Chapter One

here's the first chapter of Alpha. its pretty magical.


I tried not to stare too longingly at the couple that frequently dined at the Dancing Nations. The Dancing Nations is pretty much the only authentic fancy restaurant in town. It serves food from several European countries as well certain Asian foods. Dining is actually quite a value, if you compare the prices to those of other elegant restaurants outside of town. It’s a major tourist attraction, but that’s mostly thanks to the "Friday Night Dancing" when the guests-and occasionally some of the staff-get to dance on the dance floor to international dance music. The Dancing Nations is where I work-all hours, weekdays, and weekends. Every fourth weekend of the month I get to have off. Not that I do anything special.
That’s me, Alpha Giovelli, Sicilian on my father’s side, Scandinavian on my mother’s side. My father has some distant miniscule Greek background, so my mother insisted my name be "Alpha" after the first letter of the Greek alphabet. I inherited her piercing blue eyes, D cup breasts, pasty-white skin, and work dependency. From my father’s Italian heritage I was granted with frizzy black hair (which I get thinned at the salon), high energy output, and a strong libido. My world is centered around my job and I have hardly any social life (anymore). Not that I’m socially challenged or anything. It’s just that my best friend moved to Paris after two years of college together, on top of high school and four years of grade school (so I left my home in New Jersey and came to Seattle). Plus my dating history is a whole library of a billion-and-one bitter tragedies that Shakespeare himself would die of envy if he read, leaving me emotionally scarred and dripping with trust issues. So yeah, I guess that would make me socially challenged.
And here I am, serving a couple in their forties, who eat here twice a week, and every time I see them its like they’ve fallen in love for the first time, and I’m dying inside. It’s what I’ve always wanted-to find someone who looks at me with undying love. Someone to spend the rest of my life with. But with my longest real relationship lasting nine months, it doesn’t seem extremely likely that I’ll ever get my dream come true. Most of it’s probably my fault, though. The truth is, most of the guys of dated are really nice, respectable, handsome gentlemen. The problem is just that I’m not looking for that kind of guy because I’m a superficial jerk, so I’ll push him away, even if we have something great going. Even if I start to feel it might be that dream come true, some stupid, relentless voice in the back of my head screams, "He’s nothing like what you want! How can you be truly happy if he’s not Prince Charming?" And it won’t shut up and I end up trying to find some fault in him and then my trust issues start running the show and before I know it, I’m all alone again.
Although, sometimes they’ll tell me I’m too obsessed with work and never have enough time for them between shifts, sleeping, and my "mysterious"-as a few put it-out of town business runs. I’ve only been working full-time at the Dancing Nations for eight months now.
"Hello?" Mr. McMillen said. "Are you okay?" I blinked back from my subconscious, longing gaze and took their orders.
"Alpha," someone said as I was walking back to the kitchen to hand in the orders.
It was Dennis Collins, looking his usual dashing self in the black suit pants, white button-up shirt and black bow-tie uniform that all staff members are required to wear-with the exception of the chefs. Okay, sure, Dennis is no superman, or the rugged Prince Charming of my dreams that drives a wedge between me and long-term relationships, but something about him is just naturally attractive. Like he has this ora that constantly drew me to him like a moth to a porch light. I guess I was the one he had this affect on because every time I check he’s single. "Looking for the right girl," he’d always say. I was never sure if this was some sort hint, or if he was just stating his view on the matter. Either way I wasn’t about attempt to pursue a romantic relationship with him.
"Hmm?" I was trying exceptionally hard-as usual-not to flirt like crazy with him, which is rather difficult because all I wanted to do was jump on him and lick his face. Must be new cologne.
"Can you do me a teeny tiny favor?" A few pieces of his bangs stuck to his sweaty forehead. Something about the way his golden, shaggy hair shimmered under the florescent lights made me want to say "I’ll do anything you want me to."
Thankfully I just said "Sure" instead.
He took me by the arm and pulled my face close to his. Just what I needed. Not. "Air conditioning," he breathed heavily. Come to think of it, it was awfully hot in the place. But I just thought that was because I was around Dennis.
I guess the truth would be that I’ve had a thing for Dennis ever since I took the job here. Which is very unusual for me. It’s just that when I’m talking to Dennis there’s no little voice screaming at me. Except, of course, for the voice of Libido, telling me to make sweet love to him on the spot.
I scurried off to find the thermostat. I upped the A.C. and headed to the kitchen to deliver the McMillans’ orders. Chicken Chou mien for Mr. McMillan and spaghetti and meatballs for the Misses. When I was back a distance I couldn’t help but gaze at them some more. It was unbelievable how much they loved each other. 25 years old and I had no hope of a solid relationship. Every time I come close to getting what I really want, something (usually myself) comes and screws everything up.
Finishing up work was a piece of cake compared to finding my car keys, but they finally turned up. In the ignition At least I didn’t lock it. It’s not like anyone would want to steal the beat up piece of junk. I own a dune buggy that’s practically falling apart. Its covered in dirt, sand, clay and grass and has tree branches and seaweed hanging off of the bumpers and the grill and the hubcaps, not to mention the bushes and branches stuck in the hood. The thing hardly runs, but I can’t bring myself to sell it. Not that it would be worth much. And I can’t really afford anything better. I’m just addicted to being behind the wheel of that all-terrain vehicle.

