Chapter 11
Michelle panted lightly and scanned her eyes over the football field. She was certain she'd seen Alfred run out this way, but she'd lost track of him. The bleachers gave a telling creak and she turned her head up, shielding her eyes from the sun, to see the fellow model hunched over in the bleachers with his face buried in his arms.
She gracefully mounted the bleacher steps until she was close, and then sat down after smoothing her too-short skirt.
"Thanks for standing up for me," she said quietly.
Alfred didn't say anything, but she could still hear him crying softly.
Michelle let out a soft sigh and stared out over the football field.
"Your friend is right, you know. I am a slut, by most people's definition."
"You're not," Alfred replied in a small voice. Michelle had to smile. Even in his darkest hour, Alfred Jones wasn't the sort of boy who would let a cry for help go ignored.
"Yes I am, but thanks. You shouldn't lose your friend over me, Alfred. Why don't you go back and talk to him?"
"I'm never talking to him again," Alfred mumbled childishly through his tears. Michelle's smile faded and she leaned over, gently nudging the tall athlete with her shoulder, trying to coax him into uncurling.
"He's your best friend, right?" she asked.
"Arthur's my best friend," Alfred replied instantly. Michelle sighed.
"No, Arthur's your boyfriend, and there's a difference. Of course you're friends with Arthur, and he knows you like probably nobody else does, but Matthew and that creepy Russian kid—they're your best friends. You can't neglect them just because you have Arthur or because you become famous."
"It wasn't like that—you weren't there," Alfred said defensively, finally lifting his face. His cheeks were tear-stained, and his lovely blue eyes were watery and shining with hurt. That was when Michelle realized that despite being loud and confident, Alfred Jones was an incredibly sensitive boy.
"I'm jealous of you, Jones. I think a lot of people at this school are. You've got a perfect relationship, good friends who'd do anything for you, popularity, wealth, fame—it makes people like me want to mess that up," Michelle said honestly.
"But why? I haven't done anything to anybody. Besides, I just stood up for you—I told Mattie you weren't a bad person," Alfred replied, clearly confused. Michelle huffed in amusement.
"So what? Because you said it makes it true? Look, I'm telling you not to choose me over your best friend. I'm kind of a shitty person. You think I don't know that? School, my parents, my career—it's all just so messed up that I want to break things. I don't care about anything except being a model. It's my ticket out of my crappy home life and this stupid school. I would love nothing more than to fuck you and break your heart, Jones. That's just the kind of girl I am. So don't try to be a hero for me. Some people aren't worth saving."
"You're wrong," Alfred replied. "I don't know what's happened to you, or why you transferred here, or why you hurt Matthew, but I do know that there's hope for everybody. I have to believe that or else...or else..." Alfred trailed off, sounding very small and lost.
"Or else what?" Michelle asked, standing up on long, tan legs.
"Or else I might never be good enough—not for my parents, or for Arthur, or even for myself. I have to believe there's hope for me, and there's hope for you, too."
"I can't decide if you're incredibly sweet or pathetic or just naive," Michelle mused. "and maybe that's why I'm so interested in you, but your friend is right. Nothing good will come out of me pursuing you. I think we could be amazing together—as models, and nothing else. I don't know why, but something about you makes me not want to see you broken. I guess, even if I'm crazy jealous, when someone is a good person you want them to have good things in life. So go apologize. Tell him the truth—the fame got to you and you forgot who was really important. You felt sorry for me so you've been nice to me, but you would never betray him or Arthur."
Michelle started to leave, but Alfred reached out and caught her hand.
"Did you really just want to get close to me and screw me over?" he asked, as if the mere notion of such a betrayal was too much for him to handle.
"I did, and I would have, until I saw you crying up here. I feel like that, too, you know. Not good enough? I've felt that way for a long time now. And listen, if you ever want some help with that, you know where to find me. Nobody needs to know if we hang out sometimes. You can tell Matthew you called me out as a total slut or whatever. Say whatever you have to say—I won't hold it against you. Everybody's saying it anyway, so what does one more person matter?"
