The top of his hair glowed red from the stage light, and I resisted the urge to muss it up. His eyes were nearly black in the dim room, like pools of ink, but they turned down slightly at the corners, and he had the longest eyelashes. He came across so friendly, I wanted to pat his head and scratch behind his ear.
As if he’d read my mind, he rubbed his neck. “I decided to dig up my journal from Ms. Maxwell’s class. Would you believe I still had it?”
“Looks like there’s three of us.”
He glanced back at Tristan, then returned his attention to me. “Well, I just wanted to wish you good luck and warn you I’m probably about to out-humiliate everyone here.”
“You’ll be great.”
Without thinking or asking for permission, I reached over and touched his shoulder in a gesture of encouragement. He inhaled sharply, like I’d shocked or offended him. Mortified, I withdrew my hand, aiming to tuck it under my thigh to hide the criminal appendage, but his hand lurched out and wrapped around mine. I nearly jerked back in surprise, but then I relaxed at his touch. It was as if he had a reservoir of peace and he’d passed it to me via some superpower or magic. His grasp tightened briefly before Miranda announced, “Welcome back to the second round of our first annual Chagrin Challenge.”
The crowd applauded, and Alfie squeezed my hand for a beat longer before heading up to the stage, leaving me confused as to his intent. He touched Miranda’s arm and leaned in to say something before taking the microphone from her. She lay a hand on his shoulder, whispered in his ear, laughed, and then jogged off the stage to tend the bar. They made a very cute couple, and I hoped I hadn’t inadvertently done anything to make his eyes wander. I shook my head at my own hubris. Why would he ever stray from gorgeous Miranda?
Alfie blinked in the spotlight. “Thank you all so much for returning. Last week was a lot of fun, and I’m counting on you all to bring the chagrin-g.” Yes, he managed to rhyme bring and chagrin. He wrinkled his nose, evidence he heard how wrong that sounded. “I’d been planning to continue my recitation of horrific poetry, but I was reminded that I, too, kept a journal for one semester, so I dug it out.” He held up the nondescript notebook. “I should probably burn this thing, but alas, I am one with you all in over-sharing.”
He shook his head. “This one’s gonna cost me.”
Who knew those notebooks could conceal such subversive commentary?
Chapter 11
Alfie flipped the journal open and paused to breathe in, then out. I willed some confidence his way. As if my imaginary strength had found its mark, he began.
“People always told me I’d make friends easily in college. I hadn’t in high school, so I didn’t understand why things would be any different. My mom met my dad in college, and she promised it would be a small city comprised of people whose ages and interests would align with mine. She was right about the concentration of potential friends. I’ve never been more immersed, and yet somehow, once again I’ve become invisible.”
He took a drink of water before continuing.
“I wonder if Ms. Maxwell reads these journals. I ought to pay her for the free therapy.” Laughter stirred through the audience. “I don’t usually speak this many words. Why speak when people don’t hear me?
“I’ve grown used to the solitude, and honestly, I prefer my own company to bad company. I never disappoint myself.”
More soft laughs. It was weird to me, because he wasn’t saying anything really funny or even embarrassing, but I could sense the audience rooting for him. Rooting for that boy he used to be. Wanting to go back in time to be the good Samaritan who would reach out a hand of friendship.
Oh, to have a time machine.
A smile crossed Alfie’s face. “But today, I saw a girl, and I thought she saw me. She has a certain style, like she moves in another dimension, and I thought, maybe she’s different enough she might see the world I inhabit. I walked toward her, though walking isn’t exactly the right verb. It was like being drawn by a magnet. I was mesmerized by her spirit. I approached her to introduce myself, but she stumbled. I bent to help her up, and she glanced at me. Her eyes held infinite depths of perception, and I thought she saw into my soul. I thought we’d formed a connection. I opened my mouth to say hi, but then she looked away. I picked up her notebook and handed it to her, catching her attention for another fleeting moment as she stood and hesitated. In that moment, I could have said anything. I wish I’d just said hi.
“But she turned to take a seat, and she didn’t see me, so I didn’t speak, and she didn’t hear me. I resolved to try another day.”
He closed the notebook and stepped away from the microphone, and then the silence broke. I started to applaud with everyone, but I was stunned.
That girl was me.
I knew that because I’d journaled that same incident and had bookmarked it as an option for tonight. I hadn’t mentioned Alfie, though. Or had I?
Wouldn’t it have been crazy if Alfie had crushed on me the way I’d crushed on Tristan? What a blind love triangle we would have made. And it might explain how affectionate Alfie had been toward me. Those decade-old crushes lingered. I ought to know.
Zane elbowed me. “You okay?” He pointed to his cheek, like he was miming.
I reached up, surprised to find wet cheeks. I scrubbed them with a napkin. “What? That was moving.”
Bryce said, “Well, now I’m going to feel like a jackass following that.”
Zane said, “That’s kind of the point.”
Miranda called for more applause for Alfie, who’d tucked tail and fled to tend the bar. As Bryce expected, she called his name next.
Bryce flashed his silver rainbow journal at me and Zane with a cheeky wince before trotting up to the mic. I took a sip of my drink to wash away the nerves I felt for him. It had been easier to watch the carnage when I didn’t know these people.
Bryce opened to a bookmarked page, cast his gaze out into the audience, and without further introduction said, “My mom caught me masturbating today.”
My drink sprayed from my lips, and I frantically snatched up a napkin to blot up the liquid dribbling down my chin onto my dress. Tristan turned his head and shot me a look that could only mean he also knew we were now competing for second place.
Bryce went on. “It was my fault. I hadn’t locked the door and she walked in. The look on her face will haunt me until I’m in my grave. When I’m older, this will be a day I will tell my therapist about.”
He paused to look up from the journal to say, “And I did.” He shook his head. “I told all of them.”
I thought for sure he’d end there, but he started back in.
“I threw on some pants and tiptoed down the hall, thinking up some excuse I might have had for sitting half naked in my swivel chair with my hand wrapped around an impressively large erection. I’d just invented a story about homework for health class when I heard her talking to someone. I peered around the corner and caught her on the phone, shrieking to whoever about my penis. I had to know who was now privy to a private moment between me and imaginary Zac Efron.”
Everyone in the audience was howling.
Bryce closed the book, leaving us all in that moment, silently urging him to keep reading, for his teenage self to have finished writing.