A Movie Script Ending
Summary: AH-Bella longs to escape the monotony of Forks. Then the Cullens move in next door, and she's oddly fascinated by the youngest son. Is he hindering or helping her with her future plans?
A/N: As for the ALL HUMAN story, it is inspired by the Death Cab for Cutie song, "A Movie Script Ending." If you haven't listened to it yet, I highly recommend it. They're one of my favorite bands, and they also happen to be doing the first single for the upcoming New Moon soundtrack.
I read the song as though someone is returning to a place, perhaps a hometown or even a part of his or her former life. The familiarity is there. The feelings and perception attached to this former place aren't exactly the most positive. You're in a state of "unconsciousness." There is a need for movement, a need for something different, and "waking anew." The highway is there, the headlights lead you. Bella is growing up and trying to figure out her life, for herself, and perhaps how she feels for a certain boy. In the end, it's a movie script ending. Happy? Inspirational? Heartbreaking? Thus, each chapter is a lyrical line from the song.
So much for this rather long author's note, but I just wanted it out there. I've read quite a bit of fanfiction within the twilight fandom, some good, others not so good. I'd like to think my very first story would lean somewhere on the, "oh, I like it," but I guess I'll have to wait for some feedback. I look forward to reading your reviews, so please do review!
1. Whenever I Come Back
His fingers tapped along the marble counter. Those short, stubby, and slightly dirty fingers of his continued to clank against the flat surface, and I shivered slightly at the thought of them being anywhere near my crotch the last few months.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
He glanced in my direction. He glanced at the door. He stared at the tiles on my kitchen floor, his foot rubbing the murky brown spot where Charlie had spilled his beer the previous night.
"Bella . . ."
I suppressed a snort as he changed his position against the counter. He'd been rambling for a half-hour already and still hadn't gotten to the point.
Roll out the nervous ticks, Newton. I know you far too well.
Run your hands haphazardly through your messy hair. Slide your fingers down to the zipper of your letterman jacket. Slip your hands into your pockets and play idly with your car keys.
Deep breaths, Newton. Deep breaths. You can do it.
"Mike . . ." I replied, tapping my foot impatiently against the leg of the chair. I stared him down head to toe before smirking.
His boyish smile disappeared in exchange for loud and nervous laughter.
"Bella," he sighed. "I think you know why I'm here."
"Do I?" My eyes widened, my gaze innocent and naïve. It was too easy with Mike. He was sheer entertainment for me these days.
"We've been growing apart for a long time now, and I think you can see that," he whispered. He stared at me, his eyes filled with concern, and yet he stayed a good few feet away from me. I contemplated throwing my glass of water in his face, but I'm really not one for dramatics. Given the situation, most people would assume I didn't give a shit about anything.
The perfect boy. The most beloved and admired athlete. The boy all the girls of Forks one day dreamed of marrying . . . was dating silly, old me. He was dating me, and yet he was screwing the town bike. I was the girlfriend that "allowed" it and turned my head the other way. I was the girlfriend who was being played. I was the girl who didn't care or respect herself.
It's not that I didn't care. At one point, I really did care about him, about our relationship. I had grown up with Mike and we were each other's first loves. Since Charlie wouldn't allow me to date until I turned 16, Mike waited patiently . . . or at least as patiently as a teenage boy could. We appeared to be only good friends to our peers and family, but we had been fooling around with each other since I was 14. In no time, we exchanged our pitiful, yet cheesy I-love-you's at 15.
And at 16, when we were finally a couple and the public of Forks knew every secret and gossip news about our formal relationship, I remember the night we lost our virginities to one another. His parents had left for their cottage that weekend, and I thought it was the sweetest thing to invite only me instead of all our friends as he usually did when his parents were gone. We sat giggling on his twin-sized bed, the boyish demeanor still apparent in his bedroom, his Seattle Mariners wallpaper lining the walls, the videogames chucked underneath the bed. We finished off an entire fifth of disgusting, cheap vodka, and when he sloppily stuck his hands down my pants, I didn't push him away. It's not like the foreplay lasted very long, and the next thing I knew he was panting heavily and had come.
Perhaps it had been all the time we spent with each other. Perhaps we simply grew out of our cherished adolescence. Perhaps the feelings were simply not as sincere as I thought they were. I'll never know exactly, but six months after that first time, things changed. Mike and I kept up with our appearances at school events and our friends' parties. He held my hand and softly kissed my forehead, but I knew he was fucking Jessica. I'd be blind to not see the smeared lipstick on his neck . . . and pants after lunch period. I definitely wasn't letting him in my bed after that. Then I made my own bad decisions and started sleeping with Jacob. Since we were kids when Charlie and Billy took us out on play dates, I always knew he secretly harbored a crush on me. He was far too cute for his age, and it was nice that he wasn't so aware or apart of the Forks community since he lived on the reservation.
