The rest of the week passed in a strange haze for Alison. Her parents, never having needed to punish Alison so seriously before, didn't seem quite to know how to do it and divided their time between ignoring her and harshly commanding her to promptly do every chore that needed to be done in the house. Alison didn't mind them ignoring her (indeed, it was a verifiable relief to have her mother ignore her for once) and doing all the chores in the house wasn't so bad. Once upon a time (just a few weeks ago, in fact) Alison might have sulked over having to unnecessarily scrub the floors because the lye soap would burn and crack her delicate hands but now her mind was too full of things to think about for her to care much. She did her chores silently and efficiently, completely lost in her own world, and her parents couldn't decide if this made her a good daughter or an insolent one for not seeming appropriately pained by their punishments. As soon as she was done with whatever inane task they had set her to, she would politely bid them goodbye or good day or good night and vanish off to her room, where her hands were occupied with putting on hand cream and finishing homework—but her mind swam with thoughts of Jimmy and Steve and Bucky and her so-called friends and everything she had known about herself and her notions.
Everything was changing for Alison Lynden. She was changing.
If her parents noticed their daughter fading from their grasp, her friends noticed it even more. Alison had broken through her reverie to sharply take them to task for leaving her behind at the Red Lioness but afterwards, she had retreated within herself unexpectedly. They'd been shocked. For their crime, they'd expected a much worse punishment. When Alison Lynden was angry, she could hold a grudge for ages—and no one quite held a grudge like she did. However, she didn't even do that. Her friends asked her if she was alright since she seemed to be so lost in her own world and she airily told them she was fine but she looked contemplative and a million miles away and they didn't know what to make of it. She was just…different. Cheryl, sensing a breakdown in the ranks, slowly began to test out the waters to see if she could take over as the queen bee of their group—and to her intense shock, Alison didn't seem to notice much or care.
If anyone had cared to closely watch Alison over the week, they'd have noticed a variety of expressions come over her face: delight, unhappiness, confusion, contemplation, stress…was there something she didn't go through that week? Jimmy was never far from her mind and she was still distressed over him—but strangely enough, Steve's friendship made Jimmy's loss seem less disastrous. And she couldn't help but mull over how Steve was different than she'd thought…she was different than she'd thought…and if they were both different, then what was the sense in continuing on as things had been before?
Why was Alison spending her entire life putting up a front and trying to appear as someone she wasn't? Why was she trying to please people who would never be pleased? Oh, she was still shallow and vain—she didn't deny these things. But why was she unnecessarily mean and jaded? All to appease her mother and girls who would never give a care in the world for her? Jimmy would be disappointed in knowing who she had become and Steve seemed determined to show her that she wasn't the girl she professed to be, simply through extending his hand of friendship.
And was it friendship…when something in Alison's stomach fluttered when she thought about him? He wasn't the tall, strapping Prince Charming she'd always dreamed of—but he was gentle and intelligent and sensitive, which were things she had dreamed of. He made her feel…welcome.
Oh yes, Alison had much to think about.
And along with her thoughts were her excitement and nerves over the technology expo. She couldn't help but feel elated at the thought of going out with someone who actually liked her for who she was, unlike spending countless Saturday evenings staring moodily at much older handsome bachelors at diners and roller rinks and bars when they dared to sneak in.
When Saturday rolled around, Alison dressed up again but she didn't overdo it the way she had the night of the Red Lioness. She did her golden hair up in Victory rolls and put on a simple but pretty brown frock tied with a bright pink satin sash. She applied some mascara, pinched her cheeks for color, and painted on some light pink lipstick. Slipping on white shoes and grabbing her purse, she turned and winked at herself in the mirror, putting her hand on her tiny waist and striking a few poses, blowing some kisses. She looked good and what's more, she felt good.
She hadn't told her parents she was going and she knew they might put up a fuss because she was being punished—and she was right. They did. But she flatly told them that the entire school would be there (which she wasn't quite sure of, but it was likely to be true) and that it would look excessively odd if she weren't there and did they really want further whispering about Alison? She struck right into the heart of her mother's deepest fears: Alison's reputation and popularity. She could tell her parents didn't want to let her go but she'd been good all week, her father had a weak spot for his only daughter, and her mother couldn't tolerate talk about Alison—so she was allowed to go. Swallowing her smug smile, she politely thanked them and almost skipped from her house.
