by Lilah Walker
As soon as Janyce and the other girls arrive in the café, I observe them engaging in a serious discussion. Periodically, they glance in my direction as they sit and eat. Each time I catch them rubbernecking, I roll my eyes in return.
I hope she’s delivered my message with accuracy. I’m ready for these bitches, and I’m not even going to tell Katelyn or Ariel about this. No need to get them involved in this mess.
Nothing happens during lunch, which is about what I expect. The ‘goody-goodies’ leave the café without saying a word.
Later, as I wait for Katelyn outside while she’s checking in with a teacher, I hear a girl calling my name. I turn around to see Alice running towards me. She’s one of the ‘goody-goodies’.
I grin, preparing for the first ball to drop. This is proof: my words have power over these bitches.
“What do you want, Alice?” I ask, throwing my shoulders back.
“Hey…Aleta.” She pants hard. “I heard what you told Sue, and I just wanted to tell you I had nothing to do with changing your grade on the mid-term. I’m sorry you have to work in the café. Please don’t take it out on me. I don’t…I don’t know how to fight, so I don’t want any trouble, okay?”
I press my fist to my lips to hold back my laughter. Does she really believe I would physically hurt her? Or that I could? “Okay, fine. Is that all?” I ask in a monotone voice.
“Yes, I guess so.” She tips her head to the side.
Pointedly, I turn my focus back to my phone while I’m waiting for Katelyn. I want Alice to know that she means less than nothing to me.
“Wait, you’re not gonna do anything?” Alice asks with her head still tilted.
I look back up to face her. “I told Sue I’ll find the bitch that did that shit among your little group. And when I do, I’ll fuck her up for messing with me. Then, I’ll come back to each one of you, and mess up your shitty lives. If you don’t want me to fuck you up, tell me who did it before I find out on my own.” Alice’s eyes moisten as she sniffles. Damn, I barely believe how threatening I sound. I have no intentions of following through on any of these threats, after all. I just want to scare them, and also know for sure who’s responsible.
I’ve looked back to my phone, as if to dismiss her, when she reaches for my hand. I scrutinize the hand holding mine with contempt.
“It wasn’t me, alright?” she says. “It was Mia.”
“What?”
“Aleta, it was Mia. Janyce wants to get you expelled from S.A. So, Mia came up with the grade-changing idea. She told Janyce she could pull it off because she’s Mr. Allen’s student assistant and Janyce agreed.” She’s still looking in my eyes. “Am I free now?”
It relieves me to finally know who put me through all this stress. I won’t let her see that, though. “Will you be able to say that in front of her?”
“Sure, but I don’t want any trouble.”
“You don’t have to worry.” I shake off her hand. “No trouble from me.”
“Thank you,” she says, releasing a heavy sigh.
“So, why didn’t you stop your so-called friends?”
“Janyce is so….”
I hold up my hand to her face. “You know what? Fuck you, Alice.”
I know what will happen if I report them to Headmaster Radforde, but there’s no need to get them expelled. I just have to let Janyce know she cannot destroy me.
“Huh?”
“Right, tell Janyce if she messes with me again, I will report all of you. Make sure she knows what you told me, and tell her I’ve got it on tape.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
I ’m loving this new hairstyle. I slide my fingers in and out of my thick hair, feeling the loose waves. I’m so glad that the bathroom mirrors of S.A. are real mirrors and not distorted funhouse mirrors like the ones at my old school.
My hair is so soft. Leslie really does work miracles, and I’m glad Katelyn told me about her. A blast of color on my lips will make my new look pop, too. I paste a shade of fiery red on my lips and soften them into a smile. There’s nothing like a new hairdo to make me feel like a new person.
Of course, if I felt more confident in this school, I would wear more make-up. However, at S.A., my good looks are a detriment whenever Lowell Bartlett finds me.
And, really, it’s hard to worry too much about looking great when I’ve got my duties in the café to keep me ultra-grounded. And that’s where I’m headed now.
