BAY
Fourteen years ago.
Home alone… that doesn’t happen often in a family as big as mine. I look around the empty kitchen in mild disbelief. Such silence, almost impossibly quiet.
Being sick does have one upside, you get to stay home and do whatever you want.
My eyes wander to the empty dining table where we usually all sit together. The surface is clean and slightly shiny, but on the counter, under a cover, there are a few slices of bread left for me either by Dad or maybe by Jordan.
I pour myself some orange juice and start eating, wondering when Dad will be back. I know he has the day off, so he probably went to the store.
I’ve got some time, so after finishing my toast, I grab my guitar, sling it over my shoulder, and head outside. It’s an unusually sunny day, the sky bright blue, and the patio feels peaceful for once, none of the usual chaos my brothers bring.
For a while, I sit on the rattan lounger, staring blankly at the garden, then get up and walk around the house.
I stop for a moment by the recently installed door that leads down to the basement.
My brother Snow lives there, he’s seventeen, homeschooled, and currently gone for a few days visiting our uncle Van.
Hesitating, I wonder if I should sneak downstairs and take a quick look at his space.
About a year ago, our parents remodeled the basement for him, turned it into a comfy living space, and added an extra entrance with a set of stairs. I glance at the narrow basement windows running along the ground, but all the blinds are shut tight, so I can’t peek inside.
Snow hardly ever invites any of us down there. He’s the one brother I barely talk to, well, except for Storm. But nobody gets along with Storm that well.
As I stand there, staring at the door, a distant sound reaches me.
It’s hard to make out what it is, though my hearing is exceptionally sharp, as befits an alpha.
I’ve known my subgender for over two years now. Most traits show up between eleven and twelve, and I turned fourteen. If it weren’t for this stupid cold, I’d be at school right now, the first day of high school.
I wanted to go, but I woke up with a fever, so Dad told me I could skip it since the first day is mostly orientation anyway. He said I should rest and get better.
So here I am. All my brothers are at school, except the youngest, Sun, he’s still in preschool.
I look around, trying to figure out where that sound came from, but I give up quickly. Instead, I head down to the lake.
Our family house is huge, kind of like an estate. My parents own a big stretch of land, and part of it borders the lake. Years ago, they had a small private beach made, which cost them quite a bit, too.
The sandy shore looks inviting, so I sit down on one of the flat rocks, place the guitar on my lap, and strum the strings.
I hum a tune I wrote yesterday.
Writing songs has been my thing ever since my voice changed. Now that it’s deeper, I’m enjoying it more and more. I used to hate that awkward stage when my voice cracked every time I tried to sing, it would jump into that awful squeaky falsetto.
Thankfully, I’m past that phase now. I keep singing, testing different keys until I find the right one, and the song starts coming together.
It’s about a teenager who runs away from home looking for a better life but finds only loneliness and hardship.
I know I can’t share this one with Dad. The lyrics would hit too close to home, reminding him of River, my oldest brother, who ran away six years ago and cut all contact with us.
But I want to sing about things that matter, about the dangers waiting for young people in a world that only seems friendly on the surface, still not everything that shines is golden.
I’m on the last verse when something catches my attention again.
The edge of our property runs down to the lake about seventy yards to my left.
The fence ends right at the waterline, hidden by brush.
I hesitate, wondering if I should go check it out, but then I hear a car pulling into the driveway.
Dad’s back.
I sling the guitar over my shoulder again, turn from the beach, and head toward the house. As I circle around it, I spot him unloading a few grocery bags from the trunk.
"Bay, you’re up? Guess you’re not feeling that bad after all, huh?" he says with a smile.
I walk over and grab a couple of the bags.
"The fever’s gone. My nose is still stuffed, but otherwise I feel fine. Even my throat’s good, I was singing for half an hour."
"Something new?" he asks. "Gonna sing it for me?"
I hesitate. I know I shouldn’t, but I really want to show him how well it turned out.
"Sure, just let’s unpack first," I say.
We put everything away in the pantry and the fridge.
Dad glances at the wall clock.
"I’ve got about half an hour before I need to go. I’m picking up your brothers, the first day’s ceremonies end early."
Then he looks back at me with a smile. "But that gives me enough time to hear your song."
Right. Mixed feelings, but I try to focus on the good part. Maybe he’ll at least like the melody.
