I stare down at an orange plastic frog as I wait, and it stares back up at me through the filmy glass. Please let it be something meaningful, I think. Please let it be romantic.
But after a moment, he frowns. “This stuff is such a rip-off,” he says, and all the hope goes draining right out of me. He points at the basketball, which is tucked away toward the bottom. “In what world is that worth five hundred tickets?”
We pool our tickets together and I shuffle through the stack. After hours of playing, we still have only about a hundred and fifty between us.
“Maybe we could pay the difference,” I suggest, but Griffin shakes his head.
“They make a lot more money when you have to play for it.”
“Well, it’s still really sweet of you,” I tell him. “To think of Noah.”
“It’s not for Noah,” he says, his eyes still on the case. “It’s for me.”
“Oh,” I say, blinking at him. “Oh. I didn’t—okay.”
“Annie,” he says, turning to face me, and I can see that he’s smiling. “I’m only kidding.”
I let out a laugh, relieved. “Sorry. It’s just that you don’t usually … I mean, you’re always so … I guess I didn’t…”
He tilts his head to one side. “Are you trying to say that I’m not very funny?”
“No,” I say quickly, then pause and reconsider. “Well … yeah.”
Griffin smiles. “It’s okay. I’m really not.”
“Well, you have lots of other good qualities,” I say, watching as he rests both hands on the display case, rocking forward. “You’re different.”
Something flickers on his face, and there’s a slight tensing of his jaw.
“In a good way,” I say, hurrying on. “You’re not like everyone else. You’re nice. Not fake nice—actually nice. And you’re not full of yourself, even though…”
He glances sideways at me, a question on his face.
I shake my head. “Never mind. All I’m trying to say is that it’s refreshing, how you don’t play games the way other guys do. You’re honest. Maybe the most honest person I’ve ever met…”
“Annie.”
“I’m serious,” I continue, feeling oddly light-headed. I’m not prone to speeches like this, and I can’t quite believe I’m saying all of it, but there’s something about Griffin that makes me want to tell him everything I’ve been thinking. And so I do.
“And you were amazing with Noah yesterday. I’ve been trying to connect with him all summer, and I haven’t been able to get through, and then you come along, and—”
“It’s because I have Asperger’s.”
“—you’re such a natural with him, and you two are bonding over—” I stop midsentence, not sure I’ve heard him correctly. “What?”
Griffin turns to face me, though he keeps his eyes on the floor. “I have Asperger’s. Or … autism, I guess. I mean, that’s what they’re calling it now.”
There’s a long pause, and though I’m desperate to fill it, I’m having trouble figuring out how to respond. I need to choose my words carefully. I don’t want to get this wrong. But, in the end, all I manage is a quiet, “Oh.”
Immediately, I regret it. It hangs there between us, a punctuation mark arriving far too early in a conversation I’m hoping has only just begun.
“Yeah,” he says, his face entirely blank.
“So…”
“So that’s why I act the way I do, I guess.” He shoves his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I’m not always great with conversation. And sometimes I can be too honest.” He shrugs. “It’s why school can be hard, and why I don’t have a lot of friends, and why I don’t like to talk about it, and why…”
When he trails off, I bite my lip, waiting for him to continue. This is the most I’ve ever heard him speak at once, and the thought pops into my head swiftly and suddenly, like a puzzle piece snapping into place: That’s why.
That’s why he’s so quiet in school. That’s why he’s so obsessed with numbers and facts. That’s why he can never seem to tell when I’m joking. That’s why he’s always so guarded, so closed off. That’s why it’s so hard for him to look me in the eye.
Griffin takes a deep breath, and when he speaks again, it’s like he’s plucked the words straight from my head. “That’s why,” he says, dragging his eyes up to meet mine, “I don’t really go on a lot of dates.”
“So this is a date?” I ask, before I can think better of it, and Griffin looks doubly embarrassed now.
“No,” he says, then shakes his head. “I don’t know.”
My face goes hot, and I scratch at my forehead. “Oh, yeah, I mean…”
“I didn’t want to assume…”
“No, me neither…”
There’s a brief pause as we both study our feet with great fascination, and then Griffin sighs. “I kind of wanted it to be.”
I glance up at him. “Wanted it to be…?”
“A date,” he says, just as the bartender pokes his head into the room, glancing from Griffin to me and then back again with obvious suspicion.
“Everything okay back here?” he asks, and I’m not sure how to answer that.
Griffin nods. “Fine.”
“We’ve had some issues with theft lately.” He points at the display case, as if it’s full of diamonds instead of jelly bracelets and yo-yos. “So if you want a prize, you need to come talk to me…”
“That’s fine,” I say, at the exact same time Griffin says, “We were just leaving.”
“Okay,” the bartender says, clearly pleased to hear this. “See you next time.”
“Sure,” Griffin says, but he doesn’t sound convinced.
* * *
On the way back, the silence in the car is stifling, and I have a feeling there’s an easy cure for it, if only I can find the right words or ask the right question.
But I’m too afraid of asking the wrong one.
One of Griffin’s hands is on the wheel, the other is resting on the gearshift between us, and it’s alarming how much I wish I could take it in mine right now. But I don’t. I simply stare at the veins on the back of his hand, the ragged fingernail on his thumb, the knobs of his knuckles, the curve of his wrist.
This is usually my specialty. Some people are good at math, others are good at sports; I’m good at saying the right thing at the right time. I’m the one you want around when the room is still thick with anger after a fight, or when you need someone to smile sympathetically and listen to what’s wrong. I can smooth over even the most awkward of silences, cheer you up when you’re feeling down, lift the mood by sheer force of will. For better or worse, I’m a top-notch listener, a tireless ally, a relentless supporter.
But right now, I’m at a loss.
I want to say, This doesn’t change anything.
I want to say, It’s not a big deal.
I want to say, It’s going to be okay.
But it does. And it is. And it might not be.
I clear my throat, not quite sure where to begin. “Listen, I’m sorry if I—”
But Griffin lurches forward in his seat and punches the button for the radio, turning the volume up high. The conversation is clearly over, and even though he’s sitting in the exact same place he was earlier, the exact same distance from me, it’s like I can feel him retreating, getting further and further away until it’s almost hard to see him at all.
* * *
He drops me off at the school, where my car is the only one still left in the parking lot, sitting alone beneath a yellow cone of light. Griffin pulls up beside it, but he doesn’t turn off his engine, and we sit there in the quiet car, neither of us speaking.