She stormed into her privet dorm room, courtesy of being headgirl, and knocked all the books from the top of her dresser onto the floor, and sat on her bed with an aggravated cry. She put her head in her hands and stared hard at the floor. She wouldn’t cry. She mustn’t cry! She must set an example for everyone else. She had to be perfect. Letting out a dry sob at the thought, she whispered to herself; "Where’s Frankie…?"
Frank ducked under the portrait and crossed the commonroom, searching for Alice. She’d left dinner rather abruptly and he was now growing concerned. Maybe something was wrong with her. He approached her private room at the bottom of the girl’s staircase and gently knocked.
"Al? You in there? He asked softly.
Her head pricked up. Al? Al?! He thinks of her as AL?!? Fantastic. Yeah, just great! Not only is she expected to be perfect by everyone in the world, but now the only boy she’d ever like thinks of her as ‘Al’.
She composed herself, and cleared her throat, "Y-yeah, Yeah, I’m fine."
She was lying, he could tell by the way she had cleared her throat before answering. Frank rested his forehead on the door, his fingers gently tapping out a rhythm on the wood.
"You don’t sound it, Alice," he said quietly, but loud enough for her to hear. He paused for a moment, waiting for a response. "Can I come in?" he asked.
Now she felt bad for lying to him.
"Uh…ok! Just a minute! I, uh,…spilt soup on my shirt, I’m such a klutz! I’m changing it." While she was talking, she’d rushed over to her bedside table, and started applying light blush to her reddened face, something she rarely ever did. Also, very quickly, she changed her shirt, just incase she HAD spilled soup on it.
"Oh, uh….come in!" she pushed back her hair behind her ear.