came home every night and did homework?”
“Yeah…”
“Well, I never did that homework.”
I smiled. Of course he didn’t.
“I taught myself mumbley-peg instead. I read comic books. I taught myself Morse code. And knife-throwing. And cracking a whip. I memorized the name of every bomber that flew in World War Two. I built a working radio from scratch. Basically, I was wildly enthusiastic to learn everything they don’t teach you in school.”
“And now you’re a school principal.”
“They didn’t hire me for my brains.”
Our whole idea was to lure him in gently with easy things, and get him hooked, and then build from there. As the weeks went on, we upshifted slowly: making him read a favorite Garfield of Clay’s choosing, making him wear a Hawaiian shirt and flip-flops on casual Friday, making him serenade Mrs. Kline in the courtyard on her birthday, making him eat a quarter-pound of fudge at La King’s candy shop, making him play charades, and making him read a psychology book about post-traumatic growth.
Oh—and let’s not forget the therapy. Babette’s guy had confirmed that Duncan had, in fact, started attending sessions twice a week.
It had almost been too easy.
Maybe he’d known he was struggling. Maybe he’d wanted some help.
Maybe, on some level, he was grateful that Babette and I were bossing him around.
Was that possible?
I was, of course, the designated companion slash chaperone on all these outings. Babette always planned her biggest events for Friday nights and then gave him the rest of the weekend off. They weren’t dates, of course, but since we did them together, just the two of us, they definitely resembled dates. Babette sent us to the movies, and to the aquarium, and bowling, and out to dinner.
It was confusing, to say the least.
For me, anyway.
The more time I spent with him, the more time I wanted to spend with him. And the more I thought about him when he wasn’t around. And the more I looked for him in the hallways.
It wasn’t … not agonizing. I’ll say that.
I definitely felt like we were helping Duncan. And the kids. And the school.
I just wasn’t quite so sure what we were doing to me.
nineteen
One Friday, Babette’s task for us was to go to an amusement park that was built on a pier out over the Gulf. It was just a few blocks from school, and Duncan left Chuck Norris dozing on a dog bed in his office and walked over to meet me around sunset.
Before we’d made it to the pier, the sun had gone down, and the lights had begun to glow—neon ones on the rides, and string bulbs in graceful scallops all up and down the pier. We bought our tickets and strolled along.
Unable to resist a teachable moment, I said, “Wouldn’t this place be so sad if someone had painted it gray?”
Babette actually had a specific ride that she’d designated for us, and it was a roller coaster called the Iron Shark.
Important note: roller coasters are not exactly safe for people with epilepsy. Some people did fine on them, and some people did not—and I was not exactly sure which category I fell into.
Duncan was clearly a fan of roller coasters. “I hear it has a ten-story, face-down, vertical drop,” Duncan said, like that was a good thing. He’d done a lot of things on Babette’s orders so far, with varying degrees of reluctance, but he actually seemed excited about this one.
He was about as excited as I was nervous.
What the hell was I doing?
To be honest, I just wanted to hang out with Duncan. I didn’t want to skip one of our tasks. I wanted to keep things going and not lose momentum. I couldn’t resist a chance to spend time with him.
You know that feeling when you just click with somebody—when something about that person just lights you up? It’s so rare. When it happens, it feels like a little miracle—and all you want is more of that person. I wanted more of Duncan. This Duncan.
And if I had to ride a roller coaster to get it, fine.
I put what we were doing out of my mind—and just gave in to being there.
Before I knew it, we were seated side by side in the very first car, and I was starting to question my life choices. I pushed the restraint down and clicked it into place at my waist.
“Wait—” I said, turning to Duncan. “There’s no shoulder harness? Where’s the shoulder restraint?” I reached up behind my head and mimed