The Silent Prodigy's Only Muse

I get it. A million bucks to stay away from your son, right? I beat Gideons mom to the punch the second she sat down across from me.

Before she could even blink, a ragged, breathless sob exploded from the booth right behind us, pitching up like a screaming teakettle.

I twisted around.

Gideonmy six-foot-one, insanely gorgeous desk mate on the autism spectrumwas wedged into the corner of the leather back-booth, his broad shoulders shaking as he broke down.

Back in our junior year, armed with nothing but my relentless, unfiltered mouth, I had practically badgered this completely nonverbal guy into actually opening up and functioning. So today, when his impeccably dressed mom suddenly tracked me down to announce she was taking him overseas for specialized treatment I braced myself. I thought I was finally living out that legendary soap opera script where the filthy-rich matriarch slams a blank check in my face.

Instead, the wealthy woman lunged across the table, her manicured nails digging frantically into the backs of my hands.

"I will cover every single expense. Please, I'm begging you to go overseas with my son!"

Chapter 1

Junior year, a ridiculously hot guy transferred to our class. His name was Gideon. Six-foot-one, broad shoulders, narrow waist. Total package.

The only problem? He didn't speak a single word.

The second the teacher finished the introduction, I threw my hand in the air and let out a sharp whistle. "Mr. Harris! I highly recommend this gorgeous new guy rotates desks with all the girls in class. You know, to break the ice!"

That earned me a chorus of annoyed boos from the guys, and a few of the obnoxious varsity jocks rolled their eyes.

Gideon just stared blankly at his shoes.

Mr. Harris shot down my generous proposal for the female population and marched him straight to the ultimate exile: a solitary desk in the very back row.

The moment he sat down, he locked his gaze on the window. And he stared. All day.

How did I know? Because every spare second I got, I whipped around to introduce myself. "I'm Piper." I grabbed a thick sharpie, scrawled my name in massive block letters across a ripped-out piece of notebook paper, and shoved it right onto the first page of his textbook.

By senior year, practically everyone in class had been subjected to my endless talking. Nobody wanted to sit next to me. It wasn't until I chattered at the class valedictorian so relentlessly that he nearly bombed his midterms that the teacher finally snapped. He banished me to the back row, right next to Gideon.

I didn't mind. I could probably talk a brick wall into crumbling. But Gideon was more solid than a brick wall.

He was exactly the same as alwaysstaring out the window, occasionally giving me a side profile view of his ridiculously sharp jawline. He's going to get whiplash, I thought.

I tested the waters, sliding a bag of sweet and sour gummy bears onto his desk. "Hey. Want one?"

Nothing. Silence.

I gritted my teeth. After class, I tapped his desk to borrow his notes.

Him: Silence.

Me: Pissed. Completely, utterly ignored from start to finish. Irritation spiked through my veins.

Keeping my voice at a harsh whisper so I wouldn't alert the rest of the class, I leaned in. "Gideon, seriously, what is so fascinating out that window?"

Nothing.

"Nod for yes, shake for no. I say yes, you say?"

Crickets. Damn it. How could anyone resist finishing that setup?

Fine. Between yes or no, he apparently chose 'or'.

I hadn't heard anything about any kids with disabilities in our grade. I rested my chin on my palm, studying his cold profile. Maybe beneath that icy exterior was a tragic backstory.

A deadbeat dad gambling away their rent, a sick mom, a little sister he had to put through school, and himjust trying to hold the broken pieces together. Wow. I am such a deeply empathetic person.

It was early fall. The brutal summer heat hadn't completely burned off yet, and the air in the classroom felt dry and stifling. A random breeze caught the window blinds, snapping them against the glass and echoing the restless energy buzzing through the room. Everyone else was hunched over their desks, scribbling furiously.

Except me. I was practically crawling out of my skin, itching for a conversation. Almost possessed, I dug a tube of hand cream out of my bag.

I squeezed out way too much. Gideon was propping his chin up with one hand, his other hand resting flat and empty on his notebook. Without thinking, I just slathered the excess lotion right onto the back of his hand.

