Page 34 of Attractive Forces

Panic claws at my chest.

What can I do? What can I say?

Is he going to completely freak out? At least he can’t send me away for conversion therapy, as New Zealand recently banned the practice. Nice to know that the politicians have my back.

Dad scratches his neck. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look more awkward.

I expected him to be angry, not awkward.

My breathing calms down slightly. Maybe it’s not that. I mean, how could he have found out? I’ve been so careful. No one knows. Even if someone suspects, they have no proof.

“What do you want to talk about?” My voice is tight.

“I wanted to talk to you about the ball.”

“Okay…” My forehead furrows.

Dad comes in a few steps and hesitantly sits on the edge of my bed. I swivel in my chair to face him, trying not to show I’m still freaking out. Because my father doesn’t do uncertain. It’s like watching a gazelle stalk a lion. A reverse of the natural order of things.

“Your mum said you’re taking Jennifer Hayward to the ball,” he begins.

“Yes. That’s right.”

The Haywards are members of the congregation, so I don’t think Dad will have a problem with my choice of date.

He clears his throat. “I just wanted to talk to you about how important it is that you respect Jennifer.”

“I do respect Jennifer,” I say.

Dad’s eyebrows bunch together. “We’re not completely ignorant, Logan. And while you know our and the church’s views on this, I’m more concerned that not being prepared will lead to you making a mistake with lifelong consequences.”

Oh god, no. When I realize what he’s getting at, my face heats up so fast that I think it sets an ignition record. I scratch around for a reply.

Actually, Dad, it’s physiologically impossible for me to impregnate the person I want to have sex with.

Yeah, so not going with that.

“Uhh…” I start.

“Your mum heard some of the parents discussing the fact that their kids have keys to hotel rooms on ball night.”

Oh god. I sink my head into my hands.

Dad continues to speak as my forehead stays up close and personal with my fingertips. “Now, I’m not going to ask you whether or not you’ve got a key. Or whether or not you plan on using that key. I’m just asking you to make sure that everything you do on ball night comes from a place of respecting Jennifer and thinking about the long-term consequences of your actions.”

This is a different version of my father than the one who usually speaks from the pulpit or even at the dinner table. There his voice is stern, lecturing. Now it is quiet, and there is an element of pleading in his tone.

“Seriously, Dad, you don’t have anything to worry about.” I manage to raise my head, fixing my gaze on his. One small part of me wants to transfer meaning through my eyes, to have him pick up exactly why he has nothing to worry about.

So it’s out in the open. So I never have to say the words.

But it’s only a very small part of me that wants this. Because I know once that fact is out, it’s out forever. And I’m not prepared to cope with the fallout yet.

“I was a teenage boy too, a long time ago,” he says.

My brain stumbles over that. It’s hard to imagine my father as a normal teenager, kicking around with his friends, doing stupid stuff.

“Now, it’s your senior year. We’re not going to give you a curfew for the ball. You’re going away to university next year, so you need to practice making decisions for yourself.”