Chapter 11

Alexander Carter

It was strange, how quickly things could change.

A month ago, I’d barely given Julie Vaz more than a passing thought. She was always the quiet girl in the back of the room, head buried in a book, never making waves. We didn’t run in the same circles, and I figured we never would. But then we got paired for that English project, and now here I was, sitting in a café, waiting for her—again. Not for school, not because I had to, but because I wanted to.

I didn’t even know why. Maybe it was because talking to her felt easy, even when we weren’t saying much. Or maybe it was because she wasn’t like everyone else I usually hung out with—always laughing too loud, trying too hard, expecting something from me that I wasn’t sure I could give. Julie didn’t expect anything. She was just... herself. And that made it easier for me to be myself too.

I glanced at the door, sipping my coffee as I waited. The café was busy, but I’d grabbed a corner table, away from the noise. It was the same spot we’d sat in the first time we met outside of school. I didn’t know if she’d remember that, but I did. I remembered a lot more than I wanted to admit.

When she walked in, I saw her before she saw me. She was wearing a simple blue sweater and jeans, nothing fancy, but it suited her. She looked... nice. Nice in a way that felt effortless, like she didn’t even realize how good she looked. I caught myself staring and forced my gaze down to my coffee. Get it together, Carter. This isn’t a date.

“Hey,” she said, sliding into the seat across from me.

“Hey,” I replied, trying to keep my voice casual. “How’s the book you’re reading?”

The question was an easy one, but I’d thought about asking it. I knew she loved books, and I wanted to know what she was into. Not because I cared about the book itself, but because I cared about her. Not that I’d admit that out loud.

“Oh, um... it’s good,” she said, her voice slightly surprised. “It’s called Fourth Wing. I’m only a few chapters in, but it’s pretty captivating.”

I nodded, leaning back in my chair. “I’ve heard of it. You’ve got good taste.”

Her face lit up at that, and for a moment, I felt like I’d done something right. It wasn’t often I saw her smile like that, and I realized I wanted to see it more.

“Thanks,” she said. “What about you? Reading anything interesting?”

I shrugged, looking down. “I don’t really read much for fun. Too busy with... other stuff.”

Other stuff. That was a good way to put it. The endless grind of soccer practices, the constant pressure from my parents about Yale, the nagging feeling that no matter how much I accomplished, it would never be enough. I wasn’t going to dump all that on her, though. Not today.

“Well, when you do get a chance,” she said, her voice soft, “you should try it. There’s something about getting lost in a good book that’s... different from anything else.”

Her words stuck with me more than they should have. Maybe because she said them like she believed it, like it wasn’t just about books but about something bigger. I didn’t know what to say to that, so I just nodded.

“Maybe I will,” I said. “Maybe I need to take a break from all the other stuff.”

There was a pause, and for a second, it felt like the world had slowed down. It wasn’t awkward, though. It was just... still. Quiet. A kind of quiet I didn’t get to feel very often.

We ordered our food, and the conversation shifted to lighter things—school, movies, the stupid things people said in class. It felt natural, easy, like we’d been doing this for years. She had this way of making me forget about everything else, just for a little while. It was nice.

At some point, I found myself asking her about her plans after graduation. I hadn’t planned on it, but the question slipped out before I could stop it.

She hesitated, her expression thoughtful. “I don’t know. I mean, I’m excited for NYU, obviously. But it feels a little overwhelming too. There’s so much I still want to do. I want to write, of course. Maybe publish a novel someday. But I’m not exactly sure how to get there.”

I listened, really listened. I wasn’t sure she realized how rare that was for me. Most people didn’t care what I thought or felt. They just assumed I had it all figured out. But Julie? She didn’t assume anything. She just... saw me.

“I think you will,” I said, meaning every word. “You’ve got the passion for it. That’s the hardest part. The rest will come.”

She looked down, and for a second, I thought maybe I’d said too much. But then she smiled, this small, shy smile that made something in my chest tighten.

“Thanks,” she said quietly. “I just... I don’t know. There’s always this voice in my head telling me I’m not good enough. That no one will care about what I write.”

Before I could think about it, I reached across the table, my hand hovering above hers. “Don’t listen to it,” I said, my voice low. “That voice? It’s just fear. Don’t let it control you. You’re good enough. And I can’t wait to see what you do.”

The words hung between us, heavier than I’d intended. But I meant them. I really did. If anyone deserved to believe in themselves, it was her.

The rest of the conversation passed in a blur. By the time we finished, I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to go back to the noise, the pressure, the expectations. Sitting here with her, it felt like the one place where none of that mattered.

As we stood up, I gave her a half-smile, trying to play it cool. “We should do this again sometime.”

Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, I felt something shift. Something I didn’t entirely understand but couldn’t ignore.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice soft but sure. “I’d like that.”