The Girl Who Sells Misfortune (Alex)

Yamete, yamete. 

I moved to the music. Run over there, spin, and get up on your toes. Madame Garcia is just getting me started on pointe. I won't do any pointe solos yet, but this particular routine involves a lot of something close. It looks beautiful, but it's the hardest thing I've done.
         "Get a little more altitude on the jump. Let's run through that again." I went back to my spot and practiced the jump again. I made sure to change my angle so that I would truly fly. "That's good. Now, relevé. Hold that position. Keep going." My feet screamed in pain; they started to waver underneath me. "A little more." I knew that my vocal teacher possessed incredible strength of mind. It is more important to be kind than to be strong, she said, while she went about her business despite being in pain that looked unbearable from the outside. A sudden pain shot up my calf and I fell. "That's enough for today. You should stay here and rest for at least an hour because of the amount of work you've done. I have food for you." Gladly, I obliged. I packed up my ballet slippers and, when I looked down at my feet, I saw that they were bleeding and blistered. Madame Garcia escorted me to another room with a refrigerator. Few dancers have this privilege, but I earned it by way of hard work.

After I did my stretches, she presented me with a plate of vegetables, crackers, cheese, and various cold cuts. I ate. Everything tasted good, but that could just be my hunger talking. I'll also have to practice my vocal showcase. Ever since Caitlin died, I never really felt like singing. However, that was going to change. I would sing remembering, not only what she directly taught me, but what she showed me by setting the example.

My phone rang. I checked it to see my new vocal teacher's phone number.
         "Just reminding you that you should be here at 5:00."
         "I might run a little late. I got some leg cramps during ballet and Madame Garcia wants me to rest." I massaged the strained area a bit more.
         "Take as much time as you need. Ballet is not an easy thing to do."
         "It isn't." I took another sip from my water bottle.
         "Hey, by the way, I know you've experienced a lot of misfortune lately, so when you practice, I want you sell it to me."
         "So...be the girl who sells misfortune?"
         "You can put it that way."

(A/N: The first video is what the everyone else hears. The second is what Alex hears.)

Life and Love

(A/N: THERE ARE PERSPECTIVE JUMPS. ****************** indicates a perspective jump.)

This katsudon is very good...or so I thought. I wasn't really tasting anything. Steve sat across from me shoving his pork cutlet around with a fork. Was he sick? I hoped he didn't catch what I had. The flavors muddled together into an indistinguishable mess, but I didn't really care to eat. I just wanted to get this over with. That's the thing about the old Landon charm. It's there at nearly every hour of the day, but, the moment I care, it vanishes as quickly as it comes.

I looked more at Steve. As usual, he looked absolutely perfect and I looked...less than that. I caught my own reflection in my glass of mineral water. Staring back at me was a man with a disfigured face. A reddish splotch spread from my cheekbone to my ear. He lost his appetite because he was repulsed by my face. I knew it by the way he kept looking up at me.

Shoving a bit of egg into my mouth, I kept chewing. I didn't want to say anything stupid or offensive like I usually do. I swallowed the nearly liquid mass and heard another pair of men talking.
          "...You're cute."
          "I know.
          "Should we help them?"
          "Yes." The dark-haired one came closer. That's Phillip. We've become good friends, even after I've almost punched him in the face. "Is everything all right? Things look pretty awkward over there." Steve looked up from his bowl, which he hardly touched. How long have we been sitting and not talking?
         "Everything's great, just great."
         "Doesn't look like it." The other spoke.
         "Want to speak to me in private?" Phillip pulled me away and led me to a quieter corner of the restaurant. "Tell me what's wrong."
         "He probably thinks I'm a blubbering idiot."
         "Okay." Somehow, he knew that wasn't the real problem. "What's that on your cheek?" He narrowed his eyes. Of course he was talking about my birthmark! I'm just the disfigured, disgusting criminal everyone thinks I am. Tears spilled out of my eyes and fell onto the floor. Phillip tried to put his arm around me, but I shoved him away.
        "Get off of me!" He looked bewildered and kind of miffed. As he walked away, I collapsed and buried my face until I could see nothing. There's no way Steve could want me now. Even if he did, it was probably just pity. Who could love someone like me?

