By D.L Biranen
I’m barely aware of the conversation bubbling around me. My eyes are transfixed on him. Oblivious of my hopeless admiration, he sits at his table, peering into the pages of a book. Who brings a book for lunch? Why busy himself with a book when I would readily give him my company if he asked? I mean, it’s not that hard. I don’t bite. In fact, every other guy yearns to get close to me. So why not him? Unless of course, he doesn’t know I exist. Although we are classmates, it took me forever to notice him. Who would blame me anyway?
He’s the type who almost never talks. How was I to know he existed? Seriously though, does he know I exist? I am Bethany Howell, Miss Popular, aka Daddy’s Little Princess. So he must definitely know I exist. Even the dead know me. Or don’t they? Okay, scratch that.
“What’s his name?” I ask the people at my table. Liam and Paisley. We’ve been bestfriends since freshman year. Liam chokes on his soda.
“Don’t even go there!”I smack his head.
“Jerk. His name.”
“Wow, Beth,” Paisley says.
“I can’t believe you have no idea who your classmate is.”
“I can’t believe he has no idea who daddy’s little princess is,” I say.
“Everyone knows DLP,” Paisley says.
“Aren’t you every guy’s heartthrob?” I simmer with frustration.
“Guys, how hard is it to just give me his name? You guys are seriously not cool.”
“He’s Alpha,” Liam says.
“Alpha as in Alpha wolf?” My voice is a little louder than what I went for.
Flinching, Paisley turns to look at my crush. She obviously believes he heard me. Even if he did, what does it matter anyway? After all, Alpha isn’t his name. At least I don’t think it is.
What’s Alpha? If it isn’t a sobriquet for alphabet, then it’s definitely Alpha wolf. I know Liam is a total jerk, so I turn to Paisley, hoping she can tell me.
“That’s his name,” she says. “Alpha Jordan.”
Alpha Jordan? That’s quite a name. He sounds like some sort of fictional character. A werewolf, to be precise. The type I’d crush on. I love the sound of his name. Mysterious. Just like him.
“Classic, eh?” Liam asks.
I play deaf to his question. My mind revolves around my new interest. Alpha Jordan. My lips wrap around his name, already claiming possession of him. I don’t know much about him, but I can say he’s not the type that makes friends. He doesn’t socialize or anything. He’s always so quiet, I forget he exists.
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“Now you know his name,” Paisley says. “What next?”
“Watch me.” Biting my lips, I bolt to my feet.
“Are you crazy?” Paisley asks. But I don’t wait to respond. I cross the room to meet my new crush. I plop down on the chair opposite him. The book he’s reading catches my eye. Two Graves, by Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child. I’ve never seen it before, but the cover screams ‘mystery’.
Alpha looks away from the book. My heartbeat pulsates as his intense brown eyes fixate on me. I hold my breath. I’ve never seen such beautiful brown eyes. They are to die for. These eyes can get anyone popular in a split second. How is he able to hide in the shadows? That’s some raw talent.
He stares at me, his lips pressed into a straight, disapproving line. Why do I feel like I just walked into a lion’s den? His silence makes my stomach churn. My mouth goes dry. Okay, I get it. I’m so screwed.
“Are you free on Saturday?” I ask, flashing him the most attractive smile in my emotion closet. I have faith in this approach. I’ve used it a number of times in the past and it’s never failed me.
Blank faced, he returns his attention to the stupid book. I turn a million shades of ‘OMG! I’ve just been ignored’. For the first time in my life, I know what it feels like to be ignored. I look around. Everyone is staring. I brush off my embarrassment.
“Okay, let’s try again. Hey, mysterious, I’m Beth…” He doesn’t wait for me to finish. Slamming his book shut, he gets up. An unforeseen rage overshadows me, I see the color red. I have never felt so insulted. Who does Alpha think he is?
Without thinking, I grab his bottle of coke and empty it on him. Hushed gasps and whispers fill the air. A few boys wolf-whistle, and somehow, this fuels my rage. I watch the liquid streak down his face. It gives me some measure of satisfaction. But no amount of satisfaction can cloud my anger.
I storm out of the canteen, my hands swinging wild enough to strike anyone within range. I remember the letter I received this morning from my anonymous Mr. Right. It brings a smile to my lips. If my heart was a castle, you’d be the queen. I say a wordless thank you to him. The letters he leaves me every morning always make my day. And now I can’t be happier I have him. At least someone somewhere adores me.
This is just the beginning
To be continued