unREASONable by Arya Matthews

Track 12

Alexandra

I can’t believe my ears.

Marshall doesn’t jump on me, declaring over and over again that he was right about me being an impostor. He gives me a milkshake instead. Does he finally accept me? Or maybe feels like he could try to?

My eyes are already stinging from talking about my family, so his more pleasant than usual disposition fills them with tears to the brim. I slurp through the straw. I won’t cry in front of the Vipers. And I will never cry in front of Marshall. Even if I feel weak and fragile through my core, he can never know. He needs someone strong and unbending with the bass, not a crybaby.

CJ and Marshall engage in a discussion of a song CJ’s writing and whether it would fit the album theme, then whether they should continue pursuing a theme at all. Giving a whole album a theme can churn out a spectacular work of art, but it can also flop with a bang.

“Maybe not this song then,” CJ says in the end. “We have Alexandra now, and I bet The Label has plans for her. We’ll have to wait and see exactly what they were thinking about bringing Alexandra on board.”

Shane nods. “Good plan.”

“You think The Label would have me be a lead on any of the songs?” I toss the idea around my brain. It could be fun in the studio, but I worry I’d chicken out when it was time to perform live.

Marshall sips his soda, one of his feet resting on his knee. “Fat chance, regardless of your vocal abilities.”

Dead silence descends on the table. Zach glares at him, and even Graham, who’s usually chill no matter what Marshall says, sighs in frustration. Or maybe I’m imagining their disapproval with all the indignance that flows through me. A moment ago Marshall’s been nice, now he’s impossible again.

“And the jerk returns,” Zach mutters.

Marshall drops a fry. “What?”

My phone chimes in my jacket pocket. Grateful for the interruption from the awkwardness, I hurry and check it. “It’s Mr. Eaton. I’d better answer.” He strikes again with the worst timing possible.

All five Vipers stare at me with wide eyes. Of course they do. They don’t know about anyone in my life, so when someone calls me and I drop Connor’s name like it’s no big deal… Oops. No one’s supposed to know about Connor other than Kiera. I slide my thumb across the screen and try my best to push out a happy voice even though my chest still burns with humiliation from Marshall’s remarks and I feel like a complete dummy for mentioning Connor. “Hello.”

I take our conversation to the farthest table and sit with my back to everyone. Connor takes a while asking me about my day-to-day activities and making sure everything is well. At the moment, even though everything really is well—the majority of the Vipers tolerate me quite well, my practice sessions with them become smoother and smoother, and I’m growing somewhat accustomed to my new life in the States—the world feels bleak. Marshall sits like a poisoned sliver in my heart. With him everything is one step forward and a mile back. He will always hate me. He will not let me stay with the band. He will not share his family with me, I just know it. I endeavor to stay upbeat despite everything, but an already broken heart can only take so much.

When Connor finally hangs up, I keep my new phone pressed to my ear and spend a few moments with my old one, watching my family videos again. No sound. I don’t want anyone to hear my parents call me pet names or laugh. I don’t want to hear their voices either. I’ll definitely cry if I do.

It dawns on me that I’m sitting in complete silence. I glance over my shoulder. Marshall’s the only one left at our original table, rocking on the chair, his face unreadable. The rest of the Vipers stand outside, drinking what remains of their shakes and soda and laughing.

I put my phones away and return to Marshall. “We’re already leaving?”

He refuses to look at me as he stands and says, “I’m sorry.”

There’s plenty he can be apologizing for. I just never expected him to. He doesn’t seem like the type to beg forgiveness when he doesn’t want to, and it’s obvious he’s forcing himself to say sorry.

I grab one last fry and go outside without responding. If I can’t have a full-on squabble with him, I can certainly be passive-aggressive.

Marshall sighs behind my back.

“All good?” CJ looks between us.

I give him my brightest smile. “Of course.” I smile at Marshall too. Let everyone think we’re best friends until death.

“Let’s go home then.” CJ yawns and climbs behind the wheel.

I sit up front with him. I don’t get carsick, but this way Marshall can’t sit next to me.

CJ drives us all home. I cling to what dignity I have left and keep pretending like everything’s fine by gazing out the window and failing at universal proportions to stop thinking about Marshall. I’ve managed to brush off his criticisms for weeks, but today his attitude hurts. Today I give in to the feeling that no one’s on my side. All my hopes for a new future and new family crumble away. I want to give up on everything, especially on Marshall. I can’t change his mind about me no matter what I do anyway.

I draw a slow breath. This is just one moment of weakness, one pinch of despair. I’ll shake it off by tomorrow, I’m sure.

