A/N: I left this story for a long time, but I couldn't quite let go of the idea. I also realised that I really enjoyed writing it, and while I couldn't get over my writer's block for the old version, I decided to revamp it into a new version and take the story in a slightly different direction. It is also no longer written in diary format, but I hope none of Alice's personality gets lost because of that. Also, after an edit, Alice no longer lives with her dad, she lives with her mom. As the chapters progress, it will become apparent why :)
Disclaimer: All characters belong to Stephanie Meyer. Alice's Manhattan world belongs to Gossip Girl.
Chapter One
The sounds of banging and clattering, broken up only by the occasional cuss word, woke me on the first Monday of my junior year. I pushed myself upright in bed, blinking to get my bearings. My room was the same as it had been when I shut my eyes last night – sketch pads strewn all over the floor, battered easel standing lopsidedly in the opposite corner to my vanity table – except that my little sister, Cynthia, was perched on the edge of my mattress.
"Do something, Alice," she stage-whispered. "Mom's trying to make waffles."
Immediately, I threw back my duvet and leapt out of bed. My feet had barely touched the floor when I took off running for the kitchen. Our loft apartment was open-plan, which meant I had an unhindered view of the impending culinary catastrophe the second I yanked my bedroom door open.
"Mom, put the waffle iron down!" I exclaimed.
She glanced up at me with surprise – and yes, a little bit of sheepishness – in her kind brown eyes. "I just wanted to make something nice for you girls starting back at school today."
The snarky retort I had been about to utter died on my lips. She was a total mess – plaid shirt splattered with waffle batter, caramel curls in a wild tangle and sticking out in every direction – but she was as well-meaning and optimistic as ever.
She was trying to make everything normal, as she had been all summer. I didn't have the heart to berate her for her efforts.
"Thanks, Mom." I took a seat at the breakfast bar, eyeing the congealed mess she was attempting to scrape onto three plates. "It smells… interesting."
She grinned at me. "Interesting is the word for it."
There was a movement in my peripheral vision as Cynthia pulled up the seat beside me. She glanced down at the lumpy goo as Mom set the plate down in front of her and then back up at her with dismay.
"Oh, what the fuck is this?"
"Cynthia!" Mom and I chided in unison. She only turned thirteen in spring, but she had already developed the fantastically bitchy attitude of the Manhattan teenager.
She shrugged unapologetically and poked at the 'waffles' with her fork. "How is it burnt and undercooked at the same time?"
My eyes flashed to my mother, who looked as though she were caught between the desire to laugh and the desire to scold. Amusement won out when she caught my eye, and both of us cracked up laughing.
"Okay, so I'm not winning Masterchef any time soon," she said. "I'll buy you a bagel on the way to school."
Cynthia looked at her like she'd just confessed to murder. "You mean you're walking me there?"
"Cyn, don't be a bitch," I put in.
"But people will see!" she protested. "I'm in eighth grade, not kindergarten!"
"You're still as much of a pain in the ass as you were in kindergarten, if that helps," I told her. She glared at me with a matched set of the brown eyes that we'd both inherited from our mother.
"Allie, why would you ever think that that would help?" Mom asked, bewildered.
I shrugged, sliding off my stool. There was no way I was going to attempt to eat Mom's waffles, no matter how sweet the gesture was, and I needed to get ready for school.
School. Sigh.
"Where are you going?"
"To get ready."
Cynthia snorted. "You have a uniform, why does it take you so long to get ready in the morning?"
"You wouldn't understand," I replied.
"Why, just because I don't go to Constant-Bullshit?"
"Cynthia!" Mom reprimanded, but this time I almost laughed.
I fixed my sister with a pointed look. "Have you been hanging out with Seth again?" Seth, my best friend since we were pre-schoolers, had begun calling my fancy Manhattan prep school by that derogatory name sometime during my freshman year. Its real name was Constance-Billard School for Girls, but considering that the students were the entitled, uber-rich children of the Upper East Side's elite, the nickname suited it better.
I was the only scholarship kid in my junior class, which meant that I didn't just have to put on a uniform before I went to school each morning. I had to put on fucking armour. Kids can be cruel.
Rich kids, on the other hand… they can be monstrous.
"Yeah. Trust me, if you go out for the scholarship then you'll see exactly what I mean next year." With those parting words, I wandered back into my bedroom.
