The Unremarkable Life of Alva Stanhope

When Tabitha Stanhope told her husband she was pregnant, it took him all of three seconds to decide that they were not going to find out the sex of the baby until it was born. Tabitha argued that she needed to know in order to buy clothes and decorate, but Ray adamantly wanted to be surprised and Tabitha eventually gave in. She went through her pregnancy with Ray at her side, and on the day the baby was born, Ray found himself in a hospital waiting room picking out snacks for his wife as she went into labor.

Next to him at the vending machine was a woman named Freida Clarion waiting for her niece to be born. Freida asked Ray what he was going to name his son, and Ray, prone to superstition, asked her how she had known it was going to be a boy. “No one knows except the OB.” He took her hands. “Is there anything else you can tell me?” Freida looked at him like he was crazy, pulling her hands away and shrugging. She turned, but before she could take a step, she collapsed, falling against the tile floor. Ray knelt beside her, nurses came to help and down the hall Tabitha screamed for her husband. Freida twitched and gasped for air as the nurses threw questions at Ray, but then she suddenly sat up. She clung to Ray and opened her mouth, a rasp exiting her lips.

“The eldest son of hopes now past will find his course of life, his constant aims will he possess when treasures finally ripe. In passing years his blackened locks will fade away, and oceans stare beyond the petty games that others play. By your side the one you love will be the closest friend, to stay with you and guide your love until the very end.”

Just as soon as it started, she collapsed again, waking up with no memory of the incident. Witnesses later said smoke flowed like spirits through her hands as she spoke, but video surveillance told a different story. Freida simply collapsed and Ray sat with her as she spoke the words that would change his life.

As Ray held Freida Clarion in his arms, his wife was pushing, and the son that Freida foretold was born with blue eyes and black hair. Months earlier they picked the name Alva, for a boy or a girl. When Ray went back to Tabitha, the umbilical cord had been cut, and she demanded to know where he had been.

“Sweetheart, something happened,” Ray told her. “Alva is going to be amazing.” That night, Ray sat at his computer and wrote an email to his sister telling her of Frieda’s predictions. He had written the words down on a napkin, wanting to make sure that he didn’t forget them. Before Alva made it home they were memorized, and as the days passed, the story of Freida Clarion spread throughout town. Newspapers wanted to know if Ray and Tabitha were going to go back to see her for more predictions, or what they thought it meant.

“It’s a load of crap,” Tabitha had said. “She guessed it would be a boy, she had a fifty/fifty chance.”

“What about his hair and eyes?” they asked her.

“Most babies have blue eyes and Ray and I both have black hair, it was not a hard prediction to make.” But Alva’s eyes stayed blue, and as Freida predicted, his hair turned blonde.

That was the end of normal for the Stanhope family, as everyone in the world followed the story. Whole news programs were dedicated to updates on Alva, and more than one podcast focused solely on theories about what Freida’s predictions meant. It consumed more and more of the family, and the arrival of a second child did nothing to ease Tabitha’s worry.

“This isn’t a good life for them,” She pleaded with Ray. “I don’t want them in the spotlight. It’s unhealthy.”

“But we have a responsibility,” Ray told her. “Everyone wants to know that the spiritual world exists.”

When Sylvie was born, Alva wasn’t even three, and Tabitha had had enough. “It’s either me, or all of this craziness,” she threatened him, saying that she would take the children if he didn’t let this go, but Ray was convinced that this was what his family needed. He took her to court, and managed to get full custody of the children. Tabitha was allowed to see them one weekend a month, and some holidays. Ray quit his job to take care of the kids and started a blog that told the world about their little family. He paid the bills by guest starring on podcasts, and whenever something happened that could be at all linked to the predictions, he sold the story and rights to multiple news outlets for more money than he could make in a year otherwise. He bought a large house and as his children grew, they lived like celebrities.

One would think that as a celebrity with lots of money, Alva would have been a happy child. Nothing was further from the truth. The TV specials about his childhood were invasive, and the miniseries about his parents’ divorce was almost as hard to watch as the real thing.

By far the worst thing that had happened to Alva was the prediction that if he ever became best friends with someone, he would fall in love with them. Nothing repelled 11 year olds like the idea that someone would fall in love with them. Alva tried to reassure anyone who got close to him that he wasn’t going to fall in love with them, but no amount of pleading stopped their teasing. Sylvie didn’t have the same problem and would often bring friends home. All of them wanted to meet Alva, some of them hoping that they would be the lucky girl (and in some cases boy) who Alva would fall in love with. As Sylvie grew, though, she stopped bringing friends over, and spent more time at their mother’s.

