SEASON TWO, EPISODE FIVE

VALENTINE'S DAY

A.J.

          "SO," Diana began, dipping a fry in her milkshake, earning herself grimaces from both Fleetwood twins. Miyu was slightly more discreet with her disgust, simply choosing to look away. "Now that the drama is over and things are going back to normal, are you going back to normal?"

          A.J. shifted in her seat, pondering her next move.

          Diana would never really understand; everything that had gone down during the past couple of months couldn't be explained in simple terms like 'drama'. Things would never fully go back to 'normal', whatever that meant, no matter how often people tried to tell her that it was over and she could go out in the world without fear. That wasn't how things worked. There were no miraculous solutions.

          She knew the blog team still despised and resented her. She'd been informed Sasha had orchestrated the entire plan to unmask Jolene and, even though Sasha had assured her she'd gladly handle the social consequences herself, A.J. still feared other people might not take that lightly. Between the two of them, Sasha was the one people generally liked; there was a clear difference between being idolized and being liked.

          Worse than that, she was still trying to come to terms with her personal, private life being in the public eye now. Something that had always been her secret was now known by the entire world, and all eyes were on her. She hadn't even sought professional help and she knew her mental health was in shambles; sometimes, it felt impossible to get out of bed and face the world.

          She'd also betrayed them, in a way, even though she hadn't had a choice. Joining Descant Get Enough for their Sectionals performance had been the final nail in the coffin, a clear statement that she was cutting all ties with her former group, and she knew some people wouldn't exactly welcome her back with open arms. She'd contributed to a win everyone knew Descant Get Enough would get regardless, whereas The Twilight Tone had struggled to patch itself back together after she left.

          "I don't know," she eventually admitted. "I'd have to talk to Isabella and to my team, I guess. If the opinions differ, then they'd have to talk to each other, and God knows how long that would take. Could even extend past Regionals."

          The air in the diner was so thick A.J. nearly choked on it.

          "Sounds fair," Diana replied, complete with a noncommittal shrug. "I don't think Isabella would be against you coming back. Your team might not really . . . agree . . . but I think all of us would be happy to welcome you back. That is, if you're ready for that. None of us can quite understand what you went through or the toll it must have had on you, but I hope you know plenty of us have your back."

          Diana gave her hand a gentle squeeze over the table, while A.J. found herself agreeing with her. Diana was right—none of them would ever understand the hell she'd been put through, and they should be thankful for that.

          Miyu, too, who had done nothing wrong, whose biggest crime had been liking her back, had been pushed aside. The narrative, whatever it was, hadn't been fair to her. Between A.J. running away from any context where they could be seen being too friendly and watching her compete against her former group, the one she'd helped bring back to life, and sing songs about longing to her former fake boyfriend.

          And yet, she'd stayed. Even though she deserved a lot better than what A.J. had given her and could ever give her, she'd still stayed.

          "Anyway, we're doing a fun assignment soon for Valentine's Day," T.J. said, feeling like the silence had dragged on for way too long and things were fading into the awkward realm. Miyu significantly perked up at the mention of the assignment, so A.J. could only assume it really was a good thing. "We'll be taking requests during the entire week and singing to people. Like, if someone asked us to send a musical telegram to someone else, we'll deliver it. You should join us. No strings attached."

          "That does sound fun," she replied. T.J. nodded enthusiastically. "I think I'd like that."

          "No strings attached," he repeated. "I'm sure Isabella won't mind. Even if she does, it's also kind of your club."

          There was only so much small talk a group of people could have without one of them feeling out of place. The club was pretty much all NYSPA talked about lately because everyone loved an underdog and she knew they, too, wanted to bring it up even more; was that how she sounded whenever she talked about Broadway, oblivious to everyone's feelings?

          They avoided touching the subject, presumably to spare her feelings, but she really wished they wouldn't do that. She never meant for people to treat her like a fragile, porcelain doll who was under the constant threat of bursting into tears or biting someone's head off at the mere mention of the cause of her heartache. She was stronger than that; at the very least, she wanted to believe she was.

          So, she changed the subject before things got any worse. She asked about wedding preparations, which sent Diana into a long, excited monologue T.J. could barely keep up with, even though he tried his hardest to, but they were distracted. Hearing about other people's relationships and how steady they were really helped her not think about her own, so messy it gave 'it's complicated' a whole new meaning.

          "Naturally, Mom and Dad are super excited about the wedding," T.J. went on, with an arm set on the back of Diana's chair. She leaned back into it, looking up at him with eyes so full of affection, and A.J. couldn't help but think why such natural gestures were so hard for her. "I think Mom's just happy she has something to control and obsess over instead of . . ." He made a vague gesture with his free hand, leaving the rest of the sentence hanging in the air, but A.J. knew damn well what he meant.

