Alpha Girl (3 page)

Gym was by far my most hated subject, not because I wasn’t very good at it. On the contrary, I had excellent reflexes, and was not unfit as I walked almost everywhere. I hated Gym for an entirely different reason; Gym shorts. Those little black things they make you wear, that come far too high on the thigh. I despised them.

Being highly unpopular I am always picked last for team sports. They’ll choose the kid in crutches before me. It doesn’t really bother me too much – I’m used to it, and I couldn’t care less what anyone thought of me.

However, I wanted to keep my scars a secret, as I knew it would only give the other students more ammunition against me.

In today’s Gym class we were playing volleyball. I should have guessed what was going to go down.

‘Hey mutt!’ one of the boys on my team class to me. ‘Fetch!’

He proceeded to hurl a volleyball in my direction, which I dodged easily. I didn’t bother retorting. What was the use?

The gym teacher, Mrs. White blew her whistle and sent the boy in question off the court. I continued to play, but tried to remain inconspicuous amongst my other teammates.

It was towards the end of the lesson where everything began to go downhill. Due to the physical activity, my shorts had begun to ride up my thighs, and the students sitting on the sidelines were beginning to point and whisper. It took several minutes for me to notice, as I usually tried very hard to ignore the murmurings.

Only too late did I realize that the scars on my thigh were showing under the hem of my gym shorts. I straightened them at once, my face flushing pink.

The boy who had thrown the ball at me began to bark, while his friends howled.

I bubbled with anger, but repressed it.

Monday – 15 days to go

The following week I handed in my assignment on
The Colour Purple
, and was eager to find out my results. I’d tried really hard on the essay, only to be disappointed.

When Mr. Stone handed back the assignment a week later, my face fell as I stared at the C+ on the top of the page. I’d been so sure that I’d get a B+ at least. Angry with myself, I stuffed the essay into my bag.

‘How’d you do?’ hissed Sadie, leaning over to me.

‘Okay,’ I mumbled.

Sadie waved her essay in front of my face. ‘I got a B plus,’ she said. ‘I guess Mr. Stone is a tough grader.’

‘You did better than me,’ I said sourly.

I remained in a foul mood for the remainder of the lesson.  

My shift that evening was a dull one. We hadn’t seen a customer all evening. It was so quiet that my manager Estelle left me the keys and went home early, asking me to lock up. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. I’d closed the café many times before now.

I spent the evening cleaning, and daydreaming. That was, until Mr. Stone arrived at the café at a quarter to eight, fifteen minutes before closing time. He wore the same, quirky attire as usual; mismatching shirt and pants that cut off at the ankles, and an old blazer. I could see his navy socks and lace-up boat shoes.

‘I’m not too late, am I?’ he asked, stepping into the shop.

I stood up abruptly, wiping my hands on my apron.

‘Uh, no, of course not,’ I said. ‘Gluten-free skim latte?’

‘Yes, please.’

Mr. Stone put his hands into his pockets while I worked on his order, pacing the shop. When it was done, I slid it across the counter towards him. He pulled out his wallet, but I shook my head.

‘On the house,’ I said.

Mr. Stone stopped rifling through his wallet and glanced up at me. ‘What?’

‘No charge,’ I said.

He stared at the coffee. ‘I have to pay,’ he said.

I shook my head. ‘It’s fine.’

‘No,’ he smiled politely and handed me a twenty-dollar bill. ‘I
have
to pay.’

I frowned and snatched the twenty-dollars from his hand, before thrusting the change back at him. ‘There,’ I said.

‘Are you all right?’ he asked, staring.

I chewed on the inside of my lip, biting back the question I wanted to ask, but it spilled from me like molten lava.

‘Why did you give me such a bad grade?’ I asked.

Mr. Stone blinked
as if he didn’t understand the question. ‘I gave you the grade you deserved for the paper,’ he replied.

‘I think I deserved better,’ I said. I wasn’t sure why I’d taken it to heart.

‘I think you could
do
better,’ he replied, picking up the coffee. ‘Your information was correct, but your writing was disconnected to the feelings and thoughts of the characters in the novel. You lacked empathy.’

‘Empathy?’ I repeated. ‘Is that it?’

I was not good at understanding people and their emotions. Sometimes I felt like an entirely different species.

‘Goodnight, Rose,’ he said, meeting my gaze. He was one of the few people that did look into my eyes.

He turned on his heel and walked from the café, glancing back at me as he stepped onto the pavement.

Tuesday – 14 days to go

‘I’d like a thousand word report on why the rebellion was futile,’ Mr. Stone told our class the next day.

The class erupted into protest.

‘But
Sir
!’

‘We just finished the
last
essay!’

Mr. Stone held up a hand to silence the class, which surprisingly, worked.

‘I know, I know,’ he said with a smile. ‘I’m horrible. I understand, but you’ll thank me for it later, I promise. Now, I’d like you to devise a modern-day equivalent of the situation depicted and work it into the essay.’

I was still unexplainably annoyed about my last English grade. Until now, it had always been my best subject.

‘Why are you in such a foul mood?’ Sadie asked that afternoon. ‘I mean … fouler than usual.’

We were walking home together, but would go our different ways towards the end of the journey.

I shrugged, not wanting to talk about it. I just wanted to get home.

‘I can’t wait to get home and start that essay,’ said Sadie. I’d always been better at English than her, but suddenly she had over taken me.

‘Why?’ I asked. Apparently people like it when you asked about things.

‘I
love
Mr. Stone’s class,’ she said with a sigh. ‘He’s so great.’

I clenched my jaw. ‘I don’t see it,’ I muttered.

‘Are you joking? Everyone loves him.’

‘He’s over rated,’ I decided, quickening my pace.

Sadie dropped the topic after that.

I wasn’t sure why I was so bitter about Mr. Stone’s class. He was polite, and charming, but so damn harsh when it came to teaching. I couldn’t help but want him to like me, though.

After my usual afternoon routine I decided to make a start on the homework that had built up over the past week. I’d start with Mr. Stone’s essay. I was determined to get a B, at least. I wouldn’t settle for anything less. 

I spent hours on the work, starting, and restarting the essay. Soon, my bin was filled with scrunched up bits of paper. I couldn’t get it right. But then, suddenly, miraculously … an idea formed in my head. It was crazy … but I was going to do it, and Mr. Stone wouldn’t like it.