me.



Mosquitos whisper sweet nothings into my barrel of monkeys that took too long to bring me the pizza I ordered.



I laugh, then clench my stomach. Seeing the word pizza reminds me of just how hungry I am. I was too upset to eat dinner last night, so it’s been over twenty-four hours since I’ve eaten anything.



Pizza sounds good.



I lay my pen down but don’t slide the note to him. I’m not sure why I wrote something down that I was actually thinking this time.

“It does,” he says aloud.

I glance up at him and he’s looking at me with a smile that actually hurts. He’s everything I want, and everything I don’t need, and it literally, physically hurts.

“After class,” he whispers. “I’m taking you for pizza.”

It comes out of his mouth so fast, it seems like he knows he shouldn’t be saying it, much less doing it.

But I nod.

Dammit, I nod.





After class is over, she walks next to me as I lead her toward the parking lot. I can tell by the grip she has on her backpack and the way she keeps looking behind her that she’s about to back out. When she pauses, turning toward me on the pavement, I don’t even give her the chance to speak.

“It’s lunchtime, Sloan. You need to eat. I’m taking you for pizza. Quit trying to make it more than it is, okay?”

Her eyes widen in shock that I knew exactly what she was thinking. She presses her lips together and nods.

“It’s lunch,” she says with a shrug, casually trying to convince herself that this is perfectly okay. “I eat lunch. You eat lunch. What’s the big deal if we eat lunch at the same time? At the same restaurant?”

“Exactly,” I say.

There are smiles on both of our faces, but the fear in our eyes speaks volumes.

We’re crossing a line, and we both know it.

When we reach my car, I naturally start toward her door to open it for her, but change my mind and go straight to the driver’s side instead. The less I treat her like my date, the less it’ll feel like a date. I don’t want to make her more nervous about our “casual lunch” than she already is. The truth is, I’m nervous enough for the both of us. I don’t know what the hell I think I’m doing, but whenever I’m around her, all I can think about is how much more I want to be around her.

We both shut our doors and I crank the car, then pull out of the parking lot. Pulling away from the college with her alone in my car feels almost like playing a game of Russian roulette. My pulse is racing and my mouth runs dry, knowing my being with her is potential career suicide. Not to mention what would happen if Asa found out.

I wipe him from my mind and look over at her, deciding that if this may very well be my last day on Earth, I’m going to focus on her and enjoy the hell out of it.

“I have a confession,” she says, looking at me, embarrassed.

“What is it?”

She clicks her seatbelt into place and folds her hands in her lap. “I don’t have any money.”

I want to laugh at her confession, but in all honesty, it makes me sad for her. “My treat,” I say, because it would have been, regardless. “But if I hadn’t taken you to lunch today, how would you have eaten?”

She shrugs. “I usually don’t eat lunch. Lunch costs money, and money is something I don’t have in abundance right now. I’m saving up for something more important.”

She glances out the window, a clear sign that she doesn’t have intentions of elaborating on what it is she’s saving up for. I don’t push it. But I do push for an answer as to why she doesn’t have money to eat on.

“Why don’t you just ask Asa for money? He’s got it. I bet if he knew you weren’t eating lunch, he’d make sure you had some.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t want his dirty money,” she spits out. “I’d rather starve.”

I don’t respond. I don’t want to remind her of the fact that she’s under the impression that I’m working for Asa, so I’ll be paying for our lunch with that same dirty money. Instead, I change the conversation to a lighter subject.

“Tell me about your brother,” I say as I steer the car in the direction of the freeway.

“My brother?” she asks, questioning me. “Which one?”

“The one with Asperger’s? I don’t know a lot about it. I had a neighbor kid back in Sacramento who had it. I didn’t know it was something you could overcome, but you said your brother had it...like as in past tense.”

Her eyes drop to her lap and she laces her fingers together. “It’s not something you can overcome,” she says quietly.

But she referred to it in the past tense. Or...I guess she referred to him in the past tense. I’m an insensitive dumbass. Why the hell did I bring it up?

“I’m sorry.” I reach over and give her hand a quick squeeze. “I’m really sorry,” I repeat.

She pulls her hand back to her lap and clears her throat. “It’s fine,” she says, forcing a smile. “It was a long time ago. Asperger’s wasn’t the only thing he dealt with, unfortunately.”

And on that note, we reach the restaurant. I pull into a parking spot and turn off the car. Neither of us moves. I think she’s waiting on me to get out of the car, but I feel like I just ruined her good mood.

“I officially sucked the fun out of that drive,” I say. “Got any remedies?”

She laughs lightheartedly and grins. “We could take the writing game to another level,” she says. “Try to lighten the mood a little bit. Instead of writing random things without thinking, we could just spend lunch saying random things without thinking.”

I nod and gesture toward the restaurant in front of us. “After you,” I say. “Walrus tusks cloud my vision like chocolate pudding.”

She laughs and opens her door. “One-legged tiger sharks are better for you than vegetables.”





“Jon!”

I’m gripping my phone so tight, I wouldn’t be surprised if it crumpled in my hand. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, calming myself, attempting to give her the benefit of the doubt before I completely flip out.

“Jon!”

I finally hear his footsteps bounding up the stairs. My door swings open and he walks into the room. “What the hell is it? I was taking a shit.”