Heys 2 U all!
I'm ShadowRider2011, but my friends call me Shira. So don't call me Shira unless you wanna be my friend. :P
This is my first Twilight fanfic so please don't criticize too bad. I honestly didn't like the series in the first place cause I'm not exactly fond of vampires. But after my sister bought me the book and my friend forced me to read it, I was hooked. So if you're reading this Sorahime, then I say thanks and screw you.
Just so you all know, I won't be requesting reviews. Unlike some writers I've seen, I'm not going to, as I call it, "take my fanfiction hostage" just because not enough people are commenting. All I ask is that you enjoy it; PLEASE, enjoy it. :P But, uh...*cough* a review*cough* doesn't sound bad*cough* every *cough cough* now and then. . . . . ;)
One - Guest Arrangements
Edward's POV
My name is Edward Cullen. My surname used to be Masen until my mother, Esme, married my stepfather of twelve years, Carlisle. My real dad abandoned me, my mom and my little sister Alice when I was only four. I don't remember him since I was so young, and Carlisle's been my dad for as long as I've known him. To me and Alice, he's the greatest dad in the world. He has a daughter a year older than me and Alice: Rosalie. Her mother, Carlisle's first wife, passed away when she was two. She's beautiful, I guess, but she makes almost everything about herself. It's pretty annoying, actually. But she and my sister have become really good friends, and that's not just because Alice is a fashion monster and Rosalie is the perfect person for her to practice her "magic" on.
As for me, I'm a composer, but not a totally official one. I swear, the first time I saw a piano, I was hooked. I have my own grand piano now; I call her "Sophia." Weird, huh? The moment I learned to play, I began to write my own music. And as the years went by, I got better and better. Everything I wrote, though, was based purely on personal experiences; tangible memories, I called them.
Me and my family live in a big mansion in a rainy town called Forks, Washington. Carlisle makes a great and profitable living as a doctor, and my mom has a small modeling job. We have everything that every other house has: a kitchen the size of our garage(which can fit four cars in one row), a living room as large as our front yard with a giant plasma screen TV and furniture imported straight from Italy, a huge dining room with three fancy chandeliers, six bathrooms, eight bedrooms, two guest rooms (one of which I converted into my own personal studio), a patio and a fifty-foot long, six-feet deep pool in our backyard. Like I said, everything that everyone else has, right?
Me and Alice are juniors and Rosalie is a senior. School at Forks High just got out the other day, so summer vacation has officially started. My sisters and I all had our time planned out. Rosalie was going to get a job at the local salon, and I was going to move my bed and computer into my studio so I'd never have to leave my room, too busy making music.
Alice planned on hanging out with friends the whole time. There was only one problem: Alice only had one friend in Forks: Tanya Venland, who I'd reluctantly add had a habit of chasing after me. She'd went to California to visit her older brother. Also, most of Alice's friends were people she met over chat rooms on the internet.
Then, arrangements were made the week before school ended, and one of Alice's pen pals from Phoenix, Arizona would be coming to stay with us for a month to be with her. Her name was Isabella Swan, but Alice said she preferred to be called Bella. I figured she'd be another one of those "hit-it-and-quit-it" type girls with a dark tan and anorexic figure. I honestly didn't care about the whole thing. As long as I could spend time alone with my music in my studio, that's all I needed for a good summer.
You could probably guess; I don't have many friends. Since all the girls in Forks High seem to be attracted to me, all the guys give me the cold shoulder. The only guys who at least talked to me were Jasper Whitlock, a straight-A student and grade-A+ mechanic and Emmett McCarty, who was the football team's quarterback. Then again, the two have been crushing on my sisters since freshman year, and I wondered if they were only nice to me just because. Even so, they were pretty decent guys and, other than music, they were my only escape from the fashion circus constantly going on in my house.
I sat down at the bench of my giant black grand piano in my studio, staring at the green walls covered in incomplete compositions and lyric sheets, and sighed. Just me and my music. I chuckled to myself without the slightest hint of humor. Even though I loved my music, was this where I would be for the rest of my life? Willingly trapped in a music room with no one to talk to?
I never really was the "open" type. I don't connect to people all that well, and the ridiculously generic behavior that I see at school and everywhere else just repels me further. I've learned to read others pretty well along with the instinct to stay away from them. I preferred to be independent. But I had to admit that it made me sort of...lonely. It's pretty obvious since I've composed so many songs about it. And that's kind of made me a grouch. I've written songs about that too.
But deep inside me, I tried to hope that something would happen to change all that.
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"Alice, could you shut up for a second? We're trying to eat here," I grumbled at my short sister next to me with her cropped black hair and pixie-like personality. It's pretty difficult to eat your dinner peacefully when someone's annoyingly singing right next to you.
"Now, Edward," my mom, Esme said. "You know how happy Alice is that her friend's coming tomorrow."
"Yeah, yeah," I muttered, trying to turn my attention back to my potatoes. "But that doesn't mean she can irritate me to death about it."
"Would you chill for once?" Rosalie chastised me. "Wouldn't you be excited if a good friend of your's would be com--oops, I forgot," she purposely stopped, flipping her long blonde hair back. "You don't have any friends."
"Rosalie!" Carlisle scolded.
I raised an eyebrow at her. "Shouldn't you be rescuing a curling iron from a tree or something?"
"Shouldn't you be getting back to your girlfriend, your piano? You shouldn't be gone so long; she might think that you're cheating!" she retorted.
"You mean like you do on your tests?"
"Shut up!"
"Cool it, you two," Esme ordered with a force that was gentle but otherwise stern.
"Bella's coming, Bella's coming. . ." Apparently our argument hadn't been noticed by Alice; she was still humming and smiling to herself. I'd had enough of this. I dropped my fork and stood out of my chair.
"May I be excused?" I asked, but I didn't bother waiting for a response from my parents as I left the dining room and made for the stairs. I was angry, but when I heard Carlisle ask Rosalie, "Since when do you cheat on your tests?" I let out a short chuckle. Serves her right.
I walked down the upstairs hall until I came up to a black door. My studio. I went in and sat at my piano, letting my fingers tap against the white keys.
"Sorry I haven't been here," I talked to it, repeating my stepsister's stupid accusation with heavy sarcasm. "I've only been thinking about you, no one else."
I began to play an upbeat but anger-built song I wrote a couple years back called "Queen of Harpies," which was inspired by an incident where Rosalie had taken my lyrics notebook and lost it. God, was I MAD. My anger ebbing, I went to my bed(which I actually had brought into my studio) and laid down, deep in thought.
As much as I hated, and REALLY hated to admit it, Rosalie was right. Did music really make up my whole entire life? Did I love it so much that it canceled out any other kinds of love I had for other things? Hmm, I guess so. But that didn't mean that I wanted to spend the rest of my life by myself and my piano. There are many things I wanted to be a part of, many things I've wanted to be, but my selfish pride forbid me. I've always been envious of Alice's constant cheerful moods and friendliness, Mom's acceptance; I've even been jealous of Rosalie because of her strong self-confidence, even if it was overbearing most of the time, and Carlisle's patience, especially when dealing with her.
I'd never admit this to anyone else, of course. Everything I've ever felt, done or experienced has always been put into notes. And if someone still didn't understand, then what was the point?
...what was the point?
That question kept in my mind until my eyelids drifted shut, and I fell asleep.
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Sorry if it's not really the kind of opening you'd all appreciate, but like I said, 1ST TWILIGHT FIC. It'll get better, though, I'll make sure of that.
~ShadowRider2011 AKA Shira