At another table, two others sat with each other. Another waitress approached them with her usual friendly smile.
        "Aren't you guys a cute couple?"
        "Um...no..."
        "I see. What would you two like to eat?" One of them said something in Japanese. I could make out "katsudon." Guess it's a popular dish tonight. The other ordered ten zaru. Sniffling like I had allergies or a cold, I made my way back to my table.

****************** 

        "French roast with cinnamon and cream, please."
        "Would you like some foamed milk?"
        "When would I not like some foamed milk?" After ordering a bowl of macarons, I plugged my laptop into a nearby outlet. My computer connected automatically and I was good to go. I started entering grades. Band grades, especially among the flutes, tend to decline right before and after AP exams.

And guess what other change somehow correlates with AP exams? Spikes in cyberbullying. At Mineplex, cyberbullying runs rampant. One would think that cyberbullying decreases around AP exams, but no. It increases. My guess is that stress gets to the students and some take it out on others. Given the amount of fights I see, it makes sense that this would be the case with my school.

When I logged on to Twitter, the first thing I saw was some very nasty suicide bait directed at one of one of my students. Not cool, man. Not cool. I looked at the person's profile and, right away, I could tell that they were a dedicated hater blog. Sheesh, dude. What kind of deep-seated issues do you have? Since there is no reasoning with these hater blogs, I reported the person and sent this student a random uplifting meme. I've been criticized for my use of memes and "lack of professionalism", but why fix what's not broken?

I scrolled further to find another person tagging various students of mine saying "Tell your teacher to kill herself." If anything ticks me off, it's this stuff. If you're going to bait me, at least do it to me directly. Leave my students out of this. To my surprise, this person was not a troll. I decided to DM them and talk some sense into them.

Hey, it's not cool to tag my students in posts like these. 

The person cursed at me, called me "extra hole boy", and threatened to get me banned. Like you'll ever succeed. Aside from the fact that I'm a top 10 Twitter user with verification and everything, I save screenshots and URLs. My notifications for DMs went off again. I'd know that name anywhere: @Yuuto-pia That was Yuuto Matsuda. He's the Impulsive Brass Band's new French horn and Steve's biggest fan. Judging from the Yuuri Katsuki icon that was recolored to look like Steve, I'd also bet that he is a Yuri on Ice watcher.

Yuuto is the best thing that ever happened to us; his positive outlook and innocent charm brought us back out of our slump. I opened his message and saw a cute GIF. Yuuto sends them to everyone who has social media. I replied with another GIF and whipped out my IP tracker. After entering my hater's username, I found that they lived in a nearby desert biome. After using a reverse lookup service, I found their e-mail address: kathryn_43@gmail.com.

As I typed out the E-mail, I found that all the coffee had moved through my system rather quickly. When the simple act of using the restroom made me want to peel off my skin, I had to maintain a good sense of humor. Such is the nature of life.

****************** 

        "Hey." I saw the Bitcoin symbol on a woman's back pocket. "Do you know of any good starter Bitcoin miners?"
        "I thought you already had a miner"
        "It's for my daughter. I want to get her started on cryptocurrencies."
        "All right." She invited me to sit. "How old is she?"
        "She'll be twelve pretty soon."
        "You can get some great deals on used AntMiner hardware nowadays. I don't know what a twelve year old would do with Bitcoin--actually I do know--but from what I hear she sounds like a trustworthy kid." She wrote some URLs down on paper and handed it to me.
        "Okay." I stuffed the paper in my pocket. I've officially given up on Alex learning common academic subjects under my tutelage. The lessons only result in me snapping at Alex for not being able to grasp certain things quickly and her bursting into tears. Knowing that it was only a matter of time before lasting damage was done, I scrapped the standard curriculum altogether and built one of my own.

