. . . you don’t want . . .
“Order for Alison,” she repeats.
Recapping the pen, I hurry over and pick up the drink. But the barista holds it hostage, putting out her hand. “Pen first.”
“I’m not quite done. I need it for two more seconds.”
She slides the drink back toward her, tapping her fingers against the counter. Reading between the lines, I quickly finish writing.
...anything more to do with me. I hope we can at least still be friends. Please email or ring me anytime. My number, in case you don’t have it, is + 44 0712 345678. My email is [email protected].
-Alice
Internally, I’m cringing. There is so much more I wish I could say, but I’m out of time. This soddy note will have to do.
“All done.”
Like a crocodile snapping its jaws shut, the barista curls her fingers around the marker and slams my drink toward me. The top comes off, spilling some of the coffee onto the counter and my shirt. I inhale sharply.
For a split second, our eyes meet. Hers are cold and give off aIt’s not my fault you didn’t move fast enoughvibe.
“Hey, lady, I’m ready to order,” a teenager shouts from the register.
Without a glance back at me, she stomps off in the direction of the customer. I count backward from five, then use the spare napkins to mop up the mess. I usually like being treated like a normal person, but when someone like her is purposefully rude, it makes me tempted to pull rank and call her out on it. Nobody should be treated like the dirt under someone’s feet. Securing the lid on the cup, I take it back over to the condiments counter, find a straw, and toss my rubbish into the bin.
As I turn to leave, I find my path blocked by the man in the football jersey from earlier.
“Excuse me,” I say, stepping to the right. Instead of moving, he whips out his mobile and snaps my photo.
“I knew you looked familiar! You’re the Ice Princess!”
The blood in my veins goes cold. My face hardens like a stone gargoyle. I need to get out of here as quickly as possible. “Excuse me,” I repeat, lowering my chin.
The man continues snapping photos of me. “Aww, come on, Alice, give me a few good shots. I need some cash for tickets to next week’s Manchester-West Hamm match.”
I move to the left and take a few steps toward the door, reminding myself to stay calm and keep breathing. More people have crowded around us, however. I’m surrounded on all sides by people recording me and taking photos. It’s one of my worst nightmares come true. I’m completely vulnerable and exposed.
I can do this. I just can’t let them see how nervous I am. I have to become the confident princess I was in in Japan. They’ll respect me if I sound authoritative, but polite.
I clear my throat.“Please, I know you may be curious, but I’m here on a private matter. I’d appreciate it if you’d please let me leave and go about my day.” Two of the women sheepishly apologize, clearing a space. Muttering a thank you, I make my move.
“Alice,” the football-jersey-clad man whines, “come on. I’m a taxpayer. You owe us for the millions of pounds your family costs us.” I freeze as he reaches into my back pocket and steals my mobile phone. “I bet this fetches a hefty price with the right paper.” He waves the device above my head. “I got what I needed. Now you can go.”
I gasp.
“Oy, Joe, mate, come on,” someone says. “You’ve crossed the line. Photos are one thing, but give the princess back her mobile.”
“Yeah,” another voice chimes in. “You’re stealing.”
“Bugger off,” he shouts. “You’re just jealous you didn’t think of it first.”
“Come on, Joe. I’m not messing around.”
“Neither am I!”
The man’s friends attempt to grab him and wrestle my phone from his hand. He swings his arm, trying to block them. Things begin to escalate quickly. The next thing I know, the trio of men is engaged in an all-out brawl. Tables and chairs are flipped. The men roll on the floor and shout at one another. There’s screaming and some shouting.
My throat closes and my pulse quickens. I’m backing away as quickly as I can when suddenly an arm wraps itself around me andphysically carries me outside. I start screaming and kicking, but the person holds firm.
