Rules of Rain

by Leah Scheier

  “When you were upset with me you came home really late. And when I complained, you said that I should have gone by myself.”

  “Fine. Whatever. Please get to the point.”

  “I am. I don’t like running by myself.”

  “Okay. So you called Liam?”

  “Yes.” He looks relieved that I’ve finally gotten it. But I’m actually nowhere close to understanding.

  “Wait a minute. You want to go running with Liam?!”

  “No!” He’s beginning to rock back and forth. He closes his eyes tight and turns his head away from me. “I only run with you. I want to run with you!”

  I know I’m seeing signs of the beginning of a meltdown, but I’m so frustrated that I don’t care.

  “Then why did you call my friend?” I demand furiously. “Why not just call me?”

  “Because Dad said you were upset with me. And I should do something to make you feel better before I ask you for anything.”

  Things are beginning to connect now, in a hazy, kooky kind of way. I’m finally on stable ground. “You wanted to make me feel better?” I ask softly.

  He nods vigorously and opens his eyes again. “But I didn’t know how. So I looked it up. On the internet.”

  Liam is laughing softly to himself, and I can’t help smothering a smile. “You found Liam on the internet?” I tease him. It isn’t a fair joke, but it’s too funny to resist. How could I have been mad at him? How could anyone stay mad at him?

  “No.” He’s completely serious. “But wikiHow said ‘If all else fails, get her a small present, something she likes.’ I didn’t know what ‘all else’ was, so I decided to start with the present idea. And Liam is something you like.”

  I can’t believe this. I don’t know whether to laugh or hide my face in embarrassment. “So Liam is your apology.”

  He looks confused again. “No. Liam is a person.”

  “But you were trying to apologize to me. That’s what you’re saying.”

  “No. I didn’t do anything wrong,” he persists. “You apologize when you do something wrong.”

  I sigh. Sometimes I have to pick my battles. “Okay, okay. But you wanted to make me feel better anyway.”

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Did it work?” The question comes from Liam, but beside him Ethan is asking the same thing with his anxious rocking. “Do you feel better?”

  “Yeah, it worked,” I tell him. And now I like Liam even more. Despite the tacit laughter, I know that unlike most people, he understands me and Ethan after just a few minutes with us. It’s such a relief to not have to explain it all to him. Thank you, I mouth to him.

  Anytime, he answers with his eyes.

  “It’s time for our run,” Ethan says.

  Chapter 11

  School is canceled for the remainder of the week due to the puke bug that sickens half the students and most of the staff. The disaster even makes the local news. Turns out it was actually food poisoning from some iffy turkey salad in the cafeteria. Since I make all my own lunches, I’m not affected by the epidemic. Liam is also spared because he can’t afford the cafeteria food. (I couldn’t help noticing his homemade lunches were sparse—bread and individually wrapped orange cheese slices, mostly. So I’d started doubling my lunch portions and slipping him stuff I “couldn’t finish.”)

  I text Liam and invite him to hang out after breakfast, but he’s tutoring and can’t do anything until the next day. So I decide to spend the morning with Ethan.

  He wants to teach me about mitral valve prolapse. I want to watch TV. We compromise by watching a documentary on open heart surgery advancements. It isn’t much of a compromise, but arguing with him just delays the inevitable, so I don’t bother. At least I’m spared Ethan’s postshow commentary and lecture when Hope shows up.

  I’m surprised to see her, but Ethan doesn’t bat an eye. “Hello, Hope,” he says and rises to his feet.

  “See? I’m on time.” She points at the clock.

  “You are?” I ask her. “On time for what?”

  “I told Ethan that I was coming at one o’clock to chat with you,” she explains. “It’s one o’clock.”

  She’s referring to the Rules of Ethan, I realize. Number five: always be on time. I guess she didn’t think it was necessary to warn me too. She probably assumed (incorrectly) that he would inform me.

