Out of Nowhere (Middle of Somewhere 2)

“Taylor Swift—I—wow.” I can’t help but laugh at the picture of Rafe singing along to Taylor Swift, but he smiles at me, not seeming embarrassed by it, really.

“What would you listen to at home, then?” I try to predict what he’s going to say; I’m usually pretty good at that, but he’s jammed every signal I have for this sort of thing and I really have no idea.

“I don’t listen to music that much,” he says. “Mostly in the car, and I don’t drive that often. I like country some. I used to listen to mostly rap and hip-hop when I was younger, but that was when I was with friends. Yeah, country. Bluesy country I like a lot. Mostly when I’m home, though, I listen to podcasts.”

“Like the news?” Just the sound of those people talking puts me to sleep.

“No. I like ones about history or politics, sometimes science. Do you listen to podcasts?”

I shake my head, my mouth full.

“They’re usually about specific topics, like… the Boxer Rebellion or black holes or how icebergs work. And then, depending on the show, they go into different levels of detail on the topic, tell stories about it, that kind of thing.”

“So, they’re like little documentaries?”

“Basically, yeah.”

Hmm. Sounds like school. But, again, he seems so interested in everything. “Black holes… I guess that’s pretty cool.”

“Actually, DeShawn’s the one who first turned me on to the podcast about astrophysics—black holes. DeShawn’s the—”

“Big black dude?”

Rafe nods. “He’s incredibly smart. Obsessed with science. He wants to be a geneticist.” A shadow crosses Rafe’s expression, as if that makes him sad or something.

“Hey, what’s the deal with Ricky? Does she really have a photographic memory? I didn’t know that was a real thing.”

“I heard a podcast about that too. Most people don’t believe in photographic memory, per se. Not as we think of it, anyway, with someone looking at a book and being able to see each page in their head later on. But people, especially kids, have an incredible ability to recall huge amounts of information, especially if they actively work at it. Like you saw, Ricky does have amazing recall, but I don’t think her memory’s actually photographic. She doesn’t like to talk about it, so I only know what I’ve seen.”

“Is she like—sorry, I don’t know the right term or whatever, but does she have that, uh, Rain Man thing going on?”

“Autism,” Rafe supplies. He runs a hand through his hair, which seems to be an indicator that he’s uncertain. “Colin, I’m sorry, but I can’t really tell you anything personal like that about the kids. Confidentiality, you know?”

“Oh yeah, of course.”

I feel like an idiot for asking. Of course he’s not going to just tell shit about the kids to some random mechanic who met them once.

“But I can tell you that I’ve never seen her that intent on something at a workshop before. She was really into it. Mostly, she’s interested in military history, like you probably noticed from the stuff she was saying about the world wars. That kid can tell you every battle that was fought during World War II, in order. It’s pretty amazing.”

“Wow. Isn’t it a little strange for a kid to be obsessed with military history? She’s, what, like thirteen, fourteen?”

“She’s sixteen. I don’t think so. Not any weirder than being obsessed with cars when you’re sixteen, is it?”

“Yeah, I guess not.” But I was only interested in cars because they were around all the time, because Pop was always talking about them and I wanted to be just like him. But hey, maybe Ricky feels the same way about history.

“You were good with them, Colin.” Every time he says my name, a little shiver runs down my spine. It makes me realize that people almost never say my name at all. Pop calls us all “kid,” Xavier usually calls me “man” or “bro” or something. “You gave them a lot of information but still made it fun. And they responded well to you.”

“Heh, yeah, well, I really like explosions, what can I say.” Rafe nods. “Um,” I start, but then I shove the rest of my burger in my mouth, hoping Rafe’ll just keep talking about the kids. But he doesn’t. He looks at me, waiting for me to go on.

I choke a little under his regard. It feels like everywhere he looks, I can feel his eyes on me. No one else in the burger place is paying any attention to us, but I suddenly feel like everyone is staring at me, able to read every thought in my head. Rafe pats me on the back as I cough and I flinch. He takes his hand away.

“What were you going to say?”

“Oh well, I remember you said that maybe I could do more workshops—I mean, if the kids’d want me to come back….”