A Girl Called Alice

By Frances Bryant

Reserved theatre nerd, Heather Walsh, navigates high school life from the social fringes. The same place where she watched her family move about their busy lives without her. From the bottom of the totem pole, Heather understood her place in life. Maintain the impossibly high standards set by her perfect older brother. Stay quiet. Be what is exp

• Language: English
• Publisher: Natalie Hutchinson
• Release date: Mar 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987820827

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A Girl Called Alice

Copyright © 2023 by Frances Bryant.

Copyright © 2023 by Bryant Publishing.

Paperback; ISBN: 979-8-9878208-0-3

Printed Hardcover; ISBN: 979-8-9878208-1-0

Hardcover; ISBN: 979-8-9878208-3-4

eBook; ISBN: 979-8-9878208-2-7

www.francesbryantauthor.com

P.O. Box 1413, Lake Elsinore, CA 92530

Copyright © 2023 First Edition by Frances Bryant.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems – except in the case of brief quotations in articles or reviews – without prior permission from Frances Bryant.

The characters portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously.

All brand names and product names used in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names of their respective holders. Frances Bryant and Bryant Publishing are not associated with any product or vendor in this book.

The Library of Congress has cataloged the paperback edition as follows:

Names: Bryant, Frances

Title: A Girl Called Alice / Frances Bryant

Identifiers: 2023902605

For the girl who thinks she's alone…..

Contents

Prologue

1.Fifteen

2.The Patch

3.Fog

4.Crack

5.Alice

6.Rules

7.Change

8.Room 207

9.Ink

10.Tail Lights

11.Spring

12.Expelled

13.Grease

14.Upside-Down

15.Deny

16.Disfigure

17.Fall

18.Surprise

19.Idaho

20.Void

21.Truth

22.Sixteen

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Letter to Readers

Follow

Resources

Prologue

Life is a labyrinth of lies meant to occupy us past the point of plain deception. A place full of all that we don’t want to hear and don’t want to talk about. A place where we would rather believe the lie than acknowledge the truth directly before us because some truths are simply too unpleasant.

A universal lie is the one travel agencies and social media influences show us. Sure, growing up in Southern California had its perks. But not in the way one might expect. Reality is never quite as it seems, and it often disappoints. The only thing remarkable about California is how people ruin everything. But I had a trick to making the most of the proximity to many of So. Cal’s best places.

Hollywood is the place for hopeful dreamers. Tens of thousands of them. You’re far more likely to get hassled by homeless than see someone of notoriety or become someone of notoriety for that matter. Viewing points for the Hollywood sign are further away than you realize. Graffiti artists have ensured that you can’t get close to it anymore. Not to mention the bumper-to-bumper traffic. It's best to avoid Hollywood altogether.

Similarly, avoid Los Angeles. You can’t take a step without having to jump over rivers of urine or piles of shit on the sidewalk. If something happens, whether you’re harassed or mugged, you’re on your own because police don’t respond in certain areas of the city. If by some miracle they do, your assailant will already be long gone, and there is nothing that can be done.

Southern California is the proud home to dozens of amusement parks. Six Flags. Knott’s Berry Farm. Disneyland. The list goes on. However, they are often so crowded that it sucks the fun right out of it.

You stand for hours in a line that doesn’t move with hundreds of people where the concept of personal space doesn’t exist. Meanwhile, the glaring sun blisters your skin. All for a ride that lasts thirty seconds. Hardly makes the price of admission worth it.

Don’t forget to pack food and water. Twenty-five dollars for a locker will be well worth it when two sodas and a couple of pretzels will cost you the same. Better to go in early spring when it’s sort of drizzling out, but only ever on a Tuesday.

Don’t hold your breath for a white Christmas. That’s a pretty rare occurrence, too. Unless, of course, you live near a ski lodge where they pump artificial snow all over the place, and the roads will be packed full of cars. Clueless drivers will pull off the side of the road to look up how-to put-on snow chains on YouTube.

Even after 15 years of living at the base of a mountain with a popular ski resort, I’ve never held snow in her hand. Try early summer. There won’t be any snow, but the streams will be strong, and you’re more likely to spot wildlife. If you wait too long, though, the trails will be closed due to increased fire risk once the winds set in.

