Hi! This is my first story, so please be nice, aha! I'm really sorry if I get some facts wrong, which I most definitely will, but please just do your best to make it make sense. Oh, and does anyone know how to make my document into a 'story' and make a summary? So confused!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything Twilight. Isn't it a shame? What the heck? This program says that 'isn't' is not a word!!!
"Flight 203, Sydney to Port Angeles, Washington, now boarding," came the voice over the loud speaker, and I stood up. I grabbed my two suitcases, and looked back and forth.
For the past few hours I had been sitting, waiting for my flight in between the same two people. To my left, there was a woman with dark skin and grey hair. She was knitting a fuchsia scarf and talking on her cell phone with a deep, Jamaican sounding voice. To my right there was a man typing away on his lap top and giggling to himself every few minutes.
For some reason, I was going to miss them. I got attached to people really quickly, although I don't know why. "Good-bye," I said quietly. The lady just smiled briefly and then returned to her conversation, while the man didn't even look up. Not that I had meant them to hear me.
My name is Juliet Ero. Don't call me Jules though, or anything like that. Only my parents called me that, but now they're 'separated', so that's that. Well, they didn't actually get divorced—they were killed in some kind of animal attack, or that's what the police say. They mentioned that it was probably wolves. I hate wolves.
I'm going to say that they're separated though, if anyone asks, because I've spent my entire life fitting in, and I don't plan on ruining that now. Ever since I was little I would beg my mom to buy me the same kinds of clothes that all of the other kids had, and I would never get above-average grades. I guess it would be a little cocky to say that I could've done better, but I'll never know, because I never even tried.
My parents always told me to be myself, to be different, which they were themselves. That's why I never invited them to any school functions. I know I must seem harsh, but I really loved my parents. I still love them. It's just that I wanted to fit in so much because I was so different, in a way that not even my parents could understand.
I can read minds. Well, I could. I've been able to do it for as long as I could remember, but for a while I didn't understand that it was something that not everyone could do. I just thought it was normal. Even after I figured this out, I sometimes got confused as to what people were thinking and what they were actually saying, and trust me, it doesn't go over well when you reply to a person's thoughts.
I only really starting completely blocking out everyone's thoughts when I was about five years old, and my best friend and I were playing with our dolls.
"Julie, my doll's going to be the prettiest doll ever!" she said, grinning while we brushed our Barbie's hair. Sure, we weren't the most original five-year-olds, but what can I say.
"Yup, Tammy, she sure is pretty. You should try putting the purple dress on her! Y'know, the one with the little flowers?" I suggested eagerly.
"Ooooh, good idea," she replied, grabbing it out of my hands.
"Hey Tammy…" I began slowly. "I heard that your dad is kinda sick…"
"Yeah," she said, looking down. He's not just sick, he has cancer, and he's gonna die. Mommy told me so.
"Oh, Tammy, I'm so sorry, I thought it was just a cold!" I cried.
"What do you mean?" she asked, putting her doll down and suddenly getting very defensive.
"I mean, if he's gonna die," I said quietly, and she froze.
It was silent for a moment, before she stood up and screamed, "YOU'RE A FREAK! DON'T YOU EVER TALK TO ME AGAIN! I HATE YOU!"
After that, I just stopped that part of me that cared about people's thoughts, and no longer listened. It wasn't that hard. That part of my personality was dead, and I never did talk to Tammy Larson—who had since become basically the most popular girl at my school—again.
That doesn't really matter any more though, because I was going to move to America to live with my Aunt Joan and Uncle Mortimer. They live in Washington, DC, in some tiny town called 'Forks'. Why anyone would possibly want to live in a town named after a kitchen utensil, I don't know, but that's where I'm headed.
I come from Australia. Sydney, actually. Why am I leaving the sun, heat, and all the other pros about Australia that I could go on and on listing for some crummy town named forks? Because I don't have anyone left here. It was just my mom, my dad, and I, and now that two thirds are gone I don't much feel like staying here—not that I have a choice, I'm only sixteen years old.
As I boarded my plane I thought back on all of the nights spent crying myself to sleep. All of the mornings I'd spent getting up and hauling my things into my suitcases, before heading to school, all under the watchful eye of our retired neighbors who had offered to watch me until the flight, mainly just to make use of our big screen TV.
Once I was at school I would get to my classes early so that I could tell my teachers what was going on without anyone noticing. When I was leaving for home again, I would always bring a few of my things with me from my locker, so that I wouldn't need to bring them all at once—so that I wouldn't stand out.
Then all of the evenings at home when I would take out a book and practice my American accent, so that my voice wouldn't betray anything unique either.
Now, however, as I took my seat on the plane and noticed that, in the seats surrounding me, were some of the most beautiful people I'd ever seen—and I don't say that lightly—I got the strange feeling that I was about to not only stand out, but be able to write a whole book on the subject.
As the plane started taking off, three things were rattling around in my mind;
Who are these people?
Why do I have the sudden urge to read their minds?
God, I hate flying.