Chapter 1 – Bleh. Cleaning.
Texas. They're moving me to Texas. To meet someone I don't, under any circumstances, want to meet. But I have to because of something I have no power to change. And now I'm completely ditching my position as the family optimist! What next.
My name is Mary- Alice Brandon, and my parents hate me. Ok. I lie. My parents are freakishly loving people, even when we do wrong. But in this case scenario, they hate me. It's the twenty – first century, really. They need to grasp the times. An arranged marriage is so, eighteen hundreds.
My parents, Carlisle and Esme Cullen have a family tradition. Arranged marriages, Carlisle and Esme were one. And their family lineage will also carry on the tradition. Including me; despite my being adopted.
Every adopted child has a story. Orphan or one of those whose parents just didn't want them, I'm am not the latter, I was actually rather, spoiled. My mom showered me with fashion, oh and books. Books. It's a soothing word.
But my happiness always has to be counter acted with something sad. My mom died of ovarian cancer when I was eleven. When my mom found out, they were the first to know, Carlisle and Esme, being her best friend, I guess it fit the bill. She wanted to make sure I had a nice place to stay, a family that loved my. And do you remember how I was talking about the family arranged marriage thing; a lot of families do it, including my biological one. So either way I would have been married off. But Mama and Pops do have my best interests at heart. Even with a funny way of showing it.
"But Mom," I complained, dragging out her name with a groan, "Do I have to go?"
Full pout intact.
Mama just raised her eyebrow at me. I knew that look. I also knew not to challenge it. Despite being born and raised in small town Forks Washington, we were punished like those in the South. We each had our own switch tree. We even had another tradition in that, right before Christmas every year, Mama and Pops examine our trees. Whoevers tree is the smallest get the least amount of presents and coal. It's usually Emmett.
I plopped onto my bed moaning in discontent. Packing means cleaning. I hate cleaning. Eh.
"Mama- "
She cut me off before I could even start, "Mary- Alice, if you don't start packing right now, I ought to have you go out-"
"And peel a switch. I know Mama."
Intimibrow once more made its appearance, making me rethink my place in this conversation. I quickly complied with my silent fury of a mother and got to work. Blasting my music as I went.
I did rather enjoy writing this, this is actually my first story despite my constant reading on this sight. Please review. I want to know how I did, constructive criticism is welcomed!
Kenna!