She wasn't quite so happy when she finally arrived at the exposition, having walked several blocks in her somewhat tight shoes, but she set aside her discomfort to try and have a good night. She stood aside from the crowds of young people and stood on her tip-toes, looking around for Steve.
How absurd to stand on my tip-toes, she suddenly thought, when he's almost an inch shorter than me, and she couldn't help but chuckle.
"Alison!" Someone caught her arm lightly and she turned to see Steve standing next to her, grinning. He wore an atrocious outfit (someone really needed to teach the boy how to dress) but Alison didn't care, because she was happy to see him.
"Steve!" She hugged him and when she stepped back, she saw he looked a bit shocked. She could see why. She'd never been this openly affectionate with anyone before, least of all him. However, she felt sort of like a new girl after a whole week of some deep internal reflection and thought and decided it was time for a few changes to her personality and actions.
"You look—very nice," Steve said a bit haltingly. His tone was polite but Alison saw the appreciative look in his eyes as he looked at her and she liked the feeling it gave her.
"Thank you, so do you," she said politely, meaning it. His suspenders were awfully old-fashioned but his blond hair was neatly combed and gleaming and his smile really was sweet. He gestured for her to follow him inside and she did, placing the crook of her arm in his as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He looked a bit startled and she rose her eyebrows exaggeratedly at him to imply that she was play-acting and he caught on, raising his eyebrows back.
"Not bad, Rogers," she said as he led her over to Bucky Barnes (who was in uniform and looking very proud of it) and a very pretty dark-haired girl.
"This is my friend, Bucky," Steve said, "and his date, Connie. Connie, Bucky, this is my friend, Alison."
The girl had short dark brown hair and a laughing red mouth and she waved cheerfully at Alison with her fingers. Alison smiled at her and then looked at Bucky, hating the way her cheeks heated up at the thought of their last few meetings. First she'd been a brat, then she'd been a mess. "Nice to meet you," she said almost shyly, hoping to god Bucky wouldn't give her that look that made her feel lower than dirt. Thankfully, he gave her a friendly smile and showed no indication of remembering their past interactions. All of a sudden she could see why Steve had defended Bucky's honor to her.
All four of them embarked on adventuring around the exposition. Alison at first felt a bit hesitant to be herself in front of Bucky—opening up in front of Steve was very different somehow, in her mind—but he was so friendly and easy-going that she sound found herself on friendly camaraderie with him and Connie (who was an easily-excitable and somewhat flighty but sweet girl).
Alison had just begun to feel really comfortable—when Cheryl, Denise, and Eliza suddenly showed up. They walked past her and then stopped in shock when they saw her standing with her arms linked with Steve (Bucky and Connie having gone off in a determined search to find popcorn). "Alison?!" Denise shrieked and Alison felt her blood run cold when she heard them. She was trying to be a different person but she hadn't banked on her old friends seeing her so soon with Steve out in public. Of course…she had been stupid not to expect someone from school to see. She turned around in dread and tried to smile. "Oh! Fancy seeing you girls here!"
"Fancy—!" Denise gasped. "You mean fancy seeing you here! You sly thing, you never told us you were coming here!"
"You never asked," Alison said.
"We did so," Eliza said indignantly. "Cheryl asked you what you were doing on Saturday night and you said 'Mhmmm' in that dreamy way of yours and Cheryl said, 'That's not really an answer, you know,' and you said, 'Nothing,' and then Cheryl said—"
Seeing that Eliza could go on for quite some time in this way, Alison broke in and said, "Whoops, I suppose it must have…slipped my mind!"
"Slipped your mind," Cheryl said slowly, a catty smile on her face. "And did it also slip your mind that you were going to ditch your friends and go with Steve Rogers? What are you doing here with him, Alison? You're project partners with him but to come to the fair with him? Or wait, I'm sorry—is there some research that needs to be done tonight?" She drawled the world "research", stretched it out nastily, and Eliza and Denise giggled. Alison's face burned. Steve was silent, waiting for Alison's reaction.