The purpose of attending school is to learn how to solve problems and think independently. Unfortunately, they just throw tests in your face and hope you pass. Alex deserved better than that, so I took it upon myself to teach her things that are worth learning. I let her choose five of them and I chose the other three. For the three, I chose cryptocurrency, the basic academic skills that I rotate on a daily basis, and blacksmithing. For the five, Alex chose instrumental music (trumpet and maybe percussion), musical theater, creative writing, public speaking, and combat.

Alex chose "The Girl who Sells Misfortune" for the dance portion of her musical theater showcase and "Aishite, Aishite, Aishite" for the vocal portion. I found the song choices unusual, but what was usual nowadays? I found her choice to be a way of expressing her grief through performance. Caitlin was certainly something special in Alex's life. Though I may never be able to get the old Alex back, I can at least help her to rebuild herself as she sees fit.

****************** 

Had I done something wrong?

Landon came back to our table with a face that was red and puffy from crying. He picked at his katsudon. Not being very hungry myself, I offered him some of mine. He refused and sat across from me so dejectedly that one might think I've intentionally slighted him. Of course, my device was not cooperating with me, so I couldn't use it. I could, however, speak the language of touch.

I turned my head and extended my arms outward. Apprehensively, I laid a hand on his cheek. Since he didn't punch me in the face, I gathered him into my arms.
          "You probably think I'm disgusting, don't you?" Landon hiccuped and fell into my arms again. I wished I could say it at the moment, but, no, I don't think you're disgusting. I think zombie carcasses are disgusting. You're beautiful. Your eyes shine like steel and your hair is a reflection of your internal fire. The port wine stain just completes everything. I kissed the red spot as gently as I could and moved my mouth down to his. Our lips moved together. There were probably people swarming to get a picture of us, but I didn't care. I'll give them something to stare at.

I dipped Landon like a dancer and kept kissing him. For once, I didn't care what anyone thought. I just let my impulses guide me. Running my fingers through his hair, I felt him melt into my arms like butter. He felt light as a feather as I lifted him back into position. Who would've thought that Landon, someone that I wanted to punch in the face less than two years ago, would be my lover? We ended the kiss and, even if I had absolute mastery of language, I'd still be at a loss for words.

That kiss was unlike any I had done before. This was sincere. This was love. Not only was it that, it was an act of rebellion. People had this odd tendency of turning everything I did into a political statement that I had to address. This was living and loving for the sake of living and loving, not a middle finger to homophobia or whatever else people make of this. My life story is mine to tell, and, try as it may, Big Identity Politics will not get ahold of it.

And what would I say when I would inevitably face the camera tomorrow?

Don't let politics or social standards corrupt your relationships. Live to love and love to live. Anything else is pure misery.
     

Cherries and Sunrises (Steve)

Ugh...paparazzi.

I ordered them to scat unless they wanted the Mindcrack administration and angry parents involved. Some obliged, but some stayed. I'm sorry, but you know the rules. If you're not respecting my students, I won't muddle through any cordiality or pleasantries. Raising the volume on my device, I told them to leave again. If they describe me as rude in the next article, I won't feel bad about it. They disrespected my students' basic rights.

Look. Do with me what you want. Circulate those random creepshots and tell people that I'm on drugs or whatever, but don't do anything with my students. I can't have my students' lives ruined by some stupid people who don't know what boundaries are. Just in time, Mindcrack security arrived and began to clear the area. All but one person remained, a girl who looked like she was in high school.
          "This is Catalina Cortez and I'm with the Desert Tribune." Isn't that Mark's contrabass clarinetist? What's she doing with the Tribune? "Is it okay if I ask you and one student of yours from each grade a few questions?"
          "Who do you have in mind?" She showed me her list.

6th Grade: Nathalie Soulard 
7th Grade: Adrian Roth 
8th Grade: Alice Alder
9th Grade: Lisette LaCoste
10th Grade: Kenji Sugihara 
11th Grade: Hannah Engelhardt 
12th Grade: Kyle Escalona

Problem: Kyle and Hannah are in AP Alchemy and I don't think journalistic opportunities are valid reasons to leave the exam room. I alerted Catalina of this problem; she said she could wait because the school knows she's with the Tribune for education purposes. Those are looser policies than some colleges. I wrote passes for the students and alerted their teachers of the opportunity.

