Page 53 of Incompatible

I look at him for a moment. It sounds almost like he’s telling me to set up some kind of test for Bay, and that feels wrong. As aprosecutor his mind works differently than most people’s, sharp and methodical, and he doesn’t always stop to consider whether bringing this up is something I should do at all, whether it’s healthy.

I fix him with a sharp glare. My dad’s face looks tired, he’s overworked. He’s fifty-eight but still works like someone in his thirties. He notices my frown but keeps his face unfazed.

I sigh. "Dad, you know I can’t just start that kind of topic and then observe him like I’m running some kind of test," I mutter with a crooked face.

My dad folds his arms and speaks in his typical stern voice.

"Oh Alex, you’ve spent a year refusing to accept that Bay isn’t interested in you, and when I give you a possible explanation you react like I suggested something inappropriate. You decide for yourself whether you want to talk to him about it."

Yes, this is how our conversations often end. Whenever I disagree, the ‘Prosecutor Strada’ comes out.

My dad stands up and walks to the window.

"Oh look, the Nolans just pulled up, get your things, time for school," he says dryly.

I don’t answer. My relationship with my dad has been like this since I was a kid, he always talked to me as if I were an adult, without filters, with the same tone he uses with defendants or witnesses. I’ve gotten used to his severity, but maybe that’s why I miss Uncle Dimitri so much, because he was warm and gentle, such a sharp contrast!

So I get up, grab my backpack and give him a short "bye" before heading out.

Bay stands next to the car. It’s our daily ritual. They pull up and he doesn’t even have to get out, but he always does, and his dark green eyes fix on me like I’m turning on a light inside him.

"Hey Alex," he says, and we do our secret handshake, that series of taps with fists, elbows and forearms, and then he opens the car door for me.

"Did you study for History? Don’t forget we have a quiz today," he says lightly.

"A little, I’ll review again during break," I mumble.

His parents sit in the front. Ever since the Hansons beat him up last year, they drive him to and from school every day.

His dad turns around with a smile and asks,

"So, is your Halloween costume ready?"

"It is," I answer with a smile. I really like his dad, he’s the opposite of mine, warm and kind, feels a little like a substitute for my uncle. But Dimitri was like a father to me, he raised me while my dad was always working, and no one will ever take his place in my heart.

"What time does the party start? Seven? We can pick you up…"

"No, my dad will take me, no need for you to drive back and forth."

"No problem, you know we’re always happy to give you a ride."

"My dad already told me he’d drop me off, but I’ll gladly go home with you after."

"Sure!" Bay’s dad flashes a big grin.

I glance at Bay, who’s sitting by the window, staring outside.

Whenever he isn’t talking to me, that same expression always slips back onto his face, a quiet kind of distance and thoughtfulness, and I watch the beautiful lines of his profile, the soft curve of his mouth that he got from his dad, and I remember that one time during summer break when I managed to brush my lips against his, just once, gentle and quick, and how I never dared to try again.

If only he knew how beautiful he is, how much he stands out among everyone else at school with those sculpted features, that tall athletic frame, and the long dark-red hair that frames his face like something out of a painting. He’s so perfect it kind of hurts, but he’s also out of reach, and I don’t even know whether I should try to push for understanding his reasons without making him reject me in the process.

Classes slide by quietly that day.

We both take the world history test, then spend lunch together, and at one point Dereck drops by to check in with Bay and exchange a couple of comments about the Halloween set they’re going to play. Dereck’s on bass permanently now, and Bay’s on guitar, obviously, and of course he’s the lead vocalist.

I watch Dereck while he talks to Bay, because he always gets that particular look on his face, the one someone gets when they’re staring at something they know they can’t have. I’m painfully aware that, just like Kaen and Zion, Dereck is part of that unofficial little club of people who are nursing crushes on Bay, but for some reason it doesn’t bother me. I know they’d have to try ten times harder than even I do, and I’m not sure that’s possible, because they simply don’t have access to him the way I do.

Eventually we split up for our afternoon classes, me heading to AC calculus and him to music theory.