Wrong About the Guy(65)

He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just gazed through the windshield, his forehead creased. Like something hadn’t computed right, and he was running new figures through his head. Then he said, “You two always seemed pretty cozy together.”

“Yeah, well, that should have been a giveaway right there—no chemistry. Just coziness.” I gave a short laugh. “Trust me, if we’d actually liked each other, there would have been a lot more awkwardness.”

“Good point.” He rubbed his forehead with the back of his wrist. “I was pretty far off base.”

“It’s okay. Luke went there, too. It’s that stupid Halloween party—Aaron fooled everyone.” I heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I just hope this doesn’t happen to me every time a guy pretends to be in love with me to cover up the fact he’s actually sleeping with his stepmother. It could get old.”

He laughed, and things felt normal again. I was relieved that the weird tension between us had been dispelled. But also oddly let down. There had been something electric about that tension—something that made me feel like we were forging into some new territory together. But now we were back to being just plain old George and Ellie.

At least he seemed willing to talk to me again.

We split up at the bookstore. I went all the way up to the third floor to look at the fiction but I felt restless and couldn’t focus. I stared at the spines, but I couldn’t make sense out of any of the titles, so I wandered around the floor aimlessly for a little while, then rode the escalator back down.

I found George in the parenting section, searching through some shelves. “Oh, hi,” he said, standing up. “That was fast. You find anything?”

“No. I’ll get something later. Are you done?”

“I guess so.” He picked up a small stack of books.

I wanted coffee, so after he checked out, we wandered over to the store’s Starbucks.

“I’ll get us a table,” I said, taking the books from him. “Get me a vanilla Frappuccino. Extra whipped cream. And some kind of muffin.”

“You sure you don’t want to just mainline a bunch of sugar packets?” But he got in line.

I was leafing through one of the books he’d just bought when he brought his coffee and my muffin to the table. “They’re still making your Frappuccino,” he said.

I looked up. “This is unreal.”

“It always takes a few minutes.”

“Not that. This.” I held up the book. “Have you looked at this? At any of them?”

He sat down. “Just the titles and covers. Why does your mom want books on autism anyway?”

“Seriously?” I said. “You can’t guess?”

“Because of Jacob?”

I nodded.

“I kind of figured, but no one’s ever mentioned it before.”

“Did you think that Jacob might be autistic?” I asked. “Before Mom asked you to get these books?”

He hesitated, then said, “My cousin’s daughter has Asperger’s. Jacob kind of reminds me of her sometimes. But what do I know? Has he been diagnosed?”

I shook my head. “The speech therapist raised it as a possibility, that’s all. But I’m kind of freaking out here—I just picked this book up and started reading . . . and it’s like they’re describing him. Like right here, it says that some autistic kids stare at fans. I’ve seen Jacob do that a million times. Other stuff, too, like wiggling fingers in front of his eyes . . . or how he hates to make eye contact.” I shut the book and dropped it on top of the others. “I think maybe Mom’s right to be worried.”

“Maybe. But don’t panic or anything. My cousin’s daughter is totally great. She’s a little quirky, but in a good way.”

“Does she do therapy?”

“Tons of it.” He took a sip of coffee. “There’s a clinic near them that they go to that my cousin says is great. I could get the name for your mom—it’s in New York but they’d probably be willing to talk to her and they might know of a good place near here.”

“Thanks. I think Mom wants to start looking into stuff like that, but Luke’s really opposed to it.”

“Why?”

“He thinks it’s wrong to slap a label on Jacob. He says people on the Westside are way too quick to—” I stopped because George had suddenly jumped to his feet. “Um . . . did I offend you?”

“I think I heard them call your name. Hold on.” He crossed the room and came back with my Frappuccino, which he put in front of me with a wrapped straw.

I thanked him and he sat back down and took another sip of his coffee. “What do you think I should do?” I flicked at the books. “Mom and Luke are in such different places about this.”

“Maybe Luke would be willing to at least read one of the books? The more information he has, the more likely he is to see what she sees.”

“He’ll just get annoyed if Mom asks him to.”

“Then you ask him.”

“Why would that help?”

“Because no one can say no to you.”

I thought about that a moment, as I sucked sweet vanilla goo up through my straw. I swallowed and said, “Do you mean that in a you’re too charming for anyone to say no to sort of way or a you’re spoiled and they give you whatever you want sort of way?”