The Education of Alice Wells Read online

  THE EDUCATION OF ALICE WELLS

  A novel by Sara Wolf

  I stride to the library and dial Ranik’s number. It rings twice, and then he picks up.

  “Hello?”

  “I forbid you from being nice to me,” I say immediately. There’s a silence on his end. I know he knows it’s me – he saw the number.

  “I can be nice to whoever I wanna be,” He says finally.

  “We have a working relationship,” I snap. “One of student and teacher. I cannot abide you coming to like me.”

  “Like you?” He sputters. “W-What makes you think I –”

  “I expressly told you not to like me.”

  “You told me not to try to fuck you,” he corrects.

  “The only way I would ever have sex with anyone would be to like them first, to enter a mutual relationship of liking. Therefore, you cannot like me. That would be a step towards trying to bed me.”

  Sara Wolf

  THE EDUCATION OF ALICE WELLS

  Copyright ©2014 by Sara Wolf

  All rights reserved. This work or any portion thereof may not be utilized or reproduced in any way, with exception of review purposes, without the written consent of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Any resemblances to real persons, events, names, or locations are coincidental and a product of the author’s imagination.

  For questions, concerns, or comments, please contact the author at [email protected]

  Chapter One

  For the seventh time today, Professor Mathers calls on me.

  “Alice? You look like you know the answer.”

  All eyes in the European History 204 classroom rivet to me, expectant and bored and waiting for me to offer a brilliant yet succinct answer like I always do, because I’m Alice Wells, and the one thing in the world I’m good at is answering teachers. I’m bad at most other things college students are supposed to be good at, like wearing pink, and binge-drinking, and hooking up. But in the classroom, I’m nothing less than perfect. And modest.

  I clear my throat and adjust my sweater.

  “Kublai Khan, Professor. His trade routes established the possibility of direct contact between Europe and the Far East for the first time in history.”

  Mathers beams at me, adjusting his tiny glasses on his round, always-oily face. “Very good, Alice. We’ll make a PhD out of you yet at this rate. Now, if you’ll turn your attention to page 54 of the text -”

  My friend Charlotte, her chestnut curls cascading down her trendy white blouse, nudges me as I sit down. “He’s totally getting off on you.”

  “That is extremely gross and also inappropriate,” I gag.

  “You two will make a lovely couple,” she smirks. “I’d bet money he’s into your type.”

  “And what, pray tell, is my type?” I sigh.

  “Bookish, grade-obsessed virgins.”

  I don’t bother to argue that last bit. I was the last virgin at high school graduation, next to the pimply World of Warcraft guy, and I’m certainly the last virgin here, at Mountford University, the number one party school in southern Washington.

  “I am not obsessed with grades,” I sniff.

  Charlotte pointedly looks at my laptop, on which an excel spreadsheet is open, detailing my schedule for the week. She taps her finger on a box – Wednesday morning; Study. She taps another; Friday night – Study. Saturday afternoon: Study. She mashes her fingers all over the screen, indicating the vast majority of the boxes are filled with the command to study. I kick her under the table and she muffles her laugh in her sleeve. Her phone buzzes for the millionth time that morning with a text. She grabs it and types quickly.

  “Psst,” She hisses at me. I ignore her and focus on Mathers’ powerpoint harder. “Oh c’mon, you can’t actually be mad. I just said the truth! There’s nothing wrong with being a nerd. I still love you.”

  I roll my eyes, but it’s true. She’s been my friend since sixth grade. We’ve seen each other at our worst.

  “You’re the one person who does.”

  Charlotte’s smirk gets wider as she leans in. “Let’s fix that.”

  “How? In case you’ve forgotten, all boys hate me.”

  “Ugh, Alice, for the last time, boys don’t hate you! You’re just a –”

  She looks me over, taking in my sweater and plaid skirt. I adjust my thin glasses and throw my dishwater-blonde ponytail over my shoulder.

  “Bitch,” I offer.

  “ – a little impatient,” Charlotte corrects.

