Page 11 of Too Late

“You should have never sat there in the first place,” the guy says. “Isit there.” The guy turns to me and extends his arm straight out, pointing at me. “And you don’t sit right there. A different girl sat there on Monday, so you can’t sit there.”

The guy’s expression is troubled. He’s terribly disturbed that we’re in different seats today. I feel sorry for him, recognizing features of one of my brother’s when I look at him. I start to tell him we’ll move—that he can have his seat—but Carter’s anger intercepts my response. He stands up.

“Get your finger out of her face,” he says to the guy.

“Get out of my seat,” the guy replies, turning his attention back to Carter.

Carter laughs and drops his backpack on the floor. “Dude,” he says, “what is this? Kindergarten? Go find your own fucking seat.”

The guy drops his arm and looks at Carter in shock. He starts to reply, but snaps his mouth shut and walks toward the back row, defeated. “But that’s my seat,” he mumbles, walking away.

Carter pulls his notebook back out of his backpack and sets it on the table in front of him. “I guess you’re stuck with me,” he says. “No way I’m moving seats now.”

I shake my head and lean in toward him. “Carter,” I whisper, “give him a break. I think he’s on the autism spectrum, he can’t help it.”

Carter snaps his head in my direction. “No shit? Are you serious?”

I nod. “My brother had autism. I know the signs.”

He runs his hands over his face. “Shit,” he groans. He quickly stands up, reaching for my hand when he does. I stand up with him.

“Get your stuff,” he says, pointing to my backpack and notebook. He turns around and throws his stuff on the table behind him, then reaches for my backpack and does the same. He looks up at the guy and points down to the seats we were just occupying. “Sorry, man. I didn’t realize they were your seats. We’ll move.”

The guy quickly walks back to the row we’re in and claims his seat before Carter changes his mind. Realizing most of the class is probably watching the commotion between the three of us, I still can’t help but smile. I love that he just did that.

We both walk back to the seats we occupied on Monday, then unpack our stuff on the table.

Again.

“Thank you for doing that,” I say to him.

He doesn’t respond. He gives me a half-smile, then looks down at his phone until class starts.

Things are a little awkward once the lecture begins. Not wanting to sit by Carter has left him questioning me. I can tell, because it’s written clearly in front of me in black ink as I stare down at the paper he just scooted toward me.

Why didn’t you want to sit by me?

I chuckle at the simplicity in his question. I pick up my pen and write a response.

Dude. What is this? Kindergarten?

He reads my response and I swear I can see him frown. I was trying to be funny, but he missed the humor, apparently. He writes something down, something long, and slides the note back to me.

I’m serious, Sloan. Did I cross some sort of line yesterday? I’m sorry if I did. I know you’re with Asa and I respect that. I honestly just think you’re fun and want to sit by you. Spanish bores the hell out of me and sitting next to you makes the urge I have to gouge my own eyes out a little less imminent.

I stare at his note for a lot longer than it actually takes me to read it. He’s got incredibly impressive handwriting for a guy, and an even more impressive way of making my heart race.

He thinks I’m fun.

It’s a simple compliment, but one that affects me way more than I wish it did. I have no idea what to say in response, so I press my pen to the paper and don’t even think when I write.

People in Wyoming don’t really exist, and I can never find the right outfit to wear when I shop for penguins.

I slide the paper back to him and when he laughs out loud, I put my hand over my mouth, covering my smile. I love that he gets my sense of humor, but hate it at the same time. Every second I spend with him just makes twomoreseconds I want to spend with him.

He slides the paper back to me.

Mosquitoes whisper sweet nothings into my barrel of monkeys that took too long to bring me the pizza I ordered.

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