The man in the mirror is tall and wiry. He is examining his chestnut skin, hoping he’d one day have enough muscle to look like the guys he has so lusted over. But it won't happen. That metabolism of his would never let it happen... at least he’d always seem fit.

“I don’t look fit. I look sickly,” Alex muttered.

He had now moved to comb his long and wavy hair. His family had had him wear short hair all the way through middle school, and when his new high school said “We have no uniforms or a particular dress code, just be decent and don't wear flip flops,"  he had decided to keep his hair long. Mind you, having it so long it almost touched his butt had been a bad idea, so now it was just shoulder-length: something he could manage. And manageable it was, also luscious and the envy of most girls at uni.

“I hate when you do this. Who are you even introducing me to? But thank you for complimenting my hair. I do make an effort,” he says while picking up his favorite emerald green shirt.

He wanted to dress up a bit today. Mostly because Eva had told him to clean up and meet her today at uni: they would plan around how to get his love story going (as means to get rid of me).

“Doesn't that make you sad?” he thinks. But honestly, good narration had to lead somewhere and Alex had been stalling. He is always stalling. If getting rid of me is enough motivation to get him where he actually needed to be, it was a price I was willing to pay.

“Gotta love a dedicated man.” And I am one. So I am worth loving.

***

The cafeteria was very quiet compared to its usual noon hustle and bustle. Not a surprise, considering the semester is still two weeks away.

Alex and Eva had arrived early to practice for the Welcome Ceremony concert. The theater department is in charge of giving a “warm welcome” to the freshmen and exchange students with all sorts of events, one of them being a concert with the best members of the theater department. The whole thing was a kitschy number with a very silly and catchy song, the kind that you hate but gives you an eternal ear worm and so, it grew on you. This was Alex and Eva’s third year doing the number, and they were both appalled and excited for it.

Eva is sitting right at the center of the cafeteria. Her skin is flushed red, and she is still in her workout clothes, which means Luna had kept her a long time on the rehearsal room. Luna, the director of the drama department, had said to the girls “Your limbs are like LOGS this semester,” two days ago. Apparently no one had the right mind to keep training over the summer except Eva, so they would all have a special “boot camp” this week and Eva would assist Luna as a dance captain of sorts. No wonder she looks like a tomato.

Alex too had been force to assist to the “boot camp” in the last two years. He used to be a terrible dancer, and Luna would not allow that. “Do NOT expect to ‘park and bark’ in my presence, and none of that swaying side to side, Alex. Under me you will at LEAST have rhythm,” and he definitely did now. And incipient abs. Boy, did Luna train your core, she was a beast!

“Are you ready to sing later?” Alex asks, sitting next to her.

“Do you have to remind me? Luna already beat the eight of us into a pulp, and David came this morning and said he wants us, to sing the leads,” Luna looks even redder up-close. The fact that all the furniture around them is white or yellow does not help mask it. It was not hard for any color to clash a bit with Eva's skin: when she was not red, the only thing whiter than her was flour. “He gave me the sheet music so you'd be prepared. It seems we have a turnout this year so, they are out for blood.”

“I thought Carlos would sing the lead, he always sings the lead,” Alex mutters grabbing the sheet. What he didn’t know was that Carlos, his friend and the star of the theater department, had missed his flight for canoodling with a  girl while on exchange, and his family had only been able to get him a new ticket for next week so… he was trapped in France until further notice.

“Apparently…” Eva starts, but Alex just raises a hand. He had me after all.

“He,” his eyes dart to the ceiling, “just told me. France. Loads of kissing and he arrives next week.” Eva had a big conspiratorial smile. Everything about Eva was big, but when she was interested, her energy made her look BIGGER. She could fill a room. This is what made her such an amazing actress, and terrifying company. 

“Uh, convenient. So he is still here! Oh, I want to know how this works. The more we know about him the easier it’ll be to handle!” Eva saw me as a big mystery right out of one of her favorite books, and she was beside herself with excitement for it. Alex on the other hand…

“Don’t give him more material to work with. Your excitement is pumping him up too, I can hear it!” he says.