  “Are you feeling better?” I inquire as she settles next to me on the sofa. “I figured you’d still be in bed.”

  She looks the same as always, really. Maybe a little paler, but her eyes have a strange light in them that balances out the pallor. For her sake, I hope her glow is not due to Ethan’s presence, even though I can’t imagine any other explanation. It’s not the first time she’s looked at him like that. But here’s the thing—shouldn’t it be both of them all radiant and lovely together? Because Ethan hasn’t sparked up at all. In fact, he’s already getting up to leave us.

  “I’m doing okay now,” she says absently, her bright eyes still fixed on Ethan. “You don’t have to leave. I’m not contagious or anything.”

  “I know food poisoning isn’t contagious,” he replies, sitting back down. “But Rain wanted to speak to you about the Halloween party because she thinks that you lost your mind when you invited me. I can stay if you want me to listen.”

  I’m embarrassed by his frankness. It’s hardly the first time he’s blurted out an inconvenient fact without realizing it, but I don’t think he’s ever managed to sound this sweet before. And innocent. All without trying at all, and with no idea he’s just made me sound like a cranky baby. I shift uncomfortably in my seat and shoot him an embarrassed look, which he doesn’t see.

  “I didn’t mean it that way,” I mutter, mostly to myself. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea.”

  “Ethan, maybe you can give us a minute alone?” Hope suggests.

  He gets up immediately. “Goodbye, Hope.”

  “Bye, sweetie.”

  I cringe. He doesn’t like nicknames. “It will probably be more than a minute, Efan,” I tell him. Otherwise I know he’ll be back in sixty seconds exactly.

  “Okay. How long will it be?”

  “Give us ten?”

  Ethan glances at his watch and nods. “Okay.”

  “Well?” Hope says after he leaves. “You’re worried I’ve lost my mind?”

  I cross my arms. “No, I’m worried about Ethan,” I tell her sharply. “And the party you’re dragging him to.”

  “I’m not dragging him,” she protests. “He said he wanted to go. Why won’t you let him try at least?”

  “You don’t understand,” I say, in a softer voice. “Ethan can be hard to read sometimes. He might have told you he was okay with the party, but I’m sure he doesn’t really want to go. He realizes that big crowds overwhelm him and that he needs to avoid them. That’s why it’s one of the rules.”

  “Yeah, it’s rule number one. Rule number two is about hand-scrubbing before touching his food. Should I recite the rest? Rule number three is—”

  “Okay, I get it,” I interrupt, holding up my hands. “I’m glad you’ve memorized the list. But it doesn’t matter if you don’t actually follow them.”

  She nods quietly and glances at the staircase before turning back to me. There’s no sound coming from the second floor except the faraway echo of Ethan’s computer. “It’s okay. We have an escape plan.”

  “A what?”

  “I’ve thought this through. And I’ve spoken to Kathy about it. There’s a little side patio behind the kitchen. She told me Ethan and I could sit there. We’d be far enough from the crowd and music that it shouldn’t bother him too much. And if he wants to go inside for a bit, we can try it.”

  “If he wants to go in? Why would he e
ver want to?”

  “Well, he said he’d think about it.” She shrugs. “Why don’t you ask him how he feels?”

  “I know how he feels. I’ve known since I was born.”

  “But I thought you said he was hard to read!”

  “For you!” I retort. “For other people. Not for me! Nothing he does ever surprises me.”

  “Really? Are you sure about that?”

  And yet even as she asks, I know she’s right. I used to think I knew everything about Ethan. But he shocked me just a few days ago. And there was his whole new friendship with Hope. And even the brief bond he seemed to form with Liam when I wasn’t around. But the worst of it was seeing him with our father and realizing he’d kept a whole part of his life secret from me.

  “Did he tell you that I saw him at Milly’s Diner?” I ask her after a pause.

  She shakes her head. “He was with your dad?”

  “So he did tell you.”

  “No. But I know he meets him there every couple of months.”

  “You do? How?”

