Chapter 7

Julie Vaz

I never thought I’d be here.

Sitting at a small café near school with Alexander Carter, of all people, having an actual conversation. Celebrating my acceptance into NYU, of all things.

I still couldn’t quite wrap my mind around it—the idea that I was really going. That I was one step closer to becoming the person I’d always wanted to be: a writer, an author, someone whose name was known beyond the pages of a book. But that wasn’t the strangest part. No, the strangest part was that, in the midst of it all, I was sitting across from someone who had been my unwilling partner for a project and who, for reasons I still didn’t understand, was making me feel something I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

I hadn’t known what to expect when I agreed to meet him here. In truth, I had barely known what I was agreeing to when I said yes to celebrating my acceptance with him. But when I’d looked into his eyes earlier, when his voice had sounded almost... warm, when he’d said those three words—“I knew you would”—something in me had shifted. I wasn’t sure what it was, but I wasn’t going to overthink it. At least, not yet.

For once, I didn’t feel like I was the outsider looking in. Sitting here, with him, I felt almost... normal.

The café was quiet, just a few other patrons scattered around the cozy space, their conversations a low hum in the background. The scent of espresso and pastries filled the air. I liked it here. There was something comfortable about it, about the anonymity of being in public but not really needing to interact with anyone except for the person you were sitting with.

“So,” Alexander said, stirring his coffee, his blue eyes locking onto mine with an intensity I hadn’t seen before. “What’s the first thing you’re going to do once you’re at NYU?”

I blinked, caught off guard by the question. It wasn’t something I had really thought about. Of course, I’d been dreaming of this moment for years, but I hadn’t imagined the future in concrete terms. I hadn’t allowed myself to get that far ahead.

“I don’t know,” I said, shrugging. “Probably bury myself in books, try to get ahead of the curve. I’ll be studying English, after all. I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

He nodded, his eyes softening just a fraction. “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.”

“I like to think so,” I said, smiling slightly. “I mean, I’ve written a lot already, but I’ve never had the nerve to show anyone. I guess I’m afraid it won’t be good enough.”

There it was, the truth I’d never told anyone. The fear that had clung to me like a shadow for years. The fear that no matter how much I wrote, it would never be enough. That I would never be enough.

But Alexander didn’t say anything right away. Instead, he watched me, his gaze intense, as though he was considering something. Finally, he spoke, his voice quieter than usual.

“You should let people read it. You know that, right?”

I froze, feeling a flush creep up my neck. “What?”

“Your writing,” he said, leaning forward slightly. “Let people read it. You’re good. I can tell.”

I almost laughed. It wasn’t an uncomfortable laugh, but a nervous one. “Good? You can’t seriously think that. You don’t even know what I write.”

He shrugged, looking unconcerned. “I don’t need to know. You’re not the type to write badly. You care too much about it.”

It felt surreal, hearing him say that. Not just because it was coming from him, but because it was true. I did care. I’d always cared too much. Maybe it was my biggest flaw, or maybe it was what would drive me forward.

“I’ll think about it,” I said, unsure how else to respond.

But before he could respond, I noticed the look on his face. There was something else there—something more personal, more vulnerable than the Alexander I was used to. Maybe I was imagining it, but there was a flicker of something... regret? Curiosity?

“You should,” he said, then paused. “It’s not easy, but if you want to make it, you have to let people in. You’ll never know how good you really are unless you do.”

I didn’t know what to say to that. It felt... right. But it also felt like too much too soon. We were still just people trying to get through a project. Right?

There was a lull in the conversation as I took a sip of my coffee, the steam warming my face. The silence between us wasn’t awkward this time. It was... comfortable. We weren’t just working together anymore. We were two people, talking, sharing things we’d never expected to share.

“So,” I said, trying to break the intensity of the moment, “what about you? What’s your plan after high school?”

Alexander gave me a wry smile, though it seemed more genuine than usual. “I guess I’m supposed to go to college, right? Yale, most likely. My parents have been pushing for that since I was six.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Yale? You? Seriously?”

He chuckled, almost to himself. “Yeah. Sounds like the perfect fit, right? Except I don’t know if it’s really what I want. I don’t know what I want, honestly.”

The words hung in the air between us. For once, I wasn’t the one who felt uncertain. And strangely enough, it didn’t make me feel better; it made me realize that we were more alike than I’d thought.

“You don’t have to go just because your parents expect you to,” I said quietly, feeling a twinge of empathy. “You’ve got a future of your own to build.”

He looked at me then, really looked at me, as if seeing me for the first time. “Maybe,” he said softly. “Maybe you’re right.”

I wanted to say more, to reach across the table and tell him that it was okay to not have everything figured out, but the words didn’t come. Instead, I found myself asking, “What do you really want to do? If you could do anything?”

He leaned back, looking out the window for a moment, as though trying to picture it. “I don’t know,” he said, almost to himself. “Maybe... maybe I’d want to start my own business. Do something with soccer. Something that’s actually mine.”

“I think that’s a good idea,” I said, surprised by how much I meant it.

He smiled, the first real smile he’d given me all day, and I felt it—this strange, unspoken connection. It wasn’t friendship, not yet. But it was something.

The conversation turned lighter after that. We shared some more awkward jokes, talked about the random classes we were taking, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel out of place. I wasn’t Julie Vaz, the weird girl anymore. At least, not in that moment. In that moment, I was just Julie.

And, for once, I wasn’t alone.

Later that evening, as I lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling, I couldn’t help but think about everything that had happened today.

The project was almost done, and the time for pretending it hadn’t changed anything was over. Alexander Carter wasn’t just the arrogant guy I’d been paired with for some final project anymore. He wasn’t just the golden boy who had everything handed to him.

Maybe there was more to him than I’d thought.

Maybe there was more to us, too.

And that realization, as strange and unsettling as it was, didn’t feel as terrifying as I thought it would. It just felt... right.