Chapter Eighteen – Ale
Now I want to leave, to rediscover myself,
to learn and hold onto who I am once more.
I want to stay steady, not to unravel at your silly smile,
and to rebuild myself far away from you.
Agora eu quero ir - Ana Vitória
A soft kind of excitement bubbles up in me as Thalia finishes talking about the buzz from my show. Sure, it hit social media and gossip pages because of A.J., but even the MPB and samba pages are talking about it.
Leaning back beside the closed window I don’t even try to hold back my smile.
“Your dad must be losing it. A bunch of his friends reposted the reels.” Thalia’s voice makes me swallow hard, studying the inside of the building across from mine. A.J.'s view is the river. Mine’s this gorgeous garden where autumn leaves fall like it’s a movie scene.
“I don’t even have to say how happy I am, right?” I dodge her comment.
I’m not doing this to prove anything to my dad. I’m not trying to build walls. I just want... to be accepted.
“You really don’t. And hey,” Thalia says, clearing her throat, “people are actually talking about your music. They really liked it. Your Spotify numbers are way up, and even your low-key vibe… Your fans love it. They say you haven’t let fame go to your head.”
“But...?” I grin when I spot two kids down below throwing leaves at each other.
“No ‘but.’ Is just… Seeing you come and go from the spotlight all these years used to feel messy, like a rollercoaster. But after the show, it hit me – you’re not just trying to be a singer.
You’re making art of it. And you’ve got your whole life to do that.
” Her voice shakes a little, proud and soft, and my chest relaxes in a way it hasn’t in a long time.
“You didn’t need to rush and ride the Vicious wave or whatever.
Because your art isn’t about hype. It just needs the right people to hear it. Not the ‘right’ time.”
Thalia’s words land like balm on every bruised corner of my pride and heart.
Putting my career on hold for a few months to stay with the boys was a strategy – a painfully hard one.
But now, having her – and others – finally see my work the way I see it?
It fills me completely, lighting up every corner of me with warmth.
“Thanks, Thali. Seriously. Thank you.”
“Anytime. Now tell me – how was your first day living with your hot roommate?”
And just like that, Thalia ruins my deep, emotional moment like a douchebag boyfriend knocking over a puzzle you spent hours finishing.
“Totally normal. We watched a movie, ate junk, chilled...”
“And kissed a little?”
“What?!” I say, offended, as I shut myself in the bathroom to make sure not a single word of this absurd call reaches A.J.
“Oh, come on, cousin. That man crossed a whole continent in under twenty-four hours just to see you sing.”
I laugh because she sounds ridiculous.
“Thalia we sing together. He supports me. That’s not weird.”
“He’s literally a superstar, and instead of booking a hotel, he stayed in your guest room. His security team spent the night parked outside your building. And he sang with you. In your show. Just because it would be ‘fun.’”
“People do nice things for their friends,” I say, trying not to sound defensive even though I totally am.
“I saw you two,” she shoots back, and my heart drops.
All I can think about is us goofing off in the kitchen while she was in the shower.
There’s no way she buys that’s just how we are.
Not when I was that affected. “I saw the way you look at each other, how you touch, how you respect each other… and kind of don’t ,” she giggles, like a fan gushing over her favorite ship. “There’s real chemistry, Alex.”
“We’re just friends, Thalia.”
“Girl, look at him!” she groans. “He’s hot, Alexandra. You’ve never thought about it?”
“Being attracted to someone is not the same as having feelings.”
My mouth moves before my brain can stop it.
“So you have thought about it?”
“Not all the time,” I shrug, even though she can’t see me. “He’s hot. He’s nice to look at. It’s just... nothing would ever happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want it to, Thalia. Anyway, if you’re done writing your little fanfic, I’m heading out with the hot guy who flew across the planet to see me. Talk later.”
“Go ahead and enjoy your cute little not-a-date with the guy you’d ‘never’ have anything with,” she teases, and I hang up, laughing at myself in the mirror.
Me and A.J.? No way. That’d never work.
***
“Do you already know what you want to get?” A.J. drops his giant self into the passenger seat and buckles up just as a black BMW pulls in behind us.
“Wallpaper, polaroid frames, some cute desk decals… a few books I’ve already read, but in hardcover, for the shelf. And a lamp – you know I like to write at night.”
“Right, because you write music like the Greeks wrote poetry, by hand.”