Rocky was on the couch waiting for me the second I walked through the door of my cosy little duplex. Rocky is my four-month-old dachshund-Chihuahua mix and only barks when he knows I’m parking my car and about to come in. Although, everybody assures me that’s going to change one he gets older. I’m not quite sure how Mrs. Robinson, the insane senile woman in the other half of the duplex, is going to like that.
"Come here, Rocky!" I chimed as my tote and jacket fell to the floor by the wall. Rocky leapt off the couch to the left of the room and jumped up and down at my feet, eyes wide, jaw slightly opened. I bent over and picked up him up. Hugging him tight to my chest, I stroked his black-and-brown dappled fur, still puppy soft. Rocky’s eyes were like blue whirlpools, incased in sliver lining, surrounded by shining, metallic-grey irises. I often wondered if they would change as he got older. Bending over again, I let him hop out of my arms onto the floor.
"What shall we have for dinner tonight, Rocky?" I stepped forward into the kitchen and opened one of the cabinet doors, only to be left a little downhearted. "Looks like lucky charms again." I sighed. I really needed to get some Ramen. "What flavor of Ramen should I stock up on next Safeway raid?" I turned to Rocky who sat on the wood floor and cocked his head. "Chicken it is," I agreed.
As I was pouring the cereal into a bowl, I felt hands on my waist and nearly jumped out of my skin. I whipped around to face an old colleague. Every time I saw him (which was usually at my apartment) I was reminded of a past that I try so hard to forget.
"You." I narrowed my eyes at him. His hands were still around my waist.
"Hey, Babe," he said slyly, a slight grin playing on his lips. Okay, so he was (and still is) more than a colleague. But he was a colleague.
"How do you keep getting into my house without me hearing it?" Easy answer. He’d gotten here before I had and used my spare key under the doormat. "And why do you keep coming back? You know my answer’s still no."
"We need you back, kid."
"That’s what you said last time. And the time before that. And the time before that. And the time before that."
Jo chuckled. "It’s true. We do."
"Are you sure it’s not just you, Jo?"
"There’s a difference between what we want and what I want." He moved his body closer to mine.
I knew what Jo wanted, and what Jo wanted was to continue with our love life. I’d sort of been in an on/off relationship with him back at the agency, and when I left I tried to put an end to it, but he told me it was far from over, and boy was he right. Neither of us wanted the sex to end. Every month or so I could expect him to be here, waiting for me. The routine was simple: he told me the agency wanted me back, I told him to tell them to don’t count on it, we made love like crazy animals.
"So, why should I agree to come back this time?"
"Snake’s back. He killed Callahan."
My blood went cold. "Jack? He killed Jack?"
"Come back to us."
I weighed my options. Before I became a full time waitress at the Dancing Nations, I worked for an underground agency called Group 9. Group 9 is an ensemble of the country’s greatest minds and greatest forces, along with some of the world’s most talented personnel. Basically a giant group if skilled and trained professionals working to tackle the stuff that’s too big for the FBI and the CIA, but not entirely necessary for the military to get involved in. Like alien landings, local terrorists, possible rising bigots, etc. Group 9 infiltrates the operation and takes control, eliminating the enemy and restoring things to normal (or as normal as things could get).
