3. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
Alice
M y alarm shrieked at seven-thirty, dragging me out of sleep like a fishhook catching skin. I fumbled blindly on my nightstand, knocking over a half-empty water bottle and my earbuds before finally silencing it.
For a moment, I just sat there, staring at nothing.
The room felt colder this morning, somehow — not the kind of cold you could blame on the weather.
I rubbed my hands over my face and told myself to move.
Coffee first. Then I could pretend to be a functioning human being.
I tugged on a pair of worn jeans, a hoodie two sizes too big, and scraped my hair into a messy bun.
My reflection in the mirror looked about how I felt: rumpled, unimpressed, and entirely unready for whatever the day had planned.
Down the hall, the apartment smelled faintly of stale toast and the lavender candle I kept forgetting to blow out. I filled my travel mug to the brim with coffee, ignored the two unanswered texts from my mom lighting up my screen, and bolted out the door before I could lose my nerve.
Outside, the mist that had clung to the streets yesterday had completely disappeared. The world was crisp, the sun sharp against the sidewalk, and the air smelled like fresh-cut grass and gasoline. No mystery. No shadowy figures. Just another Wednesday pretending to be a Saturday.
Classes blurred together, one after another.
English Lit should’ve been easy — I liked reading — but I spent half the lecture doodling vines and stars in the margins of my notebook.
Econ was worse. I couldn’t even pretend to care about supply and demand when my brain kept replaying last night's conversation with my parents.
Their voices, sweet and heavy with disappointment, gnawed at me:
"Are you even trying to find an Alpha, Alice?"
"You can't just wait forever, sweetheart. You have to put yourself out there."
"Think about your future. About stability. About what’s expected of you."
I bit the inside of my cheek and scribbled another mindless doodle. I was thinking about my future. Constantly. It wasn’t my fault I didn’t want the same one they kept trying to force down my throat.
By noon, my stomach was practically trying to eat itself, and the cafeteria was the only real option. I shoved my notebook into my bag and trudged across campus, mentally preparing myself for a sad lunch alone.
And that’s when I saw her.
Mara was perched on the low brick wall just outside the cafeteria, scrolling through her phone with an air of complete, casual disinterest. She wore ripped jeans, scuffed boots, and a jacket covered in patches I didn’t recognize.
Her dark hair was pulled into two messy braids, and she looked like she could not have cared less about the world spinning around her.
I hadn't texted her this morning. We hadn’t made any plans. Still, when she caught me staring, she grinned like she'd been waiting for me all along.
"Hey, stranger," she called, pocketing her phone.
"Hey," I said, lifting my hand in a weak wave. "What are you doing here?"
"Supposed to be writing a paper," she said, hopping down from the wall. "But honestly? Screw that. You heading in?"
"Yeah," I said. "I was just gonna grab something quick."
Mara shrugged. "Mind if I tag along?"
I didn’t even have to think about it. "Please."
Inside, the cafeteria smelled like melted cheese and fried everything. The line was short — thank god — and we grabbed trays like we had a mission. Mara made gagging noises at the healthier options and steered us toward burgers and curly fries without even pretending to consider anything else.
"Nutritious and delicious," she said, balancing two baskets of food on her tray.
"Mostly just suspicious," I muttered, earning a snort from her. We found a table near the window, where the sun warmed the scratched plastic surface and made everything look less... institutional. I dumped ketchup onto my tray with zero shame and took a giant bite of my burger.
"So," Mara said around a mouthful of fries, "you looked like someone drop-kicked your soul this morning. Spill."
I wiped my mouth on a napkin, debating for half a second whether to dodge the question. But honestly? I was too tired to fake it.
"My parents called last night," I said.
Mara's expression immediately shifted, her joking tone softening. "Ah. Parent Talk. That bad, huh?"
I sighed, picking at the edge of my bun. "They want me to go to this mixer. Some event where unattached Alphas and Omegas can meet."
She winced. "Yikes."