          Thankfully, their mother had something to worry about besides her other child's drama. The spotlight had been fun at first, but they had all been put through way too much.

          The walk back to campus was more relaxed than before. A.J. felt a weight being lifted off her shoulders, a constant consequence of hanging out with Diana Santiago, and even walked with a pep in her step, hands safely tucked inside the pockets of her coat. It was one of those winters in New York, the kind of winter that makes you want to stay in bed all day and cozy up near a fire, but NYSPA pushed you to find your own fire and carry it with you wherever you went.

          It was snowing. A.J. had no gloves and Diana had to huddle up to T.J. for warmth, giggling as she hid her mouth behind her knit scarf. Miyu walked in silence, fixing her beanie, and still said nothing when A.J. exposed one of her hands to the biting wind.

          Her index finger grazed against Miyu's knuckles, so softly it could have been an accident, but they both knew it hadn't been. Miyu looked at her for a brief instance, receiving a nod in return as she took A.J.'s finger in her frozen hand, like one would do to a small child, then A.J. decided to hell with it.

          Even if it was a crowded street, even if no one cared, it was still a pretty big deal. She still held her best friend's hand, wanting so bad to say 'this is my girlfriend', but neither of them had ever approached the topic before.

          Her hand now fit perfectly into hers, fingers intertwined, and A.J. stepped closer, their shoulders brushing. She found it hard not to smile.

          VALENTINE'S DAY WEEK ENDED UP BEING AS FUN AS IT SOUNDED. During pre-production for Spring Awakening, A.J. and Nick had to take advantage of photo-ops and watch themselves get 'randomly' photographed during strategically planned dates. She had plenty of experience with performing and acting surprised when faced with a bouquet of roses, but a real date for Valentine's Day, when she was old enough to truly understand what it meant, was unknown territory.

          Now, Nick had Janet. A.J. had her own bitterness and disdain for the date, something so meaningless when every company under the sun took advantage of it to market it as something people should bend and break themselves over to reach an overly glorified standard.

          Was she bitterly single? Well, yeah.

          Thus, she spent the entire week helping the show choir club deliver musical telegrams across the campus. She tagged along with her friends, even Sasha, out of all people, and avoided being near the remainder of the blog team. Angelina seemed to have turned over a new leaf and was distancing herself from those people as well, but A.J. didn't know how to not be on edge.

          The best part of the assignment was the silliness of it all. Taking song requests from random people—who sometimes only had a mood or a vibe in mind, not an actual song—and tracking down the receivers in a campus big enough to house the White House was strangely thrilling. There was no preparation, as they couldn't predict what they were going to sing, and they had to come up with ideas on the spot; who was singing which part of the song? In which order?

          A.J. suspected that was the theme for the week—being spontaneous. Learning to live in the moment. She'd never been great at either of those things.

          T.J. nudged her with his shoulder during one of the breaks between songs, like he always used to. "You look like you're having fun."

          "I am," she confirmed, pouring herself some steaming hot chocolate. "This was a really cute idea. Was it Isabella's?"

          "It was mine, actually." She nodded. "I saw the idea online and thought 'hey, you know what? We could do that too', but then I remembered I had to pitch it to Isabella. It always looked so easy when you did it. Whenever you had an idea for an assignment, you just . . . sat her down and said you were doing it, without a care in the world. I choked halfway through it." He filled his own cup with hot chocolate. "Remember when you were pissed at me for helping Sasha rope Isabella into reviving the club? Even then, she did most of the talking. I was just there because I look like you."

          "Isabella is pretty chill as long as you know how to compromise." She sipped her hot chocolate. It was sweet, too sweet for comfort, but she forced herself to swallow it. "Besides, you don't have to try to replace me. You don't have to try to be like me. People like you for being you, not for being related to me. God knows I love you exactly because you're not like me."

          He shrugged. "Well, you know Mom and Dad. Always wanted to pit us against each other."

          A.J. let out a small sigh, then sat down at one of the tables outside, with T.J. following her close behind. They were almost replicating the first day of their senior year of college, when she was fresh out of Broadway and things between them didn't feel as tense as they currently did.

          "I hope you know I never wanted to hurt you," she said, unable to look him in the eye. "It was just . . . really hard to bounce back after everything that went down. I know they've spent our entire lives wanting us to be the same person, but I shouldn't have enabled them. I shouldn't have competed with you over stuff you weren't even interested about just because they wanted us to. Sometimes, I found myself being like 'does Tyler even like musical theater or was he just conditioned into thinking he does because I like musical theater?' and that was supposed to be my thing. I spent four years of our lives resenting you for something that wasn't even your fault; it wasn't fair for either of us, especially you. You never should have felt like you were living in my shadow. You've always been your own person."