  “I asked him if he ever sees his dad. And he told me that his father flies here to visit. You didn’t know?”

  “I had no idea. Until a few days ago when I saw them together.”

  “I’m so sorry. Maybe I should have said something to you. But I thought it was probably a sensitive subject. The one time I asked you about your dad you said you never saw him.”

  “I didn’t!”

  “Oh.” She slips my hand between her palms and gives me a compassionate squeeze. “You must be furious with him. With your dad, I mean.”

  “I guess so. I mean, the truth is that I was the one who stopped talking to him. It’s complicated. I didn’t do it all at once or anything. But I felt bad for my mom. She did all the hard work of raising us, and he did phone calls and Christmas presents. It just didn’t seem fair to her. So I felt guilty when he called, and eventually I cut the conversations shorter and shorter. And then one day while Ethan was talking to him on the phone I found my mother crying quietly in her bedroom. And she finally told me why they’d split up. I knew they’d never gotten along. But I never knew about the girlfriend. His girlfriend.”

  “He cheated?”

  I nod. “For years, apparently. When she found out about it she left him. She told us it was to get away from the “poisonous factory fumes” that were hurting Ethan. But I think she was just trying to get as far away from Dad as possible. Make it as hard as she could on him. Hence…Montana.”

  “Oh, wow,” she murmurs. “But, you know, I don’t think Ethan has any idea about that part.”

  “He doesn’t.” I laugh shortly. “And I still tell people that they split up over hot dogs. When we were kids, that’s actually what we thought. That was our last memory of them—fighting over hot dogs. After I learned the truth, I decided Ethan didn’t need to know. What good would it do? Honestly, I don’t know how he would react if I told him.”

  She nods thoughtfully and glances in the direction of the second floor. “I don’t know either. We’ve been talking quite a bit lately but—”

  “You have?” I interrupt. “When? How?”

  She gives me an offended look and crosses her arms over her chest. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I need to get better at hiding my doubt, especially when I’m talking to someone who can pick up on it. “I just haven’t seen you guys together much,” I amend quickly. “So I was wondering when all this communication was happening—”

  “We talk on the phone a lot,” she retorts defensively. “I think he likes that better than my coming over. It’s more comfortable for both of us.”

  “For both of you?” Damn it, there’s that doubt again. I should try to be more positive. She was supportive of my crush on Liam. She deserves a little understanding from me. It’s just so strange, though. “Hope, what are you getting out of this?”

  “What do you mean, what am I getting out of it?”

  “Look, please don’t take this the wrong way. I just can’t help comparing this relationship with your last one. You and Grayson were all lovey and attached at the hip most of the time. But this is all so…different. And I can’t figure out what’s going on here—”

  “Yeah, well, maybe different is a good thing,” she responds heatedly. “And maybe instead of trying to analyze my motives like you always do, you can just smile when you see me happy and stop wrinkling your face like you’re smelling something bad when I’m with Ethan.”

  “I’m not… I don’t—”

  “And another thing,” she continues without stopping for a breath. “Don’t ever compare Ethan to Grayson again, okay? I don’t even know how you can say their names in the same sentence. Grayson is basically a self-centered pig, and Ethan… Well, Ethan is a gentle sweetheart. He’d never hurt a soul even if he tried. You of all people should know that. Maybe he’s not Mr. Perfect like Liam or whatever, but he’s what I want and—”

  “Hope, please. I’m sorry,” I interrupt. “I really, really am. You don’t have to explain anymore.”

  She stops her tirade midsentence and swallows. It’s not my apology that quiets her, I think, but the raw sincerity in my voice. I do mean it, with all of my heart. In this moment, I’m honestly sorry for everything I’ve thought and said about the two of them. I’ve been more of a bully than a friend, an overprotective nut from the first second I saw Hope blush near my brother. “I didn’t realize,” I tell her quietly. “I didn’t know you felt this way.”

  She nods and her frown disappears. “You could have asked.”