"Oh well, you've been acting really strange lately," Cheryl sneered, "and if this is the reason why, then I can thank heavens that I no longer call you my friend. When you begin to hang out with losers…you can't be seen around us anymore. We'll see you around, Alison…or maybe not." She turned and began to walk away with Denise and Eliza. Alison stood paralyzed, unable to speak, and she didn't have to look at Steve to see the disappointment on his face. She could feel it radiating off of him. She hadn't stood up for herself or Steve. She was spineless. She was weak. She could cut someone down for usurping her social status—but not to defend a proper friend.
Yes, I can, she suddenly thought to herself in a blaze of determination and before she could stop herself, she called, "Oh, Cheryl?"
The girls slowly turned, arms crossed expectantly. Cheryl raised an eyebrow. "What?"
Alison unlinked her arm from Steve's and walked towards Cheryl. "You're wrong," she said. "You didn't stop being friends with me—I stopped calling you my friend. You're not my friend—you never were. You're a catty, pathetic wannabe. You've always wanted to be me and you'll always try—but you'll never succeed, because I'm the original and you're the copy. And I'm done hanging around you girls. You can boast looks and status all you want, but you can't boast originality—and you certainly can't brag about having an actual personality, good morals, or a real heart like Steve has," she added fiercely. "So if I ever see you speaking to me—or him—again…I'll finish you. And don't think I won't," she said coldly. "I haven't been at the top for years without learning a thing or two on how to finish social climbers."
Cheryl stared at her, apoplectic with rage, but she evidently had nothing to say because she sneered, "Like I said—have fun with your pathetic new ragtag friends," and stormed away, Eliza and Denise throwing Alison shocked looks as they left. Alison knew Cheryl would take over her position at school and try to make life difficult for Alison now—but Alison didn't really care about those things anymore.
Besides, she hadn't been lying. If push really came to shove…well, Alison still knew how to be a ruthless queen bee.
She slowly turned to face Steve, unsure of whether he would be disgusted by her outburst (or by her threats) but she was surprised to find him grinning. "What?" she asked self-consciously.
"That was something," he said, sticking his hands in his pockets. "You said you had no talents? Have you ever considered being a dictator?"
He meant this as a joke—Alison knew this—but the word "dictator" brought to mind Hitler, the man who had caused the war…that her brother was currently lost to, among countless other brothers, husbands, friends, and loved ones. She tried to smile but it came out a little twisted and she felt like her words were stuck in her throat. Steve looked bewildered for a moment, as if he couldn't understand why she'd reacted this way—but then his eyes sparked and he said, "Oh—oh God, I didn't even think of it that way—I'm sorry, Alison, I didn't even think at all, I didn't mean to—"
"I know," she said quickly, giving him a wobbly smile. "I know, it's fine, it was a harmless mistake."
"Let's find somewhere to sit," Steve said, coming forward and taking her arm, a concerned look on his face. "You look a little… Wow, I really am sorry, I'm an idiot." He kept apologizing as he led Alison to a bench in a slightly secluded corner (the light above the bench had fused out so most people were avoiding it; it also had something sticky spilled on one end, glistening bright blue) until she threatened to smack him if he didn't stop.
"You really love your brother, huh?" he asked, clasping his hands together and dangling them between his knees, looking at the ground.
"You sound surprised," Alison said. "Siblings are supposed to love each other, you know."
"I know, but I never had any," he says. "And I think we both know that you and Jimmy are closer than most siblings are. Did you two ever fight?"
"Never."
"See?"
Alison had to concede his point. She certainly adored Jimmy more than other people seemed to love their siblings. She couldn't understand why other siblings were always squabbling. Why, Eliza even said she hated her older brother and sister. Alison couldn't even comprehend that type of existence. Jimmy was her protector, her guide, her best friend. He'd taught her to be a good person and he'd shielded her from their mother's worst criticisms. It was no coincidence that in Jimmy's absence, Alison had become a much colder person and their mother's tongue had gotten sharper.