Michelle gave him a hauntingly beautiful, bittersweet smile before she descended down the bleachers, just as Arthur arrived, looking like he'd ran hard to find him.
"Relax. We just talked. Your boyfriend's virtue is still safe," Michelle assured casually as she passed by Arthur. The British royal glared at her in annoyance and then decided she wasn't worth the attention. Alfred likely needed him.
He took the stairs quickly, and he was almost to the spot where Alfred sat, when his boyfriend stood slowly and shoved his hands in his pockets. Arthur stopped climbing the stairs and looked up at him. The sun was setting behind him and he looked beautiful, even though he'd been crying.
"Alfred?" Arthur asked uncertainly. His boyfriend, usually pretty expressive and talkative when he was upset, just cast his eyes downwards and carefully began to descend the bleachers.
"Let's go, okay? I don't want to talk about it anymore," Alfred said quietly. Arthur felt the frustration well up inside him. He knew something was going on with Alfred, and it was bigger than just the fight with Matthew or a secretive conversation he'd had with Michelle in the bleachers. Even though he knew it was happening, though, Arthur couldn't stop Alfred from going inside himself. It was unsettling, and perhaps irrational, and maybe even totally unfounded...but it felt like Alfred was slowly, inch by inch, day by day, slipping away from him a little bit at a time.
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Matthew was still in a furious temper as he packed his bag after the meeting, on his way to the hockey try-outs he'd promised to attend. Alex accompanied him, but didn't say much. He just let Matthew vent.
"Then he had the nerve to cry, as if he was the one who'd been hurt! I can't believe he's actually working with her! She's a slut, and everyone knows it. She's still talking to Francis, too. She posts stupid crap on his page all the time. He's lost his father, for god's sake, and all she cares about is getting at his money. She's a fame-hungry, gold-digging, boyfriend-stealing...mean person!" Matthew ranted.
They opened the doors to the hockey center, and Matthew was still ranting as Alex nodded and "a-huh'd" even as he signed Matthew up for the auditions and gently guided him back to the changing room. This was not their first visit to the rink. They'd come numerous times before school the past week, when the rink was still empty, and Matthew had practiced. He'd ice-skated before, of course, and was actually quite good at it. He was graceful on the ice, but never forceful. He had excellent puck control, but even Alex, who Matthew knew would never hurt him, could intimidate him off his attack.
"He didn't even apologize for any of it, you know? He just acts all happy and friendly the next day, like none of it ever happened. He's freaking bipolar or something, I swear!"
"Take it to the ice, socio," Alex advised with a small smile, before gently pushing Matthew into the changing room. Feeling nervous on his friend's behalf, Alex moved up to the stands to watch with other parents and friends of the players trying out. Matthew was as tall as the other guys, but he was slender and tentative in everything he did. He second-guessed himself constantly, and freaked out over the tiniest bruises and scrapes.
If it was anyone else, Alex would have just said he wasn't cut out to be an athlete, and left it at that. But Matthew needed this. It wasn't an issue about being girly or manly, though Matthew definitely had a longing to toughen up that was easily apparent, but rather it was an issue of confidence.
If Matthew didn't learn to assert himself and stand up for something, then people would push him around his whole life. The guys he dated would never truly respect him, and Matthew would never respect himself. Matthew hadn't questioned it, but there was a reason why he cared as deeply and sincerely as he did for Matthew. Of course, he knew what a big deal it must have been for Matthew to call him up, a total stranger, just to try and make him feel more welcome at a new school. Then there was the fact that Matthew was the completely opposite of snobby and upper-class. He was so sincerely oblivious to all his wonderful qualities that it made Alex want to force Matthew to see himself as Alex saw him.
But mostly, it was because Matthew reminded Alex so strongly of Miguel sometimes that it literally made his chest hurt and his eyes water. Matthew didn't know about Miguel, and Alex didn't know if he'd ever talk about it. Hell, he wasn't sure he ever could talk about it.
The players began to skate onto the ice. They looked much bigger and bulkier in all their padding, and so Matthew didn't look so horribly out of place among them as he might have without the pads. Alex was no hockey expert, but he could tell Matthew was a strong skater. The other guys seemed to clomp over the ice while Matthew floated.
