Chapter Eight – A.J.
I get a little bit nervous around you,
get a little bit stressed out when I think about you…
Nervous - Shawn Mendes
Alexandra barges into my room, forty minutes later, dressed in her black and silver show outfit with her voluminous hair swept to the side, like the emotional girl from our call never existed.
“Are you going to get into the rockstar mood, or do I need to pick your outfit for our videos?”
Her eyes scan me from head to toe.
“Is it a crime for a guy to be in his hotel room shirtless and wearing shorts now?” I ask, and she walks over to my wardrobe. “I thought we were, I don’t know, taking photos, recording a story.”
“Top 10 is top 10, A.J. You know how much this means to me, so let’s do this right, please.” Alex huffs, failing to hide her nervousness, and I walk toward her.
“Hey, it's top 1 too, right?” I remind her of the position we reached in Brazil and get closer, wrapping my arms around her waist. “It’s really important.”
“I already hate this whole love-language thing, but you being a ‘physical touch’ person just makes me hate it even more,” she complains but doesn’t move.
“As if you didn’t love my hugs…” I raise my right eyebrow, and she shoots me a dirty look. But instead of denying it, Alex stands on tiptoes to inhale the scent of my neck.
“Wow, you really took that premium bath.”
“Stop sniffing me, you perv.” I move away, giving her a playful shove on the shoulder, and we both laugh.
“I’ll organize the room, wear something light, so your outfit doesn’t clash with mine, and don’t take too long.” She orders and turns, as if the room is a different space, not five steps from where we are.
I head into the closet, grab a pair of brown pants, put on a white ripped sleeve shirt, and grab one of my silver chains.
When I return to the common area, Alexandra has already positioned the couch in front of the window, letting the sunlight shine on it, and dragged the table to the middle of the room. Why? I don’t know.
“Better?” I ask as I approach, and she turns to study me.
Alexandra messes with my hair and motions for me to spin around.
“Just one more thing,” she says, pulling me over to the couch, where she grabs a red cap that matches her lipstick.
“Now we’re getting somewhere.” She puts the cap on my head and adjusts the chain around my neck.
“Over there’s better lighting, and I think the bed’s also a good setting for some shots. ”
“Where do we start?”
“The bed.” I try not to laugh, and fail miserably, but the slap she gives my shoulder makes me rush to the furniture. “Sit at the edge, I’ll figure out the best position for the video.”
It takes four minutes for her to smile, satisfied. I know it’s a king-sized bed, but it still doesn’t make sense for her to move everything around like this. Finally, she sits beside me, keeping about an inch of space between us.
“Five seconds. Make a sexy face, no smiling.” She warns after triggering her smartwatch.
“Are we doing an indie album cover?” I whisper, as if the phone has ears.
“What?”
“You all frilly, and me looking like a homeless guy, sitting on a bed, facing the camera, with our legs in the same direction,” I explain, and she looks at me incredulously.
“A.J., I know what I’m doing. Don’t move, don’t speak, we’ll lose the shot. I’m setting it to three seconds this time.”
“Just saying…” She covers my mouth with her hand.
“Now it’s thirty photos, five-second intervals. Pay attention to the poses I ask for, A.J., or it’ll be impossible.”
“Why you so mad?” I look at her and Alexandra glares at me with deadly eyes.
“Wow, you’re really mad!”
“I’m gonna kill you, Anthony.” She pushes me onto the bed and slaps me twice, but I control her and flip her over on the mattress.
“Calm down, dude, it’s just photos and a video, relax. No need for all this planning.” I pant over her, tossing my hair back to get it out of my face.
“You just don’t always need to be calm, some things need seriousness,” she spits the words out, trying to break free.
“Yeah, but those things definitely aren’t photos and videos for our Instagrams,” I retort, raising my eyebrows, slipping one leg over hers, pinning her to the mattress, and I manage to stretch my arm out to grab my phone from my pocket.
“A.J.?” Alexandra struggles to flip me over on the mattress again, and this time, I let her. But my phone is already unlocked.
“Here, look at the camera and tell me how it feels being the most streamed artist in Brazil.”
“Wanting to kill my music partner,” she retorts with a death stare.
“And what else, grumpy?”
“Grumpy is your mother, your motherf…!”
“Alexandra, don’t be mean, look at our fans and tell them how they made you feel when you opened Spotify and saw that you were the tenth most-streamed song in the world!”
She curls up against my body, trying hard not to laugh. But her face softens, and I see her relax.
“I didn’t open Spotify,” she confesses, eyes locked with mine.
“I woke up to the alarm, grabbed my phone to turn off the noise and your messages were there.” The girl with the difficult smile up a grin so wide it reaches her eyes, and I pull her a bit closer with my arm around her shoulder.
“Then I thought ‘I’ve been top 1 so many times with GenZ,’ but the truth is, I was like, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen.
I had no idea how incredible it was back then, and today I felt it. ”
Those words might not mean much to anyone watching the video, but I know what she means by that.
“Now it’s different...”
“Now I’m living the most incredible thing any artist can live, and I know it.”
I smile and kiss her forehead, stopping the recording right after.
“See, it wasn’t that hard, was it?” I ask casually as I get up.
“Of course, it was hard. You ruined all our photos.”
“Alright, I’ll behave better now,” I promise, extending my hand to her. “Let’s go record the video first.”