He froze. He slowly turned his head, staring at the slippery, white mess on his skin, and then blinked at me with utter confusion.

Reality crashed into me. What the hell did I just do? I swallowed hard, the heat instantly rushing up my neck and flooding my cheeks.

And then, he spoke his very first word to me. "Huh?"

My heart slammed against my ribs. Oh. Oh!

He wasn't mute after all.

The TV blared in the background, playing some trashy reality show about wealthy socialites. The drama on screen perfectly matched my moms current miserable mood. She had just gotten back from parent-teacher conferences, and she looked stressed. She reached out, slapping my dad's hand away as he tried to put more meat onto my plate, her eyes burning with sudden intensity.

"Harvey, what if we do what Chanel's parents next door did, and sign her up for an expensive summer theater camp?"

Chapter 2

Chanel, the girl next door. The neighborhood's golden girl. The kind of girl every parent wished their son would bring home after a quick walk down the block.

My dad, Harvey, rubbed his face, not immediately shooting the idea down. "Isn't it a little late to sign up for summer theater camp?" he sighed, shaking his head. "My fault, really. She got too much of my DNA."

My dad, universally known around the neighborhood as "the toad."

I couldn't just sit there and take that. I slapped my hands on the dining table and shot up from my chair. "Harvey, don't you dare blame me!"

I pivoted to my mom, throwing him right under the bus. "Mom, Dad hid his secret stash of cash inside the old tire in the garage!"

"Hey! You little brat! I just bought you ice cream yesterday!"

My mom leveled her soup ladle right at my dad like a weapon. "Oh, you are dead meat!"

Mom got to work making Dad's life a living hell.

By the time I sneaked back into the school building, Gideon was still there. He still wasn't much of a talker, but at least when I threw questions at him now, hed acknowledge my existence. "Why are you still here?"

Gideon stared at me for a solid second before answering. "Waiting for my mom."

"Your mom's still here?"

One. Two. Three. I was used to giving him the three-second processing delay.

"Yeah."

"Why?"

"Teacher."

"Mr. Harris is talking to your mom?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

My dad always said I was absolutely hopeless at academics, but I had a scary knack for reading people. More than once, when my mom grabbed the rolling pin to chase me around the kitchen, I managed to talk my way out of a beating because I knew exactly which emotional buttons to push. With Gideon, it was no different.

Reluctantly, Gideon cracked a smile.

I stared at him. Behind his dark-rimmed glasses, his eyes curved into soft crescents, revealing two deep dimples framing his cheeks. He looked ridiculously sweet.

My chest hitched. But I kept my mouth tough. "Don't smile!"

Gideon instantly wiped the expression off his face. But I didn't expect him to suddenly reach out and pinch my cheek. "Mad? Don't be mad."

Back when we first met, Gideon was entirely wooden. Id bombard him with terrible dad jokes. "Know why Cinderella is so bad at soccer?"

He widened his eyes. Not a single word.

I delivered the punchline. "Because she's always running away from the ball. Hahaha." I cracked myself up, doubling over my desk.

Gideon just tilted his head.

I figured he didn't get it, so I repeated the joke. Nothing. I finally understood what it meant to talk to a brick wall.

Staring at his pale, slightly soft cheeks, I couldn't resist. I reached out and yanked on them. I pulled the corners of his mouth up until they formed a satisfactory curve, then dusted off my hands.

"Got it? From now on, whenever I finish talking, you make this exact face. This means you're happy."

I never expected him to actually remember that.

Gideon tugged at his own cheeks again, gesturing at me. "Happy."

This time, he was the one reminding me to be happy.

Out in the hallway, Gideons mother cleared her throat. I had never seen a more stunning woman in my life. She exuded this effortless, old-money elegance.

If I had to put it into words, she possessed a kind of beauty that belonged to an entirely different tax bracket. Though the faint tear tracks at the corners of her eyes slightly fractured that flawless image.

Gideon's mom gestured for us to come over, leaning down slightly. "You must be Piper?"

