6. Alex
Chapter 6
Alex
“ A lright, that’s enough for tonight.” Groundskeeper Simmons grunts in my direction.
I straighten up slowly, my back aching from hours of scrubbing.
At this rate my bruises were going to have bruises.
The sun has long since set, and the only light comes from the harsh fluorescents illuminating the fountain area.
My hands are pruned and raw, stained a faint pink, despite the thick rubber gloves I’m wearing.
“Same time tomorrow,” Simmons adds, already turning away.
“And don’t forget to lock up the supply closet.”
I watch him trudge off into the darkness, waiting until he’s out of sight before letting out a frustrated groan.
Two days of this, and we’ve barely made a dent in the cleanup.
At this rate, I’ll be here until graduation.
“And to think, I didn’t believe you could get any dirtier,” Ophelia’s voice slices through the evening air.
Just what I needed on top of an already disastrous night.
I still had to get back to my room, wash off the dye, and somehow find enough energy to meet Alfie at Club Bedlam.
As if I didn’t already feel like I’d been through the wringer.
“My scrubbing abilities must be as impressive as your ability to pick a fight with anyone who crosses your path.” With a forced smile, I pull off my gloves.
Truthfully, I’m not in the mood for this.
Her snarky comments are the cherry on top of a very unpleasant sundae.
Ophelia glares, her arms crossed and her lips pressed into a tight line.
“At least I have people who care about me. What’s your excuse? Too busy playing janitor to have anyone in your life who’d do anything for you?”
I hold my tongue, reminding myself that giving in to her would only make it worse.
Instead, I focus on gathering up the cleaning supplies, my muscles protesting with every movement.
“You know,” she continues, her tone oozing false sweetness, “if you just learned your place, things would be so much easier for you here.”
Ugh.
She’s like a headache wrapped in a designer label.
I can’t help the scoff that escapes me.
“And where exactly is my place, Ophelia? Just below your ego, right?”
Her smirk widens.
“Don’t you get it? You’re already there.”
The urge to throw the bucket of dirty water at her is strong, but I swallow it down.
I’ve gotten in enough trouble already.
Thanks to her boyfriend Bishop and the other Legacies.
I take a deep breath, reminding myself to stay cool.
“You’re right. I am beneath you. So far beneath you that I can actually see just how empty and pathetic your little world is. And honestly? I’ve got better things to do with my life than waste another second on someone who thinks cruelty is a personality trait.”
“At least I’m not the one stuck scrubbing fountains after hours,” she sneers.
I tilt my head and raise an eyebrow.
“No, you’re just the one who has nothing better to do than pick on people who actually have something worth doing. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a date with a hot shower.” And after that, I’ve got to meet the ringleader of his own circus—Alfie, the one-man show.
Should be thrilling.
As I walk away, I hear Ophelia’s voice call out, “Mudslide, you’re still nothing more than a mess waiting to happen!”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grumble.
“Tell me something I don’t know,” I toss over my shoulder with a wave of my hand, not bothering to look back.
After returning the supplies and securing the closet, I head back to my dorm, the cool air already biting at my skin as I take a quick shower and throw on a hoodie and pants.
The chill that lingers in the evening air makes my breath visible, a sign of fall creeping in early.
I make my way toward Club Bedlam, the familiar black and white striped circus tent looming ahead, the wind picking up and carrying the faint scent of wet leaves.
As I tug the curtain aside to enter, I’m greeted by complete darkness.
That’s odd. Usually, the place is lit up, a flurry of string lights casting a warm glow across the space.
Alfie better not have somehow messed up another magic trick and caused us to lose power, or I swear I’ll never let him live it down.
I take a cautious step forward, my hand outstretched to feel my way through the darkness.
Then, without warning, a single candle ignites, and my foot halts in place.
More and more candles ignite, illuminating the entire center ring of the circus tent in unison.
How did Alfie do that?
I notice a figure draped in a black cloak, in the center of the room, holding the candle that was first lit when this ordeal started.
In the dim light, I can just make out a tuft of curly red hair sticking out from under the hood.
“What are you doing, Alfie?” I ask with a smile.
“This is not Alfie,” the person responds in a deeper voice, but it’s clear to me that they are him.