A thought that often comes to mind when one visualizes California is the long sandy beaches made famous by celebrities touting their multimillion-dollar mansions in Malibu. What they don’t tell you is that the beautiful beaches you envision are often private, which means no public access.

When it comes to what the public can access, the natural beauty of West Coast beaches is quickly ruined when you step on a dirty diaper buried in the sand. And inevitably, there will be some stupid guy waving a hotdog over his head for a frenzied swarm of seagulls. Parking is either difficult to find or expensive near the access points, so maybe you don’t have to worry much about kamikaze birds and surprise diapers in the sand. The beach is best in winter.

Heavily edited pictures posted on an influencer’s social media, carefully curated Visit California commercials run on TV, feeds spammed by theme park sponsored ads celebrating a hallmark anniversary you’d swear had already passed, and red-carpet events attended by all your favorite celebrities on a closed-off block in Hollywood create a false image of Southern California. An image that is easily broken when you remove the rose-tinted glasses.

But that’s true of most things. Everything is an illusion. Every life is manicured and cropped to showcase only the best aspects. Showing only what they want you to see. What they want you to see is often a lie.

A life that is seemingly perfect when looking at it through a lens is broken when you look at it directly. Maybe at some point, the life you see was perfect…perfect before the reality of what people can do shattered that life.

People. People ruin everything.

1

Fifteen

Waves crashed against the empty shoreline. Long-knotted masses of seaweed littered the beige sand. The few seagulls that were left behind when the flocks migrated away from the coastline to the warmth of the valleys fluttered wildly against gusts of wind. Heather watched clouds drift across the horizon, changing from white to orange as the sun set behind them. Her busy mind tried to predict how the rest of the evening would go.

Often consumed by worry that she’d let her parents down, Heather was a chronic overachiever who stepped into many different roles to be whatever was expected of her.

She was her mother’s polite little angel who spoke only when spoken to and never had a hair out of place. To her mom, she was no more than an ornament in family pictures. She was her dad’s little helper who was never afraid to get her hands dirty doing labor-intensive yard work her older brother refused to help with.

Heather strived to be the child who stayed out from underfoot, especially as the family dynamics changed as she got older and her parent’s attention was elsewhere. She was, by all accounts, the child her parents never had to worry about. Heather was the steady one within the family. A creature of habit and therefore entirely predictable.

Aside from a five-inch difference in height that sent her towering over her mother, they hardly noticed her transition through puberty. She hid her changing body under baggy cargo pants from Hot Topic and a sweatshirt from science camp until her brother took her clothes shopping before the start of term. A self-proclaimed fashionista, he picked out tight-fitting shirts and insisted that pink was her color. Questionable YouTube tutorials taught her how to apply makeup that complimented her green eyes and curl her long, mousey brown hair.

Heather lay on a sand-covered blanket with her two best friends, Big Billy and Zack. The social outcast upperclassmen took the shy freshman under their wing when, on the first day of school, a senior on the water polo team cut the bottom out of her backpack in the middle of the quad during passing period. She was the more academically inclined member of the group, studying meticulously and getting a jumpstart on homework during lunch. The well-mannered girl quickly won over her friend’s parents and was always the teacher’s pet.

When the last bit of light disappeared behind the far-off horizon, families trickled onto the beach, leaving the warmth of their narrow, three-story homes behind. Fireworks cracked across the sky in brilliant displays of color. Boats still decorated with Christmas lights gathered offshore. Sparklers in the hands of apprehensive children dazzled in the growing night. Crowds gathered at nearby bars and nightclubs.

The alarm on Big Billy’s watch broke the peace the three had maintained for several hours, silently watching the waves rush in. Heather sat up and shook the sand from her tangled locks. Billy was a hairless bear of a person. He covered his shaved head and frozen ears in a knit cap his great-grandmother had made him before she passed. Zack's torn shorts caught in the winter’s breeze coming off the ocean, exposing his caramel thighs tanned from years of running track.

Inspirable since the day they’d been dubbed as the three amigos by the theatre teacher after the first few weeks of school. A nickname that quickly spread throughout the student body.

Guess we’d better get you home now. Big Billy said.

Yeah. They’ll be wondering why I’m not there yet if we stay much longer. My mom said the whole family was coming down for dinner. You sure you guys can’t stay?

Zack and I have stuff with our families tonight. Sorry.