“Also…” I shift my attention back to the Pinterest board in my mind. “I want some vintage stuff. Full-on Pinterest girl style.”
A.J. stops at the red light, frowning, blinking twice.
“Didn’t know you were a vintage girl too.”
“I’m not. But… if I can decorate a room differently, why not go for it?” I shrug, tossing my curls over my shoulder. “But wait – who’s the other vintage girl in your life?” I ask, genuinely curious.
“Dani,” he says, laughing as he starts listing. “With her eighties-inspired outfits, boots, leather, jackets, shirts with bold or double-meaning quotes… That’s her thing. Dani’s got this whole Penny Lane vibe, you know?”
“Penny Lane the song or the movie?”
“The movie [6] . Definitely. My girl’s been living in this fantasy of dating a hot drummer,” he adds, with that signature smirk. “And honestly? I think she likes the fantasy more than she’ll like the actual life on the road…” he finishes with a sigh, glancing over at me.
The way his eyes soften when he talks about her… A.J. isn’t in the “she needs to grow up”, he’s more “that girl’s a mess and I love her anyway.”
And I like that.
We need more friends who meet us where we are, while we’re still figuring out how to be grown-ups.
“Everyone’s a little lost in college,” I say. “She’s probably just trying to find where she fits.”
A.J. starts the engine again, and the moment the BMW follows us, I gasp a little.
“Easy, it’s just the security team,” he says, smirking.
Cold wind rushes into the car, and normally, I’d ask him to roll up the windows – but not now.
A.J.’s curls blow toward the backseat, and that smug little smile still plays on his lips.
There’s something hypnotic about this man — twice my size — driving with just one hand, the other resting casually on his thigh.
Outside, the gray-blue Manhattan sky looks almost like a frame around him, making the red of his shirt and the pink of his lips stand out even more.
“Do you really need them with you all the time?” I ask, already cursing Thalia in my head for putting that thought there.
A.J. nods.
“We have to...”
As he drives, I force my eyes away from him and try to absorb what’s outside.
Movies don’t do this place justice – not even close.
It’s all more intense, more real. The skyscrapers tower around us as we head south, and the sidewalks overflow with people, proving once and for all that everyone really is hotter in the winter.
I feel like a teenager, embarrassed by how wide-eyed I am.
I try not to show it, but I know I’m grinning like an idiot.
Everything grabs my attention: the High Line, the low buildings of the West Village, the way sunlight hits the glass on the taller ones...
It’s all more beautiful than I imagined, because this time, it’s real.
A.J. drives with this calm that lets me soak it all in.
It’s just past 3 PM, and the crisp autumn wind blows leaves along the streets while yellow cabs battle for space in the chaos of this city.
Every street, every corner we pass shows me something I once saw on TV, lying on the couch with Dona Tereza – except now, it’s not a screen.
It’s right here.
In front of me.
It’s Real.
“A ridiculously overpriced coffee for your thoughts...” A.J. murmurs after a while.
I study his face before answering, torn between brushing it off or just being honest.
“When I was a kid, me and Mom had this list of impossible dreams. Like, truly absurd stuff. One of them was witnessing a historic moment — we imagined something like humans landing on Mars, not... COVID!” I add, making A.J. laugh. “We also had ‘fly without a plane or hang glider.’”
The crease on his forehead scolds me.
“I was a kid, okay?” As I grew up, we started adding difficult, but possible things, so the list wouldn’t turn into a pile of disappointment. And you’re actually helping me check one off — did you know that?”
“I am?”
He puffs up his chest a little, proud, and I give him a half-smile and nod.
“One of them was coming to New York — not just for the landmarks and selfies, but actually getting to know the city. And, well... look where I am now.” I shrug, and A.J. reaches out, touching my hand.
Our pinkies hook together, like a quiet little promise that this trip will be a happy one. For the first time in a long while, I smile with actual hope beating in my chest. Being honest felt... good. If I can enjoy this the right way — and not just once the tour starts — it’s because of him.
“You’re about to hit the Meatpacking District,” he announces like it’s supposed to mean something. I raise an eyebrow, silently asking for more info.
“This place used to be all butchers and meat warehouses,” he explains. I glance out the window, not even a little convinced that this rich-people paradise used to be some meatpacking street.
“In the ‘90s, they started transforming it. First came the artists, then the underground clubs, and now... well, it’s this trendy corner of New York where everyone wants to be.”
“And why are we here?”
His laugh fills the car, making me giggle too.