The Other Alice Gracelyn [Chapter One]

So her name was Alice Gracelyn, and she kind of lost her mind. Everyone thought she snapped, and whether you knew her well or only knew of her, you inevitably talked about her. She cut her gorgeous auburn hair so that it was short and wild and basically consisted of these chaotic reddish curls. She quit the cheer squad just as she was elected captain. She signed up for the JROTC.

                Over the course of six months, Alice Gracelyn changed everything.

                My name was Daniel Ferguson, and I say “was” because that’s changed due to reasons that I’ll explain later. I’ve always been average – average looks, average grades, below-average talent balancing out my above-average intelligence. I was the kind of student who teachers liked, even though I was constantly admonished for “not utilizing time.” To be fair, it’s true that I spent a little too much time trying to gain muscle mass, trying (failing) to fit in, and leaving weird notes in random places hoping that someone would find them and possibly carry out the note’s request. They were almost always pointless, like “Sell an imaginary cat in the adverts section of the paper” or “Buy a cup of coffee for Hobo Joe.” (Hobo Joe was St. Jude’s notorious homeless person, practically the only one we had - definitely the craziest). To the credit of St. Judians everywhere, I ended up seeing an imaginary cat advertisement in the paper a week later. I’ve sent out a plethora of “Buy a cup of coffee for Hobo Joe” notes, but I have no clue how that’s turned out.

                That was how I met Alice Gracelyn. Kind of. I mean in a town like St. Jude’s you kind of know everybody, but not necessarily in that friendly small-town kind of way that people expect. The only things I’d heard about Alice were rumors of her polyamorous relations and bipolar freak-outs. We’d talked once, when I was working at the gas station downtown that summer. She’d been with this giant football player Hart Crawley, who’d had one massive arm wrapped around her while another went to lift the cigarette from his mouth, which he proceeded to toss on the floor and stomp out with his shoe.

                “Um,” I said intelligently.

                “You got a problem, kid?” Hart asked. The answer was no, I didn’t, because he was Hart Crawley and I was Daniel Ferguson, and the Daniel Fergusons of the world never have problems with the Hart Crawleys, who are in every way superior.

                Alice had these kind of greenish-brown eyes that knew how to capture you. I know that brown eyes as a general rule aren’t supposed to be particularly stunning, but hers were shattered with striations of jade, and if eyes could speak then hers would have been singing out with a beautiful laugh. Clearly trying to dodge a fight (or a beat-down), she tossed a pleading gaze towards her boyfriend and hurriedly put two beers in front of me. I looked at her. Alice didn’t say anything; she just gave me this look that clearly translated into You either let us take the beers or Hart Crawley will kick your ass for them. I rang them up.

                Things should’ve ended there, but they didn’t. “Thanks,” Alice said as I handed her the brown paper bag that encased the illegally-obtained alcohol.  

                “I’ll be in the car, babe. You’ll pay, right?”

                Before Alice could answer, Hart had walked out the door and proceeded towards the black Toyota glowering in the summer sun.

                “He’s a keeper,” I said against all better instinct.

                Alice smiled, running a hand through her wavy hair and rolling her eyes in irritation. “He’s a dick,” she translated in a blunt and beautiful way. “And I’m really sorry about all of that. I’ll tell him to lighten up.”

                I didn’t say thanks when I meant to. Instead I just looked at her and she just looked at me and for a second that look made me feel less like I sucked and more like I was at least good enough to be smiled at by Alice Gracelyn. And apparently I was. After a shivering smile struck her lips, she murmured, “See you around,” and with the ringing of the storefront bell, she was off with the booze and Hart Crawley and his obnoxious pickup truck.

                While technically that was how I met Alice Gracelyn, it wasn’t until the first day of senior year that I really met her.

                The rumors had already flown in a thousand directions. There she was, her hair cropped short. No longer on the cheer team. Wearing no makeup. Walking without a flock of friends or body-guard boyfriend. And in the crowded cafeteria, her eyes found mine.

                   Alice walked forward, handing me a note, and then disappearing into a sea of people just as the first bell rang.