“They don’t approve of Ethan’s existence,” he says bitterly. “Assholes.”
“So . . . maybe it was a mistake to invite them to go to the movie with us?”
He flashes a brief reluctant smile. Which feels like a minor victory.
“Anyway,” he says, “does Ivy want you to stay this time?”
“I’m hoping not. At some point she’s got to start having her own social life.”
“Right,” he says. “And leave you free to enjoy yours.”
“I don’t mind coming along.”
“Even if you have to hang out with the most hated member of your class?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” I say. “No one cares enough about you to hate you.”
Another begrudging smile. “Listen to you,” he says, almost admiringly. “And you’re supposed to be so nice.”
“I am nice. You bring out the worst in people.”
“Maybe I just free people up to say what they really want. Don’t you get tired of being so . . . you know . . . sweet and pretty all the time?”
“Aw.” I bat my eyelashes. “He thinks I’m pretty.”
“That wasn’t my point.”
“So you don’t think I’m pretty?”
I’m trying to torture him a little, but he just shrugs. “I couldn’t possibly think you’re as attractive as you think you are.”
“It is a high bar,” I agree cheerfully. “So what were you planning to do about the movie?”
“I’m not sure. It’s kind of a tricky situation with Ethan.” He sticks his hands in his pockets. “When things are going fine, he’s great. But when he gets upset . . .”
“Yeah, I know. Ivy’s the same way.”
“But does she run? Ethan’s a runner.”
“As in track and field?”
“As in running away. If he gets overwhelmed, he just . . . takes off. Used to happen all the time when he was little. He’d slip out a door when no one was looking, and we’d have to hunt him down. A couple of times, we couldn’t find him and had to call the police. At first, it was mostly from school, but after my mother left and my dad got remarried, he started to run away from home too. Freaked out our stepmother so much, she started talking about how maybe he needed to be put somewhere ‘safe.’”
“Meaning what?”
“Some kind of special needs institution, I guess.”
“Oh, God. That’s horrible.”
“I know. I’ve warned him he has to stop with the running away, but it’s not like he’s thinking rationally when he does it. Or thinking at all, really. He did it once last year, but I found him so quickly they never even knew about it.”
“What upset him?”
He sighs. “So . . . the fourth Bourne movie was on TV—?the one that Matt Damon wasn’t in . . .”
“And?”
“And he was upset they’d used a different actor. He liked the first three a lot.” He glances at me sideways. “It’s okay to laugh. I think it’s funny too.”
“It’s kind of sweet?. . . Shows he’s loyal. How’d you find him?”
“He went to the little supermarket on Montana Avenue. It was hot out, and he was thirsty and wanted something to drink. They know us there and could tell something was wrong, so they used his phone to track me down.”
“But he likes going out with Ivy. He wouldn’t run away on a date, would he?”
“Probably not.” He takes his hands out of his pockets and stands up straight. “But he’s really invested in things going well—?you saw him with the bowling, how upset he got when we wanted to end early. He wants everything to go exactly the right way, and if something went wrong . . .”
“Got it.” Another thought occurs to me. “What about when he’s at school? He must get upset there now and then.”
“Yeah, but you can’t get on or off that campus without going through security.”
“Oh, good point.”
“And when he’s not in school, I’m pretty much with him.”
No wonder David has no social life. He can’t really go to parties and stuff dragging an autistic brother with him. Well, he could—?and people would probably be nice about it—?but someone as proud as he is probably wouldn’t want to have to ask if it’s all right or risk having people feel sorry for him. It also explains why he doesn’t play any sports or do any extracurriculars.
“You’re a good brother,” I say.
“I make up for that by being a horrible human being in every other way.”
I laugh.
“Feel free to argue the point,” he says. “Anyway, this Ivy thing . . .”
“Yeah?” I adjust my backpack on my shoulder and glance at my watch. The bus leaves in two minutes. I’m going to have to make a run for it soon. “What about it?”
“It could be amazing for him. And for me. If they really like each other and she becomes someone he can trust . . .” He stops, then says, “I mean, I don’t want to put too much pressure on the whole thing . . .”
“No, it’s okay—?I feel the same way. There’s freedom for both of us if this thing works out.”
“Exactly. Anyway, I just wanted you to know that I’m going to hang out at the movie on Saturday, and I wouldn’t mind some company.”
“All right. I’ll see whether or not Ivy wants me there.” I nod toward the front of the school. “I’m going to try to make the bus.”
“Good luck,” he says, and is gone before I can say goodbye, like he needs to be the one who walks away, not the one who gets walked away from.
The bus is already pulling away from the curb. I run toward it, shouting, and either the driver doesn’t see me or she’s kind of a jerk, because she doesn’t stop.
My backpack’s super heavy and the sun is hot, so I decide to just stay at school, do my homework in the library, and hope James will be in the mood to give me a lift after practice. If not, I can take the late bus.
He responds to my texts on his way into the shower to say that he can drop me off but can’t stay at my house—?he has two tests tomorrow, and he needs to study.