Today, though, his skating looked a little different. Today, when another player rudely pushed past him, Matthew effortlessly increased his stride and shoved the other boy back just as hard. Clearly, Matthew wasn't in the mood to take crap from anyone today.
Alex's smile nearly stretched ear to ear.
The guys formed a loose semi-circle around the coach, who began to organize the try-outs. Matthew was shifting and fidgeting with his hockey stick, still visibly worked up from his fight with Alfred. Soon, the guys were moving into positions and Alex was a little surprised to see the coach had placed Matthew as the center.
Alex said a little prayer, his fingers running over the worn rosary beads in his pocket, and he waited for the try-outs to start.
The coach dropped the puck on the ice and the hopefuls launched on it, all sounds of scraping ice and the crisp thwack of the sticks. Matthew surged forward, scooping up the puck with agility and startling grace, nimbly spinning to avoid a collision and then boldly muscling into the next player that challenged him. He sent that one careening off course, rocketed down the rink, and took his shot. The goalie was good—eagle-eyed and determined—and the shot was blocked but only just barely.
The frustration of missing the shot seemed only to fuel Matthew into an even more aggravated state. The boy he'd knocked off course ignored the warnings of the coach and got up in Matthew's face. The protective instincts in Alex surged and he wanted to stomp onto the ice and shove the guy's hockey stick up his ass, but he remained firmly sitting.
This was Matthew's fight, and Alex couldn't fight it for him.
The bigger guy shoved Matthew—was shouting something at him—but Matthew was holding his ground. He shouted something back, and then the bigger boy shoved him harshly to the ice. The coach came skating over, and Alex forgot his resolution and jumped off his seat shouting angrily (though he couldn't be heard down on the ice). Alex didn't need to worry though. Matthew was down but not out. The slender teen lunged forward clumsily on the ice and shoved the bigger boy hard, low so as to knock him off his center of gravity. The boy tumbled like a mountain troll and another teammate swooped in to offer Matthew a hand up. The two players conferred angrily about the other boy, and the coach sent the one who had started the fight off the ice with a bark of annoyance.
A new play started up. Matthew was in the left-wing position now, and it didn't go as well for him as center had. He was quickly muscled into a corner after the face-off and rather effectively held there despite some rather creative attempts on Matthew's part to break out. After the mock plays, the guys ran through some speed drills (Matthew clearly out-shined everyone else), and some power drills (he was not the best, but not the worst, either). Matthew's frustration and anger served him well. He moved more aggressively, he asserted himself more, and by the end of the try-outs, Alex was convinced his friend would have a spot on the team.
"We'll post the results tomorrow here at the rink. Thank you boys for coming out. I saw a lot of potential out here tonight," the coach said. Alex beamed when he noticed the coach flash Matthew a smile and a wink as he said this.
He was on the team for sure. Alex hopped out of his seat once more, letting out a whoop of approval. Matthew clearly heard him, because he peered up into the bleachers and waved his hockey stick proudly, smiling widely. Alex was alarmed to see some red against his teeth, and realized at some point Matthew must have busted his lip. If it had happened in practice, Matthew would have fallen to pieces over the blood and panicked about losing a tooth, but now he just smiled a big, bloody smile and looked utterly pleased with himself.
"Enjoy the moment, socio. You earned it," Alex said softly. When Matthew emerged ten minutes later out of the changing room, he was talking excitedly to the other boys who had tried out. They were all boys from the local public school, as World Academy had a small student population and Alex didn't recognize any of them. They seemed much more down to earth, less arrogant and stuck-up. They were treating Matthew well, too, pounding his back with friendly pats and exchanging numbers and good-natured smack talk.
"Oh, hey guys, this is my best friend, Alex!" Matthew said brightly, introducing him once he and a few of the other boys drew close enough. Alex gave Matthew a proud high-five.
"You killed it, socio! You'll get a spot on the team for sure!"
"I really did okay?" Matthew asked, now sounding a little shy. He'd left all his aggression on the ice—now he was happy and smiling and gentle again. Only the busted lip suggested he was capable of getting into an ice rink and dishing out some punishment.