It wasn't just the boys in my life. It was Forks itself. I was tired of all of it. Nobody had dreams. Nobody had aspirations bigger than winning the homecoming game. Everyone was content inheriting their parents' jobs and going to some nearby college in Washington.
Forks High wasn't the best place to nurture my talent—if you could even call it that. I had to fight the school board and convince Charlie to help keep the art department when it was nearly destroyed my sophomore year. I always loved writing, painting, and the arts. I never took it seriously until Mike and I started to grow apart. When he was off "studying" or at "practice," I was somewhere, just my camera and me, shooting the beautiful scenery of the Pacific Northwest. If home offered me anything, it was aesthetically rewarding.
I glanced up to see Mike still rambling about how much he adored our time spent with one another, about how much our relationship had meant to him. I think I might have seen a tear even. Any other time, I might have been the caring and sympathetic girlfriend, but all I could think about was the creative portfolio I was about to mail out to NYU in a few minutes.
Tisch School of the Arts. It was my one dream. It was my ticket out of Forks. It was my future, and I would refuse destiny to take me anywhere else but there. I could feel my hairline dampening and I twisted my fingers nervously. I once thought it was creative to film a documentary about Forks, but realized how cliché that thought was—oh, small town girl with big dreams stamped right across my forehead. If I were to study film at their level, I would have to be better than that. I thought about the requirements.
1. A one-page resume that highlights creative work accomplished, activities and relevant employment.
One word that summarized my original resume: lackluster. Perhaps I may have embellished a few things, but not everyone has the experience at 17-soon-to-be-18. After all, I had the disadvantage of living in Forks.
2. A few options for a creative submission.
I bypassed the live action film since I had absolutely nothing to film. I considered submitting some of my photographs. I had thousands of photos and had even won a few competitions. Then there was the short story. I nearly picked that option. It was safe. I was certain of my writing abilities. In the end, I took a risk. I chose to submit a few drawings and paintings. It's worth it to risk it all for the greatest return. It's worth it to risk it all for the greatest return. It's worth it to risk it all for the greatest return. I repeated this daily.
3. A dramatic or comedic essay about an actual event in my life that I will never forget.
This, I will remind myself for the rest of the morning, is why I chose the drawings and paintings over the writing. A portfolio needs variety. If I could win a competition where I wrote about a mundane meeting with a homeless stranger who Charlie brought back to the house when I was five, and make it into the most amusing, heartwarming, and unforgettable story ever written, I just knew someone at NYU had to believe in me.
Please, oh please. Please. Please. Please.
Just as the ceiling began to spin, suddenly a hand was on my shoulder. I took in a deep breath.
"Bells? Are you okay? I thought you would handle this better . . ."
I nearly laughed, but I suppose that would come off as heartless . . . or hysterical, which I was!
"You know you were my first love. That will never change. And . . . well, I'm sorry about everything." His last word lingered because it carried so much more than everything else he had previously said. His distance. His cheating. His decision to happily not care about our longstanding friendship.
Focus on this for a second, Bella.
I placed my hand atop of his. "I know," I whispered.
He lifted me off the chair and pulled me into a tight hug. It was weird experiencing all these emotions on my very first day of senior year. I was saying goodbye to the boy that was my entire life up until this point and nervously awaiting my uncertain future.
"I should go. We don't want to be late for our last day of high school," he muffled. I could feel his smile on my shoulder and I smiled along with him.
"Well! I certainly hope I'm not barging in on anything," a loud voice boomed behind us.
Mike quickly untangled himself from me and our warm embrace disappeared. Nearly 18 years of something that once was, was suddenly nonexistent.
"Charlie! Er, Chief Swan!" he grinned as he went to shake Charlie's hand.
Charlie raced to the sink and stood with his soaking back towards us as he poured himself a cold glass of water.
"Bells, you should really check out the trails around this neighborhood. They're great, and really safe for girls your age," he huffed, clearly still out of breath.
After all the steaks and bad food he ate at the diner, Renee really put her foot down. Charlie had to start running before he had a heart attack. I didn't want him to fit the stereotypical fat chief of police either, so I backed her on that. He grumbled about it at first, but I think he's taken a liking to it.
"I'll look into it."
"So are you kids excited for school? Mike, I hope you're leading the Spartans to a good football winning season this year," he smiled.