"Yeah. I told them I'd think about it," I said, my voice flattening with the effort of pretending I cared.
"You gonna?" Mara asked, tilting her head curiously.
I poked at a fry like it might explode. "I don't know. It’d be easier just to say yes. Less arguing. Less... guilt trips."
"But?" Mara prompted me to continue, as she took a bite of her own food.
"But I don’t want to pick an Alpha like I'm buying a used car," I snapped before I could stop myself. I exhaled slowly, pushing my food away. "I don't want to feel like I'm choosing because I have to. Not because I want to."
Mara nodded, tapping her fingers lightly against her tray. "Makes sense to me."
"Yeah, well," I muttered, "tell my parents that."
She shrugged. "Their vision of your future isn't the only one that matters, y'know."
I looked up at her, grateful and maybe a little emotional in a way I didn’t quite have words for. Mara wasn't the type to go in for sappy pep talks. She just said things plainly, like they were obvious facts instead of rare comforts.
For a few minutes, we just ate quietly, the kind of easy silence that felt more like a blanket than a wall.
Sunlight streamed through the window, casting long shadows across our trays.
Outside, people laughed, skateboard wheels clattered over concrete, and the world spun on without giving a damn about what anyone was supposed to be doing with their lives.
"I don’t know what I want yet," I said eventually, breaking the silence.
"That's allowed," Mara said. "You’re allowed to just... exist. Figure it out later. Screw the timeline."
I smiled, a real one this time, small but stubborn. "Thanks."
"Anytime, rebel queen." Mara told me with a cheeky smile. I laughed under my breath, feeling lighter than I had in days.Maybe I didn't have it all figured out. Maybe I didn’t even know where to start.
Mara nudged my tray with her elbow. "You gonna eat that? Or just stare it into a new dimension?"
I rolled my eyes but pulled my basket of fries closer. "Back off, scavenger. I'm eating."
She smirked, resting her chin on her hand as she watched me shove a handful of fries into my mouth like I hadn’t just been on the verge of an existential crisis five minutes ago.
"That’s the spirit," she said. "Emotional damage? Stuff it down with deep-fried potatoes."
"Solid life advice," I said, half-choking on a laugh.
Mara leaned back in her chair, kicking her boots up onto the empty chair across from us.
A group of freshmen with color-coded lanyards wandered past, arguing about some upcoming midterm like it was the end of the world.
I watched them for a second — the frantic energy, the nervous excitement — and felt a weird pang in my chest. Like I was supposed to be caught up in that whirlwind too.
Instead, it felt like I was standing outside a glass wall, watching it all happen without me.
"You’re thinking too loud," Mara said, snapping a fry in half and tossing it into her mouth.
"Sorry," I muttered, fiddling with the strap of my bag. "I just... sometimes it feels like everyone else knows what they’re doing. Like they’re all running toward something, and I'm still trying to find the starting line."
Mara shrugged. "Most of 'em are faking it."
"You think?"
"I know ." She tossed another fry at me, and I caught it without thinking. "Nobody has their shit together, Alice. Not really. Some people are just better at pretending."
I chewed the fry thoughtfully, feeling a smile creep across my face. "So basically, I'm just bad at faking it."
"Exactly." She grinned, like that was the biggest compliment she could give. "Honestly? I’d rather be a mess than a liar."
"That’s a low bar, Mara." I sent her a small mock glare, a smile was on my face though.
"Hey, a bar’s a bar." Mara laughed.
We finished lunch at a lazy pace, not rushing like the rest of the cafeteria crowd scrambling to make it to their next class.
I picked at the last of my curly fries while Mara stacked her empty burger basket on top of her tray with exaggerated precision, balancing it like it was some kind of art project.
"So," Mara said, resting her chin in her hand and fiddling absentmindedly with one of the frayed threads on her jacket, "besides dodging your parents and existential dread, what’s the rest of your thrilling day look like?"
I snorted. "Classes. Pretending to absorb information. Fighting the urge to set my textbooks on fire. Y’know, the usual."