I begged them to let me cook in the kitchen, but they say it’s not allowed because I’m a student. Instead, I have to work on clearing the tables, refreshing the pitchers, and washing the dishes.
Yes, I’m a waitress like my mother was. No cooking in the kitchen, learning how to be a chef behind the scenes. My mom had high hopes of being a chef in a fancy restaurant one day. With that in mind, she applied to be a server and a hostess in some of the fanciest restaurants in New York City, but they never called her in for interviews. She only found work in the greasy diners of the city, and they kept her busy day and night.
“I like your hair. Did you do something different to it?” Myles Walston asks.
He’s a close friend of Lowell Bartlett, but when they’re not together, he comes across as a much nicer version of him. He has the same dark, handsome vibe going on, but in a non-threatening way.
Coming from Myles when he’s by himself, I trust the compliment to be genuine.
“Thank you for noticing,” I say, pushing in an empty chair at his table. The others haven’t arrived yet. “I like it, too. I can throw on the razzle-dazzle if I want to stand out, but for now, I’ll take blending in with the crowd.”
Myles flashes a gleaming smile at me, but it falls from his face as soon as his crew gathers at their table, showing up out of nowhere while I’m still cleaning up right at the next table.
“Look at you,” says Lowell, taking his seat at their table and gawking at me from head to toe. “This is how I like my hostess to look. You can host me anytime, Goddess.”
They and everyone around us all laugh, except the goody-goodies who are sitting nearby. They look like they tasted something sour in their yogurt cups.
“Don’t you have trash to clean up?” Janyce asks, seating herself next to Lowell. “We don’t fraternize with the help. Be gone, bitch.”
They all laugh out loud—except Myles, who appears to be ignoring them by looking at his phone.
“Damn, Jan, I thought Low was mean, but you’re just as ‘low’ as he is. You two make the perfect pair,” Alec says, patting Lowell on the back.
“Yes, we do,” Janyce replies with a devilish grin on her face aimed at me. “He’s my demon twin.”
It takes everything in me not to slap the shit out of this bitch’s plastic face with my water pitcher, but instead I try to offer my prettiest smile as I reply, “You can have him, bitch.”
Janyce’s face goes cold, but I don’t have time to see how Lowell responds before Katelyn comes to the rescue, forcing me back toward the kitchen.
“Forget those bastards,” she says. “Have you learned any additional information? You texted that your grandmother wanted to talk to you about your mom, but then my phone died. So, Aleta—news?”
“You bet.” I escort Katelyn over toward the water pitcher area, and I busy myself there while I fill her in on the newest news. Turns out, my grandmother isn’t all about sitting back and letting my mom wander back whenever she wants.
“My grandmother hired a private detective,” I tell her. “And he’s actually made some progress in looking for my mom! He can’t find her now, but he looked into the guy she was dating, and it doesn’t look like he’s as rich as he made himself out to be. More like a working man who may have been between jobs. The detective hasn’t found Mom or the guy yet, but he says he’s hopeful. He’s thinking he might be living out of a hotel now, and Mom’s with him there.”
“Or he’s homeless and living on the streets.”
“I hope my mom isn’t living out t
here on the streets with him. And, I mean, if she was, wouldn’t she just come back?” I shake my head, unwilling to think that she’s actually in trouble. Yes, she’s irresponsible, and this news means she’s probably not jaunting around Europe like I thought, but I can’t imagine her living in alleyways and cardboard boxes.
Katelyn glances back over to Lowell and Janyce, and their two crews. I follow her eyes to see that Lowell has scooted away from the girls. He’s staring my way, and I push my focus back to the water pitchers.
“I think you’re right, that you’ve probably scared Janyce and her group off with telling Alice what you did. But do you think it was just them? Does it make sense to assume that Lowell put someone up to it, or do you think he’s clean since he came to your defense against the ‘goody-goodies’ that day?”
