“I hate to be obvious, but…Einstein?” Dean said with a grin. “And when you get on stage for the contest, you can give that lecture on nonsymmetric field theory like you did at our club meeting lastweek. You’re a sure win, even if no one knows what the hell you’re talking about.”
“I’d rather not stand out. What’s your costume?”
“Ferris Bueller.”
I stared at him blankly.
“Dude, we havegotto get you caught up,” Dean said. “Okay, next order of business. Who are you taking?”
“I’m not taking anyone,” I said, trying and failing to keep the image of Emery and Tucker dancing together from parading across my eyes. “Who are you taking? Harper?”
Dean looked confused. “No, I can’t get a read on her. But if I had to guess, I think she likes you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, man. She’s always looking at you during club meetings. You should ask her. But quick, before someone beats you to it.”
“But not you?”
“Nah,” Dean said. “I like to keep my options open.”
We arrived at the parking lot, him to his Camry, me to my bike.
“See you Monday, Xander,” he said, leaning against his open door. “And hey, good job today. Orion’s right—your form is top-notch, and if Rhett doesn’t get his shit together, I think you’d make a great stroke seat.” He wagged his brows. “Then you’d be right in front of me on the boat. We could stare meaningfully into each other’s eyes.”
I chuckled as I climbed on my bike. “See you, man.”
Though Dean was joking, I wondered if he hadn’t asked Harper to the dance for a particular reason. I tried to picture them together and couldn’t. But when I tried to picture Dean with a guy, that didn’t work, either. He was just…Dean. The guy everyone liked, who was always surrounded by people but always alone too.
In any case, it was none of my business who he liked or didn’t like. I had enough problems of my own. Namely, I was counting down the seconds to my next tutoring session with Emery.
My fiancée.
I ground my teeth together. Apparently, my intrusive thoughts had a sense of humor.
At home, my father was at his desk, staring at the wall.
“Hey, Dad?” No answer. I drew closer and put my hand on his shoulder. “Dad?”
He jolted out of his reverie. “Eh? Oh, Xander. Hi.”
I eased a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry if I broke your concentration.”
It was four in the afternoon, but he was still in his pajamas, and his dark hair—graying at the temples—stuck up in all directions.
Dad stood and took hold of my shoulders. “Xander. We need to start packing. We have to get back to Maryland.”
My stomach clenched. “No, Dad, we live here now. Since August.”
“Oh no, no, no, son. Your mother would never agree to live here.”
“Dad…Mom left us. She walked out seven years ago. Remember?”
Please remember…
Fear gnawed my insides. I’d heard him in the kitchen a couple of nights recently and came down to find him disoriented. I always told myself he was just tired. Sleepwalking, maybe. But the instances of himgoing awayseemed to be happening more frequently.
“Hm?” Dad blinked as if he were coming out of a trance.
