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Hi, my name is Delanie
Rosen
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 | The Forbidden Fruit Tastes The Sweetest :05: |
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No Rating Information |
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| Created: 2009-01-21 17:38:27 |
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A/N- Oh! This totally escaped my mind, but I think it's important for me to share with you. This story takes place a few years after the Twilight saga. Maybe about two or three, or around that approximate area. I think that will make sense the more I write. Again, all I ask is patience.
Oh, and that you read chapters 1, 2, 3, and 4. =)
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My school routine was the same the next day. I was almost thankful for the monotony of it. Hilary, Janie, and now several more girls and boys, were either shooting me dirty looks, or remaining indifferent as to my presence. I still hadn’t asked Chandler what exactly he had been saying about me before I came here.
The situation with the Rosewoods remained the same. I watched from the corner of my eye as they sat at the same table, conversing silently with each other, and as soon as the bell rang they were out of their seats, untouched food ending up in the trash bins. I could still feel Tristan’s hard, black eyes on my back in Poetry, which made listening to Miss Cynthia very difficult. Likewise, in Independent Reading, he shifted himself as far away from me as possible, his stance tight and tense and perfectly still. I watched Molly flitter around on the field from the bleachers again on Tuesday. I dreaded when I would have to join them, dodging balls that would certainly fly at my head.
I lay awake at night, contemplating my odd days of high school. For some reason, I almost found it humorous that people who hadn’t even met me could have such low opinions of me. Especially the Rosewoods. I had to admit, I was more than just casually interested in their strange behavior, and it bothered me. After all, why should I be so involved with people who I was sure had joined the legion of people who hated my guts?
Come Wednesday, after watching the Rosewoods slide into their seats, I turned to Marcia and Chandler. “Hey, can I ask you a question?”
“Sure,” Marcia answered, placing her apple on the table.
I looked down at my hands, casting a surreptitious glance at the Rosewood table, before fixing my eyes on Marcia. “On Monday, I met Hannah Washburn in the office.”
Marcia rolled her eyes. “That girl is a brat. Not to mention a total slxt. Don’t worry about her.”
“No, no, it’s not that. It’s just that… well, she asked why I had come to Aspen. I told her that I had come because my parents were away on business. But she told me that there was a different story floating around. What is it?”
Chandler dropped his head, flushing. “I guess it’s my fault for not telling you.”
“What?”
Marcia cleared her throat. “Well.. most people here think that you’re here because you’re a bad seed and your parents couldn’t control you. It was either this or juvenile detention. Most of them think you’re only seconds away from pulling a gun or something on them.”
I flushed, eyes immediately skittering to meet Hilary’s. Is that what people thought? That I was somehow very disturbed and that the safest option for my parents and for all of New York was to send me to an obscure little town in the mountains? Even in my own mind, it didn’t make any sense. Some people were just really stupid.
I sighed, shaking my head. “Well, who started this? What did you tell them, Chandler?” I demanded, finally voicing the question that had been gnawing at me.
My brother spread his hands, his doll-like eyes widening. “All I said was that you were coming because the situation at home was unsafe for you and your family.”
Marcia nodded. “It’s true. That’s all he told anybody.”
I felt a pin of anger slide through my blood. “Well, that’s just ridiculous!” I exclaimed. Janie glowered at me, shifting in her seat to try to steal Jared’s attention, though he was captivated by my sudden outburst. My eyebrows knit together. “People here aren’t very smart,” I looked purposefully at Janie. Beside me, Marcia snickered. “Is it typical for people to jump to conclusions?” Everyone shrugged, not sure how to answer the question.
I shook my head, discarding my bag of food. “I’m going to go sit in class. I’ll see you guys later.” And I stomped off. This just confirmed my view that humanity was a waste of time and precarious emotions. Miss Cynthia wasn’t in the room, but her door was unlocked, so I quickly let myself in, falling into my chair, my mind in a storm. I yanked out the book of poetry we were studying, angrily flipping through the pages, scouring the text, wringing them for answers, information, anything.
I was so absorbed that I didn’t notice the bell had rung and class was starting. “Miss Alyson? Alyson?” I looked up, piecing my face back into a mask of calm. “Care to join us?”
I nodded, setting aside my book and pulling out a pencil. Now I felt foolish. This was just another useless emotion, getting angry. Even though my mind still stormed, I could still feel his eyes on my back. Now it just made me upset. He was one of the people who thought so low of me, I was sure of it now. I was determined to get him out of my mind completely.