"Chief, I certainly hope so. Well, I should get going. I guess I'll see you later Bella." He smiled at me trying to convey much more, but I understood.
"See ya, Mike."
There was an awkward silence. I wondered if I should just blurt it out to Charlie. Then again, I'd give him the opportunity to practice his awkward fathering.
Charlie looked at the swinging door and then at me as he scratched the back of his head. "Uh, is something going on between you two?" he asked, unsure of whether this was a time a father should be meddling.
I laughed. "It's fine. I'm okay. Uh . . . Mike and I broke up."
His smile immediately disappeared. I knew this would be more disappointing for him than me. Mike was his perfect future son-in-law, and that would never be happening now.
"Oh," he sighed. "Well, I understand. You're going off to college next year . . . possibly New York," he winced, the idea of my living in the city and across the country not very comforting. "You guys are still friends, yeah? He'll be at your party?"
"Of course! Yeah, we're definitely still friends. He would never miss my 18th birthday even if I didn't invite him."
I thought about the impending party. It would be the first real gathering at the new house. Charlie finally received his significant pay raise and Renee convinced him into moving into this really posh and elegant (as posh as it gets in this area) neighborhood just outside of Forks.
For once, Renee had something else other than her elementary students to focus all her eccentric energy. She jumped head first into samplings of color palettes, wallpaper, and wood finishings. A rather bright can of turquoise paint and a few dirty brushes laid against the plain white wall of the hallway leading to the living room. I hoped Charlie could convince her to tone it down a bit.
The fuzzy carpet sampler lying on the dinner table led my eyes to the envelope carrying my key to the one place I wanted in. "I should get going."
"You eat breakfast already? Your mom left?" he asked, as he began rummaging for the bacon in the refrigerator. I tossed him a banana instead.
"Yeah, I had some cereal before Mike got here. Mom left about an hour ago."
I picked up the envelope and it weighed much heavier than it was. Cliché. Lackluster. Small town girl. It must be stamped all over that thing.
Honestly, my life was as normal and as boring as it got. Although there was that two-year period when Renee up and left Charlie and took me to Arizona when I was one, he flew out a week later and reclaimed her heart, as he says in the story he repeatedly tells me. That excludes "broken house" for reasons fueling my creative potential.
I kissed Charlie goodbye and made my way out to the long driveway of our new house. Why was it that the more expensive houses had those long and winding driveways?
Because of moments like this.
The sun was unusually bright today, its rays burning into the back of my head. I wondered if my sweating was a result of the heat or my nerves as I neared the mailbox. Five steps away, and I wanted to run back inside. I wanted to redo the entire portfolio. Did I spell the address correctly?
In carefully neat and bold handwriting:
Undergraduate Division, Kanbar Institute of Film and Television
721 Broadway, 11th floor
New York, NY 10003-6807
Okay, so I have that right at least. I know that I can spell, or at least copy an address correctly.
I stood there, staring at the god-awful mailbox. It sneered at me with mockery and disdain. I paced for a little bit. I walked half-way up the driveway and then back down. I opened it. I closed it. I even slapped the damn thing. Then I placed the envelope inside the mailbox, nearly admiring the stark contrast of the manila folder and the black paint on the mailbox.
Do I close it?
"Swan! Close the damn thing already!"
I spun around to see Rosalie clicking her nails against the steering wheel of her new red BMW convertible. She rolled her eyes and popped her gum as she fixed a stray hair, admiring herself again in the rearview mirror. Jasper sat beside her chuckling.
"Bella. Come on, it's now or never," Jasper encouraged. I could always count on at least one Hale to be nice to me in this new neighborhood of mine.
"Jazz . . . it's not just any random letter," I groaned.
"We know, we know. Oh my god, it's like your entire future to get out of this shithole. We know. I need to get out of this shithole too, so get in the car so we can finish our last year of school."
"Way to be compassionate, Rose," Jasper laughed.
I looked once more at the envelope and snapped close the mailbox. I dragged my feet to the car, willing myself to not look back. It was my key to future success.
As I jumped into the backseat, Rosalie whistled. "Who is that?"
I glanced at the house next door and snickered at how unaware I was of anything besides the portfolio. I failed to notice the monstrous moving trucks and unfamiliar flashy cars next to my house. "Oh, Charlie said a new family was moving in. I think they're the Cullens."
"Well, that Cullen is certainly cute," she said, eyeing the muscular teenager carrying a rather large box into the house.
"I guess we'll see them later today," Jasper said, his disregard blatant.
"I guess," I mumbled. Glancing one last time at the mailbox, I certainly didn't care about any Cullens either.