The Moonstruck Tale of Pennylock & The Fruitcake

by tintintwotinhellyes

She's a lionized Erotica authoress residing in San Francisco. He's a sensuous Micro-bio Professor in Chicago. The two met as children in an orphanage. A funeral brings them together once more. What happens next? Hell breaks loose, of course!AH-ExB-CITRUS

I'm a 20-something mentally deranged bachelor girl who doesn't know better. I have hermetic, pervy compassions and a bound, determind soul with an unpleasant little, high-pitched voice in the back of my head howling the words, 'WRITE THE STORY, DAMMIT!' at me in a Russian accent. You get the idea. I named the voice, Paprika, because she loomed up to me in a vintage cape after I took a copious bite out of a tangy string cheese & turkey sandwich. Since Paprika is a paroxysm in the ass and she, well, controls my every move, this brand new fic is the result. She cracked the whip. Please blame and lower the boom at her.

Anywho, opening remarks can wait . . .

Hello, darlings! This is a stark anticipation that bubbled up my throat when I was watching this movie. For you see, I am a muse. Before you jump to conclusions, this story has absolutely NOTHING to do with that film. I just picture kid-Bella as Isabelle Fuhrman. The idea? It came from nowhere. Save your thanks for Paprika.

This is a sort of prelude, prolouge, preface, whatever you call it, I suppose. I want to start plot in the next chapter but I couldn't stop myself from writing this first. It also has more lowdown on the characters so when you come back to the present, you won't be all 'WTF?'. Trust me - I know what that's like. But important note: I hiiiighly doubt, and it's a pretty safe bet to say that I won't ever again write flashbacks on these characters as children in the future. So if you ever need insight on that sort of a thing, you can always click your way back to the first chapter, this one, and read through it. I'm pretty sure that's why I made this chapter longer than your average preface or whatever, but this isn't a prolouge, this is a whole chapter. But read it now. Please. It won't take long at all. Everything will make more sense then.

I would like to thank the awesomeness that is the ladies over at Project Team Beta. They are incredible - I swear. If you have a story that needs improvement, or you have the itching desire to improve a story, scurry off to them with your tail between your legs, love. You won't regret it.

Oh and, I almost forgot! Go to my profile for pics, for visuals, for outfits. It's all there. And I suggest you youtube the chapter songs, though they rarely have enough anything to do with the chapter. It just sets the mood and I like lava lamps and mood-setters.

Alright, alright, I'll shut up now. See you down below! Oh and I'm aware of the concrete happening of this chapter to seem 'angsty' to you, but just remember this is not heartfail and tears and greif.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or miserably, Edward. If I did, I would pay visits to the set for the Twilight/New Moon/Eclipse movie every single day to play with RPattz and Kellen (yum). I however, do own the fuzziest pair of Strawberry Shortcake slippers known to mankind. It did a number on me when I found out it was on sale, I mean, Target was practically giving the prescious little things away! P.S I don't own Target either. Le sigh.

Isabella - The Fruitcake Girl - is a lionized Erotica authoress residing in San Francisco. Edward - Pennylocks - is a sensuous Microbiology Professor in Chicago, torn between indulging in a romantic liaison with a certain housemate of his or continue being just friends. The two bumped shoulders with eachother as childhood rivals in an orphanage. What happens when the spine-tingling funeral of their dearly beloved headmistress brings Edward and Bella together once again? Hell breaks loose, of course. ExB. Citrus. F-bombs. Humor. All humans. Contains erratic deviation from canon, such as broody Alice, crazy, hyper Bella, intelligent Emmett, shy Rosalie. I wanted something different. Though the couples remain canon. i.e edward, bella - alice, jasper - rosalie, emmett - you know, the usual . . . though the minor characters, such as Lauren or Angela may not instantly pair up with Tyler and Ben or Eric. We will just have to wait and see how everything pans out, now, won't we? Oh and there's boring and long AN's on my part - don't ignore those!

An exclusive thanks to the lovely dolls who shape up my work to the point where it seems the least bit presentable ;) ,

Beta One: Robotprospektr

Beta Two: Mel (mcc101180)

I am-x-The Insomnia Princess-x-and-x-The Cootie Queen

Down an ocean road

Past a sign that says 'good love town'

Into a darkness where the stars do drown

Where the starry me needs to be free

And when the battle was done

I was promised my sun

But with a thousand nights gone

To any kingdom I run

Pearl's Dream by Bat For Lashes

I am-x-The Insomnia Princess-x-and-x-The Cootie Queen

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click.

The burning, soft eruptions springing off of the glassy platforms hitched on Carmen Denali's roaring and swank pumps sliced through the aching silence in the barren hallway. The glazed finish on the hardwood was stained with sickening muck from her opulent shoes. Her dark eyebrows were solidly drawn together, forming creases of vexation on her forehead. The stress and exasperation in her eyes was evident as she audibly sucked in her ball-shaped cheeks with a grimace.

Damn that ex-husband of mine. Always trying to get in the way and ruin things for me. What's it to him, anyway? I'll do whatever the hell I want. . .

Carmen fumed through her thoughts, occasionally launching clenched fists in the air and letting a harassed grunt or two escape her lips. Out of routine, Carmen was a ray of sunshine - sweet like honey with a warm touch of skittish and helpful. She was an optimist. A shopworn, mawkish woman with her head constantly in the clouds. Agitation or violence swayed her rarely, but when it did - well, it wasn't meant to be spoken of. If anyone could grate that angelic woman's nerves up until the second they fell off and made her blood run cold, it would be her ex-husband.

Eleazer Denali was a swine whom she had bumped shoulders with during her long weekend in her homeland, Spain. A torpid, hollow swine who was ten times her age. An urbane, handsome swine who squandered the impacts of his lonely nights, slouched on his bed and bobbing his head to Santana and downing cheap barley pop.

Son of a bitch, thinks he can scam me, thinks he can still get me into bed, thinks he can . . .

How dare he not sympathize with her career choice? Hell, what right did he have for dominating her to evolve into the local housewife who floundered around her yard all day and spruced up the flowers in her greenhouse and cooked feasts for the family, donning that stupid white apron and that ruffled blouse? She already executed all of those things. What was so wrong with chalking up a profession? Was she not shrewd or dynamic enough? Four years in college would go down the drain, right there.

Carmen was a charity worker. Her business was her pride and joy. The yin to her yang. As if on cue, the thought lifted the crooks of her mouth but that bated smile immediately dissolved away into her flesh as quickly as it came. If Carmen ever cherished anything more than her occupation, it was children. She treasured children - all children. They were pure and beautiful and angelic and cuddly and ever so dazed about this affected world we live in. Even though she fathomed it strictly contrary to reason, she yearned for them to stay that way for an ample amount of time. Whenever children are prying and their suspicions are piqued by our universal rituals, their purity negates. They utter profanities and raise their voices and slyly watch porn and stow away drugs and tobacco and have . . . sleepovers, for lack of a better word. She hated that - she loathed how the vanilla and rioting behavior is so contagious. Contagious enough to spread through the sinless minds of any child like a wildfire. It was so wrong and off-balance.

Despite the presence of her own perky and innocent twins, she had recurrently found herself itching for more children. Her 10-year old daughters, Tanya and Katherine were beautiful girls. Radiant and adorable, really. But would it hurt for Eleazer to impregnate her a few more times with that impressive penis he had lurking in those hundred-dollar jeans of his? They were in a comfortable financial patch and he could have dealt with at least 5 more whippersnappers, right? Not even for his beloved wife? How in the world could he be so selfish?

So be it, Carmen had concluded in her head. I don't need that swine. I don't need anyone. All I need is Tanya and Katherine. Although, in the back of her head, she had an all-inclusive plan. A plan that would content her to be consumed her throngs of innocent and beautiful children, day after day. She would be enveloped by them, night after night. After the divorce was final and, as was the custody of their daughters, Carmen opened the one thing she had been dreaming of ever since she was in her supple gingerliness of grief when her parents had ceased. She was an orphan. One deprived from shelter, decent home cooking or even adequate footwear. Look at her now - Carmen soared in this world like an angel-winged blue bird. Her wardrobe was a la mode, her hair was pretty, she had a medulla oblongata that had perfected every iota of sublimity and poise she has bubbling inside of her like steaming tap water today.

Orphan. Could there be a more brutal and lonely word in that massive dictionary she had sitting on her top shelf? Riverside, California was not established for orphanages and beauty. But she could change that. She could change it all. It was a relatively prominent megapolis - nothing too spectacular or rakish for that matter. It was just the largest city in the Riverside-San Bernardino metropolitan area of Southern California. The lion's share of these people uproot to San Francisco as time passes and it repopulates like a bitch.

Carmen's orphanage was impeccable. A place you could call home. A place where Carmen had a lot of blessings to offer. They welcomed children in ever-increasing numbers. She had baptized it as The White Lilies orphanage. She imagined childhood to be pure as driven snow and lily white - a chastity so irreproachable. She wanted to pilot them. Revive them.

