“The Committee?” I remember his sardonic tone when he’s said stuff before about things being decided by committee. I thought he was kidding. “There’s an actual committee?”

“Yeah.”

“So, who’s on that committee?”

“Committee members.”

That’s all he offers, and rather than pressing on that topic, I jump back to the one he was willing to talk about. “So why the eyes?”

“I did some reading. From what I can figure out, it’s because the pupil is actually a hole. It’s an opening, a doorway the Drau can use to connect to the retina and from there to the optic nerve as a way to draw electrical charge from the body. The optic nerve’s a direct bridge to the brain. Makes the whole process pretty easy.”

I’m speechless for a second, and this crazy cartoon image of aliens sucking out human brains pops into my head. “And you can do that? Like them?”

His jaw tightens. Despite the way I shifted directions, he still doesn’t want to talk about this. Then he surprises me by saying, “It isn’t something I do. I tried it once.” He looks away and his expression shuts down even more. “The results weren’t good.”

“Not good for you, or for the being you tried it on?”

He shoots me a startled look. “You pick up on shit, don’t you, Miki?” I don’t answer because even though that was a question, he wasn’t looking for a reply. “It left me amped,” he says. “Like I’d sucked back a dozen Red Bulls.” I notice that he doesn’t say anything about whoever it was he pulled electrical charge from. I want to ask what happened to them, but I hold the question back. Nothing good. I can tell. Just like I can tell that Jackson doesn’t want to talk about it.

“Why aren’t your eyes blue, like mine? Why are Luka’s and Tyrone’s eyes blue in the game? Why not the rest of the time?”

“This isn’t a conversation. It’s an inquisition.” But he smiles, and that takes the sting out of his words.

For a couple of minutes, he just sits there looking at me, his gaze traveling over my features like he’s memorizing them. Then he leans closer and reaches down. I think he’s going to take my wrist and kiss it, the way he did before. My heart skips a beat.

Instead, he takes the plastic container from my lap. He pops open the lid, pulls out half the sandwich, sniffs it suspiciously, and pokes at it with his index finger. “It’s green.”

Despite our topic of conversation and everything on my mind, I laugh at the look on his face. “That’s the homemade avocado spread. The rest is twelve-grain bread, sliced grilled chicken breast, lettuce, and tomatoes.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Hey, take it or leave it. I don’t remember inviting you to eat half my lunch.”

“You want me to starve?” He doesn’t wait for my answer before taking a bite. “Good,” he says around a mouthful of sandwich. He sounds surprised.

“I’m so incredibly glad you like it.” I roll my eyes as I take the container back and lift the other half of the sandwich. By the time I’ve finished chewing the first bite, he’s already devoured his half.

“You said you’ve been to eighteen schools. . . . Why?”

“Dad’s a road warrior.” Before I can ask, he explains, “A consultant. He goes in, cleans up a company’s mess, and moves on to the next. He’s pretty specialized. He gets transferred a lot. We even lived in Tokyo for six months. That was cool.”

His explanation leaves my head spinning, but not just because he’s moved around so much.

“What?” he asks.

“The way you said Dad. I guess I wasn’t thinking of you in terms of having a family.”

He gives a short laugh. “You thought I was . . . what? Spawned from an egg?”

“At one point, I considered demon spawn.”

Another huff of laughter, rusty and low. The sound shivers through me. “And now?”

Not going there. Instead, I say, “Why didn’t your dad just leave you guys at home and travel as he needed? Kelley’s dad does a lot of traveling, and he leaves her and her mom and her sister here.”

Click. His expression shuts down like I’ve flipped a switch. I’ve stumbled on another topic that’s off-limits. But again, he surprises me with an answer, albeit one he’s clearly edited.

“In the beginning, it was because my parents thought it would be great for our family to experience different places and cultures.” His chest expands on a deep breath, then he blows it out. “Eventually it was just because Dad wanted us close.”

That isn’t the whole story. He’s left out a huge chunk. And whatever he’s left out is horrifically painful for him. I know enough about suffering to recognize it. I feel sad that he can’t share it with me, and hopeful that one day soon, he’ll trust me enough to tell me.

I feel around for an innocuous question. “So . . . any siblings?”

He just stares at me, like I’ve hit him or something. I feel cold, then hot. My instincts scream for me to touch him, to take his hand, to hold it. I ignore that and just sit there waiting.

“No,” he finally says, very soft.

“I’m an only, too. I used to wish for a sister. But I always had Carly. Besides, there are some benefits to being an only, right?”

He doesn’t say anything. I think again of his eighteen schools and figure he never had the chance to forge close friendships. So maybe being an only child was tougher on him.