Alpha Dog (3 page)

I stifled a groan. Aunt Bitsy isn’t really my aunt, but a former sorority sister of my mother’s. Her son Aaron really is decent and responsible and sweet and incredibly good-looking. I had the biggest crush on him until two years ago when I ran into him at the outlet mall and he introduced me to his boyfriend Chad.

“Mom, I don’t think so. I probably won’t have time to date. I’ll be studying a lot.”

“Who said anything about dating?” she asked in an oh-so-innocent voice. “I don’t think your landlady will even allow dating. I’m talking about meeting up with an old friend, someone who can help get your mind off this Chuck person. . . .”

“Oh God,” I moaned, twisting around in my seat and leaning against the door. I closed my eyes and tried to shut down the auditory section of my brain. The movement of the car was vibrating my still-aching skull and making my ear canals tickle.
Maybe my ear-drums will rupture,
I thought hopefully. I really, really,
really
didn’t want to hear her thoughts on how I should deal with the breakup—especially since that’s all I’d been thinking about.

Over the past twenty hours, my feelings had gone through all the stages described in
Cosmopolitan.
First anger, then total despair, then a denial that it really happened and the lame hope it was only a prank. Then anger again—only this time at myself.

If only I had gotten back at Chuck in some way. Kicked him in the crotch or shoved flan in his face, or told the whole restaurant that he drools slightly when we make out (something I never quite learned to deal with)—anything except the wimp-ass way I took it.

“. . . You shouldn’t be wallowing like this. You should see this as an opportunity. A chance to focus on your studies and meet some nice, upstanding people. . . .”

My fingers caressed the door handle. I imagined myself opening the car door and tumbling onto the road, free at last. Of course, since it was a fantasy, instead of ending up a mangled mess with premature eye wrinkles, I’d simply land on my feet and take off running. I’d hop the barbed-wire fence and race over the ridge until I was certain Mom had lost my trail. Then I’d find a nice farm or ranch family to take me in. I’d convince them I was being hunted by the mob and that they couldn’t tell anyone I was there. Then I’d earn my keep by milking goats or something until I’d saved up some money. Then I’d fly to Ireland and find Seamus. . . .

“Katie? . . . Katherine Anne McAllister! Are you listening to me? . . . Stop squinting!”

My mood lifted as we pulled into Austin. First the traffic got thicker, and then the glass crown of the Frost Bank building appeared on the horizon. Soon other downtown buildings and the pink granite capitol dome came into view. And to the north loomed the infamous University of Texas Tower, its south-facing clock beckoning to me like a large smiley face.

College,
I thought as a fluttery, pressurized sensation filled my chest. This was going to be perfect. No mom to fuss at me. No dad to tell embarrassing stories about me. No one constantly comparing me to my mother’s perfect girlhood. And best of all, no one who knew I’d just been dumped like moldy leftovers.

Mom hadn’t even finished easing the Volvo into the Pearl Street Condominiums parking lot before I was out on the curb unloading my bags. A couple of swoon-worthy guys—frat boys, judging by the Greek letters on their baseball caps—were walking along the sidewalk. One of them smiled at me.

Suddenly it occurred to me that a real college summer session would be going on at the same time as the Core Curriculum Program. I could meet real college students—college
guys.
Maybe Seamus would be there, having just transferred for a specialized graduate degree. I could just see him sauntering through campus, his beefy chest snug inside a Texas Longhorns shirt instead of a crewneck sweater. . . .

“Katie!” Mom called, yanking me back into my present surroundings. I was still standing on the curb, gaping at the two hotties as they passed. She gave a disapproving glare and nodded toward my pile of luggage. “Let’s hurry and get inside. I’m sure you need to relieve yourself after all that coffee you drank this morning. It’s not healthy to hold it in, you know.” She picked up one of my bags and headed for the entrance.

My face seemed to erupt into flames. I avoided looking at the two frat guys as I hoisted my last two bags and followed her into the building.