She scrunched up her nose and draped her quivering, pasty hand around the doorknob that blazed a trail to her office. It was her sanctuary, her ivory tower, of course. The only place she could have piece of mind because the price of internal comfort was one she could not afford.

With another surly grunt, she steamily opened the door and penetrated the brink, growling like a lioness. Her feet were set apart and she hardened her wide eyes into slits at Katherine, who was impassively reading a paperback on a plastic, purple recliner with her nose swooped into the scratchy, yellow pages.

"Your father." Carmen seethed, ducking her head and causing her taut, dyed, dusky blonde chignon to sway. Kate was not at all bothered by the fragment, in its place she had heaved a large sigh and shut her paperback - The Velveteen Rabbit - before coasting it over the roll top. She clasped her miniscule hands together and gazed up at her mother, cocking her head while blinking her eyes.

"You don't look too good, Mamma. . ." She motioned with her hand for her mother to continue and Carmen instantly balanced her heavy breathing, lowering her top eyelids and closing the door behind her before lingering to her leather chair. Her conscious struck and she immediately felt out of line. No matter what happened, she would not stand in the way between the relationship of a father and his child. Never. What am I doing? I can't possibly have this conversation with Kate. Christ, I'm a mess!

How could she tell her child that she recently walked in on her ex-husband grinning like a fool and nakedly humping a stark, bare, yet wildly tattooed woman with bouncy red curls and reading glasses on the sofa? How could she explain her feelings, how devastated she was when she saw that floozy's strawberry pink nipples curl and mash against the wet mouth of the man who she once loved? The mouth she had kissed and touched. How disgusting she felt? That floozy.

Kate deftly ambled up to her mother and tenderly kneaded her hands against Carmen's wrists. "Donna is really nice, Mamma," she whispered. It wasn't very reassuring or timely of her, but Kate believed in playing her part in this pickle and her role was to unburden her patsy mother, regardless of the fact that whatever she said was futile.

Carmen burst into tears and sobs, unceremoniously launching inky mascara across her smooth flesh in ugly, black splotches. To hell with that floozy! No discretion whatsoever! And yes, I've met her but not formally!

"Mamma, cut it out already. Stop crying. You're makeup is getting all grubby and stuff! Eww." She sighed before continuing in a soft tone. "I'll never see that woman like I see you, Mamma. She's - weird, as it is."

Yeah right, like that's going to help me! Carmen thought bitterly, backhanding snot from her nose. A watery smile invaded her face and she smoothed her fingers through her daughter's shimmery, blonde hair. "Dear, you see, I - that's not what's concerning me right now. It's something - how did you meet her, Kate?"

Kate shifted uncomfortably in her seat and frowned at her mother's curiosity. "She . . . Last Saturday, me and Tanya were going to spend the day with Dad at White Park and Cold Stone Creamery - that ice cream parlor and he brought Donna along. Don't worry, Mamma. She was a polite lady, she asked about you. Nothing mean or awkward. She's smart and an overall, good person. I'm happy for Dad."

Carmen licked her lips in thought. "You always tell me about your Saturday with your father, but why didn't you tell me about this?"

Kate winced.

"Daddy says that if I told you, your feelings would be very hurt. He said your weak."

Bristled, Carmen shot up in her seat and scowled, hedging her honor. "Darling, your father is full of crap! I'm not weak!" She cried, hoping that the curse word had gone unnoticed, but her daughter chose to roll her eyes at the way her mother's tone minimized and thinned out. Weakness.

"Uh . . . Daddy thinks you should move on and I think he's right. "

"I - I can't do that. I just can't."

"Mamma! You're such a scaredy cat!"

Kate furrowed her eyebrows and Carmen sniffled. "It's just that, if I ever loved a man it would be your father. I simply can't dive into the dating pool as fast as he can. Why? Because there are many sharks in that pool. In all my life, romance meant very little to me, sweetheart. Try to understand that. Let's face it, Katie, some people are just meant to die alone. This is reality." Her voice was barely a whisper and Kate was discomposed by her mother's abrupt motive to be so shrewd and rational.

"But don't have to be alone! You have me and Tanya!"

"I do, dear. And that's all I need. I'm not truly going to be all 'me, myself and I'."

"But you're not happy either, Mamma. Not happy like Dad. I can see that. You're open-and-shut. You don't want to be happy?"

"The road to happiness in not a straight one, Darling."

"Yet, it's the only road worth traveling, no matter how curvy or rocky it is! Simon Soloveychik said that 'happiness does not depend on the size or content of a goal, but on the strength of the desire to have it'."

Carmen pinched the bridge of her nose, frustrated, and well aware that she shouldn't have pased her daughter that book of quotations. "Look, I know what I said, but we're not going to get anywhere by quoting Mehmet Ildan and Simon what's-his-face, okay? And I don't want to get anywhere, Katherine. I am the happiest I could be in my current standpoint, and -"

"Let's not blow it. Yadda yadda yadda. You know you make absolutely no sense sometimes, Mom?" Tanya cut in. She stood in front of the door, the cotton sleeves of her lilac hoodie were knotted around her hips. She applied pressure to the door with the palm of her hand before releasing it and lifting one eyebrow. The carroty dashes in her hair glinted beneath the sunlight that streamed through the window.

Kate cocked her head. "T, were you eavesdropping?" she inquired slowly and her sister huffed at her, catering to her already very fluffy hair before strolling over to Carmen's desk with a gleeful skip in her step.

"Yes and no. Mostly yes, though," she retorted and regarded her cuticles. She sat herself on top of the steep oak table before dawdling her head back and smiling teasingly at her mother. "Heeeyyy, mamma," she greeted, waving her hand side to side.

Carmen shook her head and smiled before muttering, "Hello to you too, Tanya."

"Why don't you ask Mr. Johnson out? He's really nice." Tanya pouted as the question rolled off her tongue.

"Tanya, he's a widower for crying out loud. Mrs. Johnson passed away a month ago. I can't just ask him out."

"Aha!" Tanya snapped her fingers together for effect. "You didn't deny wanting to ask him out!"

Kate giggled at this while their mother grimaced profusely. Foolish girls.

"Hey Mom, I know what we should do!" Tanya suddenly shot up and folded her posture on her scrawny knees, a rascally grin on her face. "We could have a slumber party or a girls night and then poll who you should ask out!" She excitedly clapped her hands together at the outlandish suggestion. "It'll be fun!"

Kate scraped her greasy hair together into a ponytail. "Hey, yeah. We should invite Irina, Bella, Rose and Alice too!"

Tanya scowled before it unrolled into an ugly sneer of distaste. "What are you angling at, Kate? No Chickenhead! I don't want her there! Or Alice!"

Carmen gasped, her left hand quavered the centre of her chest and she glared deplorably at her daughter. "Darling, don't call her that! Isabella is a lovely little girl. In fact, you should call her Bella."

"Yeah, and what's wrong with Alice?" Kate tightened her mouth and propped her palms on her ballerina hips. Tanya rolled her eyes.

"Bella kissed Edward on his cheek today, and she claims she hates him! Like, hello! That means she's a liar! And not to mention, she's, like, evil."

"She's just different."

"No, she's - what does Edward call her again? - ah, right, A FRUITCAKE! Whatever that means. And Alice? God, she's this weird zombie thing. All of a sudden her eyes lose focus and become all sparkly and her hair is just gross. She creeps me out!"

Heaven forbid, Alice was something out of a really good horror film. All she needed was the chiffon, white nightgown, a shebang of lacerations with violent bleeding, and an even more daunting voice and right there - she just scared the living crap out of thousands.

Carmen heaved a sigh of defeat and reclined against her chair, scrubbing her face. "Well, since it's my slumber party - I guess it's my call who gets to come and Bella, Alice and the bottom of the barrel will be there. End of discussion. Now, sit back and do whatever it is that you two do, Mommy's got to just stay still for a long time and not move. She does not want to be disturbed. Understood?"

"Yeah, while that's cool and all, but you're my mom!" Tanya protested uproariously.

"Yes, but they're like my own daughters. Don't be selfish, Sweetheart. You know those poor girls don't have anybody."

A moment of quiet cloaked the room and the two gazed at each other. Carmen twined her fingers through Tanya's strawberry blonde curls and cooed to her about being a big-hearted, admirable soul.

Katherine had pursed her lips into a hard line and was leaning across the roll top for her paperback.

"Fine." Tanya grumbled beneath her breath and crossed her arms across her chest. "But just for you!"

At this, Carmen smiled broadly. "Excellent, my dear. I knew you had it in you."

Kate snorted from the back and the two darted their eyes to her. A salty smirk graced her face and she echoed, "A heart? Yeah, Tanya has it in her somewhere." She made a show out of squinting her eyes and honing them in the halfway point of her sister's chest, where her black cardiac organ lay.

Not finding this the least bit amusing, Carmen scowled lighty and dismissed her children.