“You know, I don’t assume shit. What he forgot is that some of us have a wicked sense of humor, too.”
Katelyn raises her eyebrow at me. “Some of us more than others, I’m afraid. You’re some character, threatening them like that.”
“I just want to know why they feel the need for a focus on me. I’m still really worried this isn’t over, and I wish I knew more.”
“Like what?”
“Like, has Headmaster Radforde checked the cameras? Was it already planned, and they turned the cameras off? Was Mia alone? And, most importantly, will they do it again?”
Katelyn follows me over to the back table to eat lunch with me—I get about ten minutes in the middle of the lunch period to eat, and this is it, but I’m more focused on talking.
“Those are serious questions,” Katelyn admits, “but maybe we should stop playing detective. Because Headmaster Radforde already handled it, right? This is done. It could be dangerous to get involved further.”
“I’m already involved,” I tell her, fighting to keep my voice down. “They changed my grade, and I don’t trust them to not change my grades for final exams and mess up my ability to graduate in the Spring. The headmaster may think this is over, and I hope it is, but they may think this is just the beginning.”
Katelyn shakes her head at me, and then points to my food. “Aleta, don’t forget to eat, okay?”
She’s sounding like my grandmother when it comes to eating. Why are they so concerned? It’s not like I’m trying to starve myself.
And, somehow, this also makes me feel close to my mom. I keep playing off that I miss her, but I can’t believe she hasn’t even called. And, somehow, keeping my diet light actually makes me feel closer to her. What Katelyn and my grandmother don’t understand is that when I feel faint, I have visions of my mom holding me like when I was a little girl. They’re odd, yet comforting. I’m not sure I can explain this to them. And I don’t want my grandmother sending me off to speak with a psychiatrist, so it’s going to have to stay my little secret. And it won’t even be that once Mom comes back into my life.
Hell, I know how to eat to stay alive, but food is not my world at the moment.
CHAPTER TWENTY
S oon, it’s the lunch period again; it feels like my life revolves around the café anymore. I still have more days of community service to do there than I care to count. To my surprise, though, one of the workers turns me away. I demand an explanation, and she says I’m done with my job in the café.
The headmaster hasn’t said anything like that, and I don’t want any more problems. I ask to see the manager of the kitchen to find out what’s happening. Shouldn’t I have been the first to hear if it was decided I’ve done enough?
Turns out…apparently not.
But it wasn’t exactly Headmaster Radforde that sanctioned the cut to my punishment. Lowell Bartlett went into the kitchen earlier and requested that they relieve me of my–ordinarily unneeded—duties. I’m sure the head chef must have collected some kind of compensation or promise to agree to such a deal, as they promised to tell the headmaster I’d done more than enough, should he decide to ask. Lowell really does have power, it turns out.
Regardless, I’m pleased I no longer have to spend part of my school-day working in the café. It’s just…I wish it weren’t because of Lowell. And, really, why would he do something like that without coming to me first? He’s not supposed to be meddling in my business at all.
I look around the café for him, but he isn’t there. He has to be in class or somewhere bullying somebody. I head out and spot him talking with a student named Ryan. He notices the way I’m marching towards him and excuses himself from the conversation, though.
Good. I start speaking even before I quite reach him. “If you think getting me out of the kitchen is a way to apologize for what happened, then you’re wrong. I don’t want you meddling in my affairs at all. Stay out of my business.” I’m truly annoyed that I have him to thank for cutting my punishment short, and speak in such a way that the other people in the hallway hear every word I say. “Stay out of my fucking life, you pompous bastard!” I add, as much for everyone else’s benefit as his. No way do I need it to go around school that he’s protecting me or taking care of me in some way.
He narrows his eyes, and then he smirks at me. “You’re a funny girl if you think that was an apology.” He then steps closer, and whispers. “I don’t think you deserve to keep serving a punishment for something you didn’t do. I’ve seen how much you hate it. That’s why I had the kitchen staff take you off your kitchen duties. I apologize if you think that was me meddling in your business. But if you think I will apologize for turning you on, you’re wrong. We had a sexy, beautiful time together with me touching you like crazy in my study room. Nobody apologizes for that.”
