Free Puddle Jumping by Amber L. Johnson

bothered me at all to have alone time with him.
    What I had failed to realize during all of that was, even though I was going out of my way to see things through his eyes . . . to understand him more and more each day in order to make our relationship work . . . learning about things was not enough.
    There’s a huge difference in reading about it and experiencing it.
    * * *
    The night of the Homecoming dance, Colton had an art exhibit downtown. I got all prettied up in a new dress my mom gave me money for. I bought new shoes, did my hair, and even wore a little more makeup than usual. I did all of that because I was going to be seen with Colton in public at one of his shows and I wanted to present myself the best way I knew how.
    He looked incredible, as always, in a casual suit and I couldn’t take my eyes off him the entire ride downtown. Nor could I hide the immense pride and happiness I felt when he took the stage, looking bashful and blushing, to acknowledge the crowd with a couple short sentences, his eyes focused on the exit sign at the far end of the room.
    People clapped and fawned all over his work and I hadn’t really thought about the fact he’d taken the portrait of me and hung it as well. The people who passed by would look the picture over and then their attention would fall on me and I would get these strange looks. It made me very uneasy to think people were being judgmental about our relationship by thinking I was with him for any other reason than being in love with him. Like I was, as my mom would say, hitching my wagon to his star.
    It made me uncomfortable and, after a while, I moved to the back of the room and waited at a table, people-watching.
    But that feeling of insecurity was nothing compared to the pit I got in my stomach when my gaze had roamed the room for Colton and found him in the farthest corner next to the stage . . . speaking one-on-one with a gorgeous girl who reminded me of a young Nicole Kidman. She was tall and slender with light, almost red, curly tresses.
    Jealousy flew through me faster than I’d ever thought possible. I was on my feet, crossing the room with my stare deadlocked on him. But when I arrived by his side, he didn’t seem to acknowledge I was there. Neither did the girl.
    It wasn’t until Mrs. Neely swept by us that she stopped their conversation and introduced me to Talia Benton, a girl Colton had been chatting with online in an Asperger’s forum, as he had been instructed to do by his PEERS teacher.
    My heart once again felt frail and useless in my chest because I fully understood at that moment that all my good intentions were for nothing if I was just trying to learn about Colton’s likes and dislikes. The reality of it was it was not the same as being like Talia.
    She got it. She probably understood the way Colton thought. She totally got how he felt.
    Because she was the same.
    And for the first time, I wished I was too.
     
     

 
    T he ride home was torturous.
    In most relationships, you can say to the person: Who was that? How long have you been talking to her? Do you want to be with her?
    That just wasn’t the case with us, and it was killing me not to be able to address what was making me feel so horrible inside.
    He held my hand. He talked art and answered his parents’ questions with an unusual amount of excitement. I was trying my hardest not to cry, but it was out of character for him to be so vocal and my only thought was Talia’s presence had made him that way.
    When we arrived back at their house, he got straight out of the car and headed inside. Even though my heart was breaking, I started to follow him. But Mrs. Neely stopped me before I made it to the door, asking if we could chat.
    Now, my first thought was Colton had somehow slipped that he’d been all over my bunny slopes and she would be mad and tell me we needed to only visit with supervision. My head was spinning all over the place with misplaced anxiety and the fresh pictures in