He opens his mouth, right as I remember our conversation from the library. I know he’s going to correct me, so I beat him to it.
“I mean, the comic books. Sorry.”
He closes his mouth and scrunches his nose, absorbing this. The light in his eyes dims a bit and it’s like they’re attached to a string on my heart. And it’s being tugged. Ludicrously, I find myself wishing I could shoot fireballs from my fingertips, if only not to disappoint him.
“But . . . why do you wear the gloves?” he asks.
I look at him and find myself compelled to tell the truth. “I have an allergy,” I say.
At this, his shoulders fall. “An allergy? Like, to peanut butter?”
“Kind of,” I say. “But mine’s a lot more rare than that.”
He tilts his head. “How rare?”
“Very,” I say, leaning a little closer to him. “But if I tell you, you can’t tell anyone.”
He leans a little closer, too, and it feels as if the room is holding its breath.
“I’m allergic to other humans.”
His eyes go wide and shiny and bright again, and I don’t understand why this pleases me so. But it does.
“That’s why I ended up in the hospital after pulling you out of the river.” I hold up my gloved fingers and wiggle them. “I can’t touch people.”
His eyebrows are so high, they’re nearly hidden beneath the fringe of thick black hair on his forehead, and then, in an instant, they fall and go crinkly as he ponders this new information. I can almost see the gears turning in his brain. When he finally speaks, it’s in a whisper. “So, you kind of are a mutant?”
I consider this. And how that’s what I’ve felt like for my entire life. Like a curiosity. A monster. A total freak of nature. But somehow, coming from his mouth, this possibility doesn’t seem nearly so bad.
AN HOUR LATER, Connie and Eric appear in the foyer. They don’t knock, but then I don’t know why they should. They are doing me a favor.
“How long has your car not been starting for?” Connie asks.
“Um . . . I’m not sure.”
“Let me rephrase—when’s the last time you drove it?”
I glance at Eric and mumble a response.
“What?”
I clear my throat. “Nine years ago.”
Eyebrows shoot up on Connie and Eric’s faces like a succession of fireworks.
“Wow. OK,” says Connie, bobbing her head a little. “That, um . . . that really makes sense. The fuel tank is completely rusted. I don’t think vinegar’s going to touch it. I gotta drain that, put in new gas and an additive. Plus, you need a new battery, all new fluids, spark plugs. Oh, and new tires, too. They’re just not safe after six years or so—especially since they’ve been exposed to weather conditions all this time.”
Overwhelmed by this influx of information, I look from Connie to Eric. He shrugs, as if in apology.
Connie continues. “I could do the fluids, spark plugs, all the basic stuff. I might even be able to change out the fuel pump, although those can be a bear, depending. But the rest? It’s exceeding my mechanical talents. I think it’s better in the hands of a professional. I’m sorry, wish I had better news.” She glances at her watch. “I gotta get to the office.”
Eric walks her to the door and I manage to squeak out a thank-you before she’s gone.
“I’m happy to call a tow truck for you. Get it to a mechanic,” he says when he comes back in the room.
“Oh, gosh, I’ll take care of it,” I say, with no intention of doing so.
“I don’t mind,” he says. “I’ll do some research this afternoon, figure out the best place—”
“No,” I say, with more force this time.
This pulls him up short.
“I’m just . . . I’m fine with my bike. It’s no big deal.”
“Let me just do this for you,” he says, not skipping a beat. “Really. I owe you.”
“You don’t owe me!” I say, recognizing the irony that on the way home from the hospital I didn’t feel like he was grateful enough, but now it’s just too much. And I wish he’d leave it alone. “I didn’t do anything.”
“You saved—”
“No!” I say, a little louder than I intend. Even Aja glances up from his iPad, and then looks back down. “I did what any other warm-blooded person would do in that situation.”
He doesn’t immediately respond, giving me a hard stare. Neither one of us blinks for a few moments, and I start to squirm under his scrutiny. It’s like we’re locked in some kind of battle now, but I don’t understand what he’s fighting for. He did what he came to do—look at my car—and now we’re even. He’s out of his obligation.
He breaks the silence. “What if I just give you a ride home from the library, just until you get enough money to fix your car?”
My eyes fly open. This is getting ridiculous. “No, really—” I start.
But he keeps talking like I haven’t even spoken. “It’s close to the train station so it’s not even out of my way. Plus, it’s bad enough that you’re riding your bike in the cold, but the dark, too? You don’t even have any reflectors on it. And what if it snows?”
Why do you even care? I want to shout. I cross my arms in front of me. I hate the way he’s talking to me—it’s patronizing, like he knows better. And I hate even more that he’s a little bit right—I hadn’t thought about snow. “I’ve just ordered reflectors and a headlamp,” I fire at him. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
He takes a step back and I think I’ve won, but then he opens his mouth again and says quietly: “Just let me help you. Please.”
“I don’t need your help,” I say firmly. “You’ve done more than enough. Thank you.” I gesture toward the door with my left hand. I know it’s rude, but I’m beyond caring. I just want him out of my house.
He takes another step back and nods, slowly, his eyes never leaving my face. “OK,” he says, reaching in his pocket for his knitted hat. The fight has left him and I know I’ve won. He turns to Aja. “You ready, bud?” he says loud enough for Aja to hear over his earbuds.
Aja gets up, tucks his iPad under his arm, and shuffles out the door. Eric turns to go after him but then fixes me with one last look. “Good-bye, Jubilee,” he says.
I stare at him, hard, trying to hold on to the anger that was just coursing through me. But I can’t. There’s something in his eyes I haven’t seen before—a quiet anguish, maybe?—that softens me, and all I feel is a twinge of regret for being so harsh. But before I can say anything, he drops his gaze and then he’s gone, the door shutting with a click behind him.
fifteen
ERIC