“Nope,” I said. “It’s all about the coating, and the oil they’re fried in. The only fast-food fries that are gluten-free are at Hooters.”

Jess laughed. “Yeah, I won’t be taking you there.” She peered at my bare potato, my undressed salad. “You can’t even have a little butter?”

“Not unless it’s soy.” I shrug. “You get used to it.”

“So this,” she said, turning the cheeseburger over in her hand, “is the kiss of death for you?”

I felt my face go bright red. I didn’t know what she was talking about, but hearing her say the word kiss was enough to make me feel like I’d just eaten a butterfly instead of a cucumber. “It’s not like an allergy.”

“What would happen if you ate it?”

“I don’t know. I’d get upset more easily, I guess. The diet just works, for some reason.”

She looked at the bun and picked a seed off it. “Maybe I should go cold turkey, too.”

“Nothing upsets you,” I told her.

“Little do you know,” Jess said, and then she shook her head and went back to the topic of the day. “Go ahead. Ask.”

“Um,” I said, looking into my potato, “so do you want to go to the dance with me?”

“No,” Jess said flatly. “You’ve got to sell it, Jacob.”

“I’m, uh, going to the dance and I thought since you might be there, too-”

“Blah blah blah,” she interrupted.

I forced myself to look Jess in the eye. “I think you’re the only person who gets me.” I swallowed hard. “When I’m with you, the world doesn’t feel like a problem I can’t figure out. Please come to the dance,” I said, “because you’re my music.”

Jess’s mouth dropped open. “Oh, Jacob, yes!” she shouted, and then all of a sudden she was out of her seat and pulling me up and hugging me, and I could smell the rain in her ponytail and I didn’t mind at all that she was in my space and too close. I liked it. I liked it so much that you know what happened and I had to push her away before she noticed or (worse) felt it hard against her.

An old couple that was sitting across from us was smiling. I have no idea what they thought we were up to, but chances are Autistic Kid with Social Skills Tutor was not high on the list. The elderly woman winked at Jess. “Looks like that’s one cheeseburger you won’t forget.”

There’s a lot about Jess I won’t forget. Like the way her fingernails were painted with sparkly purple polish that day. And how she hated barbecue sauce. How when she laughed, it wasn’t a tiny, delicate thing but a sound that came from her belly.

So much time is spent with people superficially. You remember all the fun you had but nothing specific.

I’ll never forget anything about her.

When Jacob and Emma and I reach the defense table, the courtroom is already full and Helen Sharp is reviewing her notes. “The fun room’s great,” she says, sliding a glance toward me. “Gotta get me one of those.”

By fun room, she means the sensory break zone, which has been erected at the rear of the courtroom. There are heavy soundproof curtains that seal it off from the gallery. Inside there are rubber balls with knobs on them and a vibrating pillow and a Lava lamp and something that reminds me of the long fabric tongues in a car wash. Emma swears all of these function as soothing devices, but if you ask me, they might just as easily have come from a fetish porn movie set.

“If you’re going to ask the wizard for something, Helen,” I suggest, “start with a heart.”

The bailiff calls us to attention, and we stand for the arrival of Judge Cuttings. He takes one look at the four cameras in the back of the courtroom. “I’d like to remind the media they are here only by my decree-a decision that can be changed at any minute if they become intrusive in any way. And the same goes for the gallery-outbursts will not be tolerated during this trial. Counselors, please approach.”

I walk toward the bench with Helen. “Given the previous experiences we’ve had during closed court sessions,” the judge says, “I thought it might be prudent to check in with you before we begin. Mr. Bond, how is your client this morning?”

Well, he’s on trial for murder, I think. But other than that, he’s doing swell.

I have a brief flash of myself sitting on Jacob’s chest so that I can button his shirt, of him sprinting down the divided highway. “Never better, Your Honor,” I say.

“Are there any other problems we need to be made aware of?” the judge asks.

I shake my head, heartened by the fact that the judge seems to truly care about Jacob’s welfare.

“Good. Because a lot of people are watching this trial, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to be made to look like a fool,” he snaps.

So much for human charity.

“And you, Ms. Sharp? You’re prepared?”

“One hundred percent, Your Honor,” Helen says.

The judge nods. “Then let’s begin with the prosecution’s opening argument.”

Emma offers me a brave smile as I sit down on Jacob’s other side. She turns around to locate Theo, who is tucked in the back of the gallery, and then faces forward as Helen begins to speak.

“Four months ago, Jess Ogilvy was a bright, beautiful girl full of hopes and dreams. A graduate student at the University of Vermont, she was working toward a master’s in child psychology. She balanced her studies with part-time jobs-like her recent position as caretaker for a professor’s home at sixty-seven, Serendipity Way, Townsend… and student teaching, and tutoring special needs kids. One of her pupils was a young man with Asperger’s syndrome-the same young man, Jacob Hunt, who sits before you as a defendant today. Jess helped Jacob specifically with social skills-teaching him how to engage others in conversation, how to make friends, and how to interact in public-all tasks that were difficult for him. Jess and Jacob met twice a week, on Sundays and on Tuesdays. But on Tuesday, January twelfth, Jess Ogilvy did not tutor Jacob Hunt. Instead, that young man-the same one she had treated with kindness and compassion-murdered her in a brutal and vicious attack inside her own residence.”

Behind the prosecutor’s table, a woman starts weeping quietly. The mother; I don’t have to turn around to see that. But Jacob does, and his face twists as he registers something familiar about her-maybe the same line of jaw her daughter had, or the color of the hair.

“Two days before her death, Jess took Jacob out for pizza on Main Street in Townsend. You’ll hear evidence from Calista Spatakopoulous, the owner of the restaurant, that Jacob and Jess got into a heated argument that ended with Jess telling Jacob to ‘just get lost.’ You’ll hear from Mark Maguire, Jess’s boyfriend, that when he saw her later that night and on Monday, she was fine-but that she’d disappeared by Tuesday afternoon. You’ll hear from Detective Rich Matson of the Townsend Police Department, who will tell you how officers searched for any sign of Jess for five days to see if she’d been abducted, and finally tracked a GPS signal on her cell phone to find her bruised and battered body lying lifeless in a culvert several hundred yards from her home. You’ll hear the medical examiner testify that Jess Ogilvy had abrasions on her back, choke marks around her neck, a broken nose and bruises on her face, a broken tooth… and that her underwear was on backward.”

I scan the faces of the jurors, each of whom is thinking, What kind of animal would do that to a girl? and then glancing furtively at Jacob.

“And, ladies and gentlemen, you will get to see the quilt that Jess Ogilvy’s body was found wrapped in. A quilt that belonged to Jacob Hunt.”

Beside me, Jacob’s started to shake. Emma puts her hand on his arm, but he knocks it off. With a finger, I push the Post-it pad I’ve set in front of him a little closer. I uncap the pen I’ve given him, willing him to take out his frustration in writing instead of having an outburst.