Love is Always Write Anthology Bonus Volume

up Playboy once or twice. Even Playgirl. I'd seen similar outfits. They hadn't been my thing.
    This… Alan … was very much my thing. He still wore my boa, and he wriggled in it like a socialite enjoying a new fur coat. I put the popcorn bucket on top of my coat in my lap and prayed they'd start the movie soon, but Alan wrapped the boa around his neck and set about sacrificing virgins in racy and embarrassing ways. He had a tattoo on his bicep that I knew was fake— or at least, new since Labor Day— and one in the hollow of his hip, farther down than his pants had dropped in the tree, that might be real. A tiny red lightning bolt, pointed at—
    "Lukas, are you all right?" Mallory was staring at me. "You're all flushed."
    "It's just… warm in here," I told her.
    "They keep it warm because of all the scantily-clad cosplayers."
    "Makes sense." Though I didn't know how anyone could be cold with Alan strutting around looking like that.
    Finally the show itself began, but even that didn't help because the "shadow cast" as Mallory called them acted out the movie as it played, and I couldn't have followed the plot if I'd tried because I didn't actually see any of the movie. Alan stalked and wriggled and pranced, and I huddled in my seat and prayed he wouldn't come near me again.
    When the movie was finally over Mallory wanted to wait for Alan, but I told her I had to take Lilia to church in the morning and escaped holding my trench in front of me.
    I dreamt about Alan. About his hands and his hips and his skin, over and over, and woke up so hard I was in pain. I tried not to think about him as I dealt with that, but it was his hands I imagined on me as I came.
    Then I had to get up and take Lilia to church because I'd told Mallory I was going to.
    Sunday evening I had a notification from the project wiki that Alan had uploaded a file. The preview picture was from the re-enactors' camp. I clicked, and some of the footage I'd taken began.
    "Father says it's none of our concern," a female voice said softly over the footage. "That the Streeters have no slaves to free nor sons to send to war, and he is glad of both. But I see the bones of Galilee Church from my bed, and I know the evil that comes when good folk do nothing. Birdie says I will never get past the sign-up, but years of helping at the forge have made me big and strong for a girl and I must try."
    The footage cut to an image of an old journal. The camera focused on a date as the voice went on. "Seventh September, 1862. War will destroy our grand country, Father says. It is inevitable."
    I got chills as the clip went on. Under it Tania had posted a comment, " How did you get this?"
    "Mrs. Brooks' great-grandma Birdie," Alan had replied. His icon was a picture of a bare foot with pink painted toenails. "Think this is good? Just wait till you see the next bit."
    I watched the clip again, and again. The editing was brilliant, both technically skilled and creatively bold. The narration— though the voice wasn't Tania or Mallory— was perfect, emotional but understated and crystal clear. I hit the comment button and typed a response. Deleted it and typed another, then a third.
    "I don't think it's good," I posted. "I think it's amazing."
    Half an hour later I received notification that Mallory had commented on the clip, saying what I had wanted to but hadn't.
    "YOU are amazing, Alan."
    ****

CHAPTER 4
    On Monday after class I almost ran into Alan again, as he cut around me and other classmates to catch up to— Matt Brinks. Alan clapped our MIA member on the shoulder and started talking. Matt stared up into Alan's smile with a bemused expression. I should have joined them, but I put my head down so Alan wouldn't see my blush, and walked past.
    Tuesday night we met at the Mug Shot. I hoped I'd be over it, but when I saw Alan I flushed.
    "Aw, that's so cute!" Mallory proclaimed, leaning to kiss my cheek. "I'll order. Go easy on him, Alan."
    "Like you did Saturday?" Alan plunked into what had become his chair as Mallory moved away. "I had no part in that set-up, boss-man. Please don't punish me with whatever you have saved for the Vanishing Twins."
    "I guessed that." I took a deep breath and sipped my decaf. "She didn't warn me at all."
    "What rock have you been under that you needed warning about Rocky Horror ?" He was smiling, drumming on the table but quietly. His hair was black with one blue streak, and his eye shadow was purple, making his eyes look deep violet.