Despite the cruel nature of children, TV specials, and newspaper articles, Alva graduated eighth grade, then high school, then was accepted to UCLA, but refused to talk about it on TV.

“They’ll pay your tuition if you do it,” Ray told him. “Ellen is always giving things away. If you go on the show she’ll give you a big check.”

“Dad, I just want to go to school.”

“Syl, will you talk some sense into him?” Ray turned to Sylvie and one of her friends as they came through the door. “I have to go to a meeting.” He didn’t bother sticking around to hear her answer.

“What are you guys doing?” Alva was surprised that Sylvie had brought someone to the house.

“Mom’s.”

“Have fun,” Alva got up but Sylvie stepped in front of him.

“I don’t want Dad to know so I can’t use the Uber account...” She stuck out her bottom lip. “Drive us?” Alva sighed and looked at Sylvie’s friend, who was avoiding eye contact. Great, another one who’s afraid of me, he thought to himself. At least she wasn’t trying to get him to fall in love with her, which would have been infinitely worse.

“Fine.” He grabbed his keys and walked out to the car.

“Schuyler, you sit in the front, you get carsick.” Sylvie jumped in the back, pulling her phone out and tapping away while Schuyler timidly opened the passenger door.

“So, you know Sylvie from school?” he asked her as they pulled out of the driveway. 

“No, my mom works with your mom,” Schuyler said.

“Ah. Cool.” Alva said as they left the gated community.

“What are you going to my mom’s for?”

“She’s taking us to get our hair done,” Schuyler told him. “Sylvie’s getting it dyed, but I just want mine cut.”

“You do have nice hair.” Alva cringed. “I mean, it’s a nice color.”

“Thanks.” She smiled and looked out the window. Alva drove the rest of the way in silence, pulling in front of his mom’s apartment building.

“You don’t have to come and get us,” Sylvia told him. “Schuy’s mom is going to take us to her house after and I can get a ride back from there.”

“Okay, I’ll be around if you need anything else.”

“Suddenly so helpful,” she patted him on the shoulder as she climbed out of the car. “Later!”

“Bye.” He waited until they were in the building before pulling away, driving past the turnoff and continuing to the only place he felt normal. The beach. No one got close enough to notice it was him. The California shoreline was full of tall guys with blonde hair, and with real celebrities around no one cared about Alva Stanhope. The sun beat down on him, warming his skin as he relished in the peace and quiet. No one bothered him at the beach. He closed his eyes and relaxed, kicking his shoes off and letting himself drift off to sleep.

What felt like seconds later, someone poked him in the side. “Excuse me?” A lightly drawling voice floated into his ears. “I don’t mean to wake you, but I had to rescue your shoes from the ocean and I’m afraid you’ll be next.” Alva opened his eyes and saw a girl with deep brown hair and eyes that shone like gold in the fading sun. Registering what she had said, he looked down to see that the tide had made it to his feet.

“Oh!” He sat up, pulling his legs in. “Thanks.” She handed him his shoes and didn’t leave, but followed him as he headed back to the car.

“What were you doing falling asleep on the beach?” she asked. “I like a good nap as much as the next person, but you were almost fish food.”

“I guess I lost track of time.”

“I suppose I do that sometimes too.” She smiled at him. “I’m Sutton DeVaughn.” Alva knew that name, but couldn’t remember why.

“Alva Stanhope.” He watched her face for recognition.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.” 

They reached their cars and Sutton pulled out her phone. “Call yourself.” She handed it over. “Then you’ll have mine too.” He did as he was told and added her to his contacts, all seven of them, and she smiled brightly at him again.

“Now you better use it,” she unlocked her car and waved at him. “See you soon, I hope.”

The first thing Alva did at home was Google Sutton DeVaughn. He wondered why her name was so familiar. Maybe she was one of the young actresses that Morning Talk show hosts liked to “ship” him with.

As his internet search quickly told him, she was a pageant girl, and a famous one at that. He saw her on an IMDB list of TLC shows, the ones where mothers yelled at other moms as their 6 year olds dressed up and walked on stage. He watched old clips of Sutton, finding her much more beautiful without all the glitz. He preferred the girl he’d just met. He looked at his phone and wondered if he should text her. She had told him to use her number, but truth be told, he had never actually texted a girl before. Well, he had texted females, but they were either his relatives or someone he had to get in touch with for a news story.

He picked it up and started texting, flexing his fingers before his thumbs started flying. A pageant girl huh? I would have taken you for an actress. It wasn’t long before the reply came, Nice to see that you Googled me as well. She had Googled him too? What are you doing tomorrow? He found himself asking. I’ve got a photoshoot in the morning, but I’ll be free by noon, she told him. Want to go to the beach? He asked. Yes! quickly followed. What he felt wasn’t exactly butterflies, it was more like a sudden rush of excitement. They decided on a time and place, and after a few more hours of texting with Sutton, Alva went to sleep feeling optimistic for the first time in years.