It took me thirty-one minutes to get ready – my personal best – and I hurriedly blew my mom a kiss on the way out of the door. It was a short walk to the subway. The morning train was packed with commuters to the city, and I found myself sandwiched between a man in a polyester suit and a guy whose music was turned up way too loud in his ears. When the train doors slid open and I finally could spill out onto the platform at my destination, I almost felt relieved.
Emerging from the subway station and into the Upper East Side, my relief dried up like a puddle in July. Most people that I spoke to were excited about starting their junior year of high school. It was a big deal. Something to look forward to.
Me? Not so much.
Constance-Billard shared a grand old building with our male counterpart school – St Jude's. Essentially, we were one and the same institution, aside from the separate halls for our lockers and gender-segregated classes. As I stood on the sidewalk outside the impressive iron gates that led to the entrance, a boy in a yellow shirt and navy blazer nearly mowed me down.
"Watch it, freak!" he snapped as he swerved at the last minute to avoid me.
I didn't recognise him, which meant he was a freshman. Even the younger boys treated me like shit. Age may come before beauty, but apparently money comes before everything else.
At least in this part of town.
A town car pulled up on the curb beside me as I righted myself, and the back door swung open. I barely had time to hoist my bag securely onto my shoulder before a tall figure stepped smoothly out of the car.
I tried not to stare. I really did. I, Alice Brandon, like to think that I'm above all that teenage schoolgirl swooning crap. For the most part, I am. Except when the guy standing in front of me was Jasper Whitlock.
With his honey-blond curls and his deep blue eyes, he was Adonis in a blazer. He was also the richest and most talked about guy in school. His father owned half of Manhattan. The nice half. I'd seen him every day since I was fourteen, and I would've bet every cent of my meagre savings that he didn't even know my name.
He stepped to one side, and another, smaller figure got out of the car. She was as dark as he was fair, and she wore her Constance uniform in a way that managed to look both virginal and stylish. Maria de Lucia, Jasper's long-term girlfriend. She slotted her hand into his outstretched one, and the two of them headed for the gate.
Maria stopped short when she saw me dithering in the entryway. Unlike her boyfriend, she knew exactly who I was. It had been her personal mission to make my life a living hell since our freshman orientation.
She was a hundred and ten pounds of girly evil, and she was very, very good at it.
"Oh my gosh," she enthused, stretching her dark eyes wide. "Alice Brandon. Don't you look…" Her full lips curved upward into a cruel smile. "Interesting."
"Good to see you, Maria." All my energy went into attempting a smile. "How was your summer?"
"Paris was wonderful. You should really go sometime. You know, if you can save up enough money." The words sounded innocuous enough, but Maria's delivery made it very clear that they were meant solely to put me down. "But it's so great to be back."
"Isn't it just?" I muttered.
"Well, see you in class," she said, grinning widely, before tugging Jasper through the gates and up the steps without a backward glance.
Jasper hadn't even looked at me for the duration of our snide conversation.
"And cast in the role of the invisible woman, we have Alice Brandon," I sighed into the empty air.
"Invisible?" A low, musical voice asked from my right. "Not with that pink stripe in your hair. I'd say that's an attention-grabbing statement."
I spun around in astonishment. The speaker was another tall boy, this time with messy bronze hair and eyes the same green as the emerald scarf he wore open around his neck. Edward Cullen, son of the best and most expensive plastic surgeon on the Eastern Seaboard. He was another junior, and another member of the elite. He was also, as it happened, Jasper Whitlock's best friend.
Unconsciously, my fingers brushed over the vivid stripe of colour I had dyed into my long black hair over the summer. I'd done it on a whim when Seth and I had been bored late one Friday night, and had never bothered to get rid of it. Seth said it suited me.
"Um…"
"You're a junior at Constance, right?" Edward Cullen asked. "I remember you."
"Yeah. Yes. I'm Alice."
He inclined his head. "Edward."
"Yeah, I know." I bit my lip, cursing myself for speaking the moment the words were out of my mouth. Edward didn't seem to mind, though. He just gave me an awkward half-smile.
"You're going to attract a lot of attention this year with your blatant disregard for uniform regulations, Alice," he teased, green eyes sparkling. "I hope you don't really want to be invisible."
"It's not so much a want as an occupational hazard of being the scholarship kid." I shrugged. "I doubt the hair will make much difference."