Snake is something different altogether. He used to be on our side, but a bolt came lose inside his head and he tried to take over the agency. Callahan tried to get him locked up, but was sadly unsuccessful. His full name is Amadeus Snakes, but he liked to go by Snake, although was never very snakelike. Snake ended up taking a bunch of the agency’s technology developments and swore he’d return and make Callahan sorry he’d tried to put him away. What he really needed was a straightjacket. That’s when I left the agency. I didn’t want to be any part of this guy’s sick revenge. And now Callahan, former Navy Seal, and the head honcho of Group 9, died at the hands of Snake.
"Just because Jack Callahan’s been murdered, it doesn’t mean they need me back. Surely they’ve found a decent replacement by now." I was the weapons handler and sometimes they used me in interrogation. I can be quite intimidating when I want to be.
"He gave up. Said something about how you’d have to be a lunatic to work for Group 9. He was just a trainee anyway." Jo moved his hands from my waist, up my back, along my shoulder blades and rested them on top of my shoulders. It was all I could do to keep from melting.
Jo is the stereotype in every woman’s fantasy. Perfectly tanned skin, dark brown hair that sometimes fell in front of his eyes, and the muscles of a former Lieutenant. Used to command a military base in Boston. I’d place him around 6’4" and at the most 31 years old. I’m 25 so I find it highly unlikely that he had accomplished all that military training and commanding and only be 25 years old or younger. 27 or 28 seemed most fitting. In some ways I guess he looks a little but like Jesse from Full House. Same hair, anyway (when Jesse’s hair was shorter)
Jo slowly let his hands slide down from my shoulders to rest on my collarbone. I was backed up against the kitchen counter. He moved his hands back up to my shoulders and our torsos met. He put his face close to mine and for a moment I thought he was going to kiss me. I won’t deny it. Jo is Prince Charming. But a real relationship with Prince Charming is nearly impossible due to his highness’s inevitable ability to disappear for ling periods of time, and I get the distinct feeling he has as little a desire to commit as I do. But he’s still the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Unfortunately, instead of kissing me like I wanted him to so badly, he moved his head to the side so his mouth was at my ear. Our cheeks were touching, at least, which was nice.
"I brought you something," he whispered, the heat of his breath tickling my ear. He removed a hand from my shoulder and pulled something out the back of his pants. For a moment I was worried. "Close your eyes."
When it was Jo talking, it was best to do what he said. He took one of my hands in his and placed a very familiar-and heavy-metal object in it and took a step back so I could examine it. A rush of excitement swept over me as I looked down at the .44 magnum I held in my hand that I had named "Clark".
He just looks like a Clark, is all. Holding Clark felt as natural to me as breathing. I stuck my arm straight out and aimed the gun at Jo, who didn’t look the least but frantic. In fact I thought I detected a smile behind his lips. Gazing intently at Clark, I cocked my head.
"You’ve taken good care of Clark," I said to Jo, still looking at the gun, my voice sounding far off. "Thank you." I’d put Clark in the protective hands of Jo when I left the agency.
I dropped my arm and placed Clark in the back of the waist of my jeans. "I’ll call Dennis and have him watch Rocky." I saw Jo give into a grin. "What’ll I tell Peterson?" Mr. Peterson is my boss. He founded the Dancing Nations and had to be at least fifty.
"We’ll handle it," Jo assured me.