Zack stood with his feet in the wet sand, watching the fireworks explode above his head as Heather and Big Billy gathered up the frayed blankets. They stumbled through the sand to Big Billy’s truck. Heather sat between the two as they sped down the carpool lane, bypassing the four lanes of stopped cars.

We got you a present. Zack reached behind Heather’s seat and handed her a small pink bag crudely stapled at the top. It’s not much, but thought you’d like it.

Thanks, guys! Heather’s eyes flicked up. As she pulled the staples apart, the bag revealed an oversized grey T-shirt. The school mascot was on the front. The face of a Native American atop a jagged arrowhead surrounded by handwritten notes in multicolored permanent marker.

Everyone from the play signed it, Zack said. We didn’t know what to buy you, and we figured you like this sort of thing.

Thank you so much. It really does mean a lot to me. She pressed the shirt to her chest. The fading chemical smell from the markers wafted up her nose.

There’s one other thing, though. Big Billy pulled a photograph from the flap in the sun visor. The photo was of the three of them after the close of the fall play. The glossy finish reflected the orange lights inside the half-mile tunnel that bore through the mountains.

As they pulled up to the restaurant, Heather spotted her brother Luke and his boyfriend Andrew getting out of their car at the furthest end of the parking lot. The rest of the family followed closely in a caravan of cars. A party of twenty. Luke handed everyone glittery hats that said Happy New Year on them. Heather hated it. The ridiculous party hats felt foolish rather than festive. Childish even.

Noise from the bustling crowd drowned out the small talk as they walked to their table at the back of the dimly lit steakhouse, where they were promptly greeted by their favorite waiter, whom Heather fondly referred to as the Disneyland Guy because of his overly energetic, booming voice.

He sounded like the ride operators at Disneyland who yell in order to be heard over the hundreds of sweaty, frustrated parents dragging their screaming kids high on cotton candy. Welcome to Small World. Remember to keep your arms and legs inside the boat at all times and have a safe journey around the world! They sound so happy, but deep down, they’re probably wondering if the water is deep enough to drown in.

Good evening, folks. Welcome in. Can I get everyone started on drinks and appetizers? He already knew Heather’s drink order along with most of her other family members.

Actually, we are celebrating a birthday tonight. Heather’s mom gestured towards her.

He smiled. And how old are you turning today?

Fifteen. Heather’s voice cracked. Her cheeks burned as her eyes darted around the restaurant, searching for the nearest exit. She hated it when her mom would announce there was a birthday. The Disneyland Guy already called enough attention to their table. The last thing she wanted was for him to start singing Happy Birthday to her.

The table erupted in conversation when he walked away. Members of the extended family caught up with each other as Luke shared his success as the lead male in the fall play. He boasted about his popularity at school and how he expected to be nominated for prom court. Heather watched him. His perfectly white teeth glistened. Confidence poured out of him. Jealous of how perfect he seemed to be.

Luke was either loved or hated. There wasn’t much of an in-between. His openness about his sexuality made him a prime target with some groups. But mostly, he was admired. All the girls thought he was brave. The daring and bold, confident gay guy with brightly colored hair and an artistic fashion sense. Luke was never afraid to express himself and frequently made a point of it. This often resulted in overblown arguments between him and their parents because Luke had no filter and routinely said hateful things to them. He always won arguments when their mom would ultimately side with him. Mommy’s golden boy who could do no wrong.

Heather was one of the few trapped between love and hate for Luke. She admired him for being everything she wasn’t in her parents’ eyes. Social, unique, bold, artistic, intelligent, fashionable, attractive. All of the things parents love to brag about. But she was witness to everything that happened at home, and that blurred the line between love and hate.

In Heather’s opinion, the love she had for him was out of familial obligation. Beyond that was increasing disdain for who he was as a person. Disdain grew each time he wished death upon their parents. At the end of the day though, Heather was simply dwelling in the shadow of Luke’s image like a troll under a bridge. The dorky little sister that no one actually believed was related to him.

Polar opposite of Luke was Andrew. A Japanese boy from Compton. When his father’s mental illness collided with his mother’s alcoholism, they divorced and left him to raise himself. Bouncing between homeless shelters in Hollywood with his dad and trashed apartments where his mother had unsavory overnight visitors she’d met on the subway, Andrew learned how to semi-navigate the cruelty of the streets. Rather than face bullying from homophobic gangs who trolled the half-mile walk to school, he routinely ditched.

