Alpha Girl (2 page)

‘Hey Mom,’ I said, as I entered through the front door. ‘You’re home early.’

My mother was in the kitchen pouring a glass of wine. ‘Oh, hey sweetie.’

‘Isn’t it a little early to start drinking?’ I asked.

At that moment I heard the toilet flush down the hall, and a strange man stepped into the kitchen a moment later.

‘Oh, Rose. This is Mr. Jenson, from the office. We’re going to be doing some work from home this evening.’

Liar
, I thought. It would be another hour and a half before my father came home.

‘Hello,’ I said, my eyes darting between them. I was used to strange men coming into our home.

‘Hello, Rose, is it? Your mother has told me so much about you,’ said Mr. Jenson. He didn’t meet my eyes when he spoke. Like many others, he found it difficult to look at me.

‘Has she?’ I asked. ‘Like what?’

‘She’s told me what a bright girl you are.’ He looked at my mother as he spoke.

‘She lied,’ I said, my expression impassive.

‘How was school?’ asked my mother, clearly trying to diffuse the situation.

‘Average,’ I replied. ‘We have a new English teacher. Sadie thinks he’s hot.’

My mother scoffed. ‘Perhaps I’ll have to go to the student-teacher meetings this year then.’

I shifted uncomfortably, eager to go to my room and leave my mother with her colleague.

‘Well, I think I might go to my room and read for a while.’

‘All right, sweetheart,’ she said, glancing at Mr. Jenson.

Once I was locked in my bedroom I flopped onto the bed and pulled a book from under my pillow. It was my escape. I needed to be somewhere else.

Wednesday – 20 days to go

‘The Colour Purple is a novel made up of letters, written by the protagonist Celie, to God. Now, in the first letter we learn that Celie was raped by her father, and -’

‘Sick bastard,’ someone muttered. There was a collection of chuckles throughout the class.

Mr. Stone chose to ignore the comment, and continued with his summary. ‘Her father tells Celie that she is forbidden to speak of the encounters, so she writes these letters to God. Can anyone tell me why?’

We’d read the book in class over the last week, and were now diving into analysis of its content. Regardless, no one seemed able to answer the question.

‘Anyone?’ Mr. Stone pressed.

Everyone bowed his or her head
, not wanting to be called upon.

‘Aaron, what do you think?’ said Mr. Stone, perching himself on his desk at the front of the class.

‘Erm,’ Aaron Ford frowned and seemed to be concentrating hard. ‘Well … if she didn’t write the letters, then there wouldn’t be a book, would there?’

Mr. Stone couldn’t help but smile; a wide, broad, pearly-white smile that reached his eyes.

‘True, I guess,’ he said, ‘but God, in this novel, represents an abstract, authoritative figure for Celie to confess to. We see her idea of God evolve throughout the narrative. Right?’

No one said anything. I shifted uncomfortably, and Mr. Stone’s eyes snapped to me.

‘Rose,’ he said suddenly, making me jolt. ‘How do you think Celie’s perception of God changes?’

‘Um … For Celie, God moves from being an abstract idea … to being within herself.’ I said.

‘Right,’ said Mr. Stone, smiling at me. 

Thankfully, I was not called upon for the rest of the lesson, but we were given an assignment that day which was to be turned in within a week. The class found this outrageous, but Mr. Stone shouted down their protests.

As I was leaving the classroom, Mr. Stone gave me a tiny wink, which was enough to turn my cheeks a deep shade of red.

Okay, so maybe Mr. Stone
was
good looking. Fair enough. I was able to appreciate male beauty without being attracted to someone. However, it seemed most of the girls at school had a crush on the teacher. They giggled as he walked past, or hassled him while he was on playground duty. Sadie was one of the sad girls who followed him around like a lost puppy dog. It was as if he was a school-celebrity.

I, on the other hand, was highly unpopular. The only people who didn’t tease me were the group of girls that allowed me to sit with them at lunch. Everyone else teased me because of my messy hair, and awkward nature. They called me ‘
wet dog
’.  Some people would even bark at me.

I’d learnt to ignore it.

I wasn’t a particularly gifted student. On rare occasions I would receive an A, but mostly my grades were average, at best. I was terrible at math, often getting C’s and D’s.

English was by far my best subject as I devoured books.

I had a part-time job at a local coffee shop as a barista, working two nights a week. It was shit pay, and shit hours, but it was pocket money. With it, I was able to afford the small necessities of life. Not to mention the ten dollars my Mom gave me each week for various chores around the house. Sometimes she’d give me extra money for keeping quiet about her male visitors. All of this money went towards the car I was saving up for. I already had my driver’s permit, but no vehicle. With any luck, I’d be able to afford a car by the time I finished high school. My parents would rather jump off a cliff than let me borrow their car.

I had a shift that evening, from four o’clock to eight, so I would walk there straight after school and change once I arrived.

I was an hour into my shift when the bell on the door clanged loudly, signaling the arrival of another customer. It was a quiet evening, and I was working with my manager, a young woman in her early twenties with bubble-gum pink hair by the name of Estelle.

‘Hello Sir, what can I get you today?’ Estelle asked the customer.

The customer walked towards the counter, and a familiar smell reached my nostrils. Usually, the coffee beans overpowered everything, but this scent was so strong it was almost intoxicating.

‘Can I please have a medium gluten-free skim latte to go, please?’

My attention snapped to the customer. It was exactly what I usually ordered. When I saw who it was, I dropped the cloth I was holding.

‘Mr. Stone!’ I gasped, stooping to pick it up. Now I knew why the scent had been familiar. It was Mr. Stone’s unusual cologne.

‘Ah, hello Rose,’ he said as he pulled out his wallet. ‘I didn’t realize you worked here.’

Mr. Stone handed a bill to Estelle, which she took, giving him the exact change a moment later.

‘Uh, yeah,’ I said, my cheeks turning pink. ‘Two nights a week.’

‘That’s great.’

‘Funny … about your order,’ I said, grabbing a medium cup.

‘Is it?’ he said, thrusting the wallet back into his pocket.

‘Yeah, well … it’s what I usually have. It’s not a common order.’

Mr. Stone shot me that wide, dazzling smile. ‘Well … Let’s see how well you can make a coffee, then.’

I’d never taken such care with a coffee before. Once the order was complete I placed it on the counter with a shaking hand. I wasn’t sure why, but I wanted Mr. Stone to like it.

He picked up the cup and brought the coffee to his lips, taking a sip. He smiled, licking the droplet of liquid that lingered on his bottom lip. I couldn’t help but stare.

‘Fantastic,’ he smiled. ‘One of the best I’ve had.’

‘Really? I asked, clutching the cloth in my left hand. His approval was strangely gratifying.

Mr. Stone smiled warmly and took another sip. ‘I may be back, Miss Goldman.’

I smiled. ‘I’d like that.’

Mr. Stone swallowed and held the coffee up. ‘Thanks, Rose. I’ll see you later, okay?’ And just like that he left the coffee shop without another word.

Estelle stood by my side, watching Mr. Stone get into his car and drive away.

Estelle was probably one of the few people I tolerated. She taught me that it didn’t matter what anyone thought of me, as long as I was true to myself. She’d been terribly bullied in school because of her brightly colored hair and piercings. Her uniqueness was on-purpose though. I, on the other hand, had no choice.

The rest of my shift passed without incident, and I left the café at eight o’clock on the dot, stepping out into the street-lamp lit pathway. I walked everywhere, as my house wasn’t far from the school, or the coffee shop. It would only take me ten minutes.

Thursday – 19 days to go