↢ 8 ↣

263 2 2
                                    

     "So you're a sophmore this year?" Bella asks casually. I nod in response and her head bobs up and down too, thinking. We're sprawled over Charlie's worn couch, barely paying attention to the cheesy blood and CG effects on the flat screen, as we question each other back and forth to get to know each other better. So far, it's working. I now know a decent amount of what she likes and does for fun, as well as basic background. Bella scrapes the bottom of her ice cream pint, a reminder of incessantly blazing hot, glaringly bright Arizona. I look down at my own, finding it half-finished in a melted puddle of flavored milk and cream. She glances at it, interested, and I hand it over. Without a second thought, Bella gulps the warm mess down, ice cream smeared across her mouth like a child's. 

     "You act like you're younger than me," I joke as she wipes the sugar away with a nearby tissue. 

     "It's not everyday you get to have this much ice cream at once," she deadpans. We go back to playing '20 Questions' over and over, discussing music, books, and everything in between. This drags into the night until we're drained and run out of topics to mull over, but not before we fall asleep looking at pictures of tropical places and talking about our dreams and hopes, something I've never done with someone else before. Just within hours, I've shared some of my deepest desires and secrets with a girl that I could pass by on the street without sparing another glimpse. We're not close, yet we already know more about each other than anyone else does. We're not friends or sisters, yet we've established something similar already. We are knowing, understanding, in sync with each other, an impossibility made possible between two dorks who barely know how to speak without fumbling over words and forgetting our train of thought. 

     The alarm shrieks 7:30 sharp, jolting me awake and sending adrenaline coursing through my body. In a frantic flurry, I pick myself off the floor and dash into the single bathroom, scrubbing my teeth furiously with only the brush half of a compact toothbrush and jabbing myself repeatedly in the head as I rush to comb my hair as fast as possible. Bella, on the other hand, grumpily buries herself deeper into a comforter cloud. Yanking on a pair of black jeans and knitted sweater, I manage to gather my school supplies and be ready by the time the hour hand strikes 8. As much as I hate school, I don't want to be late on the first day.

      I slip into the kitchen and grab some plain oatmeal and milk. As I slurp down my 5th spoonful, Bella stumbles down the stairs, looking like a zombie with pale, colorless skin and dark bags under her eyes, wrestling with the zipper on her backpack. 

     "Morning," she breathes out, slightly wheezing from having to get changed and speed through her morning routine in five minutes. 

     "Hey," I mumble back, too fatigued from lack of sleep to speak clearly. Bella tears through a granola bar before we leave, and we climb into the noisy vehicle sure to attract attention no matter where we go. Everyone's excited to finally see their friends after summer break, and there are freshman trying to find their way around the campus, yet all eyes are on us when we enter the parking lot, and it's not just because of the rusty orange paint or thunderous transmission. We are the new kids, the outsiders, the strangers. We have no place in a school where the kids and their families have lived together for generations. A clammy chill dominates my throat, and it's hard to breathe as we step into the school for the first time. I look over at Bella, stone-faced but clearly twitchy from the heat of the stares that never leave us. 

     "Can I help you?" the office secretary asks in a sugar-coated voice, as if she's seeking approval and dependency from us, although I can guarantee it's not directed at me. 

     "I'm Isabella Swan," Bella says simply, and the woman digs through a teetering tower of paper on her desk, clearly thinking about something juicy to gossip to other middle-aged women about the police chief's daughter returning to Forks. I stand off to the side as she directs Bella where to go, what she has each period, and what to do during her first day here. Bella smiles in an attempt to be polite, but she makes a face instead, already wanting to go home. She waves me goodbye as she makes her way to first period. 

Jukebox ✬ Jasper HaleWhere stories live. Discover now