I am-x-The Insomnia Princess-x-and-x-The Cootie Queen

Bella slithered out of her beet red confetti pajamas and fingered through her closet, giggling the whole way. The day was nonsensical, so far. The Vampire Kisses lip-gloss that she had mooched from Rosalie had really come in good use. It intensified her ruby lips and helped them sparkle. It was also terribly sticky, and crass, and it tasted like cranberries drenched in apple sauce. Not a good flavour combo. When Alice artfully dared her to kiss that Masen kid on the cheek in the dining hall, Bella was convinced that she would have to find a new best friend. It was clear that her current one was just trying to disgrace her. Little did she know about the angle up Alice's sleeve. It was an experiment. Bella had consented to Alice and corrupted Edward with a scathing case of 'lip-gloss cooties.' Bella didn't know why Edward still believed in cooties, cootie insurance, and the cootie doctor who lives in Hawaii with the Japanese Santa Claus. Cooties didn't exist. But she applied logic and it dawned on her that the concrete happening of her being infested with cooties was the only way he could have her away from him.

It had worked. But not for long.

Edward said he was trampled on when Bella kissed him. She called him a second-rate drama queen. There was a sticky, bubblegum pink blaze of a kiss stamped on his cheekbone and Bella couldn't help but laugh.

In between giggles, Bella had done a double take on Edward. He looked trim and full of life. He didn't go white, faint, blind, deaf, bald, ugly. He wasn't sick as a dog. His teeth didn't fall out and neither did his clothes. The invisible cootie fairies didn't revamp him into a girl. He looked fine.

Therefore, cooties did not exist.

What was the point of even allowing such imaginary afflictions like cooties to exist? What was this highly contagious, viral bacterium that breed inside young females and are released into the air via sweat glands when in the proximity of other young boys? And how come the forms of protection include sprays, force fields and name-calling? It was ridiculous, Bella grumbled.

Bella slid into a railroad grey denim skirt and a faded green, striped tank top with aqua lace trimming. It was scorching outside. She glanced at her stretchy-striped leggings but decided not to wear them. Alice said they brought out the 'onion' on her skin. Whatever. She wormed her feet into some uptown canvas sneaks that had metal lace rings and a lovely orange buffalo check that Bella adored; they were one of her babies.

Bella left her room to arrive in exact time with story hour. She wouldn't miss this for the world.

On her way to the corner, she saw Mrs. Carmen sashaying down the hallway in a charcoal pencil skirt and a bone white chemise. Scarlet lipstick smacked tartly across her lips. She was sublime; her lurid complexion had a suspicion of olive whereas her hair that was once a sooty black and now dusky blonde.

"You look pretty today." Bella whispered wistfully, a slight smile flirting at her lips as she clutched the neckline of her top.

Mrs. Carmen grinned at Bella and paced faster to catch up. She looked down at the ten year old girl, her chestnut brown hair was tangled as always and her skin was milky pale.

"What book are we reading today, Mrs. Carmen?"

Bella's voice was throaty and soft and soused in pools of sugar.

"The Adventures of Robin Hood. Fired up?"

"Nothing but."

If it were anyone else, he or she would only know and care about the fact that Bella was an orphan and her parents were dead. Unlike them, Carmen relished in knowing the stories behind these kids – point by point.

Isabella Marie had an abnormal past. Her mother was a stunning, acutely God-fearing woman in neon clothing and rose tinted glasses. She was cheeky, barefaced and impassioned. Her father was a rebel without a cause. He was reckless, challenging and swayed Bella into becoming strident and alarming like him. They were pilots and very good ones at that. You can already see where this is going. They died in an overshadowing crash in Turkey when Bella was four. She was unscathed by it and refused to cry, yell or lose the will to live. Her parents didn't have any siblings, and Bella never met any other relatives. She oddly scorned her parents, said they were nothing like parents to begin with. Bella was zealous, frank, constructive and very happy. It was easier for her to battle with the overload of mental derangement.

Mary Alice Brandon was a strange one. She had frenziedly long black hair, wax like skin and pronounced cheekbones. She was very pretty with an angular body that was nothing but skin and bones, as if she was undernourished. Nearly anorexic. The girl didn't eat much unless it was a birthday cake. She appeared as a bouncy, happy-go-lucky kind of girl. You could tell by that upbeat gleam in her grey eyes. Though she was nothing like that. Her lips were constantly pursed, her eyes trance-inducing. Just as her behavior. Her father died when she was eight months old. Hate killed him, or so her mother heard. Whether it was Alice's, or his own, she wasn't quiet sure. He was so sadistic. Alice's mother was a catty woman completely out of touch with reality. Alice's reality. One day, her mother had a hallucination that was far from normal. Then another. Another. Fifteen hundred and twenty-five more before she was sent to an asylum for treatment.

And finally,

Edward Anthony Masen.

He was beautiful in every way - seasoned, refined, amusing, perceptive, nerdy. Adorable. Though when he first came here, he didn't speak to anybody but Rosalie. Only because she sassily squirted orange juice on his oatmeal cookies and he thought she was different than the other orphans. His parents were outstanding, completely normal. Not abstract like Bella's or overwhelming like Alice's. They were impeccable. Supreme. Everybody in Riverside had loved them. They had gotten married four years before Edward was born and had a heartbreaking miscarriage. Elizabeth Masen wanted children dearly, and Edward Senior was no different. Edward's birth had brought them bliss and grace. Elizabeth would cradle her son in her arms, perched in a recliner on the porch of their splendid house and hum melodies and coil her fingers in his tawny hair. At times, tears would slither down her cheeks - tears of joy and she would hastily wipe them away. Edward had meant everything to her. Although, Edward's birth conveyed its share of woe as well. Their family was worth a million. And Edward's father had . . . emerged into a different person. It was then that he started gambling and tempting fortune - a revolting pattern. Beers, late night outs, cigarettes, a pot belly and poker cards. Of course, he started losing his wagers as well. That's when Edward's world had momentarily paused and his father thundered into the house and with a lion's roar, he began blowing his top and swearing penetratingly about how Elizabeth never provided time for him and all she cared about was Edward. Later on, his father had reduced to a thin skinned and scathing husband who noxiously fucked his weeping wife during commercial breaks. Months later, Elizabeth was padlocking herself and her beautiful son in a cramped water closet, sheltering them from his father who was rattling his fists on the bathroom door in a drunken murk and barking foolishly like a dog. Elizabeth, who had clapped her palms over her son's ears in an act to drown out her husband's foul mouth, had earned two black eyes, a split lip, a wrenched ankle and various bruises varying from black, blue and pink. Edward? Nothing. He had gone to bed that night. Waking up in the morning was monstrous though, he found his damaged mother bleeding and sobbing at the dinner table with his father propped lifelessly on the love seat, a butcher knife rammed into his ribcage, blood moistened across the living room.

"Mommy, are you okay?" A long-suffering and submissive voice had called.

Of course, Elizabeth had treasured Edward Senior. Soon enough, she had clenched her jaw, called her son a Devil Child, cursed at him and scratched and slapped his beautiful face, scampered away from town and left Edward behind. Nobody knows what really happened, where she went and why.

The three were very coincidental. They were all born on the same day, same year. Alice was the oldest, and Bella was the youngest by a matter of hours. Alice's and Edward's mothers were best friends, while Bella was just more of a coincidence.

The comfortably silent walk ended when they reached the story room. Mrs. Carmen opened the door with zest, for she was a smiling woman. Bella admired that about her. As Bella walked in, she was hounded by an elated Rosalie and the new girl, Gianna.

Rose had her golden blonde hair in pigtail buns and she was decked out in a double layer leopard-skin mesh skirt with diamante details that Bella grew both fond and jealous of. Gianna had only been here for two weeks, she was painfully apprehensive and wore the same venerable white slipover every. Single. Day.

"Hi!" Rosalie greeted unabashedly, fondling Bella's frail body in her arms and rocking her side to side.

She rolled her eyes. She cherished Rose, but she could be burdensome and pesky if she desired. "Hey," Bella mumbled inattentively with a small smile.

Gianna waved dubiously at Bella and stalked off, she sat cross-legged on an itchy, pink throw rug in front of a little blonde boy who was eyeing her slipover in particular.

Who wouldn't?

"Ew, you smell like green tea." Rose scrunched up her nose, snickering as she sniffed the crooks of her friend's pale neck.

Bella shuddered. She hated green tea.

Alice was seated in the corner beside eight year old Joan, she was glowering intently at the swamp green carpeting, fisting the hem of her sleeveless tunic.

"Alice!" Bella called out but she never jacked up her head. Her eyes were trained on the floor. Soon, she brought up her knees and hugged them solidly to her chest, trembling back and forth. Joan snuck away from her.

Bella wouldn't.

"Alice," Rosalie tried, but no response. The girl didn't even blink. Finally Alice looked up and her face broke into a whale of a grin. She rose and twirled around in a pirouette , giggling. Bella cocked her head in awe, mouth slightly agape.

What's she doing?

Rose flexed her bare toes and marched forwards to Mrs. Carmen. She was getting ready with the book.

"Settle down, my white lillies. It's time for . . ."

Carmen paused, and shook away a lewd mimicry playing in her head . . .

Carmen ferretted out her voice again. "Story hour." She took a seat on a recliner and leaned back, thrusting the red-framed glasses up her nose.

"Robin Hood is one of the earliest British gangsters."

