cigarettes and valentines // tree bros

chapter 3

Dear Evan Hansen,

Today is going to be a good day, and here's why:

I sat, staring at the flashing cursor on the screen. It taunted me, as flashes of the day I had just lived through burned through my mind. Seriously - I got yelled at by Connor freakin' Murphy? And then his sister actually spoke to me? I had a lot of backup plans for unexpected events that could ruin me, but these were so left field. Surely, nothing could have prepared me for this.

I heard footsteps nearing my aisle in the compute room. I barely had enough time to minimize the document before I heard Alana Beck's voice behind me.

"Hey, Ev," she smiled, launching herself onto the spinny chair beside me. I decided talking to her would be better than writing the letter. If only slightly. "How was your summer?"

"Good," I responded, monotone. She looked through me, as always. We met in those after school clubs they put on, you know, the ones that smart kids that need space to do extra work go to. I had to go because my mom couldn't always pick me up and I was too scared to get the bus on my own. But Alana didn't know that. The difference was that when I grew up, I was able to walk home. Alana never stopped doing extra homework. "How was yours?"

"Oh, busy, you know!" Her smile was pained, like someone was pulling her toenails out with rusty pliers. "I did a lot of volunteering, and took three internships at out of state companies. I met so many new friends; it's really invaluable making connections, you know what I mean, Evan?" I nodded, wordlessly, with no idea what she meant. She gasped, pointing to my cast. "Oh, my God, what happened to your arm?"

"I, uh..." I hadn't planned a lie. Nobody, except Connor, had noticed. Luckily, her concern was just an act.

"My gran broke her hip last year, you know," she flipped her perfect hair away from her perfect face. "She's better now, but she says she's going to stop gardening. It'd be really sad to see her garden rife with weeds so I might start tending to it – if I can make some time, of course." Alana checked her watch – it was, of course, a smart watch – and gasped again. "I'm late for play rehearsal!"

As she trotted away, without even saying goodbye, I returned to my letter.

Dear Evan Hansen,

Today wasn't a good day. Obviously it wasn't. It's never going to be a good day. I don't have any friends – no real ones, at any rate. I spend my days invisible to most people and lost, alone. How could it be a good day? Never mind a good week. I'll never have a good year.

What am I still here for? Oh, yeah, maybe tomorrow. Don't we always say that? Tomorrow: always another day, always another chance. But it's pointless hoping when nothing's going to get any better.

I wish... I was a part of something. I wish anyone would see me, properly see me. Not look through me. Sometimes I think that I'm not real. Would it be that much of a shock to learn that this whole time I actually have been invisible? It would make sense. I don't know if I can survive much longer with this feeling and these thoughts.

Sincerely your dearest and only friend,

Me.