"You'd be surprised," Edward responded. He looked as though he were about to say something else, but the chime of the bell from inside the school caught his attention. "See you around, Alice." He ducked his head in a nod of farewell and set off up the front steps.
I blinked after him for a moment, too surprised to move. Edward Cullen had just introduced himself to me. Maybe junior year wasn't going to suck as hard as the two years before it after all.
Junior year, as it turns out, didn't suck as hard as the two years before it; if the first day was anything to go by.
It sucked harder.
Maria and her bitchy hierarchy of cronies made my life miserable yet again, with snide comments and pointed whispers and deliberate ostracism. Four of my teachers forgot my name. My geometry teacher called on me when I had the wrong answer. I ate lunch by myself in the quad.
After school let out, I jumped the train back to Brooklyn, got changed out of my uniform and headed to Java Jones. I got there to find Seth, looking harangued, dutifully wiping up tables at the start of his shift. A couple of girls on the nearby sofas were staring at him appreciatively as he worked. Seth is incredibly cute, with his russet skin and his messy dark hair. He spotted me across the crowd and dimpled a grin in my direction. I hurried over.
"Hey," he greeted, shifting the mug-laden tray in his arms and pulling the cloth off his shoulder to wipe the sticky table. The tray wobbled slightly, and I reached out my hands to steady it. He relinquished his grip on it to me as he leant across the table. I studied the back of his head, frowning.
"I didn't think you were working this early," I muttered. He stood to his full height – I'm only tiny, so I found myself craning my head back to see his face – and gently prized the tray away from me.
"I know. I signed up for some overtime." We walked back to the counter together, and Seth deposited the tray before leaning up against the bar. I spotted yet another girl giving him the look, and me the stink eye. She thought we were together. As did most people.
"You work too much," I fretted, pointedly ignoring the daggers being drawn my way.
"Naw," Seth shrugged. "It's cool. I can handle it."
I narrowed my eyes. He was just like my mom. Both of them were constantly biting off more than they could chew. But he looked so damn exhausted that, instead of chiding him, I let out a defeated sigh.
"The blonde behind you is checking you out," I informed him, and his eyebrows shot up.
"Where?"
"Don't be too obvious."
But Seth was never subtle. With a glance to the side, he appraised the girl silently. She caught him looking, and he shot her a wink. She blushed. I rolled my eyes.
"How was school?" He asked me, hooking his foot around a bar stool and dragging it out for me to sit on. When I didn't, he patted the stool impatiently, and I hopped up as he rounded the counter to the employee's side.
"It sucked," I said honestly, propping my pointed chin in my hands. Seth made a sympathetic noise.
"Those rich bitches still giving you a hard time?"
I shrugged noncommittally. Truth be told, I was more ignored than I was picked on. "They're just too snobby to bother speaking to me."
"You say that like it's a bad thing. Honestly, would you want friends like that?"
Probably not. But it would make my life a lot less lonely. I told him as much.
"Think of it this way, Allie," Seth said. "You've got what? Less than two years left to endure. You're halfway there."
I couldn't decide whether that was uplifting or depressing, so I changed the subject. "I saw the news."
"It's on every day," Seth replied with a smirk. I leaned across the counter to thump him on the shoulder.
"I know that, jackass. I meant, I saw Leah on the news."
"Oh," Seth grinned knowingly. "Right. Her 'don't tear down the community center' spotlight piece. She's been harping on about it all week."
"I think she was great," I offered.
"I think she sounded like a pretentious ass."
"It's for a good cause," I defended.
"That still doesn't stop Leah being a pretentious ass. Don't give me that look, Allie, you know she is."
Just then, we were interrupted by a booming voice from the door to the kitchen. "Clearwater?!"
It was Aston, the manager. Seth and I called him Assface behind his back. His tone meant business, though, and Seth was on the clock, so he rolled his eyes and muttered, "I'll be right back."
I watched him vanish into the kitchen, and then cast my gaze around. People-watching was one of my favorite things to do. I would sometimes sit in the park with my sketchbook and draw them, just random passers-by who caught my attention. A red-faced jogger. A harassed mother with three kids. An old man falling asleep on a bench in the afternoon sun. Sometimes, I would make up stories to go along with the drawings – what their lives were like back home, what they did for a living, what they lay awake at night thinking of. I could spend hours doing it.
