Page 33 of Unrecognizable Player

Alice’s knowing grin drops and she blushes.

“Thanks, you too.”

Niceties out of the way, Alice starts driving us to the gig venue she’s picked out for tonight. Apparently the music screaming through the speakers is a taste of what we’re gonna get. I don’t like to judge books by their covers, but I always thought people who like heavy metal music dress a certain way.

Every time I see Alice, she’s dressed like… well, like a rich student. Preppy in college merch and cable knit sweaters.

Tonight, she’s wearing a black dress and her straight black hair is worn down around her shoulders, but there’s none of the black lipstick or nail polish or piercings you’d expect from someone who listens to music like this.

“Where’s this bar again?”

“Williamsburg,” Alice says. “Alexei, you’re from Brooklyn right?”

“Yeah, but Williamsburg’s full of posers.”

Is my asshole switch on automatic or something?

Alice laughs and I catch Stef roll his eyes.

“Where are you from Alice?” Pawlowski asks.

“Connecticut.”

“Oh, cool.”

“No actually, the opposite of cool. How about you?”

“I’m from Minnesota, now that’s the opposite of cool.”

She laughs. Pawlowski isn’t doing a terrible job at this date thing after all.

“Really? You don’t have an accent.”

“Thank you.”

She laughs again. “Mischa, what’s that name? Russian?”

“My mom’s got Ukrainian heritage and my dad’s family are Polish, that’s where the Pawlowski comes from.”

“Do you speak any other languages?”

“Little bit of Ukrainian, but I grew up speaking Polish at home with my mom. How about you?”

“I learned Korean while I was learning English and it’s what I speak with my parents when we’re at home.”

“Cool.”

While they do the whole first date getting to know each other thing over our heads, my eyes meet Stef’s in the rear-view and he smiles. Unfortunately, we don’t have that same familiarity he and Alice have and I have no idea what that smile is supposed to mean.

They actually start getting on like a house on fire before we’re even on the freeway into Brooklyn. Bonding over having parents who are torn between you fitting in and not forgetting your cultural roots. I could join in on this conversation, as I’m sure Stef could, but we leave them to it.

We hit traffic on the Staten Island expressway and we’ve already been in the car for at least an hour. But then we’recrossing into Brooklyn and for a second, I’m hit with a wave of claustrophobia.

The plan has always been to come back. I’m not gonna live in a college town in New Jersey for the rest of my life. I need to get back to my family, they need me. I might have to move somewhere affordable while I work my way up in a bank. But I’ll be coming home a lot. And crossing the bridge just reminds me of how close graduation is. And how everything else is about to come to an end with it. Like hockey and the friendships I have with my teammates. And sitting in the backseat of some girl’s car while she blasts metal and drives us to a bar in Williamsburg. All this student shit will be over and I’ll only have time for work and suits and boardrooms.

When I raise my eyes to the rear-view, Stef’s looking at me with a little frown. He raises an eyebrow and I actually think I get this signal. I nod to let him know I’m fine and he nods back.

There’s a load of biker-looking guys hanging around outside the bar when Alice pulls the car up. She gets out, all five-foot-nothing of her in her little strappy heels, and just walks right on past them.

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