For the first time in a really long while, I’m simply dumbstruck. And is he simply ignoring what happened in the bathroom of the science wing? When he had me backed up into a stall in a girl’s bathroom and I had to threaten him with a used pad to get him away from me? But I don’t have time to protest or call him back to reality before he’s saying goodbye.
“If we’re done here, will you excuse me, please? I’ll see you tomorrow for our work on the class project, Goddess.”
“Are you senile? You said you would take care of it!” I say, suddenly shuffling my feet backward. I thought we were done with that.
“Yeah, well, I changed my mind. There’s more work for us to do, Goddess.”
I lower my voice and grab his arm. This isn’t happening. I’m not going to be alone with him again. “I’m not coming, you mean son of a bitch. I’ve got some things to sort out on my own tomorrow.”
Lowell shakes his head and smirks at me, his eyes getting that dangerous glint again. This is a deliberate, mean-spirited expression. “That’s alright, then. We can continue at your grandparents’ house on Saturday. But we have to make up for lost time, so we’ll work fast. I plan to pass that course with an A.”
I can actually feel my eyes widen. He wouldn’t dare come over to my place, would he? “Don’t you dare come to their house! You can’t!”
“Oh yeah, Goddess?” he whispers, close to my ear now. “Your dare is making me hard.”
I roll my eyes, and then I push into his chest to shove him aside and walk away.
I make good on my promise of not showing up the next day, thinking he won’t dare come over. I don’t actually have anything to sort out, other than hoping for a call or news from my mom. I just cannot take being alone in that private study room with him. And, for once, we’re operating on my terms.
Despite my conviction, though, a small part of me thinks of him throughout the afternoon, wishing I actually were in that private study room of his. And not to work on our class project.
∞∞∞∞∞
“Hey!” I hear someone yell from afar.
“Hey!”
This time, the sound is closer. I open my eyes, still in bed and not really anxious to wake up.
At first, I think it was a dream. The Saturday morning sun filters in through the windows of my bedroom as I yawn and stretch before getting out of bed.
/> “Hey!” I hear again.
Never mind. That yell was not a dream.
It’s Grandma Judith, and she sounds like she’s calling from outside the house. What could she be doing outside so early in the morning? I roll out of bed sluggishly, pull on sweat pants, and drag myself towards the living room.
“Who are you? What are you doing there?” I hear my grandma demand.
Starting to hurry now, I reach the front door and arrive at her side in a flash. There’s a man sitting on the edge of the lawn, resting his back against our mailbox. The man looks disheveled. I can see even from a distance that his clothes are rough, torn, and filthy. His dirty blonde hair is long and unkempt, and he has a rough beard, too, which I see when he glances sideways and shows us his profile. A dirty bag sits on the lawn beside him, looking like it contains clothes. He appears to be a homeless man, and as Grandma Judith and I come to within three yards of him, I realize he may have some sort of mental issues—because he’s talking to himself while he sits there at the edge of our yard.
When Grandma Judith hollers at him again with no response, I want to go right up to the man and confront him. She apparently sees my intention, and grabs my hand just as I make a move ahead of her, stopping me.
“No, don’t go closer, Aleta. We don’t know what he has, or what he’s capable of. We should call the police.”
In another moment, she’s pulled out her phone and dialed 9-1-1.
I had plenty of experience with homeless people back in New York. Mostly, they just wanted to be left alone or ask for occasional change, but sometimes there’d be issues with them trespassing or causing trouble. We used to confront those few and send them away. However, this is an upper-class neighborhood filled with mini-mansions and snooty people, and I have to think this is pretty rare. With that in mind, it occurs to me this guy could actually be dangerous, so I’d better listen to my grandmother.