My eyes landed on a girl sipping a latte and nervously glancing at her watch every five seconds. She was quite pretty. Latina. She reminded me a little of Maria, only without the holier-than-thou sneer permanently attached to her face. My fingers itched to draw her; the tense set of her shoulders, the way she kept chewing her bottom lip. I imagined that she was waiting for someone. A date, maybe. She didn't think he was going to show.
Her eyes went wide in relief when the door opened and a tall, handsome guy sauntered in. He looked Latino, too. I wondered if maybe I'd been wrong, if maybe he was her brother.
He bounded across the packed coffee shop and scooped her up in his arms before planting a loud, enthusiastic kiss on her lips. Not her brother, then.
"Eleazar, you're late," the girl said breathlessly, and he leaned down to give her an Eskimo kiss.
"Got held up at work, Carmensita," he murmured. I turned my eyes away to give them a private moment.
That's when the door opened, and my gaze fell on the last person I had ever expected to walk through the door of a coffee house in Brooklyn.
Edward Cullen.
He was instantly recognizable by his tousled bronze hair, even if he was dressed in an Armani sweater and dark jeans, instead of his St. Jude's uniform. I'd never seen him out of uniform before.
His eyes flashed around the room, scanning for an empty seat. He found one at the table just to the right of where I was sitting. Casually, he strolled across the room. I observed his walk – it was laidback. Carefree. Most of the Constance girls would be clutching their Marc Jacobs purses to their chests in terror if they were in this neighborhood. Edward was… unfazed.
It was odd.
After a moment, he seemed to sense that I was staring at him, because his bright green eyes flickered up to meet mine. There was a question in his expression, like he recognized me, but didn't know how. I thought he'd look away, but after a second, he spoke.
"Alice, right? I almost didn't recognise you out of uniform."
Unsurprisingly, I felt myself flush. "Um, yeah. Hi."
I don't know how it happened, but suddenly he'd kicked out a chair and gestured for me to join him. I took the seat, feeling a bit perplexed. This was like something out of the twilight zone. Guys with bank accounts like his didn't speak to girls like me.
"What brings you to Brooklyn, Alice?" he asked. I groaned inwardly. So he hadn't picked up on my scholarship comment earlier. He didn't know that I lived here.
Well, the conversation had been fun while it lasted. "I live a couple of blocks away."
I expected the mental shutters to come down and the sneer to come out. Instead, he nodded. "Right. You've got a long way to travel to school."
It didn't sound snotty, so I didn't mind responding. "Yeah, I take the subway."
"Me, too," he responded.
Again, I was surprised. "I thought you had a town car?"
He grinned, a little abashed. "I do. I just prefer to be inconspicuous. I hate all that showy shit."
I smiled. Here was Edward Cullen, talking to me like an actual person. "How come you're in Brooklyn?"
His face fell slightly, the sparkle in his green eyes dimming. "My brother goes to rehab around the corner."
Ah. Yeah, I'd heard about that. Emmett Cullen's drug habit. Of course I'd heard – it had been splashed across every paper in New York City. I remembered the gossip that had spread like wildfire around school towards the end of sophomore year. I suddenly felt a pang of sympathy for Edward.
"They sent him to Brooklyn?" I wondered. Edward grimaced.
"My mom thought it would be, y'know, better. Away from all the paparazzi." He shrugged, though I could tell that the idea bothered him. "I was just visiting him."
"Are your parents not here?"
"They're busy." The way he said it, it was as though 'busy' meant 'assholes'. I couldn't say I blamed him. What kind of parents were too busy to go and visit their recovering addict son?
The same kind who would ship him off to the boroughs for causing a scene, probably.
"That sucks," I said honestly.
He smiled. "Yeah, you can say that again."
"So how come you didn't just go home?"
"Full of questions, aren't you?" he teased, but he sounded amused. "I didn't go home because I couldn't really face it. Mom's having her coven of witches over, and I didn't fancy making small talk and listening to her dodging questions about Emmett."
"Do you see your brother a lot?"
"Every couple of days, yeah."
"How is he?"
"Getting better." Edward sighed. "He's ready to be released, in all honesty, but I keep telling him to put it off. The Upper East vultures are still circling, and I don't think he's prepared enough to deal with them yet."
