"Just because you can talk to anyone," he said, "doesn't mean you will know what to say."
"Is that why things are so strange between you and the others? You all have so many things you could say, that you don't know what to say?"
"Something like that."
"You could make other friends," she said.
"I've never really known how," he said, his voice low, "It should be easy. Everyone else makes it seem that way. But . . . if that's the case . . . . why didn't it work for me?"
"You didn't try hard enough, maybe?" she said.
"That's what my parents say," he said. "That I should just go . . . . try. 'Just go talk to someone!' they'd say. So I would. I'd gather my courage, stumble over, and say the wrong things. I'd feel like an awkward fool, and people would laugh at me. After that my parents would say, 'Well, you shouldn't have done it that way, son.' But what is the way?"
He turned his head to look toward her. "I know it sounds ridiculous to you. I had all the opportunities. My life was easy, liberated. But . . . I always felt like I was standing on the other side of a large glass window. I could see the world passing beyond it, could evne pretend I was part of it. But that barrier was still there. Separating me from everyone else." He looked away. "That sounds stupid, doesn't it?"
"No . . ." She closed her eyes. "I understand invisible walls."