"Better than okay, Matt. You did pretty good, too—the goalie, right?" Alex asked. The goalie nodded and offered a grin that was missing more than a few teeth. He had wild, curly brown hair, ice blue eyes, and freckles all over his tan cheeks. He quietly introduced himself as Malik. Like Matthew, he seemed more chill and mellow, despite his large frame.
Alex was relieved the guys on the team weren't all total meat-heads, and he spent a quick moment sending up another prayer that Malik would make the team, too. Alex could already tell that Mattie and Malik would get along well both on the ice and off.
"I say we celebrate a little early. Let's go get ice cream," Alex suggested.
"Do you want to come, too, Malik?" Matthew asked, sounding a little nervous and shy but also just a little more confident than usual. Malik pointed his hockey stick towards a brunette haired woman who was chatting with another mother.
"If my mom doesn't mind. She'll probably give us all a ride. Let me go ask," he said. Alex stared after him a little confusedly. Matthew was quick to cue him in.
"He's only fourteen. He's huge, eh? He moved here from Greenland," Matthew commented.
"He seems cool. You guys played well together," Alex praised. Matthew beamed at him.
Then, uncaring that the other players were still filing out, Matthew launched himself forward and gave Alex a huge hug.
"Thanks for this," he said as he pulled back. Laughing, Alex ruffled Matthew's slightly sweaty, dirty blond hair.
"I didn't do anything, socio. That was all you out there. You should really be proud of yourself, Matt."
"I actually am," Matthew said quietly, as if in wonder by the fact. Alex grinned teasingly.
"Man, look at you—knocking guys out and getting a busted lip—"
"W-what? My lip is busted?" Matthew immediately shoved his bag and his hockey stick into Alex's arms, so that he could tenderly press at his mouth, searching for the damage.
"Is it bad? I still have all my teeth, right? I taste the blood now! Alex, am I disfigured?"
Laughing, Alex started heading over to Freddy and his warmly smiling mom.
"It looks tough, Matt. Don't freak out over it like a girl after you just kicked so much ass!" Alex teased lightly. Matthew scowled, but then smiled a bit as the humor of the situation occurred to him.
"I guess you're right. Besides, Francis isn't around to freak out over it, so I don't guess I have to, either. As long as I don't start looking like Malik," Matthew joked.
His fight with Alfred all but forgotten, Matthew headed out of the rink flushed with his victory to have ice cream with Alex and his new friend.
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Alfred approached Alex and Matthew's table at lunch looking repentant the next day. Alfred typically bounced from the "jock" table at lunch to the table where Matthew typically sat with Arthur, Ivan, Wang and Francis. Of course, now Francis was gone and Ivan and Wang usually returned home to eat since they had ample time during their lunch break. Arthur had taken to studying during lunch in the library, since he felt like he was horribly behind, so that left Matthew to sit alone with Alex.
Alfred had sat with them once without Arthur there, but the next day he'd sat the entire time with his football buddies and hadn't even come over to say hello. Now he looked like a dog with his tail between his legs.
"Hey Mattie...can we talk?" Alfred asked in a abnormally subdued voice. Matthew shared a glance with Alex, who was clearly determined to stay out of it. With a sigh, Matthew balled up his chip bag and tossed the trash onto his tray.
"Okay. Talk," he said. Clearly Alfred hadn't expected him to still be annoyed. His blue eyes raced worriedly (with no small amount of resentment) towards Alex, and then back to the ground.
"I'm sorry. For everything," Alfred said.
"I guess that's a good start, but I want to know why you're sorry," Matthew said. He felt strong after his try-outs, and that quiet strength carried through in his voice. Clearly, it startled Alfred. He looked up at Matthew almost as if he were a stranger, and Alfred didn't recognize him.
"W-well, uh, I guess I'm sorry because I was a jerk. And I...err...let the fame get to me this summer. I would never choose Michelle over you, and I wouldn't betray Arthur. I don't want to be fighting with you. You mean...well...you mean a lot to me, Mattie! You know that. You're my best friend. I know I might not be yours anymore, but you're still mine," Alfred said sincerely, his blue eyes shining with unshed tears.