I chuckle and take a step closer, no longer hesitant.
“Alex Prescott,” Alfie continues in his disguised voice.
“You have successfully endured all the trials and tests, and are now deemed worthy to become an official member of Club Bedlam.”
I raise an eyebrow, unable to suppress the grin that spreads across my face.
“An initiation ceremony? Really? I thought I was already a member.” After all, I’d done as he’d asked.
I’d found the door that key fit.
Ironically, it was the same door that led me to find the winning flag at the masquerade ball.
“Silence!” Alfie booms, struggling to maintain his serious demeanor.
“The initiate shall not speak unless spoken to!”
I bite my lip to keep from laughing as he continues his dramatic performance.
He raises the candle high, but all I can focus on are the freckles on his partially covered face, which seem to glow in the candlelight like a constellation of stars.
It’s hard to take him seriously when his face is practically lit up like a map.
“Alex Prescott, you have proven yourself worthy through trials of wit, courage, and alarming amounts of fountain scrubbing. Do you solemnly swear to uphold the sacred traditions of Club Bedlam? To keep our secrets, support your fellow misfits and magicians, and most importantly, to never, ever take yourself too seriously?”
I can’t resist playing along.
Placing my hand over my heart, I reply with mock solemnity, “I solemnly swear.”
“Then by the power vested in me, Alfie Fitzgerald—I mean, by the ancient and mysterious founder of Club Bedlam—I hereby declare you, Alex Prescott, an official member!”
Alfie dramatically sweeps off his cloak, revealing his lanky frame dressed in a ridiculous mishmash of circus attire: a dark velvety top hat with a silky white ribbon, a polka-dot bowtie, and what appears to be a tutu over his pants.
He flashes a wide grin, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Welcome to the family!” he exclaims, dropping the deep voice entirely.
Suddenly, the tent explodes with light and sound.
The strung-up lights flicker to life, multicolored and twinkling as they intermix with the usual orange glowing bulbs.
Confetti rains down from above, and I find myself laughing as I brush the colorful paper from my hair.
“What’s with the tutu?” I ask between laughs.
Alfie twirls, making it flare out.
“What, this old thing? I just threw it on,” he says with a wink.
“But seriously, it’s all part of the grand tradition. Each new member gets to add their own flair to the initiation outfit. Yours truly chose the tutu.”
I raise an inquisitive eyebrow.
“So I’ll be the second person to join this…unique group?”
“Technically, the third,” he corrects me.
Oh yeah, there was that girl who said she would come back after nine months, but never did.
“So what do I get to add?” I ask, curious.
“Whatever you’d like.” Alfie claps his hands together.
“But first, we must have refreshments to celebrate!”
He snaps his fingers, and with a dramatic flourish, a table laden with an assortment of sweets and drinks begins to descend from the ceiling.
But halfway down, it stops, suspended in mid-air.
Alfie’s face lights up with a sheepish grin as he rushes over to yank the lever.
The table jerks and squeaks, wobbling before finally thudding to a stop at its destination.
I shake my head, resisting the urge to laugh at the sheer absurdity of it all as I approach the table.
There’s an eclectic mix of treats: colorful cupcakes with swirled frosting, a tower of chocolate-covered strawberries, and what appears to be a bowl of jelly beans in every flavor imaginable.
In the center stands a punch bowl filled with a fizzing, iridescent liquid that changes color every few seconds.
“Is that…safe to drink?” I ask, eyeing the concoction warily.
“Perfectly safe! Probably. It’s my own special recipe. I call it ‘Bedlam Brew.’ Go on, try it!”
I hesitate for a moment, eyeing the drink with suspicion.
It’s Alfie, after all, and who knows what kind of concoction he’s whipped up.
But then again, maybe it’ll help with the last of these bruises…
or maybe I’ll wake up with an extra limb.
Screw it. What’s the worst that could happen?
Besides, at least it was better than another round of awkward small talk.
With a shrug, I ladle some of the shimmering liquid into a cup and take a cautious sip.
It tastes like a mix of cotton candy, lemonade, and something I can’t quite place—maybe a hint of cinnamon?
The flavors dance on my tongue, fizzing and popping like tiny fireworks.
Alright, this…isn’t terrible.