Me, the girl who prided herself on fearing nothing, suddenly started stammering. "Y-yeah. That's me, ma'am."

She smiled, her lips curving into the exact same gorgeous shape as Gideon's. She drove me home.

Right before I climbed out of her luxury SUV, she casually handed me a small cake box. It was from that Michelin-level bakery tailored for high-society elites we'd just passed. The price tag on the box was enough to cover my allowance for an entire month.

There was only one slice inside. But it was more expensive than every birthday cake I'd ever had combined.

Chapter 3

I took the expensive cake box, my head buzzing. Gideon waved at me from inside the luxury SUV, but my hands were too full to wave back. My mind wouldn't stop replaying the muffled phone conversation I'd overheard his mother having in the front seat earlier.

"Yes, overseas. The paperwork is done. Ah, the girl"

Her eyes had caught mine in the rearview mirror. Panic flashed across her face for a split second before she abruptly looked away.

"I'll handle it."

After high school graduation, the people you used to see every single day inevitably faded out of your life. But I actually saw Gideon all the time. Maybe it was just me, but he seemed to be talking more, reacting faster. I could even catch genuine shifts in his expressions now.

At first, his mom hovered around him constantly. Lately, though, she had been swamped, so she wasn't always there. Sometimes she just sent their private driver to pick me up.

Gideon had this intense, hyper-focus that you didn't see in guys our age. Hanging out with him usually meant sitting quietly while he played the grand piano or sketched in his notebook. I constantly felt self-conscious about how utterly uncultured I was, but somehow, my basic, unrefined reactions always seemed to genuinely please him.

A few days before college acceptance letters went out, I dragged him to an amusement park. And by amusement park, I mean a rundown, cheap local carnival. I had done some self-reflecting.

I was developing a seriously bad habit of getting way too comfortable letting him foot the bill for everything. He had pulled me into his world. It was only fair I showed him mine.

The carnival literally had three rides. The rusted Ferris wheel only operated for thirty minutes at 5:00 PMexactly enough time for one full rotation. I told him to sit across from me, but the second the ride operator slammed the metal cage shut, Gideon immediately slid over. He pressed himself right up against my side, crowding the already cramped vinyl seat.

He wasnt wearing his glasses today. It left his dark, almond-shaped eyes completely unobstructed. They were impossibly clear.

The corner of his mouth ticked up in a faint smirk, his long eyelashes fluttering as he stared intensely at me. He looked so flawlessly gorgeous that it was physically pulling me in.

But the second I realized I could see my own flushed reflection trapped in his dark pupils, a jolt of panic hit my chest. I snapped my head away, staring hard out the window at the sky. I cursed myself for binge-watching over a hundred cheesy teen romance movies in high school. Every clich scene was flashing through my head like a slideshow, except the lead roles had been swapped out for our faces.

Trying to play it cool, I dug out my hand cream. I was rubbing it into my palms when I noticed a large hand patiently hovering right in front of me. I squeezed a dollop onto Gideon's skin.

He pouted slightly.

"Like I owe you," I muttered. "Bring your own lotion next time!" I grabbed his hand and aggressively rubbed the cream into his knuckles for him.

The Ferris wheel groaned as it slowly reached the very top. I squeezed my eyes shut and made a wish. That day in the car, I had heard every single word.

Gideon's mom was taking him away for medical treatment. I was already lucky enough just being here with him. So, I wished for his treatment to work.

I opened my eyes. Gideon had copied me. His eyes were shut tight, his thick, dark eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones. Wearing a plain white T-shirt, he looked impossibly pure, perfectly back-lit by the glowing sun.

But the more perfect he looked, the tighter my chest squeezed with the raw, terrifying dread of losing him. When you're young, saying goodbye feels so utterly permanent. Where the hell was I ever going to find another beautiful idiot who actually listened to me and smiled at my terrible jokes?

Before he could open his eyes, I lunged forward. I grabbed his hand and pressed my lips hard against the back of it, stamping him with an intensely possessive kiss.

"Gideon," I choked out, my voice thick. "You owe me a wish. Don't you ever forget to pay me back."