          T.J. wrinkled his nose. "You know, musical theater is that kind of thing you either are born loving, hate with a burning passion, or have it grow on you. It crept up on me, I think because you love it so much. Like, if you'd told thirteen-year-old me I'd be giving a show choir club my whole heart during my senior year of college, I would have laughed. I wanted to be a veterinarian."

          She laughed. "We've certainly come a long way since then."

          "Yeah, we have." He finished his hot chocolate. "I probably wouldn't have done this if it hadn't been for you. I wouldn't be attending NYSPA if it hadn't been for you, and I wouldn't have met Diana. Are you the cause of plenty of my suffering? Kinda, yeah." She grimaced. "But you're also my sister. Pain in the ass or not, I love you. Even after all the missteps."

          They never got to finish that conversation, as Brody Reid chose that exact moment to stop by their table, his guitar swung around his torso like the pretentious idiot he was.

          "I wanted to ask for your help with a song," he told A.J., completely forgetting T.J. was sitting at the table as well, "but not here. The auditorium, perhaps?"

          A.J. frowned. "Do we have to? We're kind of . . . in the middle of something."

          "It really can't wait. I have to get this done today, and you're kind of my only hope."

          A.J. rolled her eyes, but still stood up. "Wow, I'm flattered to know you went through literally everyone else before remembering I exist."

          "Auditorium, please."

          She had no choice but to follow him. He walked faster than she did, possibly because he was taller and his legs were longer, and she decided she didn't want to go through the effort of trying to keep up with his pace. Fortunately, after six months in New York, people were starting to leave him alone instead of pestering him at every chance they got, so they didn't run into any troubles on their way towards the auditorium.

           As expected, there was no one there. Brody still made sure to close the heavy doors behind them and skipped down the stairs leading to the stage. There was no band, no club waiting for them; just the two of them, the microphones, and the instruments.

          "I've been working on a song for a few years now, and I never seem to get it right," Brody said. "It started off as a way of venting, of putting into notes what I couldn't put into words, and, eventually, I got the lyrics. It was just my thing, not the band's, and there were only two people I ever meant to play it to."

          "Your fiancé?" she guessed.

          "Yeah. Jesse. Then, his younger sister, Cara." He gestured towards the piano. "Please."

          "If you want help composing a love song, I assure you I'm not the best person to do it." She still sat at the piano, though. It felt like coming home, somehow. "Unless the song is about bearding or being too scared to date the person you like, I can't help you. It's not really something I understand on a personal level."

          "Today was supposed to be their sister's birthday. Jesse and I don't really do Valentine's Day because of it and it's just too painful for him, but I . . . I thought the song could help. It helped me, in a way, but it's the melody I can't finish. It always feels like there's something missing. Then I thought about you."

          "Because of the piano?"

          "Yeah. Not just that." He glanced at her, devastation clouding his eyes, and her stomach tightened. "You look just like her, you know? The day I first met you, I thought you were absolutely insufferable, but there was something awfully familiar about you I couldn't exactly pinpoint. Then, there was light. You look so much like her it freaks me out; it's like staring at a ghost." He took a deep breath, staring at the empty seats in front of them. "I didn't know your name. I only ever found out when you quit the club and Miyu said it."

          "That was her name. Wasn't it? Allison." Brody nodded, jaw clenched, and she swore she saw his eyes twinkle. "I remember noticing Jesse going all pale, but I didn't . . . I didn't really think about it. I wanted to get out of there. I didn't know. We're talking about her in past tense."

          He paused, taking a moment to think about her words, then his, then his Allison.

          "Past tense," Brody eventually echoed. "Thanks for not asking how it happened. I don't really talk much about it, and it's been three years since she died. Jesse talks about it even less and Cara is . . . doing her thing, I suppose. She stayed in Massachusetts to take care of their dad. It always baffles me how one thing can tear an entire family apart."

          A.J. just nodded, not quite knowing what to say. There's not much to be said when someone is venting about their grief, sharing it in such a personal way that your own heart broke, too. Speaking about Allison brought him great agony, but the song he'd written about her, for her, brought some comfort.

          "I'll help you," she said. "I'll do my best."

          He threw her a weak smile. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

          As they wrote and composed, him at the guitar, her at the piano, A.J. had time to think. She thought about how that, too, was love—allowing someone to exist even after they'd died, ensuring they'd never be forgotten, as long as there were things to remember them for.

          The song was about how a girl had lived and what she'd done for eighteen years, not about the two years she never got to live. The song was about the people she'd loved, the ones that had loved her.

          That, too, was love. Something corporations couldn't steal, something the media couldn't take advantage of.

it's missing allison gallagher o'clock and i'm emo