Rather than check on his scores after the interview, Kyle showed up for his after school practice with a bag of yellow cherries. His affinity for the fruit is one of the things I'll always remember about him. He practiced rudiments on a pad. After some sloppy paradiddles, he popped a cherry in his mouth and refined his technique. He's going to need a lot of cherries to perfect rudiments like that.

After Caitlin died, Kyle left little bags of cherries on my desk for days in a row. I didn't know what he meant by this gesture at the time, but I know now that he was trying to give me strength. Kyle often makes use of his odd abilities to make people happy. The taste of his fruits indicate the amount of effort he puts into them. The cherries came from genuine sympathy. At first, they were tart as lemon, but each bag grew sweeter with each passing day. The paradiddles came much more cleanly until Kyle knocked on my door.
         "I have more cherries for you." Kyle handed me a bag of the fruits, which were yellow with shadows of red. "Be sure to give some to your friends."
         "I will." Ranging from golden to crimson, each cherry was a sunrise and a sunset in one. I bit into one. The skin snapped under my teeth and its juices poured into my mouth. After a burst of initial tartness, my tongue bathed in pure sweetness. After moving the syrupy substance around in my mouth and extracting more and more of it as I chewed, the cherry slid down my throat.

Upon opening the door, I stepped out and saw the sky painted the same colors as the cherries Kyle gave me. The sun may never set on my grieving Caitlin, but it had risen on my love for Landon. Judging by the cherry pits I found in his trashcan, he probably holds some semblance of fondness for the fruit. He should taste the sunrise and the sunset in each golden, crimson orb along with me. It would only be fitting that another chapter of my journey begin with him.

(A/N: If you correctly guess the variety of cherry that Kyle handed to Steve, you get to give me a writing prompt!)

Love Me, I Say (Emmeline)

It's late at night and I'm cramming for the last round of AP exams. Such is the price of being intelligent. Success is all about being the right kind of person. I need to get fives on all of these in order to have any kind of chance in life. What was that formula I needed for physics? I said it under my breath as I studied my AP lit passage. I'm in the top 10% of my class, but I need to be the top student. Drawing in a breath, I pored over a poem.

Do this.
Do that.
You should. 
You can't. 

What's such a simple poem doing in a practice AP exam? The author wasn't even a real poet, just some kid. I read the blurb. Leave it to Steve to be everywhere, even in practice AP exams. He wrote it some time around his elementary school years during his time as a violin prodigy. Does his talent know no bounds?

Put on
A show.
Just hold 
Your bow. 

I looked at the questions. These lines are definitely iambic monometer. Even a normal student could answer that question.

Learn math
And write.
Stay up
All night.

Isn't that what the lot of us are doing, that is, if we want to be successful? I don't understand why people think I'm especially cruel to them when we're all in the same boat. It's their loss. Let them fail and fall to the ground while I soar to the top. I'll gladly give up my soul for perfect scores on all of my AP exams. I circled more answers. I need all fives. If I don't get all fives, I don't know what I'll do. Even if I get fours, I'm still the best student, right?

For my upcoming theater exam, I'll sing an English cover of Aishite, Aishite, Aishite. I sang my scales while poring over the questions.

Mallory (Mark)

I saw Steve's interview on TV...again. He gave the same responses as always, which worked, but weren't exactly honest. He averts his eyes briefly when he's concealing negative emotions and he did it during the interview, not enough to really be noticeable, but enough to be an indication that something was amiss. Up there, he was acting exactly like my woodwinds during AP testing week: putting on a meaningless show in the name of a meaningless cause.

Catalina learned that the hard way. Last year, she loaded herself with all these AP classes that I never knew existed. During that year, she was this lifeless thing running off of coffee and fear. After not taking AP classes, she is so much happier and had the time to write for the Desert Tribune. Most college-educated journalists would die for the opportunity alone, but actual publication? Some journalists can't even dream of such fortune.