Snickers poured forth throughout the room, abnormally from the teenagers. Carmen cracked a smile. "He steals wealth from the undeserving, or dishonorable, and delivers the stolen wealth to the poor."

"He wears tights, has a grown beard so his father could see him with some scruff on his face. He is so thin, that he would make Alice look fat." She spared a teasing glance at Alice who grinned. "Such wispy hair that it would make Rosalie's look like cheap extentions."

"He is a good man. Though, in actuality, only one of the charactors on whom the stories are based ever gave to the poor, after taking a share for himself. Also, Maid Marian of Sherwood forest did not exist in the same time as any of them."

More snickers.

"Today, being a Robin Hood is all about taking from the haves, to deliver to the 'have nots'. This is actually rather communist."

Giggles. Mrs. Carmen was hilarious. They adored her terribly so.

"It's like when a person says 'The government wants to take my hard earned money to give to foreigners who haven't done a day's work in their lives. They think they're robin hood or something'." Carmen deepened her voice of a male's and the snickers roused into flat out laughter.

"Today we will read Howard Pyle's, The Adventures of Robin Hood." She cleared her throat and opened the book, and begun to read.

"Sherwood in the twilight, is Robin Hood awake? Grey and ghostly shadows are glided through the brake, shadows of dappled deer, dreaming of the morn', dreaming of a shadowy man that winds a shadowy horn. By Alfred Noyes, Sherwood, 1903. Chapter 1, the good spirit of Sherwood. King Richard the first . . ."

The sharp, blossomy fragrance of Mrs. Carmen's Kylie Minogue perfume floated through Edward's nostrils and hit him like a stockpile of bricks. He opened his eyes at once. He had dozed off.

Figures. He teared his moss green eyes around to see if anyone had noticed. Of course not. Nobody cared.

Edward derived pleasure from sleep, perhaps more than others. It was like his own brand of heroin or catnip but he was hooked at birth. Though, his birth was menacing - it was also very tiring. He had heavy eye lids, tense muscles, confusion, boredom and he watched reruns of the 10:00 pm news. Sleep was the closest way to experience death without actually dying. Seemingly nothing exists while you are asleep, except when you dream.

Sleep was refreshing, calming and anything could happen. He wasn't a morning person. He liked to sleep in, even if that meant skipping seven AM classes.

Last night, Edward didn't sleep. It was weird. Edward always slept, come hell or high water. The last time he didn't sleep was when Edward Senior left him. That's been a long time.

He didn't sleep at all last night, he whiled the hours away by scrubbing his face with his palms or hammering the Encyclopedia of Space on his head, blackmailing his senses to go to catch a few z's and in a matter of seconds, he would be in slumberland but failing miserably.

He woke up early that day, he didn't have any sugar or any caffiene. He wasn't hyper or jittery about anything. Yet, he didn't sleep the whole night. It was flabbergasting. Where was the Sandman when you needed him?

Edward held that fruitcake, Bella Maire responsible. Or Cruella Marie. He knew Cruella since the first day he came here, she was a fruitcake. She donned multicolored, vibrant clothes and danced around at random as she sung the 'la-la-la's and she's joined at the hip with Alice and Rosalie. She glued little cartoon stickers on her chicken wings to make them look interesting. She never untangled her cowlicks - which was something they had in common. She was really cute and the worst part was - okay, there are TWO worst parts. The first one was she was born on the same day he and Alice was, yet she seemed nothing like him. She was weird. And pretty. The second worst part was that she was the reason he can't sleep.

It had been passed around that Cruella had insomnia. She occasionaly slept. They say she fritters away at the night, slinking into to the dining hall and chowing down chocolate poptarts. Edward wouldn't know, he sleeps at night. At first, Edward refused to believe it. How is she so pretty without sleep? It's contraty to reason. I'm probably good-looking because I sleep, Edward would vindicate.

But it was true. Bella didn't sleep - much. She rubbed it off on him on purpose, by kissing his cheek. He told her not to get anywhere near him. She was weird, and she didn't sleep. She was nothing like him - except maybe that she's an orphan and she was really pretty. She was a fruitcake.

But Edward knew. It's impossible to be corrupted and defiled by insomnia.

Then why didn't he sleep?

Edward scrubbed his face again, grousing.

"Is there something wrong, Edward?" Mrs. Carmen asked tactfully. He peered up at her and sighed, swalloing thickly. "No, it's nothing." Edward croaked. Did she notice his bloodshot eyes? Do ten year olds even have bloodshot eyes? He caught Bella smirking at him from his peripherals and shot daggers at her. She smirked wider.

Tanya crept closer to Edward and grinned. He could smell her. She smelt like mango and deodrant. He didn't like the scent so he crept away from her. She kept creeping closer with that same creepy grin on her face. Edward shuddered.

From behind her, he noticed Kate scoffing silently and rolling her eyes. God bless her.

I am-x-The Insomnia Princess-x-and-x-The Cootie Queen

Rosalie Hale had suffered tremendously. Her mother was the legendary town whore from Seattle, for she stripped. Her mother seemed to relieve chaotic, childhood experiences by disrobing and rubbing her snatch on a brass pole in front of men that cared for her like her father did. Local men used to pay her $20 for a five minute dry hump. The faultfinding town's people called her a stupid bitch who just sacrificed what would be an extraordinary future, because she got pregnant when she was a naive teenager by a loser and now gets naked for dollars to support her bastard child. It hurt Rosalie to be titled the bastard child. She wasn't a bastard child. She was just a beautiful, faultless princess with an ill fate. Her father dominated a topless bar devoted to men. Rosalie Hale had stomached a bowl of pain. She didn't know how they died, she didn't want to know or need to know. They just did. They were indecent people. They loved her, and she loved them too but they were indecent. Obscene and lewd.

Rosalie Hale was a good girl. At least to some blurred point.

Jasper Whitlock was the reason for Alice's ongoing bitterness. He was a cute, drowsy boy with corkscrew, sandy hair who digested worms. And butterflies, maybe. He was Rosalie's outlying cousin from Dallas, Texas. He thought the reason he didn't get adopted was because of her. They came as a package, if she didn't go, neither did he. Sometimes couples don't want snotty-nosed, spoon-fed little brats like Rose. If they wanted her, they would have to take Jasper. No couple ever wanted them both. It was aggravating.

Jasper didn't like Alice Brandon. He thinks she's weird and a little creepy. Sure, Alice is really pretty. But she's scrawny too and her hair almost reaches the back of her knees. An ethereal little creature. Like a goblin. He used to have a crush on Isabella Marie, but she's weird too, so, who needs girls? . . .

Alice has a skeleton in her cupboard, a rather brazen one. She has a crush on Jasper Hale.

Jasper didn't like Alice. He felt superior to her. Bella despised him for it.

There was Ponds cold cream glazed on either side of Alice's face as Bella resumed plucking her best friend's eyebrows. She was straddling Alice's rib cage with her feet dropping down the sides of the bed. Bella wanted Jasper to like Alice, the girl was going insane without him.

Rose was on her knees beside Alice's feet and giving her a pedicure. She was refining the ground fine edges of her nails with utter concentration and refused to be distracted. She wanted him to like her too, he was so annoying. He needed to spend time with someone else other than Edward, Emmett McCarty and her.

Alice Cullen was getting a makeover. Although Alice was one of the cutest girls on the premises - cheekbones to kill for, ingenious smile, eyelashes that are practically a foot long and all - she needed to move to a whole different level of beauty and adorableness. She may have not had goofy teeth, acne and an enormous wart on her nose but that's what makeovers are. At least that's what Rosalie's tween magazines were telling her.

"You really don't have to do this, guys," Alice protested, tenting her fingers over her mouth, slightly decreasing her voice. She hardly cringed under Bella's weight, her eyes closed peacefully. Every now and then she would mutter 'Watch it' or 'Stop.'

She was a very good customer, Bella thought. Patience is a virtue. Though Alice really wasn't paying the two girls, her happiness is all they yearned for. And happiness was a small metal hinged box with pointy edges, rapped with barbed-wire and hidden in a dark room full of electric eels, razorblades, piles of salt crystals with fans behind them and random pools of lemon juice.

Bella frowned. "But we want to."

They were nestled in Bella's bed. Her Shearling bedspread felt soft and fuzzy beneath her legs as they shifted positions recurrently.

"No, I mean, I think Jasper would still like me if I didn't use Ponds or pluck my eyebrows or get pedicures. And I don't really like pedicures, they're icky . . . "

Bella's hand hovered involuntarily to her chest and she gasped melodramatically. "What are you saying?" She was sure that eyebrows and soft cheeks were what mouse-trapped boys. Delicious, soft skin that makes a face convex. The perfect thing for any cute girl's face. Alice had ghastly eyebrows, they were unruly and thinning, practically nonexistent. Plus those little hairy thingies prevent sweat from entering your eyes and irritating you terribly.

Rosalie figured that Alice had pretty feet but grim toe nails. Her feet were so pale and white that her toe nails were the same color. It was disturbing and obviously created no more contrast than Bella's arms and a red tank top. She wanted to color them in.

