A/N: Well, this is my first ever fanfiction. Hope there's more to come from me.
Young love makes dishrags out of the best of us.
That's what Bella's father Charlie always told her, hammering it into her mind to the best of his ability. As children, we can't comprehend what it's like to truly be smitten, to devote yourself thoroughly to someone you fall for. The love of children is exaggerated friendship, of teens hormones acting up, and of young people merely attributed to sexuality. He would tell her this at the breakfast table, while they rode in the car and whenever she saw someone admirable.
Rosalie, on the other hand, had always believed that love is meant to be. People who are destined to love will always find each other, no matter the cost. She often would explain this to Bella as they lay in sleeping bags on the basement floor. Bella would listen intently, won over by the fantastical visions of grandeur.
Bella never thought she would find love, in all honesty. She never considered herself very pretty, very smart or very talented. Rosalie always was a tad conceited, and righteously so, in Bella's mind. She always won all of the awards in grade school, and seemed to know more than everyone else. She was dazzling, with shimmering golden blonde hair and big blue eyes. Bella had mousy brown hair and a strange hazel tone of eyes.
But they were best friends since they were children.
At the age of ten, Bella and Rosalie sit in a tree, Rosalie with her legs kicked out on the branch, leaning against the bark. It scrapes at her thin, pale arms. Bella's abnormally pallid skin is rougher, and she doesn't need to shift her weight from her perch. They lean back and stare at the clouds, murmuring about what creature they could be.
"It reminds me of a giraffe," Bella says smoothly, her eyes focused on the rapidly floating cloud.
"But has wings. Do you see them? Well, maybe giraffes can fly in the afterlife," Rosalie comments, yawning. The sunshine glimmers on her shiny hair, Bella notices.
"Giraffes would be very dangerous if they could fly," Bella comments and Rosalie shrugs, closing her eyes.
Rosalie rolls over, dangling from the tree in a way that she looks down at Bella. They look at each other for a moment, reminded of summer days and gumdrops. The fanciful days playing with Barbies and watching films about love and loss. Rosalie leans down and Bella up, pressing their lips against each others.
Bella blushes, feeling her face grow very warm. Rosalie looks relaxed, casual about their first kiss. Bella had never kissed anyone before, or even thought anyone would want to. It seems that every girl in their grade had a kiss, playing spin the bottle, or behind the big willow tree on the playground.
The two friends break apart, nearly falling out of the tree. Bella's eyes are wide, and Rosalie's lips turned upward slightly with a wicked smile.
At the age of thirteen, Bella and Rosalie have forgotten their first kiss. Rosalie has captured the heart of a boy by the name of Emmett, and they're in a relationship. Bella simply sits at home and draws pictures of vampires and werewolves, while Rosalie races about with flocks of friends.
They still meet up with each other, to swim in Bella's pool, or to walk to the frozen yogurt store. At the most tender of ages, it seems that anything could upset the careful balance of their relationship. The childhood infatuation, romantic in some sense, faded. Bella can easily believe that young love makes dishrags out of the best of us, and that she will find a nice boy to settle down with and have a picket fence fantasy, as her parents desire.
One day, they walk through the park, holding hands. They swing their arms back and forth, giggling. Rosalie snorts when she laughs, and Bella loves it. She mocks her about it at Bellary chance she gets, but always reminds her of how much she loves her. Best friends are inseparable, no matter what is said or done between them.
They wander to the pond, standing on the creaky wooden bridge. Bella scoops up a rock and throws it in, watching it splash. When the ripples settle, the placid surface reflects their faces. One girl as beautiful and dazzling as a movie star, and the other plain and mildly pretty. But Bella doesn't mind as much as she thinks. Envy is more like admiration to her.
"Sometimes I wonder if I'm good enough," Rosalie says softly, her voice barely a breath on the wind.
"I think you're amazing," Bella says earnestly, and is surprised at her own vehemence. "You can do anything you dream of."
"I can't, Bella," Rosalie says quietly, her voice constricted. "Pretty only gets you so far."
Bella purses her lips for a moment, then squeezes her friend's hand.
"I'll always love you," Bella whispers, then pulls her best friend closer to her. She kisses her on the lips, drawn away from all of her sanity. Rosalie's eyes flash, startled for a moment. Then she leans in, her arm wrapped around her best friend's back.
The leaves break off of branches and float past their faces, carried by the sheer force of the wind.
When the girls are sixteen, they can't deny their attraction to each other. Rosalie wanders between boyfriends, never able to return their affection. She blames it on flightiness, but, in all honesty, she thinks her first love will be her last. Bella tries to deny her feelings, but it's easier to dodge bullets than love.