The next morning, he spent way too long deciding what to wear and even longer trying to get his hair to cooperate. He decided it didn’t really matter, didn’t girls like an “unkempt” look? He ran his fingers through it once, and instead focused on what he was going to say to her. When he looked at the clock and saw it was time to go, he had decided that Hi was a good opening line. Maybe.

He parked next to her car at the same beach and saw her leaning against the fence that led to the sand.

“I hope you brought something to eat, I’m starving.” He held up the lunchbox that he had packed, and she fell into step beside him. “They don’t let me eat on the shoots.”

“Yeah,” was all he could think to say. They sat down together on the sand as she described her morning at the shoot.

“I’m sorry, I can’t stop talking when I’m nervous.” She was nervous? Great. Alva shrugged, but still didn’t speak. “Are you okay?” She looked at him expectantly. “Look I know I’m just a pageant girl, but-”

“Are you scared of the predictions that Freida made about me?” He blurted it out without thinking. This had not been on his pre-approved list of words and phrases. “Like, you aren’t scared that if you get close to me, I’ll fall in love with you or something?” He felt his face redden as she looked at him.

“Why on earth would I be afraid of someone who looks like you falling in love with me?”

“Looks like me?”

“I’m not sure what they’ve been telling you, but if it’s not ‘Alva, you’re hot’, then it’s just not true.”

“So you don’t care?”

“That a Legal Aid from Sacramento thinks that you’re going to fall in love with someone? No, I don’t.”

“Why?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Because I think it just means that you’re going to fall in love with someone who you get close to, and then they’ll be the most important thing in the world to you. Isn’t that the way it is with everyone?”

“I don’t know, I don’t really have much experience with girls. Or anyone really.”

“Well that’s something we have in common then.” She sighed. “I mean with boys. Mama won’t let them near me.”

“Then how are you here?”

“My friend Deandra is covering for me.”

“Nice.” She was silent for a few moments, looking out over the beach at the children running to and from the waves, giggling when the water caught up with them.

“I want you to know that I didn’t pick my life either.” She turned back to him, the sadness that had been hidden behind her smile showing through the cracks. “Mama wanted me to be a pageant girl, so I was a pageant girl. But in a month I turn 18 and I’m going to be me.”

“I hate to break it to you, but I thought turning 18 would solve all of my problems too and all it did was allow the media to non-creepily try and set me up with Hollywood’s newest stars.”

“Oh! I’ve seen those, there’s a podcast now called The Search for Mrs. Stanhope.” She laughed as he looked at her with a horrified expression. “Don’t worry, I don’t listen to it... Much.”

“Oh yeah, sure.” He laughed as she shoved him playfully.

“I’ve been seeing pictures of you my entire life.” Sutton scooted closer to him so that their shoulders were touching. “On TV, on the covers of magazines, and I always wanted to meet you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I wanted to know what you thought about this whole thing. Everyone focuses on the opinions of others, but in all the interviews I’ve seen, and the articles I’ve read.” She blushed as she admitted how much she knew about him. “I’ve never seen anyone ask hey, do you think it’s real?”

“I guess I’ve never been given the option of thinking it isn’t.” He adjusted his arm, leaning back on his hands, one of which was now completely behind her. “It’s the only way I know how to be.”

“So. Think that it’s true?”

“Do you, Sutton?”

“I think it doesn’t matter, and you should do whatever you want. Tomorrow you’re still going to be the boy whose future was predicted, and when I turn 18 I’m still going to be a pageant girl with a modeling contract, but between all of it, I hope we can just be Sutton and Alva.” She shrugged and finally broke eye contact, looking down at her feet. “You know, if you want.”

Alva smiled. “I think I would like that a lot.” Sutton stood up and reached back for him, pulling him to his feet and not letting go of his hand as they walked to the shore.

“How is it cold?” Sutton grabbed his arm. “This is California!”

“Do you want to leave?” Alva asked.

“No, but for our next date let’s do something warm.”

“This is a date?”

“Well yeah, what did you think it was?” She led him to the edge of the water, still holding his hand.

“One to tell the grandkids about for sure.” Alva said and Sutton looked at him, feigning surprise.

“Why Alva Stanhope,” she put her hand to her chest, “you may just fall in love with me yet.” Maybe he would, and maybe he wouldn’t. To Alva, in the moment that the waves hit their feet and Sutton wrapped her arms around his waist, it didn’t matter.