Luke and Andrew found each other online and hastened into a relationship that saved Andrew’s life when the Walshs’ took him in before term started but ultimately doomed them both to mutual abuse as they fought constantly and violently. Andrew’s desire to live freely often clashed with Luke’s more jealous side, in addition to the Walshs’ preference for obedient children. But he had a roof over his head and a family for the first time in his life. A family that comforted him when the school decided to send him back to eighth grade after he failed his placement exams when he first came to live with them. A family happily fed his hungry, growing body. Even Nana quickly accepted the strange, shy boy into the family.

What are you up to these days, Heather? Uncle Jack asked when he noticed her retreating into her own mind.Your mom said you went to homecoming with a boy from school.

Yeah, Ethan. We went to the dance together, but not as a couple or anything. I hadn’t been asked so he said I could go with him and his friends. I think he felt bad for me. Heather fidgeted with a chunk of hair. The strands fused together with salt water and sand.

Homecoming was not what she had hoped for. Having never attended a school dance before, Heather had an idealized version of how it would be like a 1980s romcom where the awkward teenage girl finally comes into her own. Instead, she discovered the side glances of sexy seniors who pitied her inability to keep rhythm. Hours spent feeling so self-conscious that it killed the whole night for her. The itchy sensation of restlessness and desperation to flee was further magnified by Ethan’s relentless attempts to slide his hand up her dress.

Her uncle shifted uncomfortably in the tight wooded chair with arms that squeezed his wide hips. Is this Ethan your classes? What’s he like?

Uh, he’s in a couple of my classes. But we’ve known each other for years. He was in the Honors Band with me in middle school. He played the drums.

"What instrument do you play again?

I played the flute, but I didn’t do marching band this year.

Heather had gone to band camp during the summer and met the high school marching band for the first time. While the other flutists were friendly and accommodating, the director was a great lump of a man who insisted on Star Wars scores making up the majority of what the band would play each year. The heavy wool uniforms and tall feathered hats made everyone look like a nutcracker. If nutcrackers could also sweat profusely. The whole experience caused Heather to drop band.

What elective did you choose then?

Theatre Tech. I like it a lot. I was the lead lighting tech. for the fall play. I’ve made some good friends in that class. Heather said.

That’s great! Who are your new friends?

Big Billy and Zack.

Her uncle chuckled under his breath. Big Billy?

Yeah, I know. It’s a nickname he goes by. I heard a story about a substitute teacher calling him that. But I don’t know how true that is.

That’s horrible! These boys, are they your age? her uncle asked.

No, Billy is a junior, and Zack is a senior.

And how are your classes going.

I’m taking mostly honors classes this year, so I have a lot of homework.

Got it. That makes sense. You need to get decent grades so you can be a lawyer like your mom.

Yeah, right…

Heather’s mom was an incredibly accomplished woman. The daughter of a widowed alcoholic, Mary was a perfectionist and, at times, a bit of a control freak. She’d climbed ladders and shattered glass ceilings her whole life. Years where she seldom saw her children, which allowed Heather to grow distant and bitter.

Of course, Heather didn’t see all the nights Mary had cried herself to sleep, or all the times she wanted nothing more than to hold her children. All Heather saw was Mary focused on work and advancing her career. She took care of Luke, took care of Andrew, and cared for her mother. Heather often felt there was no room for anything more.

The thought of being a glorified paper pusher slaving away and making high-level executives rich was not how Heather imagined her life would play out. Having decided when she was eight years old that her life would be dedicated to studying the many facets of world history, it was impossible to sway her to pursue any other course.

The Disneyland Guy walked up just then, cutting off the conversations. He passed the drinks around but saved Heather’s for last. Have you ever noticed in Star Trek: The Original Series that it’s always the guys in red that die? She was confused for a moment. She stared at the condensation gathering on her glass.

Yeah! She flashed him a toothy smile, having realized she was wearing her Star Trek t-shirt. Truthfully, she’d never noticed that, but she wasn’t about to admit it because that would mean she wasn’t as hardcore of a Trekkie as she thought.

