Better Than This

6

"As promised, the last fifteen minutes are yours."

Desks move at Mr. Mitchell's reminder.

I take a deep breath.

We got through it yesterday—we'll be able to do it again today. And tomorrow. And the day after that until this whole thing is over. Besides, it wasn't as bad as I thought. Yesterday, Alex and I proved we can be normal with each other. It's awkward, sure, but at least he's shown an interest; at least I know he won't be a deadbeat partner like Ian.

Standing, I shift my desk and touch it to the front of his. He took the seat behind me today, which I assume he did for the assignment. I didn't expect it, just like I don't expect him to be sitting back with his arms crossed, his unwavering eyes on me.

Sliding into my seat, I open my notebook to the page from yesterday. We barely got anything done except our approximate incomes. Also, that we need better jobs. I read over our notes again, waiting for him to say something. I initiated yesterday. And then again with information exchange. It's his turn. But when it's obvious he won't, I tap my pen against the paper and clear my throat.

"We should probably figure out our expenses, so we know how much we need to make at our new jobs."

Alex nods.

"Any idea how much water and electric are?"

He shakes his head.

I jot down the expenses with a question mark next to each, already annoyed. We are so not off to a great start. Alex has apparently returned to mutism, and neither of us has a clue about the costs of things. But I should know this. I try to remember the last utility bill we got. I know all of mom's card information, so I just pay them when I get the bill, but I never pay attention to the amount.

"And," he shifts forward, "we'll need daycare and all that."

I look up, surprised by his sudden interaction. It catches me so off guard that it takes a moment for his words to sink in.

"Not at first. I'll take care of the baby—who we should name—for like, the first three months or whatever new mothers get."

"Yeah. But after that, we're going to need someone to watch AJ while we work."

"AJ?"

"Alex Junior."

I snort because, really? We're naming the kid after him? I don't think so. Planning to revisit the whole name thing later, Alex does bring up a good point. We will need daycare—that's if we don't know anyone who can babysit full time.

I think about my mom, humored by the idea. She'd love to, but it'd be impossible with her career. I don't have any siblings, and I'm sure Savvy wouldn't be up for a daycare gig, even in this fictitious world, which leaves me out of options. "Would your parents watch her?"

Alex makes a face. "Yours?"

I shake my head. "Daycare it is."

"I could get one of my friends to babysit."

"Who?"

"Corey. He loves kids."

"Is he older?"

"No. He goes here."

"What's his last name?"

"Singers."

Corey Singers.

It sounds familiar. Like really familiar. Like, I've heard it more than a few times. The image of the band room flashes. There's a smiling boy holding a guitar, laughing with some friends.

"I think I know him. He's in band or something, right?"

"No."

"Doesn't he play the guitar?"

"He plays the bass guitar."

"Isn't that the same?"

Alex rolls his eyes and sits back again. I can tell I overstepped another boundary; it always comes back to music with him. Either I underestimate it, or I get it wrong, and neither is acceptable to Alex Wolf. "No, it's not the same. They're two totally different instruments."

I blush, feeling kind of dumb. But what do I know about music? Nothing. He can throw me a bone here. "So...do you play bass?"

"I play rhythm."

"Bass and rhythm? Whoa." I nod, somewhat impressed, somewhat joking. "All you need is a drummer, and you'll be set."

"We have one."

His answer takes me by surprise. It must take him by surprise too because his face pales. Alex didn't mean to say it. He just wanted to shut me up. He's trying to think of a way out, a way to undo what he just did, but he's got nothing. It's as plain as day on his face—the error, the admittance of something meant to be kept totally secret. And what's worse—he knows I know.

"You're in a band? For real?"

He thinks about lying. I can see the struggle behind his eyes and the hope that I might just buy whatever he tells me. But he ends up nodding.

"What's the name?"

"Why do you care?"

"You don't want to tell me?"

Alex lets out a long sigh, like I'm asking the world of him. Arms still crossed, he looks away as he says it. "Chronic Rage."

A bunch of questions hit me at once, but I suppress them all. "Uplifting name."

The corner of his mouth lifts. It's not quite a smile, but it's getting there, like the expression might snap into place at any moment.

"So..." I plow ahead, writing his friend's name on the paper. "Corey's good with kids?"

"Yup."

"And this is the Corey who plays with you in Chronic Rage." I try not to mock the name as I say it. "He'll be the one taking care of my child?"

"Our child. And, yes."

"So...just to be clear...we're opting out of any kind of day care to rely—" I can't believe I'm saying this "—on a musician in a band called Chronic Rage?"

Alex nods.

"She's not going to need therapy at all," I mumble, jotting down the new information. I look at the numbers and cringe. "Even with daycare taken care of, I'm guessing the food and diapers are going to run us an extra fifty bucks a week? Maybe more? So, what is that—two hundred extra a month just there?"

"Awesome."

"And we haven't even looked at our own expenses yet." I put my pen down and sigh. "Next time, buy condoms."

Alex pulls the strings on his hood, shrinkingthe space for his face. "Done."