“Wow,” I say, genuinely impressed.
“That’s actually really good. How did you make this?”
Alfie waggles his eyebrows mysteriously.
“A magician never reveals his secrets. But I will say it involves pixie dust and a dash of chaos.”
I narrow my eyes, eyeing the cup with a mix of suspicion and caution.
Alfie’s the kind of person who’d sprinkle fairy dust on me for fun, and I’m still fishing specks of leftover glitter out of my hair.
After a moment’s hesitation, I put the cup down with a quiet thud.
“So, oh wise founder of Club Bedlam,” I say, helping myself to a cupcake instead, “what happens now that I’m an official member?”
Alfie’s eyes light up.
“That’s the best part. Anything and everything! You are now a part of a group of dreamers, professionals of misdirection, and creatives alike.”
Okay…
“Anything and everything?” I repeat, intrigued.
“Care to be a bit more specific?”
He grins, plucking a jelly bean from the bowl and popping it into his mouth.
“Well, my dear Alex, that’s entirely up to you. Club Bedlam is what you make of it. We’re here to embrace the absurd, challenge the ordinary, and sprinkle a little magic into the mundane.”
He gestures grandly around the tent.
“This is our sanctuary, our playground, our laboratory of the bizarre. Maybe you want to perfect the art of pancake juggling, or perhaps you’re interested in composing symphonies for kazoos. The only limit is your imagination!”
“Pancake juggling? Is that even a thing?”
“It wasn’t until about five days ago,” Alfie says with a wink.
“And how did that go?”
“Well, let’s just say I now have a newfound appreciation for the complexities of breakfast foods in motion,” Alfie replies, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
“And the chef from the dining hall has banned me from requisitioning any more pancakes for the foreseeable future.”
I snort, despite the ridiculousness of it all, picturing Alfie trying to juggle floppy pancakes as they disintegrate mid-air.
“So what else have you been up to in here?” I ask, happy to have a distraction from a rough few days.
Alfie’s eyes light up.
He grabs my hand and pulls me toward a corner of the tent I hadn’t noticed before.
“Since you’re officially part of the club now, I can share my latest project with you,” he says, giving me a friendly nudge.
As we reach the corner, I come face-to-face with something that can only be described as a contraption.
It looks like it was cobbled together from parts scavenged out of a junkyard: an old bicycle wheel, a mess of gears and pulleys, a fishbowl filled with marbles, and a gramophone horn pointed suspiciously at the ceiling.
Alfie steps back, a wide grin plastered on his face.
“Behold!” he announces, raising his hands like he’s unveiling a masterpiece.
“The Serendipity Engine!”
I blink, trying to make sense of the bizarre machine.
“The…what now?”
“The Serendipity Engine,” he repeats, giving the contraption a proud pat.
“It’s designed to generate happy accidents and fortuitous coincidences.”
I glance at him, then back at the bizarre machine.
“And this…does that how, exactly?”
Alfie’s smile grows wider, clearly delighted by my interest. “Well, you start by pedaling here,” he says, demonstrating by touching the bicycle wheel.
“That activates the Possibility Pump, which agitates the Probability Pearls in the fishbowl.”
As he rotates the wheel, the marbles in the fishbowl begin to swirl and bounce off each other, creating a mesmerizing light show.
“The vibrations from the Probability Pearls are then amplified by the Serendipity Speaker,” he continues, gesturing to the gramophone horn.
“And voila! Random bursts of good fortune are released into the world!”
I shoot him a pointed look.
“That’s…certainly creative. But does it actually work?”
“Well, that’s the beauty of it. How can we ever truly know? Maybe that unexpected smile from a stranger, or finding a forgotten bill in your pocket, or running into an old friend—perhaps those are all courtesy of the Serendipity Engine!”
Uh…
what?
“You really believe in this stuff, don’t you?” I ask, already knowing the answer.
And sure enough, the way his eyes light up tells me everything I need to know.
He absolutely does.
Alfie’s expression softens, and for a moment, I see a glimpse of something deeper behind his whimsical exterior.
“I believe in the power of possibility,” he says quietly.
“In a world that can sometimes feel dark and cruel, why not create a little magic of our own?”
I blink, trying to process Alfie’s words.