  “Well excuse me for being impatient, but I prefer not to waste my time on idiots who can only manage the words ‘tits’ and ‘yolo’.”

  “Come on, Al. Melissa invited me to a barbeque at Theta Delta Pi next week, and you know how awesome their building is, and you haven’t left your room except to eat and go to class for weeks which is fine but I’m starting to worry about you and I really don’t want to go alone, and please, please, please –”

  “Charlotte, did you want to share something with the class?” Professor Mathers quirks a brow. Charlotte flushes and lowers her voice to a bare squeak.

  “No. Sorry.”

  When Mathers turns back to the projection screen, Charlotte immediately leans in to me and starts chant-whispering.

  “Please please please please –”

  “Alright! God!” I hiss. “You have the tenacity of a Tasmanian devil.”

  Charlotte silently fistpumps in victory. The bell rings, and she throws her books in her bag and bops me on the nose.

  “See you tonight!”

  She’s out the door before I can even blink. We’ve been friends for nearly a decade, and she hasn’t changed an inch from her permanently popular, sugar-high self. Then again, neither have I. I’m still boring and focused on school as ever. But in a house with a Mom who only looked at me if I brought home a good report card, it was something I just grew into. School was my life. Where other girls found joy in movies and fashion and friends, I found it in numbers and facts. That’s how I’ve always been. It didn’t get me a lot of friends. Charlotte’s the one exception. It’s a miracle she’s still stuck with flat-as-week-old-soda me when we came to Mountford. She could be hanging out with so many other girls who talk about stuff she actually likes, who aren’t boring. I half expect her to leave me in the dust at some point this year.

  I sigh and pack my bag.

  “Alice? May I see you for a moment?” Professor Mathers’ voice rings. I look up.

  “Yes, of course. One second.”

  The class is mostly empty by the time I get down to his desk. Mathers looks up and smiles at me.

  “You know, Alice, I’m thoroughly impressed by your knowledge of the trans-continental subsection. Did you happen to read ahead in the textbook?”

  The familiar surge of pride at being praised wells up. “Yes, sir. I make it a habit to read all my textbooks cover to cover when I first receive them.” I reach in my bag and fish my textbook out to show him. Thousands of rainbow post-its mark the pages. “I also annotate for quicker reference during study.”

  His mouth drops open a little. He closes it just as quickly and smiles.

  “I’ve always thought indexes in books were too clunky. This post-it method is an elegant solution.”

  The classroom is empty now, but even with no one here to see me getting praised, my chest still swells. My post-its aren’t boring to him, or neurotic, or nerdy. They are exceptional.

  “It’s really nothing special, sir.”

  Mathers stands and walks over to me, putting a hand around my shoulder.

  “Don’t be silly. I’ve seen hundreds of kids come and go through my class every semester, and none of them have the dedicatio
n and talent you do, Alice. You’re a truly remarkable girl.”

  I should be happy at his compliment, but for some reason a creeping coldness starts in my stomach and works its way up to my lungs. I can’t breathe right, and his hand on my shoulder tightens.

  “T-Thank you, sir.”

  “And always so polite,” he continues.

  His arm drops from my shoulders and slides down my spine, resting right on the skirt over my butt. A sick feeling wells up, and I try to wrench away, but his other arm is holding my wrist, now. His eyes are gleaming behind his glasses, face suddenly serious, no hint of a smile, and frigid terror starts to grip me when the doors suddenly fly open and a guy walks in.

  “Mr. Mathers!” He calls happily. Mathers drops his hands quickly and I pull away and leave as fast as I can without running, but the interrupter guy stops me, putting his lean body between me and the door.

  “Hey, whoa, hold up,” He says. I look up, seeing my unwitting rescuer for the first time.

  I instantly regret it, because standing in front of me is the ever-sleazy playboy Ranik Mason.