Just for a moment, I considered the possibility that Edward's life sucked more than mine did. I shook off the thought as quickly as it had come. Who was I kidding? The silver spoon in his mouth was infinitely preferable to a life of scrimping and scraping, paparazzi be damned.
"How come you were sitting here by yourself?" he asked, snapping me out of my reverie. I blinked at him for a moment before answering.
"Oh, I'm just hanging out here until my friend Seth finishes work."
"Seth Clearwater?"
"You know him?" I was astonished. Of all the people I expected to be pals with the hoi polloi, Seth was bottom of the list.
"I've seen the New Moon Wolves play a couple of gigs," he explained. "They're a pretty good band, actually."
I grinned. Seth would love that. "I'll tell him you think so."
Just then, the door opened again, and a wave of crisp fall air swept through the stuffy shop. On instinct, my eyes flickered towards the door.
I nearly passed out.
If I'd been shocked to see Edward Cullen walking into Java Jones, that was nothing, nothing, compared to how I felt when none other than Jasper Whitlock strolled in.
One glance at Jasper showed that he had all of his father's imposing presence and his mother's obnoxious beauty. (She had once been a famous Victoria's Secret model). He hovered in the doorway, looking like the portrait of an archangel.
His deep blue eyes scanned the room, until they landed on me. Well, I thought they'd landed on me, but when he raised a hand in greeting, I realized that he was looking at Edward.
Of course he was.
I forced myself not to hyperventilate at the sight of him walking over to us. I mean, I was the girl who had gone door to door collecting to raise money for my downstairs neighbor Riley, so that he could be included in a clinical trial to help his brain tumor. I was the girl who had saved up her lunch money every day in ninth grade so that she could buy her sister the flat iron she wanted for Christmas. I was the girl who went to gallery openings to appreciate the art, not the free champagne. I was the girl who volunteered at the free clinic on the weekends.
Yet, somehow, my personality and my senses evaporated at the mere sight of Jasper. I became exactly like every other dumb girl at Constance – a puddle of useless goo.
Jasper stopped at our table, his eyes sliding from Edward to me – briefly – and back again. He didn't ask what I was doing there. He didn't ask who I was, even. Instead, he drew back a chair and flopped into it, before leaning to his best friend and lowering his voice.
"How's Em doing?"
Edward shrugged. "He's getting there."
"Your mom going to let him come home any time soon?"
"I doubt it."
Jasper nodded sympathetically, and sat back in his chair. He didn't even so much as glance in my direction. It was as though I was another piece of the furniture.
Now, I could have been one of those girls who just sat there, sycophantically staring at Jasper with goo-goo eyes, willing him to notice that I was even alive. A shameful part of me wanted to be. Another, louder and more insistent part, wanted to be mad at his complete rudeness.
I didn't know what would be better – shrugging it off in dignified silence or giving him a piece of my mind. Thankfully, I was spared from the decision, as Edward gestured towards me with one empty hand.
"Jasper, this is Alice."
His blue-eyed gaze slid over to me, and locked. The cobalt in his eyes sparked with a glimmer of recognition, and what I thought – or maybe, hoped – was interest. "Constance-Billard's answer to Frida Kahlo," he said.
I didn't know whether to take that as a compliment on my art or an insult on my looks. A couple of my paintings had been featured in our school magazines. One was even hanging in Headmistress Dwyer's office. She liked me. Always said her daughter Isabella and I would get along. Not that that helps me in any way. She didn't go to Constance – she lived with her dad in the Hamptons.
I stopped my tangential thoughts when it became clear that Jasper was waiting for some kind of response from me. I was a bit embarrassed by what actually came out of my mouth. "Did you take the train here?"
Jasper looked at me like I'd just spoken to him in Elvish. "No… I took my town car."
Naturally. Because that's how easy his life was. And when he got home, he could just send for the maid to bring him a sandwich. Or caviar on toast, or whatever it was that filthy rich people ate.
"Your carbon footprint must be enormous. Unless you car pool." I was kidding, but Jasper looked completely bewildered.
"Car pool?" I wondered if the concept could have possibly made less sense to him. Maybe I had actually spoken in Elvish. Or Klingon.
Edward seemed to find my question amusing. "Jazz, I think she was joking."
Jasper frowned. He looked confused. I wondered, idly, if girls were ever sarcastic to him. I wondered if they ever did anything except drool on his fancy shoes.