They catch me off guard, resonating in a way I didn’t expect.
It’s like a hidden switch has been flipped, and suddenly I’m aware of how much I’ve been carrying around—frustration, disappointment, that strange silence that’s crept into my life.
For a moment, I don’t know how to react.
Then, almost instinctively, I find myself saying, “You know what?” My voice feels heavier than usual.
“I think I could use a little magic.”
Alfie’s face lights up like he’s been waiting for that very moment.
“Well then, my friend, you’ve come to the right place,” he says, his voice all warmth as he taps the cushion beside the contraption.
“Have a seat.”
I glance at the bicycle wheel, the clunky mess of gears, marbles, and questionable wires.
I hesitate—but what’s the harm?
At this point, what else is there to do but try it?
I nod, stepping toward it with a shrug, my skepticism still firmly in place, but starting to waver.
I settle my hands on the handlebars, and I feel a strange mix of excitement and doubt.
What kind of magic could this junkyard circus contraption possibly pull off?
I begin to pedal, half-expecting the machine to fall apart at any moment.
But instead, it stirs to life, humming with a mechanical rhythm.
The gears click and whir, the fishbowl of marbles shifting like they’ve got a life of their own.
The little lights inside pulse and shimmer in sync with my pedaling.
“That’s it!” Alfie urges, his voice practically sparkling with enthusiasm.
“Keep going!”
I push harder, feeling my pulse quicken.
It’s probably just the movement, I tell myself, but there’s something else too.
It’s like the warmth in my chest isn’t from the effort at all.
It spreads, creeping through me in ways I can’t quite explain.
Suddenly, the gramophone horn hums to life, a soft melodic sound that vibrates in the air.
The chimes play a tune that dances through the tent, their tinkling whispers settling into my bones.
It feels like the air itself is shifting around us, like possibility is folding in and out of time.
The skepticism that was so firmly planted in me starts to fade.
My legs move faster, pushing the wheel with increasing energy, and I can’t help but feel…
alive. The marbles blur into a brilliant wash of color, glowing brighter with every turn, their shimmering lights mixing together like fireflies.
I laugh—a small, surprised sound—because for the first time in weeks, maybe longer, I don’t feel weighed down by the world.
I’m lost in this ridiculous, chaotic moment, and I think I might just be okay with it.
“Almost there!” Alfie shouts over the crescendo of sound.
“Just a little more!”
With a final burst of energy, I push myself to pedal as hard as I can.
The Serendipity Engine reaches a fever pitch, the gramophone horn now emitting a pure, crystalline tone that seems to resonate with something deep inside me.
My feet slow on the pedals.
The silence hangs in the air for a beat, broken only by my breath coming in uneven gasps.
My fingers are still clutched around the handlebars, the aftertaste of magic lingering in the air.
I feel…different. Lighter, somehow, but not in the way I expected.
It’s like something inside me shifted, just a little.
“Did…did it work?” I ask, hesitant.
Alfie steps up beside me, brushing his hands off as if the whole machine’s success was no big deal.
“Well, that’s the beauty of it,” he says, his voice soft but full of excitement.
“We don’t always know what we’re really looking for until it hits us. What do you think?” He gestures toward me with a sweeping motion, like I’m the magic trick now.
I glance down at my hands, still gripping the handlebars, and notice they aren’t shaking.
My heart rate has returned to normal, but there’s an ease in my chest that wasn’t there before.
It’s as though a weight has been lifted, even if just a little.
“I think it worked,” I say, the realization sinking in.
Alfie claps his hands, his usual energy flooding back into the room.
“I knew it! It always does. You just have to believe, you know? Not in the machine, not even in the idea—just in the possibility that something good might happen.”
I nod slowly, absorbing his words, still a little unsure of all this.
But somehow, it doesn’t matter.
What matters is how it feels right now.
“That was,” I pause, thinking of how to phrase it without sounding like a total sucker.
“Actually kind of nice.”
Alfie grins.
“See? That’s the magic. I’m just the messenger.”
I give him a flat look, but there’s no bite behind it this time.
He’s still Alfie—unpredictable, chaos-loving, slightly unhinged—but somehow, in this moment, he’s also the one who helped me realize something I’ve been missing.