Mara grinned, sharp and unbothered. "Sounds about right. What torture session are you heading to next?"
"Group Communications," I said, making a face like I'd just bitten into a lemon. "Mandatory class. Mandatory misery."
She laughed, her dark braids swinging with the motion. "They’re gonna make you sit in a circle and over-share your feelings, aren't they?"
"Unfortunately," I muttered. "And probably hand out some worksheet about 'emotional intelligence' and 'nonverbal validation techniques.'"
Mara snorted so hard she almost knocked over her water bottle. "God, I wish I could watch that. Bet you’ll have the best 'I'm listening but mentally planning my escape' face."
"I already perfected it," I said, sitting up straighter and demonstrating: wide eyes, frozen polite smile, vacant soul.
She laughed loudly enough that a few people glanced over. "Ten out of ten. No notes. You should teach that as a workshop."
"Maybe that's my true calling," I said dryly, propping my chin in my hand. "Master of strategic emotional withdrawal."
"Honestly," Mara said, tapping her tray thoughtfully, "it would suit you.
Omega survival tactics at their finest." I cracked a real smile at that.
Mara, a bold, stubborn Alpha through and through, loved to tease me about my Omega instincts — but it never came out cruel or condescending.
If anything, it felt like a weird kind of compliment.
"Hey," I said, half-grinning. "Some of us have to be good at reading the room before someone tries to ‘claim’ us mid-conversation."
"Touché," Mara said, her mouth twitching. "Can’t argue with that."
I shrugged, picking up the last fry from my tray. "It’s not a weakness. It's just... different."
"Exactly," Mara said firmly. "Your instincts are sharp.
Smarter than half the idiots running around here.
" There was a beat — just long enough for it to feel like something more — before she grabbed her messenger bag and slung it over her shoulder.
The buttons on the strap clinked together, little badges of rebellion and sharp humor: band logos, half-peeled slogans, a tiny enamel shark.
She checked her phone and grimaced. "Ugh. I should probably haul ass. Art History doesn’t exactly teach itself, and Professor Hayes already thinks I’m gonna flunk out in spectacular fashion."
"You’re not," I said immediately, before I could second-guess it.
Mara blinked at me, caught slightly off guard, then smiled — not her usual cocky grin, but something smaller, realer. "Thanks, "
I shrugged, grabbing my coffee. "It’s true."
She bumped her shoulder into mine lightly, careful for all her rough edges. "You’re not so bad yourself, you know. Even if you do annihilate curly fries like a woman possessed."
"Survival instinct," I said solemnly. "Eat or be eaten."
Mara barked a short laugh. "You know what? I respect that."
She turned toward the door, lifting two fingers in a lazy salute. "Later, rebel queen."
"Later," I said, smiling to myself as I watched her go.
Mara disappeared into the steady tide of students flooding through the courtyard, her posture relaxed, untouchable.
Typical Alpha — but never the type who tried to loom or intimidate.
She just existed, unapologetically, like gravity bent slightly in her favor.
I gathered my things slowly, throwing out our trays and cradling my cold coffee as I made my way across campus.
The sky was a hard, perfect blue, and a warm breeze tugged at the loose strands of hair escaping my bun.
Skateboards rattled across concrete, someone sang badly on the quad lawn, and the air buzzed with that midweek, almost-summer energy.
Maybe Mara was right. Maybe it was okay not to have everything figured out yet.Maybe being an Omega didn’t mean I had to follow the script everyone else kept shoving at me.
I could still write my own. Still, a small knot tightened low in my gut as I reached the communications building. Not fear, exactly. Not nerves about the mixer or my parents or the thousand expectations pressing down on me.
Just...something. A shift. A breath held too long. The feeling that something was coming, whether I was ready for it or not. I shoved the thought aside as I pushed open the heavy glass doors and slipped into the crowded hallway, clutching my battered notebook against my chest like a shield.
Classes. Coffee. Survive today.
The future could wait.
At least for a little while longer.