We go out to the patio. Dad sits on one of the chairs, and I take the seat across from him.
I scratch my forearm absently. Lately both arms have been itching like crazy, and I have no idea why. My skin’s been so sensitive that I sometimes catch myself scratching without even noticing. Nothing really helps. Maybe it’s an allergy?
Finally, I pull myself together and start to play. I strum the strings, and the words start to flow:
"I wanted something more,
something different,
a mirage rising before me, calling,
but it was all a lie,
and the darkness kept me falling."
Even as I’m singing, I realize the lyrics sound kind of corny and could use some work, but Dad listens with polite attention.
"Wrong decisions keep on haunting,
chasing me for years like a prowling hound,
the ones I made when dreams were daunting,
but now they are nowhere to be found."
Yeah, not the best I’ve ever written, for sure. Additionally, I skip one verse, the one about running away from home, because it hits too close to River’s story.
Still, I see Dad’s face grow thoughtful, a faint sadness settling in his expression.
He absentmindedly plays with the end of his long platinum braid. I almost don’t want to ask, but I do anyway.
"Did you like it?"
"That’s a really good song, son," he says, his eyes still distant. Then he pulls himself together, smiles at me, and nods. "You’ve got real talent."
"Thanks, Dad."
"I’m so glad we signed you up for those extra music classes. You should keep developing your skills. I hope things work out with the band."
When we chose Jackson High, my parents made sure my schedule included plenty of music-focused electives, even if not all of them are what I’m interested in. I know the school has a band, and there’s also a choir. I plan to try out for both.
My brothers and I have always been enrolled in every extracurricular music program we could find throughout middle school, so I just nod.
"I’ll give it a shot, Dad."
He stays quiet for a moment, then tilts his head and studies me. I start scratching my forearms again.
"Tomorrow’s your first real day of school. A new chapter in your life, son. How do you feel about it?"
I stay silent for a bit, watching him. He doesn’t usually talk like that, so formal and serious.
"That sounded way too official, Dad," I mumble, brushing my fingers across the strings.
Dad gets that distant look again before suddenly saying,
"I just want you to be happy, Bay. I want you to always tell me if something’s wrong in your life, if you’re upset about anything."
Silence hangs between us for a moment. I know exactly what’s going through his head. The song I sang brought back his guilt about River, how he blames himself for not listening enough, for ignoring River’s rebellion, for not seeing how overwhelmed and unhappy he really was at home.
Now he wants to make sure he doesn’t make the same mistake again. And yeah, I appreciate that. But I’m not River. I almost say it out loud but bite my tongue just in time.
"It’s all good. I got fifty views on the video I posted yesterday, the one with my cover of ‘Let It Snow’. And a dozen likes, too."
Dad smiles warmly. "That’s great. Even though it’s not exactly the Christmas season, people still appreciate the artistry. Your voice is really promising, son, low and rich, kind of like Snow’s. He just doesn’t use his much."
I grimace at the comparison. Sure, Snow has a beautiful voice, but he never sings. He prefers playing the piano and composing songs.
"We’ll see." I shrug. "I’ll post a few more videos online, maybe things will start to take off."
My fingers leave the strings, and I start scratching my forearms again without thinking. Dad’s gaze follows my hands as they move restlessly up and down my arms.
"Do you have some kind of rash, Bay?"
"I don’t know. Everything’s been itchy lately. I keep scratching and scratching."
I roll up my sleeve and show him my skin. There’s nothing there, everything looks normal, maybe just a little pink.
He studies my arm for a moment before saying, "I’ll give you an antihistamine later. Could be a reaction to detergent. I switched brands recently."
Dad checks his phone. "I’ve got about ten minutes before I need to go."
"Alright. I’ll head back down to the lake, play a little more. Maybe I’ll upload that song tomorrow or the day after."
"Wait," he says, "don’t go anywhere far; I have this strange, unpleasant feeling."
I roll my eyes. "Dad, it’s only the beach. I’ll sit on the stones and play for a bit."
His face is uneasy, but I turn away and walk off the patio, leaving him sitting there, still looking thoughtful and kind of uneasy.
But as soon as I reach the beach again, I hear that same sound I couldn’t figure out earlier, but I ignore it for a moment and focus on the last verse of my song, but the notes just won’t fall into place, and it frustrates me.