Gideon just kept smiling, though a flicker of confusion crossed his clear eyes. "Happy," he said.

The very next day, his mother summoned me to a high-end coffee shop. Her face was grim. I had seen a medical drama once. The protagonists younger brother exhibited the exact same quirks and behavioral traits Gideon did.

The pieces finally clicked into place.

Gideon was autistic.

Chapter 4

After all, his behavior at school was just way too innocent. Everyone silently agreed to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary. They'd occasionally shoot Gideon sidelong glances, but he was completely oblivious, propping his head up and staring out the window like the view outside belonged to an entirely different universe.

Id mimic his posture, resting my chin on my hand to block out everyone else's prying eyes. In those moments, he and the scenery perfectly bled into one another.

Gideon's mom shut down my assumption.

"Gideon isn't autistic. Hes just absolutely terrified of thunderstorms, and that day he accidentally hit his head on the corner of a desk."

Relief washed over me. He just had delayed processing. If you had to slap a clinical label on it, Gideon was dealing with a severe form of PTSD.

After explaining, she reached across the table and squeezed my hands tight, her grip desperate and intensely genuine. "Piper, thank you. The top-tier private psychiatrist said Gideon only started breaking down those dangerous psychological defenses after he started sitting next to you."

Tears welled in her eyes. "Do you have any idea how incredibly happy I was when Gideon actually murmured your name at home?"

I nodded. Of course I knew. People in class called me all sorts of thingstroublemaker, loudmouth, teacher's pet, Piper. But only Gideon would look at me with absolute, dead-serious focus and enunciate every single syllable.

"Pi-per."

Even if his intonation was a little off sometimes and I had to correct him.

"Ma'am, I didn't do anything special. Gideon is just incredibly sweet and genuine. We all really like him!"

I slid a napkin across the table to her. The longer we sat there, the more this whole setup was giving me intense dj vu.

We picked at our coffees for a bit, Gideon's mom looking like she was choking on her words, hesitating multiple times. My stomach started doing anxious flips.

Finally, just as I swallowed my last bite of whipped cream, she broke the silence. "Gideon is going overseas for medical treatment, and I was hoping you"

It suddenly clicked. My stomach dropped to the floor. I had seen this exact scene play out a million times in trashy soap operas.

The words exploded out of my mouth before I could stop them. "Ma'am. Say no more. I totally get it.

I don't need your blank check, I will permanently disappear from Gideon's world."

I should have seen this coming. Gideon was gorgeous, ridiculously talented, and swimming in old money. Hell, he probably had some secret, high-society fiance stashed away somewhere. In all my daydreams about Prince Charming, "trust fund billionaire" was never on the resume.

Gideon's mom froze. Then, a soft, exasperated laugh escaped her lips.

"You silly girl, what on earth are you talking about? I want you to go overseas with Gideon. As for the expenses, I will personally cover absolutely everything."

I blinked, utterly bewildered. Did I just win the lottery? Stuff like this didn't happen to girls from my zip code.

In that split second, I didn't feel a rush of adrenaline; I just felt completely paralyzed. If I left, what about my parents? If the money ran out, would she just dump me on the streets? And most importantly, I literally guessed my way through every single English listening examhow the hell was I supposed to survive in a foreign country?

I forced my expression flat. My brain was short-circuiting.

I stood up and gave her a stiff, polite nod. "Thank you, ma'am. I need to go home and discuss this with my parents."

She was lightyears more composed than I was. She smoothly slid a high-end, embossed business card across the table. "Gideon and I will be waiting for your call."

I grabbed my bag and turned to leave.

Suddenly, a muffled, strangled sound tore through the quiet cafe. Like a boiling teakettle.

I whipped around. Gideon was stumbling to his feet from the booth right behind me, the blood draining from his face.

It was like he didn't even know how to properly cry.

Just raw, broken whimpers ripping out of his throat, his broad shoulders shaking as he visibly fell apart.

Panic spiked in my veins. I couldn't handle it. I clamped my hands over my ears and sprinted the whole way home