Savannah’s Alpha

The Email

Savannah was alone in her dorm room, attempting to write a ten page paper on the benefits of Traditional Chinese Medicine. Gabby had left for dinner with her parents. The Blacks were planning some kind of party and requested Gabby’s help with the decor.

Needing a break from writing, Savannah pushed her laptop aside. Her thoughts drifted to the previous evening. Jameson, Greg, Neon Moon. It had been so awesome until it wasn’t. She remembered the tip jar that was sitting untouched on her desk. She hadn’t counted it yet. Thinking about Greg’s downcast face in the dining hall had caused her to avoid it entirely. But half of this money belonged to Greg even if he hadn’t wanted it, and it would give her a reason to text him.

She pulled out tons of crumpled ones and fives, making piles by denomination. There was a few tens and even a couple twenties. Some change rattled. Her hand caught the edge of something with a sharp edge. It wasn’t money. It was a business card.

Black Technologies.

Innovative Solutions.

J. Black

This was Jameson’s business card, she was sure of it. There was a phone number embossed at the bottom. Was this his cell phone number? Her heart rate spiked, butterflies dancing in her stomach. She ran her thumb over the phone number. She wouldn’t call. But he clearly wanted her to call if he had left his card, right?

Savannah picked up her phone, hands shaking. She couldn’t call him. What would she say? She unlocked her phone screen, noticing that Greg had texted her: are you coming to open mic night?

Open mic night was fun. It was hosted by the music club monthly in the quad and had marked the first time Savannah had really spoken to Greg. She had been impressed with his cover of “Wonderwall” and they had spent most of the night bantering back and forth. With the benefit and Neon Moon Saturday, she had completely forgotten about it. She took a long look at Jameson’s card before placing it back on her desk. She quickly texted Greg: I’ll be there

There was an hour before open mic started. Savannah finished counting the tip money. $146.29. She would bring Greg his half tonight. Her eyes drifted to Jameson’s card. She wouldn’t call.

Savannah pulled a hoodie over her head and saved the work on her laptop. She had time to write a few more paragraphs, but noticed a new email from Cynthia.

Hello Savannah,

Thank you again for your commitment and dedication to the music program at Northern Compass University. The selfless donation of your time will enrich the program this school year. The auction winner has requested your presence on Saturday, November 1st from 4-5pm at 1211 Nightshade Drive for a cocktail hour performance. Transportation for you and your instrument will be provided by the music department. Do not hesitate to contact me with any questions or scheduling concerns.

Best Regards,

Cynthia Henship

…

Open mic night was just getting started when Savannah made her way to the quad. People were huddled into small groups, braving the chilly fall air. She was greeted by Allison, the music club president. “Thanks so much for coming! What are you singing tonight?”

Savannah didn’t have anything planned. Not wanting to seem unprepared, she told Allison it was a surprise. She looked for Greg but couldn’t place him, until she heard his guitar. He was in front of the mic, singing “Swing Life Away” by Rise Against. Savannah loved that song, and Greg knew it. She had told him at the last open mic. They shared a moment of eye contact. He had learned and performed that song for her.

Polite applause woke Savannah from her reverie. She cheered loudly in support and met Greg with a hug as he walked away from the mic. They held each other longer than friends would, but Savannah didn’t care. The song had put her in a different headspace, as music often did. “That was awesome”

Greg gave her a half grin “I hoped you would like it”

Savannah remembered the $73 of tip money in her pocket and tried to give it to him. He declined the money repeatedly, until she finally gave up.

“I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t see what happened. The fight broke out and I saw you standing there and I.. I’m sorry for texting you a million times. I just wanted to make sure you were okay”

Savannah looked at the ground. “It’s okay. Really. Some gross guy was bothering me and Jameson.. he’s Gabby’s cousin. He was there randomly and just.. attacked the guy. The whole thing was wild. If anything, I’m the one who should be sorry. I don’t think we’ll be invited back after that whole thing”

Greg looked confused. “Who was bothering you? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Just some guy, I guess his name is Dylan” Savannah shook her head. “I was trying to get to you but he grabbed me. I’m sorry, Greg. I had a really good time until then. If we had just left after the gig, none of this would have happened”

Greg pulled her into another tight hug. “I could kill that guy” he was shaking, from anger or maybe from the cold.

Savannah closed her eyes.There was no need for Greg to be upset. Jameson took care of it.

…

Gabby was in the room hot gluing realistic looking gourds and pinecones to a cylindrical glass vase. “Hey babes! What’s up?”

“Hey Gabs. What are you making?”

“Centerpieces for the harvest festival. I hate them. I wanted gold glitter but my parents are like super against glitter for some reason. Lame!” Gabby pouted.

“I think they’re cute, and glitter is a mess. When’s the festival?” Savannah asked, pulling off her hoodie and crashing onto her bed.

“November 1st. I’d invite you, but it’s pretty boring. Just like my parents and their friends and stuff. They do it every year.”

November 1st. The date sounded familiar. Savannah opened her laptop, bringing up the email from Cynthia. “Gabby.. what’s the address? For the fall festival. Is it 1211 Nightshade drive?”

Gabby looked up, hot glue stranding from the top of the gun. Savannah brought the laptop over to show her the email. “Omg”

“Your parents donated $12,000 for a cocktail hour performance at the festival?” Savannah asked, perplexed.

Gabby shook her head. It wasn’t her parents. They certainly would have told her. But if it wasn’t them, who could it be?

There was only one other person that came to mind.

…