'He doesn't like you to begin with,' Rosalie wanted to say but she cockled her lips and kept it in. "Alice. Shut up. We know what we're doing, right Bella?"

No answer. "Bella?"

Bella was glaring at the corner of Alice's eyebrows, her tongue licking her lips. "Rose, there's an extra hair and I think it's ingrown or something. If I touch it then-" her plucker brushed against the hair and Alice cried out. Bella turned to Rosalie who rolled her eyes, "she'll get hurt if I pluck it."

"We know what we're doing," Rose mumbled again and Alice giggled.

Silly. Alice didn't need a change of clothes - that's for sure. She wore only the best branded clothes out there. Right now in her cool & cozy, Vintage Wash red sweater by Wildfox Couture that read 'Malibu Girl', half the orphanage would be green eyed. Alice had a sixth sense when it came to clothes, one of the reasons why Bella adored her.

"Don't move!" Bella commanded to Alice, whose body was vibrating with laughter.

After Bella finished her left eyebrow, she examined it from each angle. It looked good. Pleasant. Well-thought-out. Alice was a knockout. Bella felt proud of herself.

Watch out, Jazz!

I am-x-The Insomnia Princess-x-and-x-The Cootie Queen

Emmett McCarty was hilarious.

Everyone loved him.

He was huggable, kissable, throttle-able (at least to Bella.)

Emmett had dimples. Rosalie liked dimples, her mother used to say that her cheeks were still too paunchy and her smile wasn't pretty enough to have them. No fair. Her mother had precious, little dimples, her mother's smile wasn't pretty and her cheeks were sagging but she had dimples. How was this fair? Rose had grimaced, stomped her foot and screeched, 'I. Want. Dimples!'.

Stupid genetics.

Spoiled, unruly child . . .

Emmett and Rosalie cared for one another. A whole lot. Rose fancied him because he made her laugh and he had crazy cute dimples. Emmett liked her because she wasn't as girly and pink like Tanya Denali, she was spoiled - true, but she talked about sports, convertibles and she was penetrating. Enough to drive him bonkers.

Poor kid.

Edward lounged on an oak, lawn seat with his face engulfed in his palms. He was sleepy. Sluggish.

"Why do you look like that?" An aloof, feminine voice asked that he recognized all too well. Edward looked up to see that fruitcake, Bella, standing before him. Cruella. He kept his eyes trained on hers.

"You," he rasped dramatically. He couldn't sleep because he was tainted with Isabella's insomnia. She hiked up an eyebrow at him and chose to overlook the malice.

"Ooh. You're tired," Cruella sang and plopped down next to him. She gnawed on her pop tart.

Edward peeked at her through his fingers. She had noticed. He was tired.

O-kayy. That was weird.

"I think I'm tired."

Bella nodded but kept quiet.

The silence was perpetually painful.

She decided to break it. "Edward?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry I kissed your cheeks and you got lip-gloss cooties. If that's why you're mad at me. I hate to break it to you, but there's no such thing."

Startled, Edward ogled her. Appraised her. She was much weirder up close. And cuter, for all one knows. A black pug hastened past their feet , wagging his tail, and Bella snorted. It was Tanya's disjointed dog. The one she had chalked up last Christmas. Twelve feet away, Tanya drooped down and scooped him up in her arms dotingly as he purred. Chirped. Barked. Whatever.

Edward crushed his spine against the support of the bench and let out a flurry of air. He was pretty. His tawny hair bedazzled beneath the sunlight, his sleek, pale flesh glistened. He was sheathed in a navy blue polo, tattered jeans and a pair of extravagant sneakers. Bella wrinkled her nose in fleeting envy at those.

"I know." He kept his eyes clocked on that stupid black pug as Tanya caressed it. Bella was flabbergasted. What could he tangibly see in that revolting creature? And her dog?

Tanya was imploring to the eyes but inside she was a mountain of sticky, green Goo and musty, sour gummy bears.

"You knew? You accused me of having cooties for at least three years every time I touched you." Bella knew he was a liar. A fabricator. A phony. He was. This just validated her suspicions.

"I didn't want you touching me, I think."

Bella sneered. Edward secretly liked it.

"You actually believe those rumors about my cooties and craziness being deadly and infectious? Please, sleepyhead."

"I don't believe them. My dad always told me to be keep my eyes peeled around everyone is all. I guess."

Dr. Masen. Yes, Bella knew his father by a wide margin. Her wayward mother used to be his patient. He was a psychiatrist. There were lies circulating about them sleeping together, but Bella and Edward didn't need to know the nitty gritty to that. Of course, Dr. Masen lost his job eventually and migrated to his fellow poker buddies downtown and all hell broke loose.

"Do you guess about everything?"

"Only if I'm not sure."

"And you're not ever sure."

"Sometimes positive."

"No you're not. . . Are you?"

Edward made no effort to field her question. How could he? He wasn't a big fan of pointing out his own flaws, at times, anyway. Another thing Dr. Masen rubbed off on him. Bella jolted her shoes together and contemplated as Edward brooded over the lustrous, pale skin of his wrist wretchedly. Tanya had tackled her greasy, black pug to the grass; she was giggling like crazy and rolling around the garden with him adjacent to her chest.

Bella was once again distressed by the silence leaking through her and Edward.

She decided to ask him something that had been carping at her for over 15 minutes.

"So, why are you and Rosalie friends?" Bella appointed her words very gingerly. She had no fixed purpose to sadden him or try his patience. For a 10 year old, he had a temper.

He sighed swimmingly in return. "She's nice."

Bella nodded. "Alice once told me that 'stereotypes' is a term used to define all people of a certain belief into a mostly negative category that may only reflect a selected few of the racial demographics. The only reason I memorized the whole thing is because she says it at least five times a day."

"I think Alice is cool."

Edward liked Alice. Though sometimes he's engrossed by her offbeat turmoil and verdicts.

"She is so cool! And Jasper's reeeally nice too. I'm sure he doesn't feed on insects when he's hungry."

Edward rolled his eyes. "Whatever. What about Emmett?"

Emmett was daunting on the outside. Once the dimples smile came into view, that rundown was long forgotten.

Bella shrugged her shoulders. "I think that's the same thing. Though, Emmett is a little scary."

Edward finally looked at Bella. She realized he really was dead to the world. Exhausted. His eyes were punctuated with shadowy purple wheels that complimented his wax-like cheekbones. That couldn't possibly be healthy.

He swallowed thickly but appeared very flexible and cooler than a cucumber. "What about you?" he croaked. Bella's eyebrows almost stretched to her hairline.

"Why, do I have spinach in my teeth? I didn't want to eat those veggie rolls! It was an accident!"

Edward swept his chilled fingertips against her forearm and knitted his eyebrows. She was calculative. "You're not just some fruitcake."

Bella was taken aback. Overwhelmed. She cringed and perked her head up at him. Where did that horrible nickname come from?

"In fact," he continued, "I'm sure of it. Positive actually."

I am-x-The Insomnia Princess-x-and-x-The Cootie Queen

One week later . . .

Bella was arrayed in a pasty white, longline cotton T-shirt which held an outstretched neckline and a quirky poodle motif. She had paired it with a flower-patterned skirt that was shaped like a lantern and she eyed people's shoes as she frittered away, her back adjacent to a tree. Her chestnut brown locks gleamed beneath the sunlight, disclosing layers of a shadowy yet distinct red. Beside her sat an insightful Rosalie, eyes tightened into slits as she regarded the heinously scribbled page of the newspaper they - by agreement - stole from their P.E coach's office.

Coach Johnson was an honorable man (you have to be when you offer your services in an orphanage) and even if he was aware of the daily void of his newspaper, which he always was, he was never upset.

Rose grimaced searchingly at the numbered and gridded boxes - all aligned into a covert crossword puzzle - as she willed each of the squares to have a letter.

None of them did.

Tapping the peaked end of a fountain pen against her jaw line, Rose rigidly questioned, "What starts with a b and ends with s and is ten letters long?"

"Bellyaches," answered Bella, her tone drowsy but nimble. Rose swerved her distressing glare to her. With hooded eyes, Bella picked at the crimson hair scrunchie strained around her wrist bone and drummed her fingers against the yellowing grass.

"Biologists!" Edward guessed with conviction, approaching the two with a hesitant, rawboned girl in shabby sneakers, Chelsea Incheras, and a bedraggled Jasper Whitlock by his side.

"Why would it be biologists?" Bella plowed her eyebrows together.

"Why would it be bellyaches?"

"Maybe it's bench press," Jasper thought aloud, his voice motionless. They all paused.

Rosalie gazed up at her endeared cousin. "I think you're right. A Japanese, self-dense martial arts that starts with a K?"

"I know that one! Karate!" Chelsea chimed in, clapping her hands in vibrancy.

Edward and Bella continued to give each other the stink eye before a foreshadowed truce cloaked their moment of quiet and Edward sat down on the ground. They both eyed their friends vigilantly.

"Four letter word somehow related to the nebula?" Rosalie mumbled inattentively, grazing the tip of her fountain pen across the Dear Jenny section which was tucked away beneath the crossword puzzle.

