Hopeful Undertone

Chapter 1: The Loneliest Birthday

In a fitting display of my complete lack of social life, I spent my eighteenth birthday alone, watching an old Audrey Hepburn movie and drinking wine from a plastic restaurant cup.

I had the entire house to myself—a rare luxury that I owed to my brother's insane basketball skills and my parents' utter indifference to me on his tournament days. The obvious downside was that I was stuck here because 1) my parents didn't allow me to go out while they were out of town, and 2) I had no car anyway.

My dad, stepmom, and younger brother, Ryan, had set out that morning for a city two hours east, which, according to my stepmom's invariable habit of texting me after every game, meant I should have at least two hours' notice before anyone came home.

Just then, my phone lit up with a text from Diane:

WE WON BABY! Dinner to celebrate. Be home late. don't forget to walk Sadie and lock up when u go to bed. LOVE U!!

I fell backward into my pillows and sighed in silent gratitude.

On TV, an aging Fred Astaire was explaining to Audrey Hepburn that her "funny face" appealed to him. I knew this had more to do with the fact that funny rhymed with sunny than with anyone's actual perception of Audrey Hepburn as funny-looking, but the preposterousness of the notion ruined my sense of immersion anyway.

My phone lit up again. It was Abram.

yo, birthday girl. wish you were here

Below the text was a picture of my friend Stace cradling our other friend, Lyla, in her arms, head thrown back in an expression of fake anguish. Lyla, splattered in neon paint, was not hurt, but did appear to be dying of laughter.

They had gone paintballing without me.

It wasn't that I cared about paintball. Like all of Abram's ideas, it was just a random excuse to let off stress and make fools of ourselves. But that's exactly why I wanted to be there.

I replied:

Hilariousss. Me too. Tell Lyla she owes me a new tank top

I stared at the TV, at my dumb little movie, holding my dumb little half-cup of stale wine that I'd taken from the garage fridge. I had been eyeing the bottle for months, making sure that it was so thoroughly forgotten about that it wouldn't be missed. Most of the alcohol in it had already evaporated.

I stood up and looked around. This was a lame birthday. I could admit that. But I didn't have to sit around moping. I washed my cup out—several times, smelling it to be sure no trace of wine remained. Then I let Sadie out, gathered up the mountain of pillows I'd brought out to the couch, and carried them back to my room.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. Staring back was a girl with frizzy, dark blonde curls, frumpy sweats, and a sort of fragility in the eyes that repulsed me. It wasn't my fault that I was homebound tonight. It wasn't even like my friends had rejected me. Still, I felt I could smell the loner on my skin, like a miasma signaling some kind of social disease to my peers.

I needed a shower.

In the bathroom, I lit a citrus-scented candle, stepped into the too-hot water, and began to daydream. I saw myself in a cute crop top, suited up for paintball, diving across the field with comic heroism, making Abram laugh in that way that he once said only I could. I daydreamed of a college a thousand miles away, of the small freedom of driving my own car to run errands, keys jingling in my hand as I carried a shopping basket around Target. Most of all, I dreamed of a life in which I got to choose how I spent my time.

Lately, I felt as if I were standing outside a big city where everyone inside had a purpose and led busy, satisfying lives. Meanwhile, there I sat outside the walls, waiting for my parents or brother or friends to bring me news from the real world. I felt locked out.

Locked out: Sadie. I had forgotten to let her in. I ended my shower, dressed quickly, and slid open the back door.

I called her name brightly, scanning the darkened yard for her black coat. I didn't see her until she bulleted between my legs and inside, taking several laps around the house in celebration of what had apparently been an invigorating bathroom break.

When at last she tired herself out, she lay at my feet and presented her belly. I obliged her request, reminding myself once again of the therapeutic benefit of dogs. On the coffee table, another text came in: Lyla this time.

TESSAAA. I think Cory has officially been dethroned

Cory was Lyla's calculus tutor and current crush, a college sophomore her parents had hired from an agency. I wasn't surprised to hear that her interest in him was fizzling. The crush was several months old already and going nowhere because Cory, apparently immune to Lyla's charms, treated her with nothing but professionalism (the jerk). Since my best friend is the type of girl who needs to be in love constantly, it was only a matter of time before she found someone new to obsess over.

Ooh, tell me all about him! I wrote back.

Two minutes went by. I petted Sadie.

Ok so is name is Tyler. He's one of Abram's friends from church. He sings in a band and quotes dorky movies and is basically just freaking hilarious. I'm stalking his Facebook now. I'll send pics :]

Before I knew it, I found myself zooming in on photos of a total stranger—a dark-haired kid with soulful eyes. For some reason, I couldn't quite get a read on him. In some photos he looked athletic, in others, more like a scrawny artist-type.

I went to the bathroom to put on a face mask, dipping into the limited supply of luxury skincare stuff that I'd splurged on last weekend as an early birthday gift to myself, and messaged Lyla back and forth while the movie about funny-looking Audrey Hepburn came to an end.

After humoring her for a half hour as she sent me photo after photo to prove Tyler's worthiness, I suggested that, on the whole, there was a startling lack of evidence that this new guy was not, in fact, a serial killer. In support of this theory, I sent her back "sketchy" photos and videos (Tyler in a cheesy skeleton hoodie, Tyler doing an acoustic cover of some macabre emo song) and out-of-context comments left months ago.

If I was being honest, he was the most wholesome person I had ever seen Lyla take an interest in, with the possible exception of Cory the math tutor. He was definitely the most interesting. The more I dug for proof of my silly theory, the more invested I became in the life of this ordinary, multifaceted, and freakishly well documented person.

Long after Lyla signed off, I was still deep in the Videos section of his profile losing track of time. Here was Tyler recreating a hilariously dumb infomercial with his dad. There was Tyler riding on a skateboard with another dude, Titanic-style. There he was singing on stage at church on Christmas, singing to his mom in the kitchen, singing last weekend at a venue downtown. Tyler singing to an empty sky, singing about scars, singing about guilt.

By the time I closed my laptop and went to bed, my brain was full of his songs. And somehow, I no longer felt quite so alone.

* * *

Author's Note:

In the classic tradition of first chapters, I've read this first part so many times that I can longer tell if it's good. 

Keep reading to see:

- Tessa get pelted with lunch foods (Chapter 2), 
- Tessa turn down the chance to eat off the same plate as THE Tyler Joseph (Chapter 3),
- Tessa spit a love note into the toilet (Chapter 4)

Be sure to comment and "vote" this chapter so that this story will reach more people! 

Thank you so much for the support, frens.