"Tell me about him," Steve said simply. Alison looked at him, surprised—she'd never had someone so openly ask such a simple yet enormous request—but when he nodded to show he was serious, she didn't need to think twice to begin. She'd been dying, for months now, to speak about Jimmy: her worries and her fears, yes…but also her fond memories. She needed to share them with someone. She spoke hesitantly at first, gauging Steve's reaction—was he still interested? Was he getting bored?—but he showed every sign of being a good listener (again) so she relaxed and began to speak more animatedly. She talked about how much she missed him, how lonely and silent the house was without his ridiculous jokes and loud, calm voice. She made Steve laugh quite a few times when she recalled awful pranks she'd played with Jimmy or ridiculous things that had happened to them in their youth.
She didn't even realize she'd been speaking for quite some time—Steve interjecting every now and then to ask questions or remark in awe or sarcasm upon something interesting or absolutely ridiculous—until Bucky and Connie came up to them, Bucky saying, "There you are! We've been looking for you two dunderheads for ages!" He paused and looked at Alison, looking unsure on whether she'd accept being called a dunderhead by him, but she grinned and he relaxed. "Have you two been sitting here this whole time? Has he been yakking your ear off, Alison?" Bucky demanded. "When Steve gets going, he never stops."
"Unfortunately, it was me yakking Steve's ear off," Alison said apologetically. "I'm afraid I didn't really let him speak."
"You did!" Steve protested. "Besides, I was too busy laughing at your stories to speak."
"Oh, did you tell a funny story?" Connie asked, bouncing on the tip of her toes slightly. "Share with us! I want to hear them!"
"Alright," Alison said, amused. She barely knew Connie but already the girl seemed nicer and more genuine than Cheryl, Denise, and Eliza. She recounted a few of her funnier stories and as a result had Bucky and Connie in stitches as they all walked around, largely ignoring the contraptions because they were so invested in Alison's stories. After a while, Connie grabbed Bucky's hand and ran a few paces ahead with him and Steve and Alison hung back.
"Is Connie really that interested in…" Steve squinted to see what Connie was pulling Bucky towards. "'Hovering Baseballs for Easier Baseball Practice'? I didn't think she'd really care about that…"
Alison's mouth fell open and she looked at Steve incredulously for a moment before going off in a peal of laughter. "Steve, you idiot! She doesn't care about the baseball! She used it as an excuse to get Bucky alone!"
"Oh," Steve said, looking sheepish. "I guess I don't get women."
"I don't know how you came about that stunning conclusion," Alison said innocently but Steve nudged her lightly with his elbow anyway.
They walked in silence for a few moments, looking around at some showpieces and taking in the crisp evening air and sounds of merriment around them, and then Steve began, "About what you said about not having any talents—"
"I know, I could be a dictator." Alison rolled her eyes.
"No, listen," he said. "I'm being serious this time. You're really good at telling stories. I thought it the first time at the park when you were telling me about your mother, and I thought it again when you told me what happened at the club—and I thought it again when you told me all those stories about Jimmy and you. You really know how to tell a swell story. You could be a writer, you know, or a journalist or something."
"A writer?" Alison asked doubtfully. "I don't know…" She'd never considered such a thing. In fact, no one had ever before told her that she was a good story-teller. She wondered for a moment if Steve was mad. "I don't like writing," she finally admitted. "My hand aches."
"Every artist has to suffer a little bit for their craft," Steve said seriously. "I like drawing and my hand aches after a while, too, but I keep at it because I like it and I'm good at it—or decent, anyway."
"They don't even let girls become journalists, really," Alison protested.
Steve raised an eyebrow at her. "Would you really let that stop you? Alison 'I'll Finish You' Lynden? You're just looking for excuses, you know. But here, let me ask you something: do you like telling stories?"
Alison thought for a moment and realized that yes…she really did like telling stories. She'd never thought of the words story-teller or writer in regards to herself before—she'd always just assumed she was self-centered and enjoyed talking—but when she thought about it, she really did enjoy telling (and hearing) a good, well-spoken story. "Yes, I do," she said.
"Then you should consider it," he said. "If not a journalist—which I think you could be, if you really wanted—then at least a writer. You can't tell me women can't do that. And your stories are pretty great. I think they deserve to be told."
