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Hi, my name is Delanie
Rosen
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 | The Forbidden Fruit Tastes The Sweetest :04: |
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 5 with 2 vote(s)
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| Created: 2009-01-21 17:22:21 |
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A/N- YES!!! I am so sorry this is sounding exactly like Twilight. I promise you, there is a reason as to why I have things the way they are and they will be explained in further chapters. Please, just be patient with me. I'm trying to do something totally unique without butchering the book. All I ask for is patience.
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Yes, it was probably rude of me to assume that such a small town wouldn’t have any attractive looking people. After all, Marcia was really quite cute, with her small button nose and wide brown eyes. Even Hilary, as snarky as she was, could have passed for pretty back in New York. But these people were beyond pretty. They were all breathtakingly gorgeous.
There were six of them in total, and I guessed they had to be related, somehow. Even though their hair colors covered the entire spectrum, they were all sheet white, with dark-colored eyes and pale shadows beneath, and, of course beautiful. They loped from the lunch line to a table in the back corner of the lunch room with such grace that I was momentarily stunned.
“Hey, you okay, Alyson?” Chandler was looking at me, a brow cocked inquisitively.
“Umm… sure. Just fine. I was just curious… who are they?” I jerked my head in their direction.
Both Chandler and Marcia looked over my shoulder, and Marcia immediately smiled. “I’m surprised you didn’t notice them sooner,” she said, her eyes bright. I flushed shrugging. “Those are the Rosewoods. They’re the children of Dr. and Mrs. Rosewood. All adopted though.”
“Dr. Rosewood? So does he work at the hospital in town?”
Marcia nodded. “Yep. He’s really nice, or so I’ve heard.”
I turned to Chandler. “Do Taren or Tanner work with him?”
He shook his head. “No, I don’t think so. The T’s work in pediatrics and I don’t think Dr. Rosewood is a pediatric doctor.”
Marcia went on. She pointed to a pair of them. “That’s Isaac and Grace,” she said, indicating the drastically skinny, mouse-haired female, and lithe, almost feline-like male, with wispy feathers of raven colored hair. Even though Grace was so tiny, she was strikingly beautiful, her short hair pinned elegantly and curling around her ears. Likewise, her brother was well-built and toned. He looked like he’d be a perfect basketball player, or maybe even soccer.
“That’s Annabelle and Liam,” Marcia continued, pointing conspicuously at another two. Annabelle was tall, blonde, and with the most perfectly shaped lips I’d ever seen. Her pale hair almost melded with her equally pale skin, though the dull fluorescent lights of the cafeteria managed to bring out veins of gold. Her counterpart, Liam, was also blonde, and his smooth, swaying movements reminded me vaguely of a serpent. He unnerved me a little bit, though his face was far too captivating for me to feel any real fear.
“Wow,” I murmured.
“Oh, but that’s not it,” Marcia, exclaimed, leaning across the table, her voice excited now. “They’re all, like… couples and whatnot.” At my look of disbelief, she clarified. “I mean, Isaac and Grace. They’re a couple, and so are Annabelle and Liam.”
“But… they’re family.” I stated.
Marcia nodded. “Yep.”
I pointed to the other two. “What about them?”
She leaned back in her chair. “Mmm.. not them. That’s Molly and Tristan. They’re really cute, and would make the cutest couple. But I think they actually are related, though, so it’d kinda be… weird.”
I nodded. Indeed they did look the two most alike. Molly was positively seraphic, having wide eyes rimmed in thick lashes that gave them a doll-like look. Her nose was small, her neck long, and she had the body of a dancer (though she wasn’t as bony as most ballerinas). Her hair, a coppery red, was beautiful, waving and curling to the small of her back. Her brother, Tristan, had more brown in his hair, though there was definitely copper in there. He wasn’t big or bulky, but neither was he scrawny. In fact, he looked even more athletic than his brother Isaac. His bone structure looked so delicate and fine, however, though, and I wondered if he were really as delicate as he looked.
Who knew there would be angels in Aspen? Surely not me.
I sighed, hearing the lunch bell. I noticed out of the corner of my eye, the Rosewoods gracefully push away from the table, discarding their untouched food. I followed suit, throwing my paper bag in the nearest trash receptacle.
“So, what classes do you have next, Alyson?” Chandler asked.
I pulled my schedule out of my pocket. “I’ve got Poetry with Dubois next.”
He nodded. “Ah, Miss Cynthia. She can be kind of crazy. So… just pay attention. Or try to, anyways.”
I shouldered my backpack and walked off. Poetry was in the 200 hallway. I stepped through the doorway and immediately froze.
In the back of the classroom, sat the angel, Tristan. I tried to look away quickly, not wanting to be caught staring. But I think he noticed, because I noticed how his hand clenched and his eyes tightened. I distractedly stumbled over to the teacher.
