Always Alone | ✓

Chapter Three

MY ALARM CLOCK goes off sharply at 6:00 am on Friday. Today, I'll be meeting with Mrs. Garcia, the principal of Biscayne Shores, for our meeting where she'll be giving me the ground rules of the school and I'll be signing some paperwork I wasn't able to because of the state distance.

Getting out of bed with a nervous smile on my face, I brush my teeth and do a quick facial scrub before applying moisturizer on my face. Walking over to the kitchen, I turn on the coffee machine and reach for Angie's leash on the kitchen counter.

It's a humid day in Miami, all the cars on the parking lot are fogged with perspiration and doors open and shut with students in their uniforms and Mom's ready to start the day. I stare up at my building painted a deep yellow, almost orange, trying to see if I can get a glimpse of the neighbors that live above me, but no one comes out. Angie seems to be hyperventilating by my side, so I head back home.

Once we're back in the coolness of our house, I make myself a cup of coffee to-go. Since I am in a hurry and a nervous wreck, I don't bother making breakfast because I know the food will come up.

I'll be meeting Mrs. Garcia in person for the first time and I want to make a good impression. Being that this is a prestigious public school, I can't go around wearing ratty jeans and a polo shirt like I did back when I was substituting. Rummaging through my clothes, I opt for a navy-blue, sheath dress and slip on the only pair of heels I own—black pumps.

With the help of my curling wand, I twist a few strands of my flaxen hair and apply some argan oil in my hands before running my fingers through the curls, making it look like natural Miami waves.

I comb my eyelashes with mascara and apply blush on my cheeks with a plump brush. Since I have blonde eyebrows, I have to fill them in with a dark blonde pencil and finish off my look with an earthy matte lipstick. Spraying perfume before I head out the door, I grab my tote and kiss Angie on the nose as I look around the room.

"Please, don't mess up my brand-new furniture, Angie," I plead. Her head turns to the side.

Miami traffic is a disaster.

I got out of my house roughly around 6:40 am and got to work at exactly 7:55 am. These drivers are fierce, nothing compared to the courteous drivers from up north. I got honked at on a red light just as it was about to turn green. It wasn't even green when I got there.

People don't bother with their blinkers when they want to switch lanes, expecting me to be some kind of magician who's supposed to guess when they want to get into my lane.

Taking a calming breath, I step out of my car and head over to the school. From the outside, I can tell the school is enormous, taking up about four blocks.

It stands high on three levels and there are windows all throughout. They have two playgrounds, a basketball court, and a soccer field. The school is painted white, making the gold lettering of Biscayne Shores Elementary stand out against the Miami sun.

As I step into the school a security guard greets me, "Good morning, Miss. How may I help you?"

"Good morning, I'm here to speak with Principal Garcia. We scheduled a meeting."

The man taps on the computer a few times and asks, "What's your name?"

"Genevieve Peterson," I reply.

"Ah, yes. Can I see some identification, please?" he asks with a thick Hispanic accent.

After looking at my license and giving me a visitor's pass, he takes me over to the main office and lets the secretary know why I'm here. I sit down on the ample black seat and reach for a pamphlet on the brown coffee table.