Traveler (Traveler #1)(6)

Sometimes, autism can be really tiring.

“Where’s Mom?” he calls out as I scout the cupboard in the kitchen for a Pop-Tart.

“She told me she was going to rake the leaves,” I call back.

“Is she using the rake with the green handle?”

Why this is important, only Danny knows.

“I think so,” I answer.

I pour myself some iced tea to go with the Pop-Tart, scoop up my bag off the floor, and try to get Danny’s attention by waving at him. “Danny! Tell Mom I’m in my room.”

Danny doesn’t hear me at all. He’s too focused on the game now. I climb the stairs to my room and flop down on the bed, then close my eyes and replay the events of the last hour.

You think I’d be a little more freaked out over the fact that I almost died, but that’s nothing compared to the feeling of seeing the man of your dreams in the flesh. And how does he know me?

Obviously, we’ve met somewhere before, and I wasn’t kidding when I told him I have an incredible memory. I really do. I certainly wouldn’t have forgotten him. I know that face, from the glossy darkness of his hair to his long, long lashes to the way he gets a dimple on one side when he smiles.

This must be what going mad feels like.

How does he know me?

And why is he being so cryptic about everything?

I think I’m through being freaked out. I’m just angry now. Who does he think he is? Is this some kind of joke for him? Like he met me in passing once (and my mind registered him, of course—how could it not?), and now he’s being all secretive just to mess with me. What a jerk.

The jerk who saved my life.

I flip open my notebook with a sound of disgust and try to concentrate on my Spanish assignment, but it’s not working.

So the jerk sees me working the candy table (I further muse), and when he realizes I forgot his name, he decides to have a little fun at my expense. Maybe he gets a thrill out of creeping girls out. And then he asked me to meet him for coffee! He’s got some serious nerve.

As I’m running the scenario through my head, I realize it would make a great beginning to a horror story. Halloween is right around the corner, and my creative writing teacher is sure to ask for something in the genre.

I glance down and can’t help but laugh at myself, because I recently tried my hand at sketching my dream guy, but I am lousy at that kind of stuff. He looks like a bad pumpkin carving with a wig. If I need a thoroughly creepy monster for inspiration, this drawing would do the trick. Words are a better way to paint. Well, they are for me, anyway. I am just reaching for my pencil when my mother appears in the doorway.

“Hey, you,” she says. “What do you want for dinner?”

She pulls a sweaty tendril of hair out of her eyes. At forty-six, her blond hair is showing some gray, but only if you catch it in the right light.

The hair color is one of the few traits we share. Everyone tells me I look like my mom, because my dad’s hair is dark brown. When my parents were still together, everyone called Danny and me the “mini-me’s,” since we each resembled one parent more than the other. If you went beyond the superficial, you could easily see the differences. Not a lot of people do that, though.

I look up from my notebook. “What do we have to eat?”

“The usuals. Soup. Pasta. Bagel Bite Pizzas.” She ticks the options off on her fingers. “I think we have some leftover taco meat from the other night,” she offers.

None of it sounds good. Probably because it’s always the same stuff—easy stuff that a mom with two jobs and a yard to take care of can make quickly.

“I’ll just heat up the taco meat later,” I say. “I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

“Suit yourself,” she says. She wipes her damp neck with the hem of her T-shirt, which unfortunately has dirt clinging to it.

“Mom. You just put dirt all over your throat.”

“What?” She swipes at it again. “Better?”

“Worse. You look like you’re growing a beard.”

“Sexy. And itchy. I need a shower.” She steps into the room, checking herself in the mirror over my dresser. “Finish what you’re doing and then come down. I don’t want you eating at nine o’clock at night.”

“Mom! Can I have popcorn?” Danny’s voice calls from downstairs.

“Danny!” she calls back. “It’s dinnertime, buddy.”

“I need my dinner so I can have popcorn!” he shouts.

She rolls her head on her shoulders. “Okay! I’m coming!”

I watch as she turns to go down the stairs. For as long as I can remember, Danny has been pampered like that. My mother’s shower will have to wait until she makes him dinner and then he gets his popcorn. Danny comes first. It’s just the way it is. The way it always is.

I get up and close my bedroom door to drown out the sounds of the Xbox and pots clanging as my mother starts dinner.

I rub my forehead with my fingers and pull my Spanish homework closer. Maybe I’m reading too much into this whole encounter. Finn is a guy I’ve obviously met somewhere before, and he bears a resemblance to a guy I’ve been dreaming about, so my stupid brain locked the two together and now I can’t remember dream guy any other way. Finn was probably just trying to be friendly, but he’s got bad social skills. He’s not being a creep. He’s just a normal guy.