Dear Jenny, I'm an intelligent, 17-year old, attractive girl and my boyfriend thinks I'm not - healthy - and is certain that I have yeast infection because of a misunderstanding but, here's the thing : I don't! It's such an unscrupulous attack to my reputation. He won't come near me and neither will my friends. We haven't engaged in intercourse in what feels likes ages and I need relief from all this crazy, nail-biting tension. I'm just mere minutes away from my parents finding out about this revengeful and cheap rumor and what will happen then? Will they disown me? Mom and Dad are right of the centre! Orthodox, the religious and conservative type. Their traditional diehard, fuddy-duddies! This will ruin my life. What should I do? I am so confused! You are my only hope, Jenny! - Yours truly, STDfree Girl.

"Star," Edward and Bella both replied in unison and caught each other's eyes - before bursting into a clodhopping fit of laughs and giggles.

Rosalie's head reared up and she rolled her eyes at them. "I knew that one," she said with full intent.

"What's the matter, Rosie? Wanna play hide-and-seek?" Jasper asked restlessly as he jounced and repeatedly poked the expanse of sun-kissed skin on his cousin's forearm with his fingers.

"Are you an alien?" Edward asked Bella randomly, reclining his head.

"Of course not."

"Then why are your eyes so big?"

"They just are."

"Do you miss your planet?"

"Edward!" Rosalie chided, folding up the newspaper into a cylinder and thumping it on his head. "Don't be mean!"

"I'm not being mean. I'm just asking a question."

"I'm not an alien. Plus, aliens don't exist," Bella countered.

"Well that's not true," Edward glowered

"How do you know they do?"

"How do you know they don't?"

"Stop! I have something to tell you guys," Rose interrupted their mooting once again, her voice was allying a broken whistle as she screeched. Chelsea made a mental note to remind Rose to never turn out musical.

The group - mildly frightened - silenced and three heads spun in the blonde's direction, who had pertly stowed her hands on her hips and leveled her lips into a frown.

They were champing at the bit for the piece of importation she was going to trumpet, for Rosalie had been in the sourest of moods all day. Not even Emmett's concave dimples or a Sibylline crossword puzzle or Jasper's fake Southern drawl could cheer her up today. (For you see, he didn't posses the infamous Texan accent because his parents and the rest of his family did not because they all grew up in the Midwest). She was officially ticked off.

And that was unheard of. Despite their immortal quest to be adopted, the childhoods that frittered around their orphanage was never ticked off or sour. It was a place to call home and home never pertained to the dark and cut-throat thoughts that were storming through Rose's mind right now. The supervisor of the elementary school children, Nora Christian, would have freaked out.

Although Rose didn't care what Mrs. Christian thought about this. She was livid and she was going to let herself be livid. It was just in her nature.

Hardening her eyes, she asked, "Do you remember Irina Jensen? Little Miss Europe. She was sent here a year ago from Switzerland and hangs out mostly with Tanya and Kate."

Irina Jensen was a scathing, well-proportioned girl with rhinestone earrings. Her complexion was chalky with highly-colored hints of a summer tan and she had parallel, cold sapphire eyes with pasty blonde hair strained into place. And that was just the thing about Irina. She was cold. Disturbingly, viciously cold. Everything about her was cold, literally and figuratively speaking. Her skin, her eyes, her hair, her personality and her voice. Even her smile was acid and malicious. Kate was all heart and Tanya was just obnoxious but Irina was something else. The one thing she felt twinges of passion for was appearance. It meant the world to her. She loved her face and her hair and her clothes and she made the most out of it. Nobody really enjoyed talking to Irina. Most of them did not because they were spooked by her. She was a creepy girl - not the way Alice was creepy, Alice was still cordial, she was just fickle, but Irina? Irina was a bloodthirsty robot.

Truth be told, Bella was peeved by her. Isabella was a particular target of Irina's wrath - a target she seemed to loathe. Although Bella didn't understand why. She never did anything to her. Rosalie had an aversion towards Irina, her nose scrunched up in barefaced disgust whenever she saw Little Miss Europe approach. Emmett was a cheerful boy, he had never made his distaste visible. Edward, Alice and Jasper, though, thought otherwise. Alice - the delusional and scary goblin that she was - insisted that Irina was just what you could call different and you needed time to warm up to her. She insisted that Irina had a radiant soul that was caged by poisonous snakes and thorny vines and a whole lot of dust. Edward and Jasper? They thought she was smart and cool and pretty, and that the others were way over their heads for thinking that Irina was – well, the way she was.

"I wouldn't be able to forget somebody like her even if I tried, Rose," Bella responded stoically, truly disturbed by Irina's intentions and just like that, a chill had ran up her spine.

"Well, I've got front-page news on her." Rosalie declared proudly as she crossed her arms over her chest. Chelsea was as curious as ever so she leaned in with broad eyes. "What is it?" she stage-whispered, excited.

Rose seemed to open her mouth and then close it again, contemplating whether she should say it or not. But with an exhale, she managed to get it out in one breath. "She'sgettingadopted. There. I said it."

Jasper cocked his head. "I think that's good news."

People get adopted all the time. What was the big deal about this, thought Edward. He chose to voice his opinions later on.

"No! You guys don't know who's adopting her!"

"Well, do you?" asked Edward, bending one eyebrow.

"Of course I do!"

"Is it that clerk from the lollipop store we go to? He said something about him and his wife wanting to adopt," Bella contributed to the discussion.

"No! It's - It's . . . Mrs. Carmen."

I am-x-The Insomnia Princess-x-and-x-The Cootie Queen

The walls fatigued a majestic, terra cotta oak with golden brown music notes chiseled to the ceilings. Auburn, large scale violins and pochettes were propped up against them with their reedy, black bows resting listlessly by their sides. The floor was abstractly tiled, with splashy, woolen throw rugs layering various spots. A black electric guitar was on a bister shelf along with a dozen, multicolored ones.

Triangles, a ranging set of drums, trumpets and horns, amplifying devices, a kazoo, even a golden-rimmed harp . . .

Yet Bella's eyes were zeroed in on the one instrument that sat in the corner. It appeared as satin onyx that had been glazed and sleeked numerous times a day. It erected upright yet the length varied considerably. It was a Concert Grand Piano. In terms of tone-quality, the longer the strings, the superior and richer the timbre, which is why the most gilt-edged pianos are repeatedly concert Grands. Baby Grands can often have a second- tone & touch (even compared to uprights!), because the strings are so short and plump. Bella preferred these.

Behind it was a wooden framed picture a 3ft-10in Monington & Weston six Octave Baby Grand in a mahogany case, and the rear view of a 7ft-4in Bechstein model C Grand in an ebonized case.

It was Ms. Anderson's room. She was an unruffled, churchly dame who was best at fingering the harp. Though seeing her shimmying and rocking out on the electric guitar had made others shudder, it made Bella grin broadly.

Ms. Anderson was a particularly antisocial woman. A hermit. No children, no husband. She kept to herself and Chopin. Friday evenings, she would convey Bella by the wrist into her recherché room and give her piano lessons. Bella had agreed in good faith.

The piano had underlined the pinnacle of human music technology, which was ironic to Ms. Anderson but not surprising to Bella.

Bella knew that piano was a lifetime commitment. Though, she hardly practiced these days. Ms. Anderson was not the same as she was a year ago. She had a mental problem. She didn't comes to White Lilies anymore. Their new music teacher was a vexatious pushover.

Sharps and flats. Chordophones. Versatility. It was all she could think of for weeks of practice. It was tiresome, but refreshing.

She inhaled sharply and her feet plodded to the wooden bench. She eased into it and steadied her posture, stoically eyeballing the keys. It had been so long.

Keys begin, keys end. You know there are 88 of them. Nobody can tell you any different. They are not infinite. You're infinite.

A scarlet tinted booklet was propped on top of the piano. She read the page title and cockled her lips - Review: The Key of 'C' Major.

"Block chords," she whispered, the distressed pitches of her tone cut through the dizzying silence and her fingertips fluttered to her temple. Her hands were quaking, her nails cropped symmetrically and she positioned the pads of her fingers on the edge of ten keys, sweeping her moist tongue over her lips.

P Down In The Val - Ley so

Bella growled when her pointer finger jostled a wrong note. It was so disheartening. When she applied the words to sound, on the instrument and her mouth, it had come out uneven, ripply and soft. Marred. It needed a lot of restoration.

She sighed.

low Late in the eve

ning Hear the wind blow

Hear the wind blow love,

Bella grunted again. "This is so hard!"

"I didn't know you played any instruments," a cordial, male voice muttered distinctly. Bella made no movement to turn around. Instead she propped her elbows on the board and palmed her cheeks in defeat, exhaling.

"I play. But I'm not that good. Anymore," she replied faintly.

She eyed the bluish green vase of lemon yellow tulips that sat on teacher's desk. It was pretty.

Edward trudged his way up to her and caught sight of Bella's expression. His eyebrows hiked up at the added layer of shamefulness on her face. He folded his arms on the rear of Ms. Anderson's piano.

