Page 40 of Just My Type of wrong guy

“Since we went to Europe, Thalia and I have been working behind the scenes for a mini-tour in some states, because of my return, and the release of the new songs… We had this show booked, and almost everything was set for the other five, but the others ended up being postponed to next year. You know, Made to Never Break…” she says, but stops talking for a bit, and I even think the call cut out, but the wind in her hair tells me she’s just... thinking.

“Still listening…”

“This show already had a contract, it was sold out, so we decided to keep it… It’s nothing big, not even a real show. It’s more like a little something so I’m not ignoring the people supporting me here in Brazil.”

She stops talking, like all the words she said are in the wrong place, and touches up her lipstick, trying to stay busy.

“It’ll be a teaser, next year you’ll come back with money and experience, it’ll be good,” I point out, because it’s obvious that this is a real show, and she deserves to be happy about it.

“That’s the plan.”

“It’s good to have those fans who’ve been with us from the start, right?”

“For me, it was a process, actually.” Alexandra holds her phone, stands up, and walks to what seems like a small balcony.

“In what way?”

“I spent a lot of time annoyed with the comments like ‘Finally, you’re like Maria Flor again,’ when I did a cut thatreminded my character in the soap opera, or the ‘Dub that audio from the soap opera that’s trending,’ and the ‘I’ve been following you since GenZ’ comments on my posts. At first, I hated it, because it felt like I would never just be Alexandra again. But… After two years of therapy, and realizing people can cling to whatever they want, I’ve moved past it, I’m really grateful that they stuck around.” She laughs, leaning against an orange wall, and I take my chance:

“And your shame about saying you have a show, when’s that gonna pass?”

“What do you mean?” she asks, with the wind making one stubborn curl, that didn’t stay in the bun, sway.

“You were all like ‘Oh, it’s not a real show,’ and blah, blah, blah.”

“But it’s true, it’s a small, intimate event for three hundred people.”

“Is that your usual crowd?”

“No, I can do two thousand with the right promotion.”

Even like that, her words still waver between pride and shame. Like two thousand isn’t impressive enough.

“So, only your craziest fans are gonna be there?” I ask, but it’s just another attempt to remind her that it’s gonna be an amazing night, with two thousand or two hundred fans, because they really love her.

“Something like that…” She smiles with certainty.

“And you’re gonna sing without me…”

“I’ll make the effort, A.J.”

“I think that’s unfair, ‘cause I can’t sing without you anymore.”

“Oh, stop with the crap.” Alexandra laughs at my drama. “Imagine the headline: A.J. Fortin sings atSolar de Botafogoand drives three hundred fans crazy. It’d actually be amazing.”

“Soul what?”

“Solar de Botafogo. It’s the name of the theater where I’ll sing tomorrow. But enough, let’s hang up, you weren’t even supposed to know about this show. Now I’ve told you everything about it, you and your golden boy act. I hate it.”

“When will I see you?”

“I’m flying out Sunday night, so… Monday.”

“I’ll make a sign that says ‘Petulant and Annoying Girl’ to pick you up at the airport.”

“I’ll never tell you my flight, A.J., wake up.” She retorts, laughing. “See you Monday.”

“See you then,” I say, and her face disappears, leaving me alone on my blue sofa, with my blue walls and a loneliness that seems to suffocate me.

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