  Tangled black hair - shaved on the sides – frame his fox-like, cunning hazel eyes and thick, sharp brows. Everything about him is sinewy; lean limbs and long fingers. A snake tattoo winding around a dagger decorates his neck, just peeking out of his leather jacket. His smile is a little too crooked, like his broad mouth is permanently tilted. His jeans are boot-cut and jet black and frayed at the knees with one too many falls. He smells like whiskey and cinnamon and hot metal.

  “Yo, princess, you okay?” Ranik asks. “Lookin’ kinda pale there.”

  “I-I’m…I’m fine,” I force. “I need to go.”

  Ranik’s gold-green eyes flit up to look at Mathers. “Oy, mister! You weren’t getting handsy with the ladies again, were you?”

  Mathers pulls himself up to his full height, still at least a half-foot shorter than Ranik.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Alice and I were speaking about her stellar grades. Not that you’d know anything about stellar grades, you hooligan.”

  Ranik makes a ‘tsk-tsk’ noise, and saunters over to Mathers. I watch in amazement as Mathers instantly loses all bravado and shrinks into himself, backing against the wall to get away from the approaching boy in leather and jeans.

  “Don’t touch me!” Mathers hisses. “I’ll call security.”

  “Aw, c’mon M-dog. We both know you won’t. ‘Sides, security loves me, you know? I mean, they gotta love me, since they see me so much. I might not be the smartest stick in the bunch, I might not get your precious straight A’s or whatever, but I know what people love, okay? Security loves me. You love girls. Specifically, your own fucking students, who rely on you to teach them and guide them. Oh man, that just gets you off like nothing else, doesn’t it? Sweet innocent girl like that,” Ranik looks to me, then back to Mathers. “Lookit her! She don’t know nothing about what sick fucking fantasies you got stored up behind those beady-ass eyes, because she’s never had a creep like you in control of her grades!”

  “Please, p-please,” Mathers stutters. “I won’t do it again. I swear to you –”

  “You swore last time!” Ranik raises his voice to a polite roar. “And the time before that! Hell, it’s almost like you aren’t actually swearing to me at all, mister! Maybe I oughta tell somebody important about all this shit you’re stirring up!”

  Mathers starts to sweat. I’m rooted in place, incredulous. Ranik managed to reduce a man three times his age to a quibbling mess in less than thirty seconds. But Mathers suddenly goes slack, serious face returning.

  “No one will believe a pothead reject like you,” he snarls. Ranik leans in, eyes glinting.

  “The way I see it, it’s a fifty-fifty chance. Test it out if you’re feeling lucky, you old fuck.”

  Ranik turns and saunters towards me, and Mathers is quiet for all of a second before he bleats.

  “Wait! Wait, stop!”

  Ranik looks at me, rolling his eyes in an unmistakable ‘this guy is a waste of my time’ way, and pivots to face him.

  “What’s up, granpops?”

  “Please, don’t tell. What will it take?”

  Ranik muses at the ceiling, then holds up three fingers and counts down. “First off, you quit bein’ a creep to girls. Second, you don’t touch their grades. And third, if I ever catch you feelin’ up Princess here again, well. Let’s just say your job will be the least painful of the things you’ll lose, okay? Okay, cool. Good talk.”

  Ranik thumps Mathers on the back with a friendly smile, and walks towards me.

  “C’mon, let’s go. Even worms deserve to shit themselves in peace.”

  I follow slowly because I’m half-numb from Mathers attempted assault and half-wary of Ranik. He’s whistling, walking with a bounce in his step like he just won the lottery. I notice the tattoo on the back of his neck – a rose with bloody thorns. I’d seen him around campus smoking with a circle of likewise grungy friends, his arm usually slung around a different pretty, rail-thin, heavily-makeup’d girl every week. But goth raver chick isn’t his only type. He strolls around campus sometimes with voluptuous cheerleaders or bottle-blonde sorority girls giggling on his arm, but even they don’t last more than a few days. I’d seen him around campus but I’d heard more about him around campus – he’s the one freshmen go to if they need booze, or a fake ID, or a drug hookup. Not that he sells drugs. But he knows everyone in this town, and everyone knows him. Ranik Mason has made the connections, bribed the right people, and dug up dirt on every important person in school, from the board head right down to the janitor. You don’t fuck with Ranik Mason. Unless you’re a girl. And even then, you fuck carefully.

