Alpha Girl

Thank you for your interest in
Alpha Girl
. Please be aware that this novel is not intended for audiences younger than 15 years of age. This novel contains material that may be offensive to some readers, such as scenes of a sexual nature, and coarse language.
Alpha Girl
pushes the boundaries and explores a controversial relationship between a student and a teacher. Please do not read this book if you are easily offended. Reader discretion is advised.

Thank you.

Regards,

Kate Bloomfield

Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

My parents would describe me as a happy child: playful and energetic like most children. I had friends, was invited to parties, and I did well in school. Overall, I was a pleasant person to be around.

That was, however, until something terrible happened to me that changed my life forever.

It all started when I was nine years old and I was attacked while hiking in the woods with my parents. No one knew what it was at the time but it left deep scratch wounds in my left thigh, and teeth marks over my ribs.

After the attack I was considered a strange child. I barely spoke, and was disinterested in other people and their lives. I felt disconnected from the world
like I didn’t belong. Perhaps I was crazy.

Soon I noticed animals behaving strangely around me, as though they were frightened. Even our dog Rocky wouldn’t come near me after the attack. It was as if he could sense that I was damaged on the inside; scarred internally.

This was when my family started to fall apart.

These days my parents are far too busy with their own lives to pay much attention to what I get up to. They’re either working, or having affairs. Perhaps the stress of my attack was too much for them, and they began to drift apart.

I barely talk to them anymore. Once a month, if I’m lucky.

You see, after my attack, I became a sickly child. Every month, without fail, I would be bedridden for a couple of days at a time. Because of this my schoolwork suffered.

Oh, I forgot to introduce myself. My name is Rose Goldman and I am seventeen years old. I live in a small town called Halfway, which is popular with tourists for the great hiking and fishing spots nearby; things I have no interest in. Not anymore, anyway.

Halfway was named so because it is exactly halfway between destinations; that little blip on the map where you stop to fill your car with gas, go for a hike, or have a picnic, but never stay too long.

My mother works in pharmaceuticals, an extremely boring career which I have no desire to join. My father has an equally tedious job as a project manager for a local building company.

Over the years I have become better at talking to people, and interacting with other students. I am still considered strange by my classmates, but at least there are a few girls who allow me to sit with them during the lunch hour. I’ve become very good at hiding my oddness.

I suppose the real story begins on the first day of the new school year.

Tuesday - 21 days to go

‘Hey Rose,’ my ‘friend’ Sadie said, sitting adjacent to me.

‘Hi,’ I responded, without looking up from my book. I was a big reader. Books allowed me to escape from the hell that was my life.

‘Amy said we’ve got a new English teacher,’ said Sadie, pulling out her pencil case and placing it on the desk.

I groaned. Having a new teacher meant the class would be rowdy and intolerable. It was a right of passage. Students would act up until the teacher had earned enough reputation points to control the students. It was a bit like jail in a way. The longer you’re teaching at the school, the more respected you are. This new teacher was going to have a very hard time controlling a group of seventeen year olds.

The new teacher entered the classroom at that moment and turned to the board.  Instantly, an amazing smell reached my nostrils. It was sweet like cinnamon, yet musky. Perhaps it was his cologne.

No one ceased talking as he wrote his name in large white letters; everyone continued as they were, sitting on desks, laughing and chatting. I didn’t even bother looking up from the book I was reading.

‘Good morning everyone!’ he called over the chatter. No one paid him any attention. I felt sorry for him, but continued reading my book anyway.

‘Can everyone take their seats please?’ he tried. No one moved. If anything, the volume of chatter increased.

Crack!

Everyone jumped a foot in the air as the new teacher slammed his ruler across the desk. We all stared, wide eyed.

‘Now that I have your attention,’ he smiled politely, ‘would you please take your seats?’

Every student did as they were told, throwing the teacher dark looks.

‘Welcome! My name is Mr. Stone. Not
Mr. Stoner
, or any other nickname you come up with, all right?’ 

Mr. Stone looked to be in his late twenties, or perhaps his early thirties, with a dusting of grey in his brown hair, as though years of hard work and stress had aged him prematurely. His eyes were a deep forest green, accompanied by crow’s feet, which wrinkled as he beamed at the class. He wore a tweed suit that was a little too short around the cuffs,
like it was tailored for someone other than him. It looked like the sort of thing you picked up at a thrift-store.

‘Now, it’s my first time at this school, so I’m hoping we can lay off the practical jokes, okay? Why don’t we start by taking roll call? When I call your name, why don’t you each stand up and tell me a little something about yourselves, okay?’ There was authority in his voice, but his expression remained cheery.

Everyone looked at each other nervously.

Mr. Stone smiled and consulted the roster on his desk.

‘All right … let’s see who is first. Blacklock, Maria?’

A girl stood up and said in a small voice, ‘Um, hi. My name is Maria and I play the clarinet.’

‘Great, thanks Maria,’ said Mr. Stone, checking off her name. ‘Next is Deveraux, Sadie.’

My friend Sadie stood up and flicked her long, blonde hair over her shoulder. She gave Mr. Stone a dazzling smile as she said. ‘Hello Mr. Stone, my name is Sadie, and I am a Leo, which means I’m a little bit feisty.’

I felt embarrassed for Sadie as she sat back down.

Next was Aaron Ford, then Emily Gaul.

‘Rose Goldman,’ said Mr. Stone, my name rolling off his tongue like velvet.

I stood up. I wanted to say something memorable, but nothing had come to mind.

‘My name is Rose,’ I said, staring at Mr. Stone, who blinked politely back. I found it strange that he made eye contact with me. No one usually did. ‘And I-’

One of the ‘popular’ boys in my class coughed loudly, the words ‘
wet dog’
clearly audible. It wasn’t the first time I’d been called it.

I had been about to say
I like to read
. Instead I said; ‘And no one likes me.’

Everyone in the classroom laughed, as I sat back down, unabashed.

Mr. Stone stared at me with his eyebrows raised. ‘Well I’m sure I’ll like you just fine, Rose.’

Several people sniggered.

Once the roster had been called, Mr. Stone began to hand out the semester’s literature; a book called
The Colour Purple
.

When he reached me, Mr. Stone placed the book on my desk and lingered for a moment, staring at the novel I’d been reading;
Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure.

‘An interesting choice,’ he said, pointing to my book. ‘Are you enjoying it?’ 

‘Yes, it’s very sexy,’ I replied, without looking up.

‘You know it was banned in the U.S for a long time?’

‘One-hundred-and-fifty-two years,’ I said. ‘Between eighteen-twenty-one and nineteen-seventy-two.’

‘Right.’ Mr. Stone grinned. ‘You did your research.’

Of course I had. I was obsessed with my books.

I ignored Mr. Stone, and he moved along without another word.

‘Oh my goodness,’ said Sadie during the lunch break. ‘How good is Mr. Stone?’

Another ‘friend’ Sarah, checked her timetable. ‘Oh, I haven’t got him until
tomorrow
.’

‘
Sarah
,’ said Sadie, through a mouthful of food. ‘He is
gorgeous
.’

‘Ew, Sadie, he’s old,’ said Maria.

Sadie rolled her eyes. ‘He only looks about thirty.’

‘Yeah, that’s twelve years older than you,’ said Maria.

Sarah raised her eyebrows and looked at me. ‘Is he good looking, Rose?’

I shrugged, noncommittally. ‘He’s okay.’ I didn’t find anyone attractive, really.

That evening I walked home from school, as usual. The driveway was not empty when I arrived, which was unusual as my parents shouldn’t be home from work for another two hours. Two cars were parked in the driveway: my mother’s, and a stranger’s.