Alison blushed. "Wow, that might…be the nicest compliment I've ever received."
"And considering how many compliments you receive, that's a compliment to me too," Steve said, grinning. Alison felt something fluttery in her stomach again as Steve smiled at her and she looked down at her nails, trying to ignore the feeling. Steve fell silent for a moment, clearly a little confused, but then Bucky and Connie motioned to them in the distance and they caught up with them again.
They watched a small fifteen-minute show by a man named Howard Stark who'd invented a hovering car (it didn't actually work) and then afterwards decided they'd perhaps go dancing. They walked through a small, partially open-air building that was filled with stalls trying to recruit people for various things and Alison noticed a few army recruitment posters on the walls as they walked past. She shivered. She still didn't get it—men and their need to fight, kill, bleed. She'd never been to war but from Jimmy's private letters to her months ago, she got the sense that war was not the gloried thing young men thought it to be but dirty, disgusting, dark. She wished they could see that. She wished she could show them…but of course, she'd never been to war so she wasn't in any place to do so.
They got about twenty feet out of the building, when Bucky suddenly said, "Where's Steve gone?"
They stopped and turned around to see Steve still loitering back in the building's large hall, staring at… One of the army recruitment posters, Alison thought, her heart sinking. Blast. "I'll go get him," Bucky said. "You ladies stay right here." He winked at them and then sauntered off to Steve. Connie giggled and said, "He's so dashing, isn't he? A sergeant! I never imagined."
"Yes, he's very…" Alison looked at Steve. "Dashing."
They watched as Steve and Bucky had an apparently-heated discussion for a few moments (Alison couldn't hear it but she could guess ten to one that it was about Steve wanting to enlist) and then Bucky slowly walked back towards them sans Steve. "He's not really feeling up to dancing right now," Bucky said. "But how about I take you ladies myself?"
"Oh—um—thanks," said Alison, "but I think I'll stay here as well…" Her voice trailed off under Bucky's twinkling, somewhat knowing gaze and her face suddenly felt hot.
"Keep Steve company?" Bucky asked.
"No," she said indignantly. "I just—hate dancing." This was complete nonsense, of course. Alison loved dancing and she was good at it.
"Right," he said smoothly. "I've heard that about you. Well, suit yourself. Join us if you feel up to it later." He grabbed Connie around the waist and they both walked off after waving goodbye to Alison. Alison watched them go and made sure they were both gone before she hurried back into the covered hall, where—
Where did he go? She spun around, looking every which way, but Steve was nowhere to be seen. That's strange, she thought, puzzled. Wasn't he here just a moment ago? Not having any clue what to do now, she leaned against the wall and folded her arms, hoping Steve would show up. She fielded off a few wolf-whistles and offers to go "have a nice time, dollface," from some boys who were either drunk, too young for her, or both. Eventually Steve showed up, stepping out from a door at the end of the hall. He put his hands in his pockets and began slowly, almost dazedly, walking down the hall. He might have slammed into a wall had Alison not called, "Steve!" and gotten his attention.
He made his way over to her. "Alison—you're still here? But Bucky said…"
"I didn't want to go without you," she told him honestly. Steve looked gratified. "Where did you go?" she asked. Steve suddenly got a shifty look on his face, his eyes sliding past Alison's face to the wall behind her. Alison scowled. "Steve, I'm not an idiot. You can't put me off that easily. Why, were you doing something bad?"
"No!" Steve said immediately. "Just—I'm not supposed to tell anyone about it."
"Well, it must be important because you chose to do it instead of spending Bucky's last night at home with him and Connie," Alison said patiently. "So go on, spit it out. You know you can trust me."
There was an awkward, awful moment then, when Steve looked at Alison and she looked at him and it was as if he were wondering something and Alison thought, Oh my god—maybe he doesn't trust me, and her cheeks flooded with color. But then Steve sighed and said, "Okay, you're right," and Alison felt her shoulders sag with relief. Thank God he'd said so; the alternative situation was too humiliating to think about…
Steve suggested he walk her home and tell her about it because he didn't want anyone overhearing. This sparked a few fears in Alison's mind for a moment that perhaps he was a spy for the enemies—otherwise why else the need for so much secrecy?—but then she remembered she was thinking about Steve Rogers of all people: the least likely person on Earth to betray his country. She agreed and they left the exposition. Steve, looking around to make sure the streets were quiet (which they were), began to explain.
