Page 9 of Alpha Varsity
I leap out of bed and bolt for my closet. There’s no time for a shower—good thing I took one last night. I’m late.Solate.
Did I hit snooze in my sleep?
Stupid, stupid, stupid!
How can I be late on the morning when I was supposed to arrive early?
Seriously, what is happening to me? I never oversleep.
Of course, I also never have fever dreams about male wolves making me come out in the wild.
I yank on a T-shirt and skirt without checking to see if they go together. I shove my feet in a pair of flip-flops. Who cares if they are against the district dress code? No flip-flops is a dumb rule, anyway, right along with the sexist rule that girls cannot show bra straps.
In a minute flat, I’m out the door and starting up my Mini Cooper with the spare key I dug out last night after crawling through an open window to the casita where I live.
I step on the gas, screeching the tires as I peel out. It doesn’t matter though. While I may arrive before the clang of the first bell, there is no possibility of me being the first or second person in the school. I orgasmed my way right through that chance an hour ago.
I race down the streets and pull into the staff parking lot.
Dear Moon Goddess, get me through this day. I jog into school. I swear everyone’s looking at me, but hopefully, it’s just paranoia.
I do a quick, surreptitious check, but my clothes are not in the hallway. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, to be honest. I walk to my classroom, where students gather outside my door for the first period. It’s a first-year class, one of my easier ones. The younger they are, the easier they are for me to control. My worst class is the sixth-period seniors–the class with Asher Martin, the school football star and leader of the alpha holes.
The neighbor kid who doubled in size since I saw him last and who now absolutely hates me.
I reach for the door to my classroom before I remember I don’t have the keys to unlock it.
Dammit. I need to find the janitor or principal.
No, wait. No, no, no. I resist the urge to scurry around like a guilty rat.
I’m a teacher here. I need to maintain my dignity.
I draw up all five-foot-two of my height, puff up my chest, and turn a regal head on the closest student to me. “Andrew, go and find the janitor to unlock my door.” I may not be the biggest or strongest wolf in the school, but I am a teacher, and I know how to pull authority.
“Yes, Ms. James.”
As soon as he disappears, I wish I’d gone myself.Because now, the seconds stretch out like hours as the bell rings, and I’m still standing in the hallway with my class.
I think fast. “Being an artist means working with what you have where you are,” I tell the class. “The bell has rung. Class begins now. Look around this hallway. If you were to depict it in a way that conveyed some meaning, how would you do it?”
No one is listening to me.
I put as much Alpha Command in my voice as I can. “Backs against the lockers.”
My students reluctantly shuffle back to form a line against the wall. “Now, let’s look at that wall.” I point to the wall opposite us. “What do you see, and how would you make a statement about it?”
“What do you mean,make a statement about it? It’s a wall.” One of the female students says, looking at her nails.
“Sure. How many different things can a wall convey?”
Blank stares.
“How do walls make you feel?”
More blank stares.
I offer a little vulnerability. “Sometimes walls make me feel shut in. Imprisoned.”