"Who taught you?"

"Our old music teacher," Bella grumbled.

He smirked. "Oh yeah. She got me into trouble."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing much. Me and Emmett messed up her room a little after school. We spilled orange juice and water on her precious notes, syllabus. By accident. Everything fell over and then we tried to put it back up but ended up tearing it apart. You know how she kept everything so neat and tidy."

She nodded.

"A week of detention," he concluded.

Detention at an orphanage. How unnerving. Bella had a decent record in the orphanage. She was not infatuated with it but she rather keep it clean and virtuous than taint it with restraints and indoor suspension. Edward took a few short steps across the expanse of crayoned carpet. The detention room was off-base. If you were in it, you were off-base. There were photos of skydiving hanging on the walls and sports brochures with ads of greasy, topless men were on the coffee table. It was more of a waiting room devoted to a doctor's office than a detention room. Who designed it?

Bella floundered her brunette curls over her shoulder and intertwined her fingers. "Do you play anything?'

Edward shrugged his shoulders. "The xylophone, I think."

Bella smothered an eye roll. Everybody in their batch played the xylophone. It was the only thing their new music instructor taught them for months and it sucked. At first, Edward had enjoyed wielding the mallet to strike the wooden keys. At first, Bella had enjoyed the delicate sound it formed. Yet, it got old. Fast. She understood why 'fads' and 'passing fancies' never worked out now. She understood why Alice was right.

"Anything else?"

"No. Not really. Once, Ms. Anderson tried to teach me and Alice the harp."

Bella's face gladdened. "I love the harp!" She gushed. The music may have been haunting, but it was phenomenal.

"What about the piano?"

"The piano's so - blah. I mean, I like it. But it's too much work."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "My parents played the piano."

"Really?" She slanted her head and thrashed a finger around the cheap string of her bracelet.

He nodded. "My dad played sometimes. He played a little like you."

Bella was taken aback. She didn't how to stomach that. Was it because she was out of practice and her talent was rusty? He didn't admire his father, that much she knew. And he was comparing her to him. This was okay. Bella knew he didn't like her either. She didn't forecast him to - for she disliked him to a resembling degree. But that was uncalled for.

She scowled at him. He grinned.

At best, it was an encouragement. A shot in her arm. A boost. Bella could show him. Practice makes perfect, after all. She could practice. She could create divine melodies. She could do it all. She was Isabella Marie.

Nobody was disrupting her. Bella wrenched the booklet off the piano board and stormed out of the music room, leaving behind a smirking Edward.

I am-x-The Insomnia Princess-x-and-x-The Cootie Queen

One Year Later . . .

March 23rd.

Irina was the same tart, conceited little girl she was a year ago. Except she was a year older. Her hair was frizzier, her cheekbones were higher, and her frigid eyes were incurably icier. Except this year, she was no longer known as Little Miss Europe or Irina Jensen. No. She was Irina Denali. This year, something inside her had felt a rapport. It wasn't her cold, black heart. She loathed various, new things and she had fancied various, new things. She had admired apple juice and grapefruit. She had grown fond of a rococo Mascara brand. She was doting over the mango-scented deodorant Tanya had made the most of. Along with Edward Masen. He was her new fixation, her new ax to grind, her new bug in the ear, her new delusion.

Irina had also come to feel hatred over cookies and other sweetened, confectionary items. Did you see the leftover flesh holed up within her underarms and legs? Why, she was practically a baby elephant! In reality, that was a misjudgment. She was actually a broomstick. Irina was repelled by her math partner at school. He was a long-limbed dork with harsh skin inflammation - his face mirroring a pepperoni pizza with a set of beady eyes, a crooked nose, a practically nonexistent mouth- and he kept pestering the poor girl for a spare fountain pen. Ugh! Why couldn't he leave her alone? Other than him, Irina also felt bile rising up her throat at the mere approach of Isabella Marie and her cronies, setting aside Edward Masen of course.

So there she stood, in a cutting edge, hidebound, violet dress from Spain that Eleazer had anted up to her as a present, with one trifling arm wrapped around her waistline in a defensive manner, making a face at the outspoken brunette girl, the elfin raven-haired girl with the haunting eyes and the boy she lived for, who was spiking a hand through his reddish-brown hair. There they were, standing casually next to each other, each giggling savagely apart from Alice who had smiled gradually here and there. Alice snickered whenever Bella - Chickenhead, Irina rather call her - unintentionally coated the button of her nose with ivory white frosting.

Irina clenched her face in nausea. Gross, why is she smiling? I'd take a bee line to the wash room if that ever happened to me!

There they were with glowing, pink cheeks, indistinct elation in their charming little dresses. Bella had cute shoes.

It was their birthday. Irina found it sinister to be born on the same day with two people who aren't even blood-related to you. Multihued, square-shaped scraps of confetti and caramel showered the floor and their hair as Bella and Alice giggled. There was glitter and candied goodies everywhere.

Irina sneered and stiffened her clasp on the plastic red cup of Pepsi. They were entitled to the hoary, bloodthirsty care from Catholic orphanages. Who throws birthday blowouts at contempo orphanages? For people like those two? A simple "Hey, it's your birthday, right? Oh. Well, Happy Birthday" would do and then you could just move on with your life.

But noooo, you had to throw an inane party for Christ's sake. Irina had to get rid of Bella and Alice at this rate, or any rate for that matter.

Rosalie skedaddled over to Bella and hurled her arms around her neck. "Happy Birthday, B! Gah." She did the same to Alice. "I'm so jealous. I hate being 10, I want to be 11. Now!" She grinned.

She turned to Edward and fondled him tightly as well, rocking back and forth.

"Stop it, Rosalie," Edward halted her.

Jasper was eyeballing worms yearningly out the window and Alice quirked an eyebrow at him. "What are you doing?" she asked softly. He sighed and zoomed past her. He didn't even notice the new eyebrows. He never did. He never noticed her.

Emmett sprung back into the room and snuck up behind Rosalie. He hitched down one la-di-da, Swiss Miss braid and she shrieked, reeling around on the bare heels of her feet with a grimace. She smacked his head upside-down and he laughed. "Emmett!" She squeaked.

"Rosie!" He laughed again.

"Stop it!"

"You stop it!"

"I didn't do anything!"

"Yes you did!"

"Did not!"

"Did too!"

"DID NOT!"

"DID TOO!"

And on and on they went.

Edward smiled at Bella. Like, really smiled. He hardly smiled in all sincerity at her. It was either depthless, or wry, or arrogant and mean, or just this queasy kind of a snarl thing.

Bella never smiled that way at him. Or any way. Sometimes, the corner of her lips would twitch in an unnatural motion and that was that. She never felt like smiling at him. He was such a meanie. Who cares if he's cute?

"Happy Birthday, Bella." Edward grinned. Cruella. He was beginning to really enjoy that nickname.

Bella's mouth twitched that warped way again and she bobbed her head. "You too . . . Edward." Pronouncing his name was toilsome. She never said it. She acknowledged it. She thought it. She wrote it. You could count the times she said it on one hand.

He wasn't distressed by it. He was perceptive when it came to their gap, and he was pleased with it. But there was one thing Edward had wanted to ask her, ever since a year ago. He cleared his throat.

"Uh, Bella?"

She hummed in response, kicking her legs in and out as they swung from her seat. She eyed the leather belt on her pretty shoes peculiarly.

"I was wondering . . . Do you have insomnia?"

It was fleet, and urgent, but Bella caught it just fine. Her head shot up and her eyes met his. "What?"

"Are you an insomniac?" Maybe she doesn't know what it means . . .

"Why?" She tightened her eyes.

"No reason. I just . . . heard."

Bella nodded intelligibly. Her back softened against the wall and she shook her head. "No."

Edward cleared his throat again. "So, you sleep?"

"Everybody sleeps, Edward." She nodded but didn't have the decency to elaborate.

She didn't care.

The back door lilted open and a blur of dark blonde hair and an orange pencil skirt flashed across her eyes. Mrs. Carmen.

"Bella? Alice? Could you come downstairs for a minute? There's someone here to see you."

A smirking Irina followed Carmen out the door and Bella knitted her eyebrows. Mrs. Carmen was frantically happy. Strange. She was beaming. The top of her cheeks nearly touched her eyelids.

Alice nonchalantly tugged on Bella's arm and dragged her out of her seat blindly. Bella's knees fell on the floor in a heap and she glared at her best friend.

Edward stalked off.

I am-x-The Insomnia Princess-x-and-x-The Cootie Queen

Carmen sat upright in her goatskin, revolving chair, her hands intertwined on the roll top desk with an ecstatic grin coated across the lower half of her face. It was a miraculous day. The golden chignon warped firmly on the top of her head liberated various clusters of her hair but she didn't notice. She was too happy.

A married couple sat across from her.

It was the couple inspecting the birthday party upstairs.

It was them.

