Chapter 8

Alexander Carter

Sitting across from Julie Vaz at a small café near school, of all places, having a real conversation. Not some forced exchange of words while we barely spoke about our project, but an actual conversation—about her, about me, about what comes next.

Celebrating her acceptance into NYU, of all things.

I wasn’t sure what had made me suggest this in the first place. To celebrate with her. Honestly, part of me had wondered if it would be awkward. But when I’d heard those three words—“I knew you would”—come out of my mouth earlier, I didn’t quite recognize the guy who had said them. It wasn’t the usual Alexander Carter, who’d been content with his place at the top of the social ladder, whose every move seemed designed to keep people at arm's length.

But that moment... when I’d seen her face light up, heard the tremor in her voice when she realized her dream was coming true, something had shifted. She deserved this moment. She deserved to celebrate, and if I was the one she was sharing it with, so be it. I didn’t know exactly why, but I wanted to be part of that.

I didn’t expect it to feel like this, though. Like we were actually connecting. Not just as project partners, but as people. As equals, maybe, in a way I never thought possible.

The café was quiet, with only a few other patrons scattered around. The air smelled like coffee—rich and inviting—and I couldn’t help but feel at ease. It was one of those rare moments where everything felt comfortable, where the chaos of school and life seemed distant, if only for a short while.

“So,” I asked, stirring my coffee and catching her eyes, “What’s the first thing you’re going to do once you’re at NYU?”

She blinked, as if the question caught her off guard. I saw her fidget, her thoughts running in a hundred directions at once. Julie was the kind of person who planned everything down to the smallest detail, but this time, she didn’t have an answer prepared.

“I don’t know,” she said, shrugging slightly. “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.”

There was a sense of finality in her voice, like she was already mapping out her future, one book at a time. But somehow, the way she said it made me feel... like she was still unsure. Maybe she was scared, too, that everything she’d worked for wouldn’t live up to the image in her head. I got that. I could understand that fear more than she probably realized.

“You’ve got it all figured out, huh?” I said, trying to sound casual.

“I like to think so,” she said with a small smile. “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.”

I could feel the weight of her words sink in. For a moment, I wasn’t sure what to say. Julie’s a lot of things, but insecure? That wasn’t the version of her I saw every day. I didn’t even know why it surprised me to hear it.

“Good?” I said, leaning forward, suddenly feeling more serious than I expected. “You’re good. I can tell.”

She didn’t believe me, of course. How could she? She was probably thinking I was just saying it to make her feel better, like I was some kind of superficial jerk who only cared about making myself look good. But I wasn’t. I wasn’t doing it for that.

“Good?” she echoed, clearly baffled. “You don’t even know what I write.”

I shrugged. “I don’t need to know. You care too much about it to write badly. You’ve got that much in you.”

It felt right to say it, like I was trying to convince both of us that this was possible. That her fear—that constant self-doubt that had been hanging in the air like an invisible weight—wasn’t her reality. She was good. Better than good. And the world would know it if she just gave them a chance.

She didn’t respond immediately. Instead, she looked at me, studying me like she was trying to decipher some hidden meaning behind my words. For once, I wasn’t sure how to read her. It wasn’t the playful, sarcastic Julie I was used to. This was something different, something raw.

“I’ll think about it,” she said finally, her voice softer than before.

Before I could respond, I noticed something else in her eyes—a flicker of vulnerability. It reminded me of the things I’d kept hidden for years, things I’d buried under layers of privilege and expectation. She had her fears. I had mine. And in that moment, I realized they weren’t all that different.

“You should,” I said, my voice low. “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 wasn’t just talking about her writing anymore. It was more than that. But I didn’t know how to explain it without sounding like I was trying to get too deep, too soon. She was never going to believe me if I said I understood what it was like to feel trapped by expectations. But I did. I understood that better than I understood a lot of things.

The conversation slowed after that. There was an odd comfort in the silence, though. It wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t the cold kind of silence we’d had in the library or the classroom. It was different. Almost... peaceful.

“So,” Julie said, breaking the quiet, “What about you? What’s your plan after high school?”

I gave her a wry smile. I’d been expecting this question. She wasn’t the only one with things to figure out. “I guess I’m supposed to go to college, right? Yale, most likely. My parents have been pushing for that since I was six.”

She raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical. “Yale? You? Seriously?”

I chuckled at her disbelief. She didn’t know the pressure that came with being the golden child. The expectations. “Yeah, sounds like the perfect fit, right? But... I don’t know if that’s what I really want. I don’t know what I want, honestly.”

The words hung in the air. I didn’t think I had ever said that out loud before. I wasn’t supposed to admit it, not to anyone. But there it was.

“You don’t have to go just because your parents expect you to,” Julie said quietly, her voice surprisingly empathetic. “You’ve got a future of your own to build.”

I didn’t say anything right away, just stared at her, as if seeing her for the first time. There was something about her that made me feel like I could trust her with this. And maybe I could.

“Maybe you’re right,” I said softly, more to myself than to her.

I hadn’t been expecting that. I’d always prided myself on being the one with all the answers, on being the one who knew what he was doing. But in that moment, I didn’t know. And for the first time, it was okay to admit that.

“What do you really want to do? If you could do anything?” she asked, as if she was trying to pry some deeper truth out of me.

I leaned back in my chair, looking out the window, trying to picture it. “I don’t know. Maybe... maybe I’d want to start my own business. Do something with soccer. Something that’s actually mine, you know?”

“I think that’s a good idea,” she said, and I heard the sincerity in her voice.

I smiled. It was a real smile this time. Not the smirk I used to wear. Not the cocky grin I put on for show. A real one. And for the first time, I realized I might have been wrong about her. About us.

The conversation got lighter after that. We joked around a little, talked about classes, but there was something else there. Something different. I wasn’t just the guy everyone expected me to be. Julie wasn’t just the awkward girl who was always on the outside. We were just... people, talking. Sharing. And maybe, just maybe, we could both get out of our own heads long enough to see what was right in front of us.

For once, I didn’t feel like I was playing a part. I wasn’t Alexander Carter, the popular guy. I wasn’t even the guy who had everything figured out. I was just a guy sitting across from someone who might actually understand what it felt like to not have all the answers.

And I realized that, for the first time in a long while, I wasn’t alone either.