“Oh, come on Alex, I left you off the hook yesterday because you told me you were tired.” Actually, Eva had stopped drilling Alex with questions after she had noticed he was about to cry. Turns out having three screaming matches with your narrator in a day, revealing that it exists and having that reveal accepted took a lot of emotional energy. “But you promised you’d explain this little, um, phenomenon? And I promised I’d help you get rid of it.”

“Fine, let’s do this,” Alex didn’t think they could get rid of me, but having someone to talk to about me, did feel great. “Also, I was not about to cry yesterday.”

Eva was caught off guard by that one, but she didn’t press him. In the spirit of honesty, I must say: he was. About to cry that is.

“Ugh, shut up.” Another glare.

“Oh! So he said it? Then, yes, you had tears on your eyes before you left.”

“Don’t encourage him, Eva! Anyway, what do you want to know? And how do you think you can help me?”

Her smile grew wider still. She could play the Cheshire cat with no need for make up by now. Eva picks up her backpack and takes a notepad out. She opens it right at the middle and gives it to Alex. He just stared at her notes, confused.

“I assume that if we know the genre, the style of the narrator and how it works, we can figure out how to lead your story to a satisfying conclusion and MAYBE limit how much he speaks,” she says signaling the first point on her list. “You told me, he is obsessed with you getting the love of your life, so you are in a love story that can be a comedy or a drama. Since you are not in a psychiatric ward yet, I will assume this is a comedy. So, we have a romcom, and we only have to find the tropes that reign it: avoid them if possible or tackle them. That way, we corner him. What do you think? Isn’t it smart?”

It was something Alex had already thought of. But now that someone else did, he could convince himself that it was not that farfetched. However, there was a bit he disliked.

“We can’t avoid what he says. It doesn’t end well,” he says.

“What do you mean?” Eva was genuinely curious now.

“What he says, we follow.” He was not ready to talk about it. And the tone made it known.

“Ok,” Eva whispered. She was interested, but wouldn't press him. “Moving on… I will assume you don’t dislike my plan, because you only said we do have to listen to him, but I need to know: how does it work?”

“Er… you are asking how does he narrate or how do I hear him?” Alex ventures.

“Both.”

He takes a deep breath. It had been awhile since he'd explained this.

“It’s just a voice. It does not come from inside my head exactly, it’s like part of the environment. It doesn’t interfere with the rest of the surrounding sounds, though? I just can always hear him clearly, as long as he has something to say that is relevant to the plot.” He waits for me to confirm it... verbally. It was not like he could see me nodding. “There are moments of ‘quiet’ but it is more like a static of sorts. He also speaks, sometimes, on occasions that may be irrelevant to the plot, but he stumbles through them. It’s like he is writing a draft and noticing none of this is worthwhile for my story, um, I mean things like going to the bathroom, eating, showering. He ignores that... sometimes.”

“So, basically, like any narrator, if the action does not move the story along… he ignores it?” Eva says.

“Yeah, that’s basically it. He is just, well… a narrator! There're not many rules except talking about my life and those around it, I guess.” Alex stops and considers something else, a thing he had never mentioned before. “But he narrates in English, that IS weird.”

“Huh,” Eva muses this one over. “You’d expect the narrator of a Mexican IN Mexico to speak in Spanish... now that’s a quirk.”

“Yeah, I am sure if I said chingada madre or something very colloquial he’d do one of those awful quotation marks or italicized letters that Americans do with their latino protagonists,” Alex says with a laugh. And it offends me a bit, because it is true.

“Oh wow.” Alex raises his face in surprise. “He does do that!”

Eva takes his hand and stares at him, her eyes wild. She was reaction like they they had just hit the jackpot.

“He… does it? He confirmed he is actually writing or does something in the writing, er, narration?”

“He just said he was offended because it was true... the latino dialogue thing,” Alex was a little afraid of her intensity now, but Eva did not let up.

“Alex, you just said when you don’t do much it is like he is drafting and then confirmed he does something to the text, he stylizes it while you talk, AND he is speaking in another language. What if your narrator is less of a disembodied voice and more of an actual witness,” Eva was savoring each word, like she had found an ultimate truth. “Think of it. What if the narrator is not just a voice, but someone actually writes as they go and is seeing you? Like a telepath or something! What if we could find him? Then we could stop him... for real!”