  I shudder. A ghostly pressure lingers on my skirt where Mathers’ hand was. How could he? I knew he liked me, but not like that. All my life I’d trusted teachers. They were the people I’d always been able to connect to, moreso than my peers, who found me ‘creepy’ or ‘hard to talk with’. Teachers were my rock, my one safe place where I was accepted for who I truly was. And now even that has been tainted.

  Ranik’s face suddenly appears in my view. Startled, I pull back.

  “Whoa, didn’t mean to scare you,” He puts his hands up. “You were just real quiet, is all.”

  “Excuse me if I’m quiet while my world shatters,” I say.

  “That bad, huh?” Ranik studies me. “If one little grope from that pisshead shattered your entire world, must’ve been a sucky world to begin with.”

  The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I bristle. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh, I think I do!” He smiles cheerily. “You’re Alice Wells, right? 4.2 GPA or whatever, all the professors want you in their program. You’re from Pennsylvania, but you chose Mountford University all the way out here in Washington when you coulda gone to any Ivy League you wanted. That gets me wonderin’ – are you a big fish who likes being in a little pond? Or were you just scared of not being smart enough for the Ivy’s?”

  I turn and ignore him. My real reasons are my own, and darker than he can imagine. No one can know. Especially not him. Ranik runs to catch up with me.

  “Hey, hey, where’re you going so fast?”

  “I’m not going to dignify you with a response. Therefore, our conversation is over.”

  “Wooow. So the rumors were true. You really do talk like a robot.”

  Robot. The word rings in my head like an ugly note, a sour piano chord that brings the memories of high school back, vivid and bright.

  ‘You’re so boring, like a robot.’

  ‘Sure thing, robot-girl.’

  ‘Do you even feel anything in that hard robot heart of yours?’

  ‘Don’t bother talking to her, she’s like a weird robot.’

  The pain, like all things, passes. I square my shoulders, hold my head high, and look Ranik right in the eyes.

  “Thank you for assisting with Mathers. But I have
no further use for you.”

  “Ouch. You’re stone-cold.”

  “You’re not the first to tell me that. Or to call me a robot.”

  Ranik looks surprised. “Oh. Oh, was that a bad thing? Didya not like that?”

  “Generally speaking, people don’t enjoy being likened to a soulless machine.”

  “I just meant, you know, your voice sounded like a robot. Not you. I didn’t mean you’re a robot, princess, c’mon –”

  I don’t say anything more. He doesn’t deserve anything more. I walk out of the building doors and into the watery sunshine. My fury is icy, and buried so far beneath my shock at Mathers’ behavior I can’t feel it at all. My feet take me to the library automatically, the smell of old books like a balm soothing over my burning shame and confusion. I try to study my European History textbook, but just reading the material reminds me of Mathers’ grip. Studying anything else is impossible – my brain is too scrambled to focus.

  My phone vibrates in my pocket, and a few intensely studying seniors shoot me dirty looks. I quickly duck outside and answer it.

  “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hello Alice,” My mother’s crisp voice filters through. “How have you been?”

  “I’m…I’m great,” I start. “The food here is very good. There’s a wonderful vegetarian café in the middle of the campus, and the gym boasts a wide array of –”

  “What about your classes?”

  “I’m maintaining my average,” I say quickly.

  “Are you asking your professors for extra credit like I suggested?”

  “Yes. They don’t give me much, but -”

  “Then you must ask them for more. You can’t squander this chance, Alice. College is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and an expensive one. You have to get the most out of it while you can.”

  “Right. I’ll…press them harder.”

  There’s a half-second of silence, which is unusual. Mom can’t stand silences. Everything in me burns to tell her what happened with Mathers.

  “Mom –” I start. “Just now, one of my professors –”

  “I have to go, Alice,” she says suddenly. “I’m at a conference.”