“That reminds me,” she went on as we trudged up a Berber-carpeted staircase to the third floor. “All I see around here are burger and pizza joints. That kind of food is so bad for your complexion. If there’s time before I leave, we should stock up at a grocery store. Just because you won’t have me around to cook doesn’t mean you can eat junk. I didn’t get a scholarship by scarfing down sugar and fat all day, you know.”

Every day Mom found a way to point out how blatantly inferior I was to herself at a young age. Even the words she used were repetitive: “When I was your age, I didn’t get to [insert feat of superhuman proportions] by [insert one of my regular, inferior habits].”

Eventually we reached the third floor and stood in front of unit 302. On the door hung a wooden cutout of a cat with a ruffled gingham heart glued to the chest and the name Krantz stenciled underneath.

Mom rapped on the door next to the wooden cat’s faceless head. “Be on your best behavior,” she whispered. “I’m sure you’ll have a strict curfew, and she’s probably going to check up on you all at least once a day, so you better keep things in order. No leaving your clothes and wet towels all over the place like you do at home.”

“
Mo-om!
I know this already. You don’t need to keep reminding me.”

“Honey, I’m only telling you these things because I want you to succeed here. If you were more reliable I wouldn’t have to—”

Just then, the door opened and an older woman stood before us, smiling. She was petite with a dyed black, Betty Boop–style hairdo and huge, clear-framed eyeglasses. Her long denim skirt and crisp white blouse looked freshly pressed, but both were covered with multicolored hairs. Probably from the smug-looking calico cat she held to her chest.

“Are these our new summer guests, Mrs. B?” she asked in a singsongy voice.

Mom and I exchanged brief, startled looks. Who the heck was she talking to?

“Yes, I do believe they are,” she went on. “Just look at all the suitcases.”

That’s when it hit me. She was talking to the cat.

“Hi, I’m Agnes Krantz,” she crooned, thrusting her hand toward my mother.

“Laura McAllister,” Mom said, grasping her palm and shaking it. When they let go, Mom studied her hand. It was covered in cat fur.

“Oh, sorry about that. This awful heat’s been making Mrs. B shed like crazy, hasn’t it Missy-tootle?” She lifted her arms and nuzzled her face against the cat’s head.

“Quite all right,” Mom said with a nervous laugh. “May I introduce my daughter, Katie?”

“Hi,” I greeted her with a wave, hoping to avoid the furry handshake.

It worked. Mrs. Krantz nodded and grinned at me. “Hello. I’ve heard so much about you. Would you like to see your place?”

“Sure.”

Mrs. Krantz took a wad of keys out of her skirt pocket and walked next door to number 301. After unlocking the doorknob and two dead bolts, she opened the front door and gestured us inside.

As I stepped across the threshold, I could feel layer upon layer of stress slide off me. It was like the relief you feel when you finally fill your lungs with air after holding your breath a long time. I felt . . . home.

The place was small, much smaller than I’d imagined. But it didn’t matter. I thought it was perfect in spite of the dingy carpeting and odd chicken-soup smell. I could easily imagine myself eating Cocoa Puffs at the green laminated bar that separated the living room from the tiny galley-style kitchen. Or drinking a soda while flopped across the old but comfy-looking flowered sofa.

Mrs. Krantz set down the cat and puttered about, opening blinds and fluffing the cushions on the couch and two flanking armchairs. Rays of light streaming through the windows illuminated swirls of dust in the air.

“Don’t worry. Everything is clean,” Mrs. Krantz remarked, watching my mother run her finger along a built-in bookshelf. “It just needs to be lived in. Isn’t that right, Mrs. B?”

I turned to look at the cat, half expecting her to answer. Mrs. B sauntered over to me, gave my shoes an indifferent sniff, and then jumped into the frayed yellow club chair.

“It’s charming,” Mom said, glancing around and giving an approving nod.

“Thank you.” Mrs. Krantz beamed. “Let me show you my favorite part.”

She pushed aside some vertical blinds to reveal a glass atrium door. Then she opened it up and led us onto a wide concrete balcony overlooking west campus.