"Um, alright." He turned to Edward. "Are we gonna go and eat? I'm starving."
"Sure, there's this great vendor down the road that does amazing tacos."
"Street food?" Jasper wrinkled his nose. I was abruptly overcome with the urge to punch him in his superior face. Instead, I balled up my fists at my sides and mentally counted to ten.
"Or not," Edward saw his expression. "We could always go to the Imperial."
"Now you're talking," Jasper replied enthusiastically. "I really want steak."
"Out of curiosity," I interjected. "What's wrong with street food, exactly?"
Jasper and Edward both turned to look at me. Edward's expression held guarded amusement, Jasper's held incredulity.
"It's unsanitary," Jasper said slowly. "You have no idea where those guys' hands have been."
"I'm sure they keep their hands cleaner than you do," I shot back. "And the food is delicious."
"I doubt it. It's being sold from a cart. It's hardly quality."
"And your sixty dollar steak will be?"
Jasper's eyebrows rose. "You're paying for the quality."
"Or you're paying for the pretention. Which, let's face it, is much more likely. That's why snooty restaurants can get away with charging astronomical prices for tiny portions of food that aren't even that well-flavoured. Because misguided people with more money than sense pay for it."
His eyebrows rose even higher. "Are you calling me an idiot?"
I spread my palms wide. "Hey, if that's the lesson you want to take from my little speech, I won't stop you."
Jasper glanced at Edward, who appeared to be trying not to laugh, and then back at me. "Nobody ever speaks to me like that."
"Yeah, I'm guessing the help are paid not to backchat their employers." I drew in a breath. I had no idea where this resentment and anger had come from, but I wasn't about to slow my tirade. "But I'm under no such obligation."
"'The help'?" Jasper's frown deepened. "Stereotyping, much?"
I shrugged. "Not really."
He lapsed into shocked silence for a few seconds, eyes roaming over my face as though he had been tasked with memorizing it. I was pretty sure that it was the first time he had ever really looked at me. It was an appraisal, but his expression gave nothing away. "So, what's the pink supposed to symbolize? Blowing off all the Constance trends? Alice Brandon; too cool for school?"
"Not really," I replied. "I'm just not really into that whole preppy thing."
Except on Jasper. But then, that boy would look good wearing a trash bag. He tilted his head, brushing a stubborn curl out of his eyes. "So, what are you into? Angry punk-rock and guys with multiple facial piercings?"
My eyebrows shot skywards. "Now who's stereotyping?"
Jasper's lips twitched slightly at the corners. "You're kind of bringing it on yourself. Do you actually enjoy wearing that neon 'I'm not one of you' sign around your neck at school?"
My gaze hardened. "You know, I don't. Would you believe that it gets kind of heavy after a while? You can't imagine the neck cramp."
He actually laughed. It was quiet – just a soft, low chuckle – but it sent a thrill right through me. "You're a strange sort of girl, Alice Brandon."
It was only then that I registered what he had called me. Alice Brandon. He'd said it twice Whitlock knew my last name. I hadn't told him. Edward hadn't told him.
Hell, I didn't think Edward even knew it. I hadn't used it when I introduced myself to him this morning.
"Weren't you supposed to be going out for dinner with Maria?" Edward said suddenly, snapping me out of my sudden Jasper-induced daze. Jasper shrugged noncommittally.
"I bailed. She's driving me mad. All of that 'school spirit for Ivy Week' crap is really going to her head. She's in charge of the events committee."
Of course she was. She was Maria de Lucia. She got everything. Committee titles, class presidency, a group of bitchy minions to bend to her every whim. It wasn't unexpected, really. Daughter of a top fashion designer. Girlfriend of the best looking guy in the known universe. It didn't matter that she was a hateful bitch.
Sigh.
"I don't understand why you put up with her," Edward said, curiously voicing my thoughts. "She's a nightmare."
Jasper shrugged again, but there was something in that shrug that made me think he wasn't just being vague. There was some sort of story there, and not a happy one. It was like there was something he wanted to say, but wouldn't.
I puzzled over that one for a moment.
It was then that Seth came out of the kitchen again, with a fresh tray of clean cutlery. He looked around for me, confused, but his face brightened when he spotted where I was sitting.
