It seemed nearly everyone in
the building had heard a whisper by the time Alona reached her father's
rusting Gremlin.
She made her way to it without getting hit by the over-anxious drivers,
unlocked the driver's side door, threw her bag into the back seat and
herself into the driver's. Then she let go and sobbed and sobbed,
hoping that if she got a "C" in Freshman Comp that it wouldn't turn out
to be the excuse her parents needed to stop paying her tuition. They
wanted Alona to work in the town's newly renovated theater, an
investment in which they owned a small percentage.
Alona's sobs lasted for some time, and she knew, just knew, that her
water-proof mascara had run, so she opened the glove compartment to
find a Kleenex. Out fell a letter.
Her sobbing stopped as she picked it up from the dusty car floor.
"Alona" was written, almost scribbled, on the cover. In Kurt's
handwriting. She hadn't seen him in weeks, not since he began playing
regularly in the band. She couldn't help picturing him the last time
he was in her car, brushing back his long hair and scratching his hand
in that nervous way of his.
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