Page 19 of Knot What She Seems
A knock at my door makes every muscle in my body snap into a clinched hold. That causes me to nearly pitch forward face first into the wooden window frame, and I have to thrust my arms out to brace myself. As my lungs race to catch up on the four breaths they missed in their panic, I curse whoever came to visit at the exact wrong moment.
Have I not been rude enough today? I tried giving everyone the cold shoulder and clutching my stomach a bit so they’ll think I’m PMS-y and back off. I even let Harper know I didn’t feel well gently, because she’s been so nice.
Motherfucker!
I debate whether or not to answer.
Finally, with a scrunch of my nose, I decide that it’s probably better to tell people to leave me alone than to chance them trying to get a teacher to unlock the door and check on me. Grabbing onto the sides of the windows, I lean back into the room and call out, “I’m sick. I don’t want to talk.”
“Can I get you anything?” Harper’s voice calls through the door. Why she’s there and didn’t just meet me in the bathroom, I couldn’t say. Maybe because she didn’t want to walk in on the puke fest. Maybe she’s a sympathetic puker and would have started up herself.
Whatever the case, I’m grateful she’s just at the door. It is kind of nice of her to check in on me.
But that reminds me… I huff and slip inside, crossing the room to double-check that I’ve locked the door that leads from our joint bathroom into my dorm.
It’s bolted. Good.
I call out to Harper, “Thanks for checking. Really sweet, but I think I just want to be left alone to sleep.”
“Okay. Hope you feel better.” Her tone is kind and genuine, and I sigh as I stride back to the window and wrestle my way out again with my giant backpack, sans cloak this time because it’s just too much hassle. It would be awfully nice if I could truly trust her.
But experience has taught me that trust is typically a foolish gamble.
And so, I slide out into the night and pull my window shut, alone in my subterfuge.
* * *
Gretal’s Diner is a loud,boisterous place that always smells like french fries. It’s exactly the type of place I’d normally avoid because it’s always packed with extroverts who seem to think shouting is an acceptable volume level for conversation.
But it does have one major thing going for it—the bathrooms are tucked down a narrow hallway with an exit door right behind them into the alley. In other words, it’s the perfect location for me to slip into a bathroom stall, pull off my gender swap like Superman, and then slip out the back, no one else the wiser.
That’s exactly what I do. And I just pretend that my suit-donning skills are as slick as Mr. Flying Muscles and that I don’t bang my head against the stall door along the way.
After I check my wig in the mirror, I stride out, peering around when I open the alley door to ensure the coast is clear. Shutting it slowly so that it closes without a sound, I then turn toward the moonlit dumpster.
I used to think moonlight made everything look better, but it turns out the magic does not apply to graffitied bins that smell like ass.
A stringy-haired feral cat hisses at me as I go by, and I try to hold my breath, to not inhale the putrid smell wafting over me. I suppose that Gretal’s has a second upside; after walking past this bin, I’m pretty certain any lingering omega sweetness on my person has withered away.
Starting down the road, I go over greetings, my thoughts racing ahead of me. Teddie typically does a head nod and smile, so I figure I’ll try to start with that and talk as little as possible.
“Hey!”
A voice startles me from my thoughts, and I glance up to see a girl about my age, maybe a year older, standing on the sidewalk and staring at me. She’s clearly dressed for a date in a short, flaring red dress and heels, but her hands are on her hips in scolding fashion.
“This is the omega side of the sidewalk!” she hisses angrily.
My hand flies up to my mouth. Fuck! I didn’t even notice. But my horror slowly transmutes into a cocky grin because clearly, she thinks I’m an alpha.
Score.
Too bad Teddie’s not here to see this.
I debate texting the sanctimonious shit, who’s told me to back out twice today, but Caran won’t appreciate me riling him up. Especially since today’s a treatment day and Ted supposedly just got another dose. He’s going to be exhausted.
I’ll go over tomorrow when he’s got more energy and give him a play-by-play of my victories then.
Muttering an apology to this random girl who doesn’t realize she made my night, I shift my backpack against my spine and then check for cars before darting across the street to the alpha side. I have to mentally whip myself in order to remember to strut in a manly way and not to skip in my excitement.