My Caitgate vlog gained a lot of traction through social media. By a lot, I mean that it went viral, was commented on by some major celebrities (not including Steve), and I've been asked to appear on TV...again. I don't know how Steve deals with doing it on a regular basis; one time was stressful enough. The reactions were mixed. Some people changed their opinions after realizing what the organization had done. Some still dredged up "problematic" stuff to try to justify the organization's actions. However, one of them decided to find my Twitter and had the nerve to attack me for something that I did not choose.

Glad to see that you're back with your problematic opinions, Mallory. 

Quit pretending.

I'll dox all your students unless you delete the video.


Disagree with me? Call me stupid? That's not a problem.

Call me Mallory? Say that I'm "faking"? Threaten to dox my students? That's a problem. I scrolled down further. Steve asked the person "Who's that?". A grin spread across my face, but I still wanted to peel off my skin and toss it into the ocean.

Even if being born in a female body wasn't bad enough, my mother, Yoko, had always told me that I needed to be "pretty". I resented that. There was some truth to her statement, but I had no desire to be pretty. I wanted to be handsome. I worked so hard to be that and, yet, it seemed that some troll had the nerve to take it all away.

But who am I to let them?

I Have Become What You Like (Steve)

I'm in for another TV interview. I got my cosmetics bag out and began applying my makeup. It's been easier to just do it myself rather than flag down the studio's makeup artist before every shoot. Before applying primer, I blotted my nose to get rid of any excess oil and sprayed my face with moisture mist. I'm so glad that Ayako told me about this product because matte foundation and powder are very drying. As I did the rest, I thought of how the wear and tear of performance influenced my life.

I have a love-hate relationship with performing. While I love it, it wears down on me. The nature of performance demands setting aside a part of one's self for the duration of a concert, interview, or other event. Do that day in and day out and that part of yourself will eventually dissolve into nothing as you turn to performance more and more for your sense of identity. If success is becoming what people like, I have done just that. However, I never felt as though I have succeeded at anything.
          "Twenty minutes!" a studio executive called. I looked in the mirror again and blended everything out again. I curled my eyelashes. This was my TV face, the one that everyone knew and loved. All I need to do is tap out the right words like the right notes and do it the right way.

        "Five minutes!" After a quick trip to the restroom, I was ready for the camera. My device was fully charged and hasn't rage quitted on me yet, which was a good sign. I made my way to my seat on cue as I always do. The host, Alana, had an inviting smile.
 
       "This is and this is 'Where are they now?' As you may know, Steve Lowell used to be a violin prodigy and went on to be the star of his high school spleef team and the slayer of the Ender Dragon. He is the face of Minecraft and, not only that, he is an accomplished musician. Well, that's enough of me. We all know who we're here to see." I walked on and waved to the audience as per usual. They applauded. "So, how does it feel to be one of Minecraft's biggest successes?"

Success? What is success anyway? Is "success" a ten year old boy playing until his fingers bled and his arm screamed in agony or is it a senior buying pizza for his friends to celebrate a pivotal victory? Most of my "successes" were me saying "yes" and executing whatever tasks people wanted me to do. I felt my identity slipping away, but I kept doing it to hear people telling me that I did a good job, whatever that was. I became a copycat, a man with a mirror for a face.

The problem is? I need to be always on, always shifting. I need to charming, confident, funny, strong, talented and, in all other ways, the man people want me to be. Although I love the applause after a good performance more than anything, I want to be free to shut some of those qualities off and just be. It'd be nice to turn off strong and admit when I'm sad or scared or turn off talented and cheer on my friends in the audience. One of the attributes that I owe my successes to is that I can't help but draw attention to myself. Over the years, I've come to hate it. Despite having everything that anyone could ever want, I'm still not satisfied.

I wanted to tell Alana what I felt, honestly, but I ended up giving the same generic answer as always. I don't know how to be myself anymore. This is what you wanted, right? I'm just a face and a name to the lot of you. Keep demanding from me. All I can do is emulate anyway.