The table was quiet except for soft murmurs while everyone ate their dinners. Heavy leftovers boxed in flimsy plastic containers piled up across the table. As the plates were being cleared, the loud, drawn-out Happy Birthday song started. Turning in their seats to face Heather, random patrons joined the singing and started to clap out of tempo. These are the same types of people who applaud at the movie theater as if those involved in the production of a film are poised at the front, ready to take a bow. Utterly obnoxious.

Trapped in the furthest corner, Heather sunk in her chair, desperately pleading with the universe for the power to disappear. The Disneyland Guy placed a small bowl of ice cream in front of her and lit the candle.

Make a wish.

A simple statement everyone hears each year when their birthday rolls around. One that doesn’t usually require heavy thinking. But her mind went completely blank. Anxiety washed over her. The same knotted gut, dry mouth, palm sweats feeling she got during the last chemistry exam she was certain to fail. The only thing going through her mind was the song from Jeopardy. Feeling the intensity of everyone’s awkward gazes, she blew out the candle without wishing for anything.

The ride home was quiet until Nana started shuffling through her oversized purse with too many hidden pockets, searching for her driver’s license. She insisted it had been stolen when she couldn’t find it in her wallet. Whenever she’d bring it up, an argument ensued because she couldn’t remember the DMV revoking it five years prior after sideswiping several cars without realizing it.

When Heather was thirteen, the Walshs had to move Nana in with them after she’d wandered off and gotten lost one day. The Silver Alert had already gone out when a good Samaritan found her crying and confused, sitting on a broken bench outside a café nearly a mile from home. In addition to the risk of her falling without anyone realizing it for several hours, it had become apparent that her Alzheimer’s was too advanced for her to live alone anymore safely.

It was difficult at times. But every now and then, she did something funny. The best thing about Nana was that she hadn’t forgotten how to laugh at herself. She seldom got embarrassed about the things she did. Like the time she complained that her remote wasn’t working. Turned out that she was trying to turn the channel with the landline after she’d mistakenly put her remote in the phone cradle.

Heather gazed out the window at the blurred lights whizzing by. Christmas lights still attached to houses twinkled, and inflatable penguins half deflated laid on their sides in the dormant grass. Heather’s neighborhood was no exception.

Some houses were brimming with lively parties and guests who eagerly waited for the countdown from Times Square that aired live at nine o’clock on the West Coast and resulted in tipsy singles prematurely kissing random strangers who happened to be standing next to them when the ball dropped.

Other houses were completely dark. Occupants either out celebrating or hiding within the walls watching tear-jerking dramas that reminded them of how miserable they are in their own lives.

Lights shined through the sheer curtains at Heather’s house. Turning on the lights before leaving apparently signaled to would-be burglars that the house was occupied and thus deterred the likelihood of break-ins. It had become an unconscious ritual her parents performed before leaving the house.

Heather figured that likely-burglars were probably casing a house before breaking in. Just like the pair of buffoons did in Home Alone, and being that the garage was full of antique furniture and broken-down pianos midway through restoration, her family always parked their cars in the driveway or on the street, so it was easy enough to tell when someone was and wasn’t home.

As they went down the walkway and through the courtyard, Heather’s parents handed her the keys and ushered her through the door first—streamers wrapped around the banister and balloons floated on strings tied to lamps and chairs. All shades of her favorite color, pink. The coffee table was loaded with intricately wrapped presents. A beautiful cake that read Happy 15th Birthday was set out on the dining table.

Heather! Brook rushed up to her and pulled her into a weird hug. Happy birthday. Do you like the decorations? Your parents asked me to help set up for your party!

Between her horrible habit of speaking too fast and her buck teeth courtesy of sucking her thumb until she was thirteen, Brook was nearly impossible to understand. Heather was accustomed to her friend's rambling lisp. She lived down the street from the Walsh’s with her family. All of whom resembled severely overweight French Bulldogs with flat faces and upturned noses.

Brook and Heather had been best friends since fifth grade. That changed once they reached high school because they didn’t share any classes. Over the course of the first semester, they had drifted apart as they developed their own friend groups, Heather’s being the social outcasts and Brook’s being the preppy girls full of their own self-virtue. But still, Brook was the only girl Heather talked to.

Memories of the fun they used to have kept the bond. Junior high was a weird experience for both of them. They were each other’s first kiss. Brook was there for Heather when her closest cousin was killed in a car accident. And Heather spent three days with Brook when