Matthew felt his resistance crumbling. He stood up and gently extended his hand. Alfred gripped it—too hard—and eagerly.
"I forgive you," Matthew pulled Alfred closer by the hand that was still enthusiastically gripping his own, "but I won't forgive you again. Don't treat me like that ever again, okay?"
"I won't. I'm sorry," Alfred said, looking miserable again. Not feeling overly sympathetic, Matthew returned to his seat.
"Don't be sorry, just don't be that kind of person. It's not cool," Matthew said. Alfred nodded and gripped his book bag anxiously.
"So...we're okay?" he asked hopefully.
"No. I've forgiven you. That doesn't change the fact that we've hardly hung out since school started and that you really hurt my feelings. Try being a better friend for awhile and then maybe we'll be okay," Matthew said, staring determinedly at his sandwich so that he didn't see Alfred crying again.
Alfred had to learn to take responsibility for his behavior. Matthew, unlike the rest of the world, wasn't going to fall over himself and grovel to be in Alfred's good graces.
"I'll try harder. I'm sorry," Alfred said again, though he seemed to catch his mistake and winced. Matthew just shot him an annoyed look and Alfred bit his lip.
"I'll let you guys eat your lunch then. Err...maybe we could hang out this afternoon?" Alfred suggested weakly. Matthew, however, was already shaking his head.
"I've got something to do tonight. Maybe later this week."
"A-alright. Bye, Matthew," Alfred said. It was the first time he hadn't shortened Matthew's name to the more affectionate "Mattie" in months, and Matthew was surprised how sharply it stung. He began to feel bad. He'd been too harsh with Alfred, and he was holding onto a grudge too long. He should just tell the other boy that all was forgiven. Why was he suddenly being cruel and vindictive?
"Stop beating yourself up, Matt. I know it's hard, but it'll do him some good. If you forgive him like it never happened, he'll be less likely to remember this the next time he starts to do something stupid," Alex grunted.
Deciding Alex was probably right, Matthew continued to quietly eat his lunch, his thoughts wrapped up in what exactly he expected from Alfred before he'd truly be able to let the hurt feelings go.
Alfred headed out of the cafeteria, ignoring the calls from his football buddies, but tossing them a bright, fake smile to set them at ease. He walked the halls a bit aimlessly, feeling the large lunch he'd eaten sit in his stomach like a brick. Maybe it was from getting the cold-shoulder from Mattie, but whatever it was, Alfred felt like he was going to be sick.
"Come in here—quick!" a voice suddenly said. He was tugged off course and into the girl's bathroom, of all places. He was a little surprised to see Michelle, puffing on a cigarette and half in the process of re-applying her eyeliner.
"Michelle...why are we in the girl's bathroom? I'm a guy, in case you hadn't noticed," Alfred said half-heartedly. He didn't really much care about where he was at the moment.
"You don't look so good. You know we leave for our shoot in just two weeks. What did you eat for lunch?" Michelle asked, poking his protruding stomach accusingly. Feeling insecure, Alfred protectively wrapped his arm around his stomach.
"What I usually eat. I've been trying to cut back some..." Alfred trailed off. Michelle studied him for a moment and then went to her purse, where she retrieved a plastic bag filled with unmarked pills. She took out two.
"Here, these will help. They're dieting pills," she said. Alfred, remembering the drug scandal in his freshman year, eyed them warily.
"They're safe and legal, right?" he asked.
"Yeah, totally. All the models take them. You want to look good in the commercial, right? I mean, you're going to be in nothing but a towel," she reminded. The reminder was all it took. Alfred moved to the sink and cupped some water in his hands to swig down with the pills.
"You might get diarrhea. That means the pills are working," Michelle said casually as she expertly lined her lower lid.
"I tried to talk to Matthew," Alfred said glumly.
"Good. How'd it go?" Michelle asked. Alfred felt the tears threaten again.
"He said...I'd have to try harder. I apologized but I guess it wasn't enough," Alfred practically whimpered.