What if I won’t?

We stop at a traffic light, and Marshall leans between the seats to say, “Alexandra, I’m sorry.”

I resist the urge to look at him, but I can’t resist asking, “Why are you sorry?”

Marshall exhales. “I’m sorry for saying The Label wouldn’t let you be the lead singer on any of the songs.”

I act like it doesn’t matter. “Never mind. I only asked because I don’t know anything about The Label’s practices. I thought you would.” Will he soften up if I defer to him as to a source of authority and knowledge?

“How the heck am I supposed to know?” Marshall grinds through clenched teeth.

And just like that, he’s angry at me again. And now I’m angry too.

“You’ve been with them for years.” My voice grows louder. “I thought maybe you’d have a pretty good idea.”

“Well, I don’t. When The Label decides something, our opinion doesn’t matter. So stop asking. I don’t know anything. When I do, you will too. And stop trying to be nice to me. It’s annoying, and it won’t work! The moment your contract’s up, you’re out, president’s pet.”

“Marshall!” Zach exclaims from the back of the minivan.

“President’s pet?” I demand.

“How else did you get to be with us?”

My mouth drops. “I’ve never met the man in my life!”

Marshall scoffs. “Please. Don’t bother lying. We’re not stupid.”

“Marsh, what the eff is wrong with you?” CJ snaps.

Is that what he really thinks of me? What they all think of me? I suspected that they might be tolerating me only because The Label hoisted me off on them, but to hear it out loud, no matter how true… My whole body trembles. Whether from rage or offense, I have no clue and don’t care to figure out.

We come to another traffic light, which happens to be the last one before the Nest, and I climb out of the van and start walking. CJ calls after me, but I ignore him. Sorry, CJ and everyone, that you have to be collateral damage tonight, but I need to be alone. Not in that guest house, a few steps away from you, but completely alone. I need to walk for a long time like I used to do back in Saint Petersburg, need the wind to blow my thoughts clean.

CJ pulls over after he passes the intersection, and Marshall climbs out of the van.

“It’s dark, and you’re not going anywhere alone. Get back in,” he orders.

He orders. I keep walking.

Marshall growls and slams the van door shut. For a moment I believe they’re leaving, but when the van drives off, Marshall jogs up to my side.

“Alexandra,” he tries to engage me, and this time his tone is much softer.

I don’t respond. Yes, I’m mad at him. Yes, I’m pouting. And no, I don’t have to talk to him. He’s made his point crystal clear, so I’m going to do exactly what he wants me to do. I’ll stop being nice to him.

Marshall gives up talking and walks beside me in silence, robbing me of solitude and fueling my anger.

Residential Portland sleeps under a blanket of darkness and porch lights. When we arrive at home, I’m still wading in that odd state of mind that refuses to be anywhere familiar after a disastrous evening. But where else can I go? It is dark and it is late. As safe as the suburbs might be, I promised Connor and Kiera that I wouldn’t go anywhere by myself. I know, I know. I’ve already broken that promise.

Marshall uses my deliberation to his advantage. “This is not the best walk you’ve had, is it?”

It’s hard to ignore his peacemaking voice, so I finally look at him. I wish I didn’t. I don’t know what’s wrong with me right now, but all I can think of is that he’s unforgivably handsome. I thought so before I met him, but in real life Marshall has a pull to him that’s impossible to shake off. His dark hair frames his face, shielding his eyes from what little light the porch lanterns cast, but I still discern every line, every long eyelash.

I give myself a mental slap. His charms won’t ensnare me. I won’t surrender to his allure or my hormones. Marshall hates me. The only reason he’s talking to me right now is probably because the other guys made him.

Marshall looks at me, and I quickly avert my eyes. I can’t take his penetrating gaze tonight. He’ll see right through me and my every insecurity. I still have to respond somehow. Yay or nay. I forgive you. Get lost.

I end up saying, “You of all people should understand what it’s like to be an outsider.”

Marshall flinches like I’ve slapped him and stares at me for a full minute. Then his shoulders slump. He rubs his face with both hands. “You’re right.”

There’s nothing more we can say to each other tonight. Hurt is still gnawing on my insides. As much as I can tell, annoyance, or maybe guilt, chisels at Marshall. We need a good, long break from each other, so I go inside the guest house before I say something else and restart our fight.

> <

Two days after the fight, Marshall doesn’t talk to me, I pretend he doesn’t exist, and the rest of the Vipers flee the rehearsal room as soon as we’re done. This is exactly what I’ve been trying to avoid.

“I’d kill for some Russian candy,” I mutter to myself as I come into the living room.