He and Bucky had argued about Steve wanting to join the army (I knew it, Alison groaned mentally) and Steve had said something that had apparently caught the attention of a man named Abraham Erskine. He was a doctor, a scientist of sorts, who worked with the U.S. army as a part of a program called the Scientific Strategic Reserve. Steve wasn't quite sure was this was, but Dr. Erskine had been impressed by something in Steve (Steve himself looked a bit bewildered as he told this part of the story, as if he couldn't comprehend someone being impressed by him) and had offered Steve a chance to be a part of a secret experiment which would allow him to enlist and fight in the war.
Steve stopped abruptly here and looked at Alison expectantly. Her mouth fell open and she was at a loss for words for a moment. "You mean to tell me that you don't know what this program is—or what this secret experiment entails—or how any of it will help you enter the army, or what it'll do to you—but you still agreed?" she screeched.
"Shhh!" Steve hushed her frantically, looking around nervously. "Not so loud!"
"Steve, this is crazy!" she hissed. "You can't do this!"
"Of course I can," he said obstinately, a mulish expression on his face.
Alison groaned. "You are—you are such a boy. This is ridiculous. What if it's illegal? What if it hurts you?"
"It's not illegal, it's a legitimate program sanctioned by the U.S. Army," Steve argued, "and I can't see how it would hurt me. I'm already as—as weak as I could ever be. If it helps me enlist, how could it hurt me? The only way I could get hurt further was if I got paralyzed or something and I hardly think the experiment will do that."
"But what if the experiment turns you into some kind of—mindless killing robot machine?" Alison demanded. Steve stared at her. She blushed. "What? I've read some comic books. You never know what could happen."
Steve rolled his eyes. "It's not going to turn me into a robot killing machine. If that was the experiment, I think they'd pick someone bigger and stronger to use."
"What if I tell Bucky about this?" Alison threatened. "He'd put a stop to this."
"He can't," Steve said, smiling grimly. "He leaves tomorrow and I'm going to meet Dr. Erskine on Tuesday for the experiment."
They had reached Alison's house now. Alison stood there, rubbing her arms against the chill and didn't know what to say or how to meet Steve's eyes. She felt like this plan was absolute madness but… "Promise me you'll let me come with you when you go to this experiment," she said. "Just in case you do get turned into a robot killing machine. Then at least someone will know what happened to Steve Rogers." She said it in a joking tone but she meant it: what if something bad happened to him? Would anyone ever find out?
Would anyone even care? Did Steve have any other friends or family at all? There was still so much Alison didn't know about him, so much she wanted to know.
Steve gave a crooked smile that said he was thinking along the same lines and said, "Not sure anyone would be raising alarms for me—but sure, you can come with me. You'll have to wait outside, though."
Alison told him that would be fine. They both said goodbye and looked awkwardly at each other for a moment, as if unsure on how to end the night—a handshake? A hug?—and Alison ended their misery by rushing into her house and leaving Steve standing on the sidewalk.
Her parents had already gone to bed. Alison quickly changed into her nightdress and then paced her room, her mind spinning with thoughts. Everything that had happened tonight—everything she had felt—what Steve had just told her—it all bounced around in her head with dizzying force. She felt lost and confused. Jimmy wasn't here to talk to and Steve wasn't here right now either. She needed to let this out…
"You really know how to tell a swell story. You could be a writer, you know, or a journalist or something… And your stories are pretty great. I think they deserve to be told." Steve's words from earlier popped into Alison's head and she froze, thinking about them. She'd never put her words or thoughts to paper before but…there was a first time for everything, right? She dug through her drawers and found a blank composition book. Sitting at her desk, she flipped open to the first fresh page. It looked like an inviting new canvas, a new beginning. Biting her lip, she put her pen to the paper and began pouring her heart out.