"Allie!" he exclaimed when he was level with the table. "You would not believe what Assface just said to…" He trailed off, seeming to clock for the first time that I wasn't alone. His eyes flickered from Edward to Jasper and back again, and he broke into a warm grin.
"You're that guy who introduced Jake to Tanya Denali, aren't you?" he said to Edward. Edward nodded in affirmation. My eyebrows rose. At least that explained why Tanya Denali, Manhattan's best known club promoter, had known about Seth's band. I'd thought she'd seemed kind of big league to have been trawling underground bars in Brooklyn for talent.
Edward Cullen had connections, and apparently wasn't afraid to use them. I was startled to realize that I might actually like the guy.
"Wow," Seth was saying. "Thanks, man."
The two of them began an animated conversation, and as I watched them interact, I noticed that Edward looked entirely comfortable. He knew my side of town a lot better than he let on at school.
It took me a second to twig that, as I was studying Edward, Jasper was studying me. He seemed to notice me noticing, and hastily dropped his gaze.
Seth asked Jasper a question, which pulled him out of his quiet reverie. He answered cordially, and the tension in his posture that I hadn't even been aware he was carrying loosened. I listened to the conversation, intrigued. It seemed that Jasper played guitar as well. Hearing him talk to Seth confused me. I'd thought Jasper was uncomfortable being in Brooklyn, but maybe it had been something else that had made him seem so closed-off and haughty.
Maybe it was me.
I shook off that thought. He didn't care enough about me one way or the other to act differently around me. Did he?
Edward and Jasper left shortly after that, Edward promising to catch up with me in school. Like we were friends. It was very odd. Jasper made no such promise. He shook Seth's hand and clapped him on the shoulder. Me? I barely got a nod and a mumbled 'bye'. I was starting to take it personally.
Seth and I had walked home together, at a pace somewhere close to a crawl.
"I thought you said you had no friends at school?" he accused teasingly.
"I didn't. Edward and I just started talking today."
"He's a good guy."
"Yeah," I agreed, "I think he might just be."
"Did you do something to offend Jasper?" Sometimes I forgot how astute he could be. Of course he picked up on the weird vibe. Nothing got past Seth Clearwater. Although he would never have admitted it, I thought he had a promising future following in his sister's journalistic footsteps.
"No," I replied. "I don't know what his problem was."
"He seemed like an okay sort of dude," Seth said reasonably. "But he was kind of… distant with you."
I thought of Maria, and the way her posse went out of their way to make my life a living hell. The others ignored me, but Maria… not so much.
"His girlfriend hates me," I concluded. "Maybe that's it."
"Men don't hate chicks because their girlfriend does," Seth scoffed. "That's ridiculous and bitchy."
We spoke no more about it as he deposited me at my front door and wished me goodnight. I watched him disappear down the sidewalk, hands stuffed in his pockets and whistling away.
When I got upstairs, Cynthia was in, but Mom was gone. Probably out working. Cyn was playing some drum and bass shit in her room, and I could feel the vibrations through the wall as I collapsed on my bed and flipped open my laptop. I checked Facebook, and stilled.
Edward Cullen has sent you a friend request: accept/ignore.
Grinning, I clicked 'accept' and surfed through his pictures. I was just being nosy, but my hand halted over the mouse when a picture of Jasper and Maria flared up on screen. Maria had her arms draped around his shoulders, and was grinning, and there, in the background, was Jasper's CEO father. He was watching them expectantly, and Jasper… well, his smile looked very wooden. There was no light behind his dark blue eyes.
I was an artist. I knew people. I studied people. I understood body language the way I understood color and shade and texture. Jasper's body language was screaming 'I don't really want to be here'.
My brow furrowed. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something was off about Jasper Whitlock. Maybe the golden boy didn't have such a gilded life after all…
Just then, my chat box pinged. I opened the message, and found, with some surprise, that it was from Edward. It was only two lines, but it made me smile.
Thanks for letting me offload on you today, Alice. I think you might be the only person who hasn't looked at me like I'm a freak when I bring up Emmett.
I typed him a quick response.
Don't worry, Edward. Everyone looks at me like I'm a freak all the time. I get where you're coming from.
The answer came through instantly.
Well, then, I guess us freaks have to stick together.
I signed off, feeling lighter than I had in months.
I actually had a friend who goes to my school. Maybe. I wondered whether tomorrow might not be as heinous as every other day at Constance.
I hoped so.