"It never is, not really," Michelle replied harshly, though she seemed sympathetic. "Once you hurt someone, they don't ever forget. You can try to make it better, but those scars are still there. That's how my mom is. I swear, she remembers every fucking thing I've ever said to her. It's all okay until she's pissed, and then all the accusations come out—just like Matthew did at the club meeting."
"It really sucks," Alfred complained.
"Yeah, but I guess that's life." After a moment of studying Alfred's utterly devastated expression she added, "But if he's really a good friend, he'll get over it. Just be really nice to him for awhile."
"I'll try, but I mean, I have a lot on my plate, you know? I've got practice every day 'cause of the Homecoming game, and I'm in the court so I'm doing all the stuff for that, and I'm behind on school work because of the funeral. I want to fix things, but I can't just drop everything and follow after Mattie wasting time. If I screw up in this game, I'm gonna be crap all year...again. Just one year I want to actually be good. I train so hard and I worked my ass off this summer..."
"Clearly not enough of it. Why do you think you're gaining weight?" Michelle asked. Alfred was startled by the question. Arthur had assured him that he wasn't, but for weeks now Alfred had felt bloated and pudgy.
"Y-you noticed it?" he asked.
"Why do you think I gave you those pills? You should probably take some more for later. If you can't get your diet under control, you're going to need them," Michelle said, finally finishing off her eye makeup. She surveyed her work, and seemed pleased that she'd achieved the perfect smokey eye. She turned to face Alfred, studying him critically.
"You're skin is breaking out, too. Have you had acne problems before?" she asked. Alfred blushed in embarrassment.
"I did really bad last year. I thought it cleared up in the summer."
"Looks like it's coming back. I can give you some stuff for that, too. That stuff isn't legal, though. At least, you can't buy it at the drug store. It'll flush your pores, though, and you definitely won't get acne."
"I don't know..." Alfred was now studying some suspicious red spots near his hairline nervously in the mirror.
"I'd just use it leading up to the shoot if it were me. The acne isn't a problem unless you're going to be working," Michelle reasoned. She handed him a tube, also not labeled. "Use a squirt about the size of a dime."
"Okay," Alfred said, putting the tube into his backpack as well as the bag of diet pills.
"I'm gonna go. I'm getting lunch with my agent. You good now?" she asked. Alfred nodded.
"Yeah, thanks," he said. Michelle nodded, smiled and then headed towards the door.
"Just remember—you're going to get sick in about thirty minutes or so. It'll hurt, but it's normal. Tough it out if you don't want to look like a fatass on national television."
"Right," Alfred said, biting his lip again. He glanced at his reflection once more. He'd changed so much and so quickly over the past year that he sometimes didn't even recognize himself. Who was the model staring back at him? What sort of guy was he? Was the old Alfred still there somewhere, underneath the surface, or was that Alfred gone for good?
He suddenly had a flashback to racing around the house in his underwear, with a table cloth tied to his shoulders, chasing after his poor cat. He lived for the newest release of his favorite comic book, and he spent hours organizing the best possible deck of cards to play against a fictional opponent, since he'd never had any friends back then.
Was that boy still inside him somewhere, with his cherished beliefs about superheroes and his determination to be someone? Alfred didn't really know anymore.
Feeling lonely, Alfred decided to go find Arthur in the library. Even if he hadn't really told Arthur what was bugging him (he didn't even know how to explain it to himself) Arthur knew something was up. He would kiss his forehead and squeeze his hand and tell him he was perfect and loved. Arthur made him feel amazing, but that feeling didn't come from inside. When Arthur was gone, he felt like a football field once the game was over—big and empty and trashed.
A/N: I think some of you expected the Michelle plot line to go in a different direction, but now you can kinda see where I'm aiming it. I also introduced new OCs this chapter. In my mind, Miguel is Guatemala, a nation that has ties to Cuba (Alex). He's going to have more of a role in future chapters. We also met Malik, who is Greenland, part Inuit Indian, and immigrated to the States. Miguel will have a bigger role than Malik, but random info is fun so there ya go. I promised Kiku would have another cameo this chapter, but it didn't really fit in tone-wise. I'll prolly put it in next chapter.