"This is only temporary." Not that Jo was an idiot or anything-he’s really quite brilliant-I just had to be sure he understood that I was only coming back to get Snake and kick his butt.
"I know, kid."
Once I called Dennis (told him I was going on vacation) and had my black tote full of snacks, it was time to say goodbye to Rocky, which I was sure would not be easy. He knew I was leaving so he sat on the red rug in front of the door and looked up at me with big, sad eyes. I picked him up and held him close, nuzzling his face with my forehead.
"I am going to miss you so much, you know that?" I bit down on my lip and turned to Jo. "I can’t do it. He’s just a baby. He needs me!" I probably need him a lot more than he needs me. However, mutual dependency compensates for a tiny bit of my fear of commitment.
"We’ll take my car," Jo said opening the door. There’s a look that Jo uses to persuade people and intimidate them. He uses it in interrogation a lot, too, I’ve noticed. It was the look he gave me now, and believe me, it works.
I walked over and set Rocky down on the couch, but not before giving him a kiss on the forehead and rubbing noses first.
Jo’s car was provided by the agency, of course, but there was no doubt that it belonged to him. A black Dodge Ram with a white 9 just above the bumper on the back of the bed, and under the window on each door. The 9’s were small, so they didn’t detract from the fierceness of the vehicle. Jo got in the driver’s side and as I locked the door to my apartment, Mrs. Ferguson stuck her head out the window. "That’s one slick ride you got there, dear!" she called over to me, a tad bit louder than she really needed to.
"Thanks, Lilo," I hollered back.
Dennis pulled up in the vintage blue Volkswagen Bug that his grandmother left him. It was just like him to have the top down at 9:30pm on a chilly February night in Seattle.
"If I’d known you’d get here so quick I would have brought Rocky outside with me," I sad to Dennis as he made his way to the door. "Here, I’ll just open it back up." I put my key in the hole in the doorknob and turned it.
"Is it just me, or is your face stinging and burning, too?" he joked.
"I thought you learned your lesson last week!" I said, opening the door. "It’s too cold to drive around with the top down!"
"It’s not my fault, honest! It kind of just…got stuck like that…"
I laughed and let him in, trying not to look at Rocky because if I did it would keep Jo waiting until he came in and dragged me out by the feet. Which is probably something he would actually do.
"Dog food and sloppy, hand-written feeding and care directions are there by the couch," I said. "Now I really gotta run, but don’t forget to lock up. You know where the spare is, let yourself in if you need anything else for Rocky." Before I could blink I was in the Ram next to Jo.
"So, you’re cheating on me with Captain Blond?" Jo asked, grinning.
"For the last time, you and I are not a couple."
"So you are seeing him."
"I didn’t say that."
"You didn’t deny it."
We pulled up to a red light and stopped as cars passed in front of us. I let out a frustrated sigh. "I am not dating either of you."
"So to you, having frequent sex with the same person and spending hours a day thinking about them, does not count as dating. I suppose that makes sense."
I hated the level of sarcasm in his voice. He knew he was agitating me, and, boy, did he enjoy it. "I thought we didn’t want emotional ties anymore?"
"So, then, it’s settled. Neither of us want to date."
Well, alright then. That was confusing. I didn’t bother asking him if we could still have sex. It didn’t seem right to ask a question like that. Besides, knowing Jo, the answer would be yes.

