Alpha Girl (7 page)

It took several attempts for the car to start, with Mr. Stone muttering apologies under his breath as he turned the key in the ignition.

‘Did you get this at the thrift-store, too?’ I asked, trying not to smile.

He ignored my jibe, and exhaled with relief as the car roared to life.

‘Yes, good girl,’ he said, patting the dashboard.

We pulled away from the coffee shop and drove along the darkened streets. I didn’t say anything for most of the way. Mr. Stone had the radio turned right down so the classical music was almost indistinguishable, but still he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and hummed to himself. It was
as if he was from another time. I’d never met anyone like him. Classical music, old clothing, and a beat-up car; something told me that Mr. Stone was not like other men.

Being so close to him, I could smell his cologne. I inhaled deeply, the scent calming me.

‘What is that cologne you’re wearing?’ I asked, suddenly.

Mr. Stone’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. ‘I’m not wearing any cologne,’ he said. ‘Why? Do I smell bad?’

‘No,’ I said. ‘You smell good.’

‘Really?’

I nodded.

I watched as he drove past my turn-off, and didn’t say anything. He took the long route to my house, through the backstreets. I didn’t mind; I felt safe. Maybe he was lonely, or perhaps he’d just forgotten the way. Regardless, I didn’t direct him.

‘Are you married?’ I asked after a long silence.

‘No,’ he replied stiffly.

‘Have you ever been?’

He took longer to answer this time. ‘I was engaged once.’

‘What happened?’

His jaw tensed. ‘It’s not important.’

‘Did it end after you got sick?’ I asked.

He ignored me and I dropped the subject after that.

When we finally pulled up in front of my home, the house was dark once more. He didn’t ask about it this time. Instead, he looked straight ahead, unblinking. We hadn’t spoken for the last ten minutes.

‘Thanks for the lift,’ I said, clutching my bag in my lap. I reached for the door handle and let myself out of the car.

‘Goodnight,’ he said.

Once I’d closed the door behind myself I leaned into the window. ‘I work Monday and Wednesday nights,’ I said quickly. ‘If you ever want to talk.’

Mr. Stone stared at me, his eyes darting across my face.

I wasn’t sure why I had said that so I turned on my heel and quickly marched away from his car, towards my front door. Mr. Stone had already driven away by the time I’d reached for my keys.

Next doors car was sitting in our garden, but it hissed and fled at the sight of me. I felt a strange desire to chase it, but repressed the urge and went inside.

Tuesday – 22 days to go

I had to attend mandatory counseling at school once a month. My teachers seemed to think I was depressed and would do myself harm. I wasn’t sad; I was empty.

I barely spoke during the sessions with the counselor, Mrs. Harvey. She was a hundred-and-eight year old moth, with enormous spectacles, and smelled of cabbage and cats. However, if I didn’t go a note was sent home to my parents.

I didn’t see why they forced me; I wasn’t a threat to the other students. Not while I was healthy, anyway. I took days off school when I was … sick.

I knocked on the counselor’s door on Tuesday evening, hearing shuffling on the other side. A moment later Mrs. Harvey answered the door, squinting at me through her bottle-glass spectacles.

‘Ah, Miss Roland, welcome.’

‘It’s Goldman,’ I corrected her, stepping inside the office.

‘Yes, that’s what I said.’

I sat down in my usual chair and waited for Mrs. Harvey to take her seat, which took a while, as she didn’t walk very fast.

‘So how are you then, Miss Goldman?’ Mrs. Harvey asked, lowering herself slowly into her chair.

‘Fine,’ I said.

‘How is your school work going?’

‘Fine.’

‘Excellent. I noticed you had a few days off school the other week. Are you feeling better now?’

‘Yes.’

Mrs. Harvey chewed on the inside of her cheek. ‘Mmmh … I see. How are your parents?’

I shifted uncomfortably. ‘Fine, I guess.’

‘You guess?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Why not?’

I shrugged. ‘They work.’

‘You don’t talk to them after work?’ she asked.

‘Sometimes,’ I said.

‘All right. What about your friends? Boyfriends?’

I folded my arms across my chest. ‘I don’t have a boyfriend.’

‘No one takes your fancy?’ she asked.

I thought about Mr. Stone and electricity shot through my body, making me jerk. This did not go unnoticed by Mrs. Harvey.

She smiled, showing her pearly-white dentures. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

‘You can take it any way you like, Mrs. Harvey.’

‘Rose, I know you try to make yourself emotionally unavailable because you are afraid of getting hurt-’

‘That’s not right at all,’ I interrupted.

‘Isn’t it?’ Mrs. Harvey asked. ‘Then why do you refuse to open yourself up to friendships and relationships?’

‘I’m not worried about getting hurt,’ I said. ‘I’m worried about hurting others.’

Mrs. Harvey peered at me over her spectacles. ‘Do you sometimes imagine yourself hurting others?’

I sighed exasperatedly. ‘No, nothing like that.’

‘Then what?’

‘I’m tired of this conversation,’ I said. ‘I think I’ll go.’

One thing I noticed about Mr. Stone was that he always wore the same lace-up boat shoes. They were worn, and the canvas was frayed so I decided to buy him a new pair. I wandered through many shops along the main street of town, but nothing seemed very ‘him’. Finally, I came across a thrift-store I’d never entered before. My mother and father did not like to shop in places like these because they considered themselves above it.

I loved it. I walked straight to the shoe-section and looked for something that screamed Mr. Stone. There wasn’t a lot of variety. Most of the shoes were of the cowboy variety. If not that, then worn joggers that smelled funny.

Then I saw them, a pair of classic English shoes made of brown leather. They looked like something an old professor might wear, and they looked almost brand new. A bit of a polish and they’d shine up nicely. They looked to be the right size too. I grabbed them and checked the sole for a price tag.

Five dollars
. I quickly purchased the shoes.

Upon exiting the thrift shop I passed a boy from school that I shared several classes with. I didn’t know his name. Why should I? He was one of the boys who frequently barked at me. He was walking a young Labrador pup that looked no older than three months of age.

I would have passed by unnoticed if it hadn’t been for the dog. At the sight of me the pup shrieked with fright and hid behind the legs of its owner, where it proceeded to piss itself from fear.

‘What the fuck?’ the boy jumped out of the way of the puddle forming on the concrete. This is when he noticed me. ‘Get out of here, wet dog!’ he shot at me, and I quickly hurried away.

Thursday – 20 days to go

I decided to hang back after English class to give Mr. Stone the shoes that had been stuffed inside my backpack. I packed my things more slowly than the rest of the class, until it was only Mr. Stone and I in the classroom. He was dusting off today’s lesson from the blackboard, so he had his back to me.