The woman had egg-shaped, cinnamon eyes the size of saucers set on a gaunt face. Her fringed, sinewy hair appeared greasy and limp yet appealing, it extended to her midriff and was black. She had a pearly, bloodless skin tone and coral pink cheeks with four moles pimpling her hairline. There was a strained bandana knotted around her broad forehead and ornate scarves were curtaining her collarbones. Her sagging, peaches-and-cream purple tank top entertained a classic tye dye with a scoop neck. She had imbalanced it with a high-waisted, flared gluey white skirt that had small peaked pleats at the sides with a contrasting navy hem. Her ankle was propped over one scrawny knee and Bella's eyebrows hiked up at the shoe she witnessed. A black mesh ankle boot with apricot colored outlining, an oval toe and a high heel.

Whoever this woman was, her fashion sense was out of proportion. It oddly flattered her.

The man had operated a nonchalant illusion of himself. He had impeccably docked, Vandyke brown hair with one sleek cowlick beetling out from the front. The burnt sienna in his eyes were hooded and his brawny arms were unshorn and fleecy. There was a suspicion of stubble on his face and he had a chocolate brown mustache planted above his upper lip. He was arrayed in the most folksy and teal, button down flannel shirt with the sleeves spiraled up to his elbows and some dingy dress pants. He wasn't smiling like his wife. His lips were tightened and he was concentrating. He was very handsome.

They were a young couple, in their mid or late twenties.

"Bella, Alice. I would like you to meet Renee and Charlie Swan. Renee and Charlie, this is Mary Alicia Brandon and Isabella Marie."

Before Bella could open her mouth and exalt pleasantries, Renee squeaked.

She squeaked.

"Charlie! Look, it's them. Oh, aren't they precious?" Renee jabbered, languishing eyes silently mapping a baffled Bella and Alice's twiggy figures. Carmen loosed a peal of ladylike laughter.

Alice's face clouded up. "I'm eleven," she growled.

Charlie smirked but Renee was not at all agitated. "Precious!" she chimed.

"Nice to meet you." Bella smiled. She liked her.

"Come here, come here. Both of you!"

Bella screwed up her nose and trudged to the eccentric woman. Alice echoed her action as best as she could.

Renee suspended her limbs around their necks, crushing their faces flat against her enormous breasts. "We're going to have so much fun." Her voice was forlorn and feminine, but it was also prompt. She smelt of granola bars and Alice had a suspecting feeling she tasted like one too. Her tight grip was maternal and gracious and ample, in contempt of her gaunt build. She must have lived on granola bars.

Carmen clapped her hands together and bombarded the couple with a stiff smile, as she rose from her perch. "I'll let you two get familiar with the girls." And with that, she sashayed out the door, firing a swift wink at Bella's direction over her shoulder.

Charlie leaned forward and scrutinized the tops of their heads. "They're sweet," He whispered into his wife's ear and she peered up at him through her goopy eyelashes, a pale tinge of pink sweeping through her cheekbones. She smiled and nodded her head.

They were in love. It was pretty and sweet and entrancing to look at. If Bella recalled love, Mrs. Carmen and Mr. Eleazer would strike her mind. Josia Gilber Holland had said that 'The most beautiful sight this Earth affords is a man or woman so filled with love that duty is only a name, and its performance the natural outflow and expression of the love which has become the central principle of their life'.

Bella wondered what love was and what it felt like. Was it ticklish and bitter? Or was it vibrant and beautiful? How did it feel to fall in love? Do you instantly plummet to the floor and does your heart literally leap out of your chest? Do rose colored paper hearts breeze around your hair? Do your eyes become starry? Does the background become a scenery of a meadow sprinkled with divine buttercups and violets and a crystal water stream? Or was it none of those things and it was just a piercing and sharp sensation that painfully shot up your bones and you wanted it to scram?

The love she welcomed for her friends and Mrs. Carmen and her parents was a contrasting type of love, she supposed. She never had any of those feelings when she hugged them or talked sweetly or blushed. Why are people so scornful and ironic about love, she pondered? It was bewitching to look at. She wanted to play with fire for something like love. Love looked like something everyone should have. Be it her, or Tanya. She felt an immaculate ruth and mercy and sorrow and warmth for those who lacked it. Herself, for instance.

Bella sided earnestly with Gianna Braschi.

"I love hiccups and I love sneezes and I love blinks and I love belches and I love gluttons. I love hair. I love bears. For me, the round. For me, the world."

Alice blinked. "Are you adopting Edward too?" she inquired abruptly, blankly, and stared at them. Charlie and Renee glimpsed at each other ponderously like thrifty adults do when they handle a situation with kid gloves before Renee beamed down at Alice.

"We - Who's Edward?" She had answered her question with another question.

That was bad.

Bella cocked her head and wagged a shred of her thick, brown hair over a shoulder, lifting an eyebrow in an act of courage. "It's his birthday today."

Charlie's eyes seemed to dilate. "Three of you were born on the same day?" He queried incredulously. Alice visibly gritted her teeth at this and she narrowed her eyes defensively.

"Sort of. Alice's and Edward's moms were BFFs and all that so they were planned. I was entirely coince-"

She paused and peeked up at them expectantly.

"Coincidental?" Renee finished for her with a meager smile tucked into her mouth. Bella licked her lips as her cheeks pinkened.

Charlie nodded intelligibly at Bella. "He was that boy with the reddish brown hair. Right? Yeah, Renee, I think we saw him." A fully toned and guttural chuckle rumbled up his jugular. It was uncanny and sounded as if it pertained to an enfeebled, prudent senior citizen rather than this handsome young adult . . . but it oddly fit him.

Suited him.

Alice took a few short steps across the expanse of leaden carpet and beetled her pointed chin out. "You didn't answer my question."

"Aw, no, sweetie. We'll do with the two of you," Renee responded fluently as she leaned back in her chair and shook her head from side to side.

Bella's cardiac organ lurched and a putrid lump hardened in her throat. It wasn't like she didn't know. She knew. She fathomed they were here for adoption but saying it out loud brought them to an entirely new level that Bella wasn't used to. Most couples don't target her. She was known for being constantly on a collision course, wild and overzealous, whimsical and staying up late at night. She hardly combs her hair. She was offbeat and erratic, weird even. A fruitcake, wasn't that what Edward called her? She nearly forgot how to play the piano. She was musing in a faraway la-la land during class and chewing the rear end of her pencil. Though she may have been perky and attractive, it's just not what people are looking for in a child. A normal child.

What kind of a couple would want a normal child with a perplexing nature?

Apparently, the Swans.

---

Alright peeps, I did say 'down below'! Okay so, settle in. C'mon, fetch a seat, a canister of cyberpopcorn. I've got a platter of vanilla frappuchino coffee if anyone wants a cup.

Now, honestly, what the hell did you think? Did you like it? Love it? Hate it? Not sure? Leave a review and don't leave me hanging onto my hat. I woun't keep my shirt on forever (pun def not intended). I should also disclose that reviews fuel my fire, which would help the next chapter air sometime soon, so, be a dear and press that button. You know you want to. In the meantime, here are some recs because Paprika and me aren't cruel, heartless mutants in toto. Leave reviews for these stories as well, they'll rock your sox off:

The Woods are Lovely, Dark, and Deep by bananapankcakes7

Doesn't that title make you shudder? I don't know, it makes me shudder for some reason. Not that I don't like Robert Frost. Anyways, you HAVE to read this fic. The first arc will you leave pondering why the hell this story is AU, I know it will. It did it to me too. But the author is cool and I think she has something heartstopping in stock for us. Go, read, now!

Fault by ineedyoursway

Before you throw a brick at my head, I'm very aware that this story is kicking the asses of 95% of the fandom. Since I care about the other 5%, this is for you. If you are one of the people who aren't reading, then I do not what you do with your FF time. And I don't think I want to, because that's just wrooooong, babe. This fic is unreal. It's a High School AH were the characters are just so fucking relatable, your throat will dry up from saying 'I've been there' over and over again. Even if they are tormented teenagers. Not only is it relatable, it's different. It's not something we're actually use to because the characters are a far cry from James the pervert, Edward the womanizer, Bella the self-conscious-but-not-self-conscious mary sue and I LOVE that. It just has sublime depth, you just have go read it!

The Baker's Magic Buns by ciaobella27

Okay, okay, shut up. This lil bitch was recced at the Fictionators (a very good blog) recently. It's a very short story, like, a chapter. But I swear to God, you will laugh so much that your nose will thump your keyboard so hard that you'll fucking break your 'G' key. I know I did. At the same time, you will also please your G-spot. And I'm a very fangirly when it comes to this author after reading her other story, Living Backwards. This story is maaagiiiical, and I'm not just saying that. Your childhood fairytales are gonna come to life in kooky and lewd, Twific-related ways and you'll say 'Yeah, I've always wondered why the Third Little Pig was such a bitch to his brothers'. Plus, a fic about Edward's buns and a nude Old Mother Hubbard is totally worth a shot, no? What an interesting picture . . .

Buh-bye, darlings. Don't forget to review. Excuse me for sounding desperate but I really want to update soon and the ability to do is in your hands . . . I know, I know, I'm a total mush ;D.

And until next time,

Your bitch (Ok, not really),

~Electra (psssst. . . follow me on twitter. Same handle. No space, though.)