“Didn’t we just record a video?”
“Yes. But if we post such a messy thing, Daniele’s going to kill us. Maybe the footage will work for a vlog… is more casual,” I reason, dragging her behind me toward the table.
But that’s a lie: I’m not sharing this moment with anyone else. There’s no way in hell they’re going to see this girl, her walls down, talking about her dreams in my arms.
“You can direct the video, but the photos are mine, deal?”
“And then we could play a little, what do you think?”
“It’ll be my pleasure to destroy you in FIFA,” she bows with a sarcastic laugh.
“Not if I destroy you in Super Smash first.”
“Good thing I can ask for a rematch after our lunch with the guys.”
“If I win, I’m not giving you a rematch.”
“I think I have a more dangerous weapon...” She moves closer and sits next to me, the sun almost blinding us both. “You know, on this tour, I’ve been the one choosing the girls you kiss, so...”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Deny me a rematch and let’s see if you won’t kiss the biggest disaster this land of colonizers has ever produced,” she threatens, pushing me with her shoulders, and I’m so speechless that I grab the device to start recording.
***
“Ready to be humiliated?” Alexandra grabs the FIFA controller and flops beside me, with a sharp smile and confidence that only someone who’s been beating me at this damn game for two months can flaunt.
“Always so humble,” I laugh as I set up my Barcelona team. “But, you know, when you lose, I promise not to rub it in your face.”
“Oh, please. I’ve been playing this since my mom bought my first PlayStation. I’ll give you a dance and still post stories after.”
“Why are you like this?”
“Like what?” she mocks, looking at me sideways, her curls falling over her face, hiding her sly smile, making me swallow hard.
Beautiful, charming, and absolutely desirable , I think, but quickly erase those thoughts from my mind, even though they’re true. Because Alexandra is my friend, and mixing things up wouldn’t be good for either of us.
I watch her sprawled out on the couch, wearing one of her classic “Samba is hot” shirts, and samba had never been this hot before her. Her crossed legs make the skirt ride up so high that it makes me want to look anywhere but at her.
“Unbearable.”
“Focus, A.J. I don’t want excuses when the score’s three-nil.” Alex snaps her fingers in my face, and I tie my hair back with a knot.
“You talk like you’ve already won.”
“Because I already have.” She shrugs.
The first match starts. Alexandra moves the controller like it’s an extension of her body, and I try not to look too nervous. When the timer hits fifteen minutes, the score is already two-zero in her favor.
I still lose three rounds of FIFA, but manage to tie two and win two of Super Smash before my phone buzzes with the guys telling me it’s time to go downstairs for lunch.
“Thank goodness, because I’m really hungry,” she pauses the game, we both know she only got excited because she was about to lose, and she gets up.
“You’re going out in these clothes?” I ask, pointing at her, and I see in her eyes when she realizes she has no chance of leaving dressed like that.
“Why? Afraid I’ll get more attention than you?”
I laugh at the question, and for a moment, I’m speechless. Alexandra is the type of girl who gets attention without even trying. The loose hair, confident posture, and her smile... If she weren’t my friend, she’d be just my type.
“You got it. Now, go to my closet and get something more casual.”
“Alright, diva. Let the guys know we need five more minutes.” She sticks out her tongue at me and runs to the little door next to the closet.
Gui: You guys are really trying to act like a couple. Photos in bed? Not even me and Bia.
Thomas: “A.J. is the most amazing guy I’ve met, but don’t tell him,” seriously, since when does ChatGPT make these kinds of captions?
Rick: I think you guys are cute. A somewhat rebellious woman and a sensitive guy. I support it.
I read the messages, laughing, but Thomas’s catches my attention because I have no idea where that came from. I captioned the post with our photos and didn’t write any of that.
But when I open my Instagram, I’m face-to-face with Alexandra ’s post with six photos.
The first one is from the night of our first show in Rio, the second of us in disguise at the Christ, the third on the plane, doing each other’s hair in mustaches, and the fourth, fifth, and sixth are from today.
Our indie album cover, the photo of her with her hand over my mouth, and the last one – me on top of her while she tries to hit me.
I laugh at the choice because that’s so us . But it’s the caption that kills me.
Alexandra narrates her journey to meeting us, thanks the opportunity she got with the band, and dedicates two paragraphs to me:
We’re entering with a song in the global top 10 and stepping into our European tour with the right foot, and it all still feels like a dream, but I know it’s true because I have a guardian who reminds me of this every day.
A.J., thank you for not being the ghost I thought you’d be, but an angel – maybe a fallen one, but still an angel.
Sharing this journey with you has made my days lighter, happier, and full of life.
Thank you for being foolish and silly enough to make me forget “that complicated thing” and live my dreams the way they deserve to be lived.
I rush to the post’s comments, curious to see what people are saying.
But Alexandra was smart: by posting such controversial photos, she locked the comments.
Only one person got in faster than her and left a sunglasses emoji and a red heart one too.
The @ is one of my fans, and I smile seeing that my audience is treating Alex with kindness.
After that, I go back to the caption and read her thanking her fans and the Vagabonders, but I no longer pay attention to anything.
Somehow her words stir places in me I didn’t even know could be reached, but I remember that this woman married the music and there’s no room for an ‘other’ in her life.
So I set out to bury the feelings she awakens in me.