Dishrags. That's what it has made both girls. But some love, as Rosalie always says, is meant to be. They're both girls, both friends, both so easy to break into little pieces. But it feels as if it is destined to happen, like their love is meant to last for a thousand years—that their spirits will find each other.
Yet, they deny it to the best of their ability.
"Someday," Rosalie says, blowing bubbles from the wand as they lie on their backs in the meadow, "we're going to run off together. We'll buy an apartment in London, and be rich and famous."
"I like the sound of that," Bella replies, her hands supporting her neck as they sun kisses her face. "I don't think Charlie and Renee will go for it, though."
"They can't do anything once you're eighteen. Or maybe we can drive to Hollywood—travel the country paying for adventure with musical numbers on the streets."
"I can't sing," Bella says and Rosalie shrugs.
"It's only a daydream," she says with a faint grin.
"Maybe all of this is only a daydream." Her hand slips over to Rosalie's, touching it gently. She's getting carried away; they both evade physical contact at all costs.
"If it is, it's the best kind." Rosalie smoothes out her wildly patterned sundress, as if both can communicate the thought that they are in love, as young and usual as they are. But the world is against them, and always will be.
Prom night approaches with surprising speed. Both girls are seniors, growing up nicely. Rosalie still looks like she belongs on a red carpet, and Bella has grown out nicely. Now that she's gotten over her shy streak and generated some curves, it wasn't hard at all to get a date—the foreign exchange student from France. Rosalie is going with the star quarterback.
They giggle at paint each other's nails, styling their hair. When they look in the mirror, they hug each other tightly. Rosalie kisses Bella's cheek, as joking schoolgirls do, as it should not mean anything more. Their dates pick them up, the boy's eyes widening at the sight of the dazzling girls.
The prom is themed red and gold. It sparkles in the night as they have their pictures taken and meet up with their other friends. They dance and drink punch, swaying in the shining lights. The girls find themselves together, alone surrounded by people. They dance together, their bodies moving closer and closer together. Bella leans her head on Rosalie's shoulder and closes her eyes.
They sway back and forth like bending flowers in the breeze. Rosalie lifts up Bella's chin, and as the slow music plays and dates lean in to each other, she kisses Bella, so gently, so secretively, like an inside joke that no one can understand.
That night they slink off from the gym and hide on the stairwell. They can't help but fall into each other, hands and lips straying. Because they can't fight their feelings forever. But after the night ends, they promise—pinky swear like good friends—that they won't speak of it again.
A year later, Rosalie is living in London, attending school for fashion. Bella is in California, studying biochemistry. They communicate, texting late at night and chatting through webcams. Their childhood is long forgotten.
Bella is soon engaged to a man by the name of Edward. He loves her so dearly, and she tries to return it. But like Rose in Titanic, she can't help but think of someone else as they lie there in bed.
"Did you ever have a childhood sweetheart?" Bella asks Edward as they hold hands at the mall.
"Oh, yes," he says with a slight laugh. "Sometimes I still think about her."
"I know the feeling," Bella says with a small smile. "My father always told me how unreal young love is. It makes dishrags out of the best of us."
"I think young love is the most beautiful of all." He kisses her cheek, but it feels cold and numb as she remembers the heat of prom night. They days riding merry-go-rounds and joking at the ice cream parlor. Meant to be.
Rosalie comes to visit one summer, to meet Edward. There seems to be a loathing for him amongst Rosalie, but Bella can't quite explain it. They sit awake at night, the three of them watching dumb reality shows and old movies.
When Rosalie and Bella go shopping for a wedding dress, Rosalie seems slightly sour.
"Is something wrong?" Bella asks, studying her old friend closely.
"I wish I could get married. Where the hell's my fairytale ending? Boyfriend after boyfriend. Can't feel a thing. Not a spark." She sighs and stares in the mirror.
Bella touches the faux pearls on her wedding dress and sits beside her old friend. She holds her hand, and Rosalie hesitates for a moment.
"I'll always love you," Bella whispers and their lips meet.
And at that moment, Bella realizes that her fairytale ending is not with the chairman of biochemistry at Berkeley, or with Laurent from France, or any boy she pranced around with. Her true love was there all along.
"Run away with me," Bella breathes, and it seems impossible for Rosalie not to comply.
And in that spontaneity, they find themselves in the most beautiful of worlds.
Because, sometimes, first love is the last.
Young love can stretch for eternity.