Miss Cynthia Dubois did indeed look to be a rather erratic teacher. She wore three different scarves, a blouse and skirt of clashing colors, and wide-rimmed spectacles that dwarfed her tiny face. But her eyes were wide and inquisitive, her mouth a small, questioning pucker. “Are you my new student?”
“Yes.”
She quickly slammed a book into my hand. We’re on unit 7. Read up on units 3 and 4 so you are caught up.” And without another word, she sent me to my seat.
I was silently thankful that the back row, or anywhere near Tristan was occupied. There was a seat in the 2nd row next to a scrawny boy, whose fair skin, and fishy eyes gave him a glowering look. The bell rang, signaling the beginning of class, and Miss Cynthia immediately hopped to the front of the class room.
“Before diving into the material, I think introductions are in order.” I swallowed. This didn’t bode well for me. She gestured to me. “Would you please introduce yourself to the class?”
I sighed. I had been asked to do this in French already today, but I had hoped that the other teachers would catch on to my sour mood and leave it. Miss Cynthia, however, seemed immune to that. I turned in my seat so I faced the class, noticing that Tristan hadn’t relaxed his stiff stance. “Ummm… I’m Alyson Greene.” His eyes tightened further, and I saw his brow quirk a fraction. “I’m from New York, but my parents are away on business and so I’m here living with my cousins.” His hand closed tighter and I swallowed. “Ummm… it’s great to be here.” And I whipped my eyes back to the white board.
Miss Cynthia continued after that, though my head was swimming. I could feel eyes, more than one pair I presumed, on my back. I was sure that at least one of them belonged to the mysterious Tristan Rosewood.
As the bell rang, he was out of his seat, books in hand, and gliding towards the door before I had even a chance to move. I gaped, but only for a moment. I had to focus.
I had Chemistry next, which passed with little consequence. The teacher didn’t ask me to introduce myself, and I was pretty well versed in the subject already. I had no doubt that class would be easier for me.
And then came Independent Reading. I was actually really excited for this class. I liked to read and a whole class devoted to reading seemed to be just the thing for me. But when I entered the class, I saw a horribly familiar face: Tristan Rosewood. And the sad thing? The only available seat was next to him.
His head was down, already immersed in his book, but I noticed him go suddenly rigid as I paused in the aisle. The teacher came up to me, a broad-faced man with a pleasant smile. “Ms. Greene, it’s so nice to meet you. There’s a seat right here next to Tristan. Do you have a book for today?” I shook my head. “Well, I advise you visit the school library as soon as possible. For now you can just select one off the shelf.”
I shuffled over to one, plucking the first book I saw before taking my seat. I saw Tristan scoot the minutest amount possible away from me, and I swallowed, averting my eyes. Instead, I attempted to lose myself in the book. With a silent groan I saw the title. /Cold Blood/. I was all too aware that Tristan then smiled, his hand clenching on his leg.
He didn’t move a bit as class continued and I wondered if he was even breathing. But he turned the pages rhythmically, while I still struggled with the eleventh page. Again, when the bell rang, he was up and out of the room before I had even a chance to react. I grumbled. That was going to startle me every time.
I put the book back on the shelf, resolving to bring one from my own collection tomorrow. I knew what I had next, the horrible, sinful P.E. It was the subject I had been dreading the entire day. I was anything but graceful, and I didn’t know much about sports except what I could glean from watching TV. And I hadn’t necessarily heard any positive things about P.E. teachers.
I ran into my teacher, Coach Haynes, as I entered the locker room. She told me I would have to purchase a P.E. uniform but allowed me to use one of the (washed) spares, though he assured me I wouldn’t have to participate today. Starting Wednesday, however, I would be expected to suit up and join in on the action.
The class was doing a unit on soccer. I watched the people scurry about on the field from my position on the bleachers, my arms wrapped tightly around myself. It was cold out, even in the early afternoon. While sitting there, my parka combating the chilly wind, I spotted another familiar figure, red hair glimmering beneath the cloudy sky.
Little Molly Rosewood looked far too delicate to be out there on the field while soccer balls flew past her head. And yet, she handled it quite well, moving precisely when it was needed with graceful movements. She looked quite at ease, almost smugly confident.
The bell finally rang and I stiffly followed the rest of the class into the relative warmth of the locker rooms. Chandler met me out by the car, grinning. “Hey,” he greeted, sliding into the driver’s seat.
“You know, I wouldn’t have to wait if you’d let me drive my own car.”
“Stop complaining and buckle up.”
We pulled out and while waiting to turn, the Rosewoods passed in front of our car. Tristan turned, eyes staring at me. They were so dark and I felt a glimmer of alarm spark in my veins. But then he released me and Chandler pulled out onto the road.
“So how was your first day of school?”
It took a moment before I answered.
“Weird.” |
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