  “I was just trying to protect him.”

  “You don’t have to do that,” she assures me. “I promise I won’t hurt him.”

  You can’t promise that, I want to tell her. You aren’t in control of Ethan’s happiness. I know him better than anyone, and even I don’t understand what makes him happy.

  But I don’t say any of that out loud. I’m done with the “bad smell” face. She wants to be good to him, so she deserves my wholehearted support. “If you think he’ll like the party then you should totally go together,” I tell her in a burst of optimism.

  The guarded look fades from her eyes. “Hey, who knows?” she says with a laugh. “Maybe he’ll actually surprise you.”

  I sigh and give her my brightest smile. Maybe he will. Maybe he’ll blow all our expectations away.

  I know I’m supposed to be rooting for him. My greatest joys have been Ethan’s successes. So why am I so afraid she may be right?

  Cooking with Rain

  SERENITY THROUGH YOUR GUT

  Thank you to EpiPen from Nebraska who wrote in asking about substitutes for chocolate. Try carob instead of cocoa! Half of the people I polled couldn’t tell the difference.

  Chapter 12

  “Are you hungry?” I ask Liam the next afternoon at my house. “I’ve been experimenting with carob brownies.”

  “I know you have. You forget that I’m a faithful reader.”

  I open the oven and peer inside. “So you saw that my blog got ten new followers over the weekend? And real people have started writing in.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “I’m not real?”

  I shoot him a mischievous look. “You weren’t actually interested in my brownies. Speaking of which, where are they?”

  “Oh, right. Ethan stole them while you were in the bathroom. He said, ‘This is lunch?’ and then took the entire pan up to his room. Don’t worry about it; I ate at home. We should probably get some work done.”

  We’d agreed to study for our chemistry exam that weekend, but after ten minutes of partial pressures my attention drifts. Liam doesn’t put up much of a fight. He seems too tired to care about school today. There are dark circles beneath his eyes, and his thick hair is matted and limp. I offer him some organic coffee and a plate of the kale and goat
cheese patties I’ve been working on. He stares at the greenish brown lumps and reaches out with a brave smile.

  “They’re good for your eyesight,” I say, pointing to his glasses. “Not the prettiest of recipes but they’re actually—”

  “Delicious!” he finishes. He tosses a second one into his mouth. “It’s too bad they’re…green.”

  I shrug. “Ethan calls them yummy goat turds.”

  He chokes. “Is that the official name?”

  “No, just Ethan’s. He comes up with colorful names for some of my beta tests. Promise you won’t tell anyone.”

  He nods and takes the plate from me. “So all these wild ideas, the chia seeds and dough made out of mold—”

  “Algae.”

  “—all this is for your brother? I thought that people with autism are pretty picky about what they eat.”

  “He’s very picky in his own way. When he was six, he watched a program about hygiene and food workers. It was a disaster. He refused to eat anything but fruit at first. Nothing processed. Forget about takeout. Finally, he downloaded a tutorial on operating room scrubbing techniques and made me learn it. Since then, he won’t touch anything unless I’ve prepared it. Manny’s the exception because he agreed to do the scrub thing.”

  “Wow. Why don’t you just teach him to cook? Take some of the responsibility off your shoulders?”

  “Because I like doing it. For a while, my meals felt like the only thing that helped Ethan. My meals and our daily run. I know some people would say that it was the therapy—or just time. But I feel like I’m making a difference with my own hands. I love that.”

  “It’s definitely making a difference for me,” he says, handing back the empty plate. “You should consider marketing these.”

  “Seriously? Holistic healthy eating in Clarkson? I wouldn’t want to cut in on the burger joints and diner business.”

  “You don’t have to stay in Clarkson forever.”

  I ignore his comment. I do have to stay in Clarkson. “I offered to cater Kathy’s party,” I tell him. “She was just going to order pizza. But after tasting my ginger ice cream she was really excited about my menu suggestions.”