I was successful, too. I was still so upset about Marcia’s revelation, and all my energy went into not slapping the next person who glared at me and telling them to get their heads straight. All was going perfectly until I took my seat next to him in Independent Reading.
He was looking at me, not glaring, not scowling. His face was concerned and curious. I swallowed, his dark eyes seeming somehow malevolent while his face belied no trace of hostility. But I was still peeved, and I turned my entire chair towards him. “Yes?” I demanded, my voice sharp, and more sour than I had intended.
He cocked a brow, opened his mouth, and then closed it with a tiny sigh, focusing on the front of the room.
Stupid Tristan Rosewood.
I was thankful for P.E. starting today. While I was not athletic in the least, my fingers were itching to hit something, anything, and the volleyballs cradled in the basket were very inviting. But as soon as I walked onto the court, the anger immediately vanished and a little worm of fear slid into my stomach. I was not only going to make a fool of myself, but I was sure to hurt some people with my lack of athletic talent.
Considering it was only my first time playing volleyball in, well, years, I did pretty well. When I didn’t shy away from the ball, I managed to slap the ball into the net or into the backs of the knees of my fellow team mates (both of which didn’t earn me any kind looks). I glanced over to see Molly Rosewood, her head cocked slightly to the side, her eyes intent on me. I swallowed, taking my position in the corner, nervously awaiting the serve. It came, directly towards me and I jumped away with a slight yelp. Everyone around me sighed.
I was so focused on the floor beneath my shoes that I jumped when I felt Molly’s icy cool skin on my arm. I looked at her, eyes wide in alarm. Her face was peaceful, a trace of a smile on her face even. “You want to know a secret?” She murmured, her voice so pleasant. Dumbfounded, I nodded. She grabbed a stray ball in her hand. “When the ball comes to you, imagine it’s the face of someone you really hate. And then… punch it.” She flashed a brilliant white smile, her expression dangerous and expectant. I tried to swallow, though my throat seemed unable to cooperate. I would never have suspected little Molly, who looked so sweet and innocent, to be capable of such violent thoughts, or such a frightening expression.
But I nodded, lips twitching into what was mean to be a smile, though it looked more like a grimace. “Ummm… thanks. I’ll try that.” She flashed her teeth at me again, skipping off to her side of the court. When the ball came to me again, I decided to apply Molly’s little theory. I imagined black rimmed blue eyes and flakey, platinum feathers of hair, and then raised my hand to spike Hannah Washburn’s sneering face over the net. The opposing team was startled at my sudden move and therefore didn’t know how to react, earning my team a point. They cheered and Molly danced over to give me a high five.
“Told you so,” she giggled, a genuine look of glee in her eyes.
I wasn’t quite so successful after that. My anger had begun to subside a little bit and I wasn’t quite as focused on the game. I was tripping a lot more often. And even with my mental image of Hannah’s face on the volleyball, my pitiful attempts landed in the net. Bless her soul, Molly covered me to the best of her ability, darting in front of me when the other team tried to take advantage of my gracelessness and offering to serve for me.
It was then that I took the opportunity to really look at her. In Independent Reading, I had been far too consumed by my anger to study Tristan’s face. Molly was beautiful, her coppery hair pulled into a perfect ponytail, her doll like face beguilingly innocent and sweet. But I could see that she was intensely focused on something; her eyes were tight, and the tiny smile on her lips was a little frozen. It looked as if she was trying to hold something back and the effort was getting to be too much.
The bell rang and everyone filed into their appropriate locker rooms. While I hoisted my backpack onto my shoulder, Molly came over, touching my arm again with her alarmingly cold hands. Had she just washed them in cold water? “Nice shots, today,” she said, smiling. “Well, while it lasted anyways,” she added with a silvery chuckle. I nodded my thanks, rushing to meet Chandler at the car. I couldn’t wait to get home and sort through all of the confusing, conflicting thoughts in my brain.
I almost didn’t notice when the Rosewoods passed by our car. It was only when I felt a pair of eyes on me that I looked up and met Tristan’s black-eyed gaze. It was so intensely curious that I shivered under their scrutiny. Molly tugged on his arm, her lips vibrating quickly by his ear. Then she seemed to notice me in the passenger seat, smiling and waving exuberantly. I waved back a little shyly.
Chandler smiled. “Getting to know the Rosewoods a little better?”
I swallowed. “Ummm… I don’t know. Maybe I will.” |
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