“Wow,” I breathed, leaning against the iron railing. There, just a few miles east, stood the UT Tower. This time its western clock face was smiling at me. “What a view! Isn’t it great, Mom?”

Mom walked up beside me and stared out at the sun-drenched panorama. For the first time that day, her expression softened and she actually smiled. “Yes, it’s nice,” she said. She turned and looked at me. “Remember not to squint.”

“Right.” I was way too happy to get annoyed. Shielding my eyes with my hand, I gazed out at the bustling streets, trying to picture myself scurrying along the sidewalk with my backpack slung over my shoulder.

“Yes, Mrs. B and I just love it out here,” Mrs. Krantz said behind us. “That’s our balcony right next door.” I glanced to the right toward the other half of the concrete balcony, separated by another waist-high iron railing. It was crowded with plants and potted palms, and in the corner, two ceramic kittens appeared to chase a ceramic yarn ball.

“I’m glad you’re so close by,” Mom said, pivoting about and leaning back against the rail. “So, how often will you look in on Katie and her roommate?”

Mrs. Krantz tilted her head and pushed her glasses farther up her nose. “I beg your pardon?”

Mom stiffened slightly. I turned around to watch them, sensing trouble.

“I mean,” Mom continued, “you will be chaperoning the girls, won’t you? I assume you will have a set curfew and a strict no-boys-allowed policy?”

“Mrs. McAllister, I’m afraid there’s been a misunderstanding.” Mrs. Krantz’s overly magnified eyes studied my mother cautiously. “I’m afraid my only roles here are that of landlady and neighbor,
not
chaperone.”

Mom’s mouth bunched up as if yanked by an invisible drawstring. “But in your letter you said you would be offering your guidance as well.”

“I believe my exact words were that I could ‘serve as a guide.’ I’ve lived in Austin over thirty years and can give directions to places all over the city.”

Mom appeared to be in shock. “Well, I just assumed . . . She’s still in high school, after all. . . . She only just turned seventeen.” She took a step toward Mrs. Krantz, clutching her purse in front of her. “Couldn’t we make some sort of arrangement with you? Maybe for an extra fee?”

Mrs. Krantz seemed slightly offended. “I’m sorry, but that wouldn’t be possible. As it is, Mrs. B and I are going out of town tomorrow to visit my sister. I won’t even be here for the first several days.”

“But . . . isn’t there anyone else who could do it?” My mom’s voice was rising steadily. “Shouldn’t the college provide some sort of supervision?”

“The university has no responsibility over students off campus,” Mrs. Krantz answered calmly. “Please don’t worry. I understand how hard this must be, first time away from home and all, but I’m sure everything will be fine.” She stepped toward me and patted my shoulder lightly. “Your daughter seems like a very smart, sweet girl. I’m sure she can look out for herself.”

Mom regarded me closely, as if I were some piece of art she was thinking about buying. And just then, it was like I could read her mind. The breakup with Chuck, the lost sunglasses, the way I gawked at those two frat guys—everything I’d ever done that wasn’t exactly to her specifications. I watched in horror as her head shook back and forth, slowly at first, then gaining speed.

“It’ll be okay, Mom. You can trust me,” I said, trying desperately
not
to sound desperate while shock waves of panic shuddered through me.

There was no way I could go back home. Not now. I just couldn’t face the fallout. Not with news of my humiliating breakup still making the rounds as the week’s top story. I could just imagine the morbidly curious stares, the phony condolences, the fake excuses as people suddenly became too busy to hang out with me.

“No,” Mom finally proclaimed. “I’m sorry, sweetie, but I don’t like this. This is not what I agreed to at all. You are too young and irresponsible to be on your own.”

“But—”

“My decision is final. There’s no way you are staying here without constant adult supervision. Now let’s get your things.” She pivoted on her heel and stalked back through the patio door.

I looked at Mrs. Krantz in the faint hope that she could somehow stop this, but her owl-like eyes only sagged with pity.

All the elation, all the tingly anticipation I’d been feeling now drained out of me. I slowly trudged after Mom, feeling a heavy sense of doom, knowing full well that I was marching toward my own social annihilation.