Page 1 of Verses Of Us

THE LUCKY ONE

Alexis

Nestledatopherwhitewooden dresser, between the posters ofTLC,Dawson’s CreekandGood Will Hunting, sat the large black RCA boombox. Alexis flipped the switch on and hopped onto her bed, staring at it while her heart hammered an irregular beat.

Alfred Simmons, otherwise known as Alfy, the DJ who hosted the afternoon radio show aptly titledAlfy in the Aftyrambled about the thousands of entries they got, amplifying her skepticism about her chances. The prize was the opportunity of a lifetime, or at least, one she would sell her soul for.

Never in a million years, he said, had they expected theirWin Brunch with Ciarán Jones Contestwould create such buzz or garner such a response. Alexis crinkled her nose—of course, they didn’t expect it. People constantly underestimated teenagers, as if their young age meant they weren’t strong-willed and determined, but she understood it very well and had experienced it firsthand. Teenage girls were ravenous, hormone-infused beasts that would do anything for a chance like this.

She fiddled with a loose string hanging from the cuff of her frayed jeans, wrapping it around her finger until the blood stopped flowing, then released.

“Lexi, you didn’t finish the dishes!” her mother shouted from downstairs.

“In a minute!”

After an eternity of endless droning, Alfy got to the draw. A fake drum roll sounded over her speakers and Alexis nibbled her nail. Ciarán’s unmistakable sound filled the background as his latest single played. The odds of her winning were less than small. They were minuscule—practically non-existent. But she ignored the voice that insisted she had no chance in hell and refused to give up hope. Someone had to win, so why couldn’t she?

“And the winner of an exclusive meet and greet brunch with Ciarán Jones at The Ritz-Carlton Hotel in downtown Montreal is…” The host was putting it on thick, delaying the announcement and elongating every single syllable.

Alexis dropped her head into her clutched hands, praying to no one in particular. If it was kind enough to grant her wish, she would beg to anyone.

“Are they doing the thingy?” Her mom, Louise, peeked in from the doorway.

Though Alexis nodded, she didn’t look up. Her knee bounced rapidly, matching the pulsing heartbeat that coursed through her ears. Even with the gusts of cold air conditioning blasting into her small bedroom, she felt sweat building everywhere.

Alfy cleared his throat. “Alexis Stanek!”

Time froze. She stopped breathing, convinced she was suffering a hallucination brought on from the abnormally hot June weather. Dehydration could play nasty games with your mind.

“Congratulations, Alexis,” he repeated, yanking her from her daze. “You have thirty minutes to call us and claim your prize or we’ll hand it over to someone else.” He laughed. “And I’m sure we’d have loads of takers. Am I right, Kim?”

“You betcha,” Kim, his co-host, replied with an artificial chuckle. “I bet there is more than one young lady out there listening, hoping she doesn’t call.”

Those words were the push Alexis needed. She leaped off her bed and ran downstairs, slipping on the last two steps. In the kitchen, she yanked the telephone receiver from the wall. Time became fuzzy. Everything was surreal. Her fingers shook so hard, she screwed up her first dialling attempt and had to hang up and start over.

While the phone kept ringing, she took deep breaths, but her mind was blank except for the thought that the beige walls she stared at needed a serious coat of paint.

“I can’t believe you won!” Louise said, rubbing her daughter’s back.

Calmness and warmth radiated from her mom’s hands through Alexis’s shirt as she wound the curly phone wire around her fingers. “Why aren’t they picking up?”

“They will.”

With the sound of a click, her shoulders tensed. A static, scruffy voice answered. “Alfy in the Afty. Are you calling for the Ciarán Jones contest?”

“Yes,” she croaked, her throat dry. “I’m Alexis Stanek.”

“Congratulations. You’re our big winner!” His words echoed through the small kitchen radio and released high-pitch feedback. Louise rushed to turn it off. “And tell me, are you Ciarán’s biggest fan?”

“His biggest.”

“Prove it,” Alfy challenged.

“Proveit?” Her stomach lurched.

“Yeah,” he snickered. “What is Ciarán’s birthday?”

Disappointed, Alexis twisted her mouth.Was this the best they could do?There was no challenge in the question, not for her, anyway.

---