Alpha

so i'm writing a series, each book or story titled after a letter of the greek alphabet because the main character's name is alpha. shes madly in love with dennis collins, the guy from that story excerpt that i posted a while ago. shes an ex employee of an agency called Group 9, a group of the top dogs in brains and brawns. shes the weapons handler (sort of expert i guess) and she has an on/off relationship with her coworker, Jo, who is the steriotype in every woman's fantasy. dark hair, muscles, handsome, basically prince charming. its a relationship based on sex, pretty much. anyway. the first book is titled "Alpha". basically what happens is after she quit working for the agancy, they send Jo to get her to come back because one of their ex employees, Snake, who went psycho and ran off with weaponary technology developments, just killed Callahan, the head honcho of Group 9. well, she agrees to come back, and the new guy in charge (who flipped out because he has a fear of running the show) made her the new head of operations for Group 9. well, snake comes back and kidnaps Andrew Han, the guy who took over callahans job, and shoots up the place, but not before getting shot by Alpha. so now she has to work with Jo, her part-time lover and total hunk of a colleague, Tina, her partner in crime and alien from a galaxy far, far away, and the rest of Group 9, to bring Snake down before he kills her.

flirting-the source of all evil.

i'm sitting here, at my computer sipping my coffee and finally letting my nerves relax a little. i've been pretty high strung since friday night. by high strung i mean pissed off and angry. i did all of my algebra homework in a hurry, and even did exactly twenty problems of extra homework because i was in the mood, and wanted to do something i normally would never do. it rained this morning. that was nice. this computer room is pretty cold though i just got the chills. i can put my palm over my cup of coffee and the steam warms it, and i feel more like myself again. im not this angry puffed up pissed off jealous monster. really, im not. and its not that time of month either. friday was just the first homegame. and as i sat in the stands watching a girl who used to be my friend, thrust herself upon my ex boyfriend, i got really mad and frustrated and wanted to tear her head off and throw it at the stupid stick thin cheerleaders who keep jumping and twirling and waving their pom poms in everybodys face and never shut up about freaking team spirit. i shed a tear or two, which i wiped away with the soft fingers of my brand new white marching gloves. thats just how i am. when something happens that i dont like, i get really angry and furious, and to stop myself from giving into my first impulse (which is to kill the person causing me grief) i develop a plan b, which is usually to get really sad and cry until everything is right again (which never works, and youd think that after all the times ive tried it id have figured that out by now). and not only does she flirt with my very recent ex boyfriend, she flirts with the guy i currently have feelings for, and only three people know who he is (me, christine, and ryan, my ex). and it wasnt until i started liking him that she started flirting with him. and she was flirting with him before i even told anyone i liked him. so its not like shes doing it to agitate me. but it is anyway. so the way i see it, the rest of my freshman year is going to be full of a loooooot of flirting. most of it by me.

FFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFURY

hormones suck. i hate them. and i hate the people around you who make hormones suck so much. i hate everything about them. i hate the way they look. i hate the way they talk. i hate they way flirt with the person you have/had feelings for. i hate the way the tell you they dont want to fight anymore and then they do everything within their power to piss you off. i hate them. i hate how when they are around you, you have to hold in all your anger and fury and screaming and punching and swearing and eye tearing and limb breaking and attempted murder, and then it pushes its way out of you in the form of tears. and people ask you whats going on and you have to lie so they dont know what you really want to do. because what you really want to do is shoot everybody up so they're all dead and you dont have to deal with your stupid hormones anymore because you're the only person left. hormones suck.

first day of high school

yesterday was my first day as a freshman in high school. and thanks to my upperclassman friend, kelly, i knew where all my classes were and how to get from building to building quickly and traffic-free. i love all of my classes, all of my teachers, and i have friends in every class. i have a good feeling about this year. mr lindon piles on the algebra homework, but its nothing i cant handle. i did half the homework in class today anyway. and it only took about thirty minutes. maybe even less. i calculated exactly how many problems we had to do. there were exactly fifty. i GUESSED that we had "at least fifty math problems to do tonight" when i was talking to christine just now, and i was right! anyways. im really getting in touch with my inner Spaniard. i have no spanish blood, but i really love the culture, and the language is so beautiful and i looooooooove latin jazz. plus, my Spanish teacher is amaaaaaaaaaaaaaazing. Señora Beck is awesome. and nice. too bad i dont have her second semester. i think i'll have señora pastor second semester.....anyways.
THE MOST IMPORT THING ABOUT TODAY:

in band ms garcia told us that for now we are going to get parts and sit according to our chair placements from last year at woodward, and since eric and alex are in symphonic band now, THAT MAKES ME FIRST CHAIR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! IM THE FREAKING SECTION LEADER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! i got so excited today that i failed epically at remembering the correct answer to any of the questions ms garcia asked. i had all the right answers when she IGNORED ME ON PURPOSE BECAUSE THATS JUST HOW SHE IS AND SHE LIKES TO TORTURE ME, but when she did call on me, my answer was wrong. ms garcia bullies me. but its okay. shes funny about it. like id be raising my hand really high and practically falling out of my seat for EVERY QUESTION and EVERY TIME she looks over, goes "ehhhhhh" and calls on somebody else. one time i was the only person raising their hand and she looked over and spun around and said "ANYBODY ELSE???? ANYONE? oh thank god." i promised cooper, who now has second chair, that i'd be a better section leader on tuesday (we only have three classes a day about an hour and fourty minutes each and i had band today so i dont tomorrow. and monday is labor day so no school). in any case, i will earn my spot as first chair and make everybody else in my section (though i love them all) feel unworthy. on the bright side i aced our sight reading. played it all correct. yay me.