#cokeshirt

   she has been told to stay here in that very firm tone of her mother, gone down the street to do who knows what ( all alice knows is her mother most likely did not want to bring along her embarrassment of a daughter ). and so now she sits at one of the grimy booths at ninos, utterly alone as she sips cold lemonade ( the best in town! ) and kicks converse clad feet at the legs of the table. oh, she is so terribly bored --it makes her want to run out just as she had run away from her sister and her dreary book all those years ago, only alice now cannot do such things so she amuses herself with sliding her glass along the table, condensation making a shiny path across plastic between her hands. only one push too hard and the drink goes toppling over, lemonade and ice splattering over pale fingers and blue t-shirt. a gasp escapes lips.      “ why did you make me do that? ”      she asks accusingly, blue gaze focused on the seat across from her ( there’s no one there seated there on the cracked vinyl stained with coffee, but perhaps to alice there is ).