Page 54 of Nobody in Particular

Molly’s got a funny expression on her face. “Well, I have plenty of people who’d be happy to perceive you,” she says, putting her phone away. “Rose filmed it?”

“How did you know?” I ask, before I remember the very end of the video, where Rose says I did great. “Oh, right. Her voice.”

Damn it. And even though Molly never asked me to boycott Rose or anything, I still feel like I’ve been caught betraying her somehow. I brace myself, wondering if Molly’s going to feel the same way.

Instead, she just looks kind of sad. “How is Rose?” she asks. “Is she doing okay?”

“Oh, um, yeah. She’s good.”

Molly looks as though she’s going to ask something, but then she shrugs it off. “I’ll post it after class,” she says. “I’ll let you know how it goes.”

And she does. After third period, she lets me scroll through the comments as we walk. It’s early, so there’s only a handful, but they’re all really nice. It’s mostly people complimenting my playing. That, and one person pointing out that the videographer is Princess Rosemary herself.

In PE, she sends me a whole bunch of screenshots along the same lines. These ones are sprinkled in with the odd person calling me pretty, which shouldn’t make me glow as much as it does, but I guess I’m a sucker for validation from random strangers. As much as I admire people who don’t need external feedback to feel awesome about themselves, I can’t relate. While the teacher is distracted, I text Molly to ask if she’s had any horrible comments yet, and she insists she hasn’t.

Finally, after class, I take a few minutes alone in my room to read all the comments. It’s been viewed a dizzying number of times. I know the internet, too, so by now there should’ve at least beensomeonecriticizing the fact that I changed up the song from the original tempo, or my hairstyle, or my posture. But if they have, Molly’s been deleting them. If that’s the case, I figure I’d rather not know, anyway. I’ve officially been perceived, and so far I’m surviving it. Look at me go!

And it’s only now that I notice Molly’s caption:

My best friend is more talented than yours.

With a happy sigh, I pull my knees up to my chest, and close my laptop lid.

TWENTY-THREEROSE

Alfie has something he desperately wants to say. Even over the video call I can tell that much. He’s changed position no less than eight times in the last few minutes, even while he describes his week in near excruciating detail. I wait patiently for him to finish speaking, then I raise a single eyebrow. “Is everything okay?” I ask. I wasn’t especially surprised when he called me right after classes finished today—we probably video chat every two or three weeks, on top of our regular messaging. But it’s become quite clear to me this particular video chat has an agenda.

“Yeah, how come?”

“You seem restless. Is there something you wanted to talk about?”

He shuffles on his bed and plants a fist under his chin to prop it up. He’s still wearing his school uniform, a pants-and-blazer version of ours, in the same shade of forest green. “Don’t you think there’s something weshouldtalk about?” he hedges.

“Well, you certainly seem to,” I say. “Why don’t you start us off?”

“Fine.” He fluffs his pillow beneath him and sprawls against it. “I think we need to talk about the fact that we kissed. You haven’t forgotten we kissed, right?”

“Oh yes, so we did,” I joke, and he shoots me a death glare. Point taken.

“It’s just that we kissed, and then we both pretended it didn’t happen at all. And I’ve been waiting for you to bring it up, but maybe you’ve been waiting for me to bring it up, so I thought one of us had better do it.”

I think of the last few weeks, and what has held my attention. And how very little time I’ve spent thinking about Alfie kissing me at all, let alone wishing he would talk to me about it. In fact, when I have thought of Alfie, it’s been to hope we simply never address it again and we can pretend it was a fever dream or hallucination. Alas.

“Right,” I say, because what on earth do Isay?

I think the expression on my face must say it all, because Alfie seems to deflate a little. And at this, I finally feel ashamed. I should have brought it up earlier, no matter how heinously uncomfortable, to explain to him I don’t have feelings for him. It was cruel of me to leave him to dwell on this, hoping my silence told him everything he needed to know. Worse, it was cowardice. Certainly not something a Good Person does to her friends.

“Look, Rosie, I just want to make sure we’re still friends. I don’t want things to become awkward between us because of one stupid kiss. That’s all.”

That’s all? Relief drains all the tension from my body in a gush, and I nod eagerly. “I completely agree. Not that I could ever stop being friends with you.”

“Really?” he asks, and there’s that stab of shame again.

“Of course not. It’s not like that at all. I am sorry for not bringing it up sooner, though.”

He gives me a smile that certainly seems genuine. “What did your family say?” he asks.

I roll my eyes. “Take a guess. Go on.”

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