Page 28 of Incompatible

Rob’s face twists.

"You’ll regret this, Pretty Face," Vin snarls, getting up, wobbling, and wiping the blood from his split lip, but I’m not done.

I turn and punch him again, harder this time, enough to make blood spill from his mouth and nose.

"Call me Pretty Face one more time. I dare you."

Rob rushes over to help his cousin stand. "You just made a huge mistake," he snaps, glaring at me before dragging Vin away.

I slowly turn to Alex, who’s still crouched under the wall, clutching his inhaler in his fingers. I walk over, and for a brief moment our eyes meet.

My goodness, I feel so much better now.

I reach out a hand. Alex looks at it.

There’s a moment of silence before he finally takes it, and when his fingers touch mine, a strange, blissful shiver runs through me, like sinking into warm water on a freezing day.

I pull him up, but I notice he’s leaning toward me, he’s about to hug me, it seems, so I step back quickly. No. No physical contact. Not with me.

"Thank you, Bay, th-thank you so much," Alex whispers, looking up at me with those incredibly big eyes. "So-sorry, I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble."

I shrug. "Don’t sweat it. Vin had it coming."

Alex looks like he wants to say more, but I can already feel that wave of gratitude and warmth directed at me, and it makes me uneasy.

Frowning, I glance aside and mutter, "I gotta go. Jordan’s waiting for me."

Before he can respond, I turn and walk away.

I feel ridiculously silly, not because I got involved, but because his gratitude feels almost tangible, like a bright, warmball of energy following me through the air, and I just don’t belong in that kind of light. I can’t take it in.

Still, that doesn’t stop me this evening from writing a few more lines in my special pink diary, the one where I record only things about Alex. I spend a little time sketching him some more.

Certainly, I’m not a great artist, but the more I pour into it, the better it turns out. I smile faintly at the small face forming under my pencil, or at least I try to. All the rest hurts, everything around me feels like thick, dark oil I’m slowly sinking into.

???

The next day, when I walk into class, I’m low-key expecting to be called to the principal’s office or pulled aside by the school counselor. But nothing like that happens. Rob is in his usual seat; Vin is absent. And Rob doesn't look my way. Interesting.

But Alex does. His eyes light up with warmth and joy when he sees me.

Wrong, wrong, it’s all wrong, something inside my head tolls like a grim church bell.

When I sit down, Alex leans over and places something on my desk. A flower?

Yeah, a real one, but a beautiful one, bayhops, a wild vine with soft pink blossoms. They used to grow near our garden; my dad really liked them. I stare at it for a moment. It’s the kind of gesture I might’ve once found silly or overly romantic, but for some reason, I pick up the flower and study it for a bit. Then I slip it between the pages of my notebook, fully aware that Alex is watching me.

Maybe I’ll press it later. Who knows.

When I look up, Alex gives me another warm smile. His pink, soft lips curve in that sweet, gentle way that makes my chest ache. I look away.

But when he scribbles a note that says,"Lunch?"I agree. After all, I can have a friend, can’t I?

For the next few days, nothing seems to happen, either at home or at school. Vin finally appears, his nose the color of a plum, but he avoids me.

In the meantime, my house feels strangely quiet; my family barely talks. Everyone’s probably still in shock, each of us dealing with it in our own way.

To keep my mind busy, I lock myself in my room and record a new song. I focus on it completely so I won’t spiral into darker thoughts, and it helps a lot. When I play, there’s nothing else, just the music. I let it surround me, fill the emptiness inside, soothe my anger and my pain.