The guys are all heading for the kitchen—it’s lunch time. I don’t expect anyone to hear me, but CJ turns around and comes back.

“Let’s go get you some snacks.” He wraps his hand around my elbow and leads me to the garage.

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” I already feel like I impose on every minute of his time.

“I need to get out of the house anyway. You wanna come with me? If not, I’ll stop by a store and bring you something.” He lets go of my arm and disappears behind the garage door without waiting for me.

It seems I’m not the only one wrung out by the tension that accompanies our rehearsals. I hurry after him and hop on the passenger seat of his dark blue Wrangler.

“Well, if you’re going out anyway…” I steal a glance at him.

CJ grins. He waits for me to buckle up then drives us toward downtown.

“So, how do you feel about the band so far?” he asks. “I put you on the spot a few days ago, but how about some bashing in return?”

“I…love it.” Some days are harder than others, but I do love being with them.

He catches on the hesitation I’ve failed to conceal from my voice. “You love it, but?”

I shrug. “But nothing.”

“Alexandra, you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met, and I’ve spent enough time with you now to know there is a but.”

“I don’t want to sound ungrateful.”

He pulls into a small parking lot and turns off the engine. “Noted. You are full of gratitude. Now, tell me what’s wrong. I can’t fix or change anything if you keep it to yourself.”

“Can you change Marshall?” The words zip into the air between us with a lot more challenge and even accusation than I intended.

CJ sighs. “Not really, but—”

“Hey, I’m only teasing. I don’t have any problems with him.” Other than the problems I have with him.

He chuckles. “Did I somehow forget to mention you’re a terrible liar?”

“I love the band,” I say, unbuckling and trying to redirect the conversation at least a little. I do love the band as a whole. “I am so incredibly lucky to be with you—”

“Don’t even start with the self-deprecation,” CJ grumbles.

“Self-depre-what?”

“Where you act like you’re so much worse than everyone else around you. You’re not. You’re inexperienced, and that’s an easy fix. We’re already fixing it.”

I check the storefront. He’s brought us to a place called Annushka’s. I would be surprised if it’s not a Russian or at least an Eastern European store with a name like that.

“How do you know about this place?” He hasn’t been using any map app or anything on the way here.

“I drive by often. Let’s go.” He opens his door but turns to me once more. “Don’t think about anything. You’re already doing great.”

Tears prickle my eyes. He’s too much. When will he wake up and realize I’m not worth the effort?

We get out of the car and enter the store. The first thing that grabs my attention is the smell—a mix of sugar, spices, pickles, and smoked fish.

“Smells like home, all right,” I say.

CJ picks up a red plastic basket. “Anything edible here?”

I elbow him in the side. We both laugh and start grabbing things.

“Is it okay for me to be breaking the diet again?” I ask as I add two small bottles of kvas, intending to get CJ to drink one of them. I grew up drinking the dark brown fermented bread beverage, but I’m sure he’s gonna hate it.

“Diet!” CJ scoffs. “You’re homesick. Besides, you’re not going to binge on a crate of sweets, are you?”

I give him a “maybe” look.

CJ laughs and ruffles my hair. That I don’t like. “Stop ruining my hair!”

He points at a shelf full of bags of different grains. Roasted buckwheat, sunshine yellow millet, and sturdy barley. “So, you grew up eating stuff like this?”

“Yeah. It may look odd, but if you cook it right, it’s delicious.” I poke the bag with buckwheat. “My mom would always steam this then fry it with carrots and ground beef.”

Mama will never make another meal for me again. I shove the thought aside because I don’t want to risk falling apart in front of CJ, but it clings to me like a hair to a charged balloon.

“My mom never bothered cooking anything. I grew up on dry toast and dollar microwave meals—” CJ jerks to face away, every motion sharp and embarrassed. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to rain on your parade. We’re here to get you a taste of home, not listen to my complaints about my past.”

I want to hug him, but I worry that if I do, it’ll embarrass him even more. So I settle for stuffing a pryanik into his hand. “Here. This is one of my favorites.”

CJ faces me again, his gaze soft. I think he understands what I’m trying to do. He reads the translated label on the back of the pryanik. “Ginger flavored cookie in sweet glaze. I love ginger cookies.” He throws the pryanik I gave him into the basket and picks up a more fancily stamped one. “Now you’re talking.”

“It’s the size of your face.” I laugh.

“You’re right. It might not be enough. Let’s get more.”

For the rest of our time at the store, the mood is light and cheerful, but I hold on to the reminder that I’m not the only one with inner demons and buried pain.