Disclaimer: I think it's obvious, none of this shit is mine, other than Alice and Alice-related things, like her strange thought patterns/narrative BS and whatnot.

Chapter Two

Several days pass before the level of normalcy in my life drops once again, and it drops drastically.

It's eight in the morning and I know there is no way I'm going to make it to school in time for first period. However, if I am to keep my full ride to NYU, I can't drop below a 3.7GPA, so I have to at least try and make it to school.

Miraculously, I'm able to get ready in five minutes, and this motivates me to believe that I can make it to school by quarter to nine, if I'm really, really fast.

But as fate would have it, as I'm rushing out of my apartment building, I run into a man built like a brick wall, I end up on the pavement, books and papers flying everywhere, and with a bruise forming on the bridge of my nose. It's a mess, to say the least (seems I've been good at making those lately) and I'm in utter shock as I sit here. Doesn't this sort of thing only happen in movies for dramatic effect?

"Sorry! I didn't see you there. Here," says the man, kneeling down to help me gather my things. A few pages of an assignment I'm sure was summative were lost due to some asshat cyclist passing us, but I'm too just done with the world to care. I pick up and examine the glasses that flew off my face after impact. After cleaning them on my sleeve, I put them back on—oh, wow. Not that my eyesight is that terrible, but after recovering from the impact and actually taking time to process what's happening, I see that the man kneeling in front of me is none other than Chris Evans. Huh. This situation suddenly got a lot less terrible.

Or has it? Okay, no, that wasn't…no. That phrase doesn't apply.

Or does it? Okay, sorry I'm done.

"Don't worry about it, really, it's my fault," I say. "This time."

"This time?" he asks.

"Hm. I said that out loud. Yeah, not that it's that big of a deal, but last week you ran into me and I kind of sort of spilled steaming hot tea all over myself," I reply.

"Oh. Sorry about that, I was…I was in a rush, I suppose."

"Tell that to my first degree burns. I'd show you, you know, just for proof, but I'm really not one to flash strangers. But yeah, no, it's nothing. I wouldn't expect you to break character because I was in the way. Although, it would be a good idea to maybe warn the public that you guys were using the square that day."

"…Break character?"

Hm. Maybe this guy isn't who I thought. Christ, how embarrassing is that? Everyone has a look-a-like, and don't actors have theirs rounded up? So if Chris Evans is filming in the city, they must have all his stunt doubles here, too. Damn, this is really embarrassing. Although, in my defence, the resemblance between whoever the hell this is and Chris Evans is uncanny, so if a mistake was made, it wasn't totally unwarranted. Still, in couldn't hurt to confirm. "You're Chris Evans, aren't you?"

"Er, no. Steve Rogers."

"Oh. My mistake—wait." Steve Rogers? Is this guy for real? "Ha ha, very funny. I know Captain America isn't real."

"Excuse me?"

He looks at me strangely as he helps me up. I take a step back, scanning his appearance. I guess he's dressed similarly to how Steve Rogers might dress as a man from the 1940s trying to adjust to modern times, but this has to be a prank.

"You must really like your role as Steve Rogers," I say. "Unless you're a method actor or this is a prank and I'm being filmed right now, so if that's the case—THIS IS NO LONGER USEFUL MATERIAL, YOU CAN ALL PACK UP AND FIND ANOTHER VICTIM."

Chris/Steve/Stunt double looks about wildly for whoever or whatever I'm yelling at. Or the cameras that I think I'm yelling at. I probably should've waited for an answer before yelling at the sky like I'm insane.

"I'm not sure what you mean by role," he says.

"Steve Rogers," I repeat. He's solemn. "Captain America? The super soldier, the first Avenger, whatever you want to call him—Seriously, you're known for this role."

He gives me another strange look that I can't read, and I take this as a signal to continue trying to jog his memory.

"He fought in World War II, defeated the Red Skull, saved the world from getting nuked by HYDRA—well, I guess not 'nuked' since those weapons were powered by the Tesseract—what? Why are you looking at me like that?"

He, whoever he thought he was, has been growing more and more suspicious towards me as I spoke. I don't see what was wrong with what I said, it really shouldn't be news to him that someone is a fan of his work, or knows the story to a movie as big as Captain America.

"How do you know all of that?" Chris asks, very slowly, still looking as if he'd be ready to fight me if I gave him a reason.

"I watched the movie," I say quietly, suddenly terrified.

"What movie?"

His tone is extremely frightening. This guy is not screwing around, and now, there is only one thing on my mind: Chris Evans is insane.

"Well, this was interesting. Leaving now."

"Wait—"

I turn on my heel and sprint down the sidewalk in the direction of the nearest and most crowded subway station. I am not interested in any of that, no matter how attractive he is. I don't mess with crazy. What the hell was that all about, anyway? Jesus Christ, has the entire world gone crazy?

oOo