Maybe the world isn’t as bleak as I thought.
Maybe it’s just a little more unpredictable than I gave it credit for.
“So,” I say, raising an eyebrow, “what’s next? Do I get to do this every day, or is this some one-time thing?”
Alfie chuckles.
“Don’t worry. The Serendipity Engine is always available. I was even thinking about offering it to students for the carnival.”
“Carnival. What carnival?” I ask, confused.
He shoots me a duh look.
“The one we have every year to raise money for our clubs?”
Oh.
Alfie runs a hand along the cloth of the tent, looking thoughtful.
“I’m trying to get our space approved as the main showpiece this year.”
Wait, he was?
Before I can ask more about it, Alfie snaps his fingers, as if remembering something important.
“You haven’t chosen a piece to add to my ensemble yet. What would you like to contribute to the official Club Bedlam look?” he asks, giving his hips a playful wiggle.
Then, an idea strikes me.
I raise a finger to signal for a moment of pause before I rush out into the dark night, selecting a few plant species I knew would hold up well, ones that could withstand tough conditions but weren’t so rare that I’d disrupt the local ecosystem.
I return to the tent, clutching a deep red flower that seems to shine in the moonlight.
The plant’s petals are sturdy, like they’ve adapted to thrive even in the harshest of environments.
The red hue gives it an almost fiery quality.
I choose this one in particular for its resilience—if it can survive tough conditions, surely it can withstand whatever Alfie’s chaos will throw at it.
Maybe I see a bit of myself in it.
“This is a Echinacea purpurea ,” I tell him, looking at the flower with a fondness that only a true botanist can have.
“Commonly called a coneflower. It’s known for being hardy, even under intense heat.” I smile, realizing how fitting that is for the circus life.
Alfie’s eyes widen as I carefully secure the stem into the white silk ribbon on his hat.
“Ah, a coneflower! How perfect! It’s got strong, vibrant energy—just like Club Bedlam.”
The flower sits proudly atop his hat, its petals just the right contrast against the white silk, and I can’t help but feel a little proud of the choice.
He twirls in place, the tutu flaring out around him, and the flower bobbing with each movement.
“I do believe this completes the ensemble quite nicely. What do you think?”
The corner of my mouth lifts with almost genuine warmth.
“It’s definitely one of a kind,” I say, my words rolling out a little more smoothly now.
“I’m pretty sure no one else is brave enough to pull this off.”
“And that is exactly the point!” Alfie exclaims, clapping his hands together.
“In Club Bedlam, we celebrate the extraordinary, the unexpected, the downright bizarre. Speaking of which…”
He reaches behind a pile of forgotten odds and ends—old scraps of paper, tangled string, and bits of fabric—and pulls out a small wooden box.
“Now, for the final part of your initiation,” Alfie says, his voice taking on a more serious tone.
He opens the box, revealing a collection of small, oddly-shaped objects.
Some look like gears, others like crystals, and a few I can’t even begin to describe.
“Choose one,” he says, his voice laced with a note of caution.
“But choose wisely. The object you select will determine your role here.”
I hesitate, my hand hovering over the box.
“What do you mean by role?”
Alfie’s shrugs an indifferent shoulder.
“Each member of Club Bedlam has a unique talent or ability that contributes to our success.”
“But it’s only the two of us,” I say, dumbfounded.
“You’ve only just scratched the surface, Alex. Our club extends far beyond this little tent. We have members scattered across Altair University, each playing their part in our grand design.”
I raise an eyebrow, pretty sure this is all in Alfie’s head, but at this point, I’m out of options.
My fingers hover over the assortment of strange objects in front of me.
If I don’t choose something, Chancellor Maxwell has already threatened to assign me to a club herself, and I’d rather avoid that.
My eyes land on a small, iridescent coin shimmering with hints of gold.
It reminds me of the different charms dangling from the necklace my sister made for me—delicate, intentional, and quietly meaningful.
Without thinking twice, I grab it.
Alfie makes a disappointed sound and clicks his tongue.
“You made a rare choice, but unfortunately it didn’t pay off for you. Looks like you’ll be on indefinite bathroom duty,” he says, taking the coin from my hand and tossing it back into the box.
“There’s a bathroom in this tent?”