Hello, Twilight fandom. This a little project of mine that I've nurtured from fledgling idea to, well, one chapter. But don't think that's all I have in store. This is a story following the life of one Madeline Zalisego, a big city girl who's struggling to fit into the consistency of La Push, believing that it holds nothing for her, until she meets a guy who introduces her a brand of magic sorely lacking from the skyscrapers and shows of her home. It takes place during the point in the Twilight series in which Bella and Jacob aren't speaking (the first couple of chapters of Eclipse). Edward has returned; Quil, Seth, and Leah have become werewolves; Jared and Quil have imprinted. But Jacob has not shown up at Bella's school yet. Except for the first little section, which takes place in the future and sets this story up.
So I hope you enjoy my little pet project! I hope this first chapter isn't too monotonous—I'm trying to set Madeline's situation up first, and I think it's extremely unrealistic for her to meet the wolves immediately.
"So, Emily is trying to document all of the legends?"
He nodded into my neck, at the nape of which he was gently twirling my hair around his big fingers. "She thinks we should keep records, for the next generations." By the way he was breathing on my skin, I could tell that talking about Emily was not what he wanted to be doing at the moment…
Giggling, I pushed him away. "That's a good idea, you know. It would be nice if you guys had something to go by now."
Embry shrugged against the pillow he was now taking comfort on as he idly spun the wedding ring on my finger; he couldn't wear one, because it would shatter the second he phased. "I guess. It's kind of like instinct now, you know?"
"I'd love to help. I am always talking about how I don't do enough for the pack…maybe I could write something?"
"Like what?" My excitement was catching, and I doubt Embry even realized that a mirroring smile was spreading across his face.
I thought about this for a moment, while he doodled across my skin, his fingertip leaving a trail of that werewolf heat that warmed his body. It, as always, made my little imprint heart speed up…wait a minute.
"Got it," I proclaimed, reaching over him for a pad of paper that lay, collecting dust, on the nightstand.
"I didn't know you could write," he added, watching my frustration as I searched through the drawers for a working ink pen.
"I can't. But it's kind of like writing a diary."
Triumphantly, I uncapped one and scrawled the title across the top of the page, laughing as Embry attempted to read from a strange angle.
"You guys don't know much about imprinting, right? I mean, the only cases you have to go by are the ones that you have, and those are still shocking the hell out of everybody, cause it hasn't happened in a long time…correct?"
"Yeah…" He finally took my budding masterpiece, aka the title, from my hands.
"I present to you, Imprinting for Dummies," I said proudly, as he snorted at me. "Now leave me alone, I have to write." I put the pen to paper and began to tell my story. I was sixteen years old, and the only thing I could tell you about La Push was that it was damn easy to get lost.
I slipped into the room, trying to close the door gently behind me. Unfortunately, the hinges had other ideas, and everyone turned their heads to the creaking. Not that the teacher wouldn't have noticed me anyway.
"Oh? What do we have here?"
I gulped at the sight of her angry eyes. Yeah, annoyance was the best first impression from a teacher to a student. "Sorry, I'm new. I got kind of lost." I attempted to stroll into the nearest empty seat, but a sharp click of her tongue interrupted me.
"What's your name?"
"Madeline Zalisego. You know, the new Culinary teacher's daughter? Yeah."
She surveyed my trek to aforementioned empty seat, and mentioned that I shouldn't be late to class again and should see her afterward, as I slumped into the cold plastic of the chair. Well, at least something was familiar, I thought as I drummed my fingernails on the faux-wood desktop.
I saw a couple of kids watching me from the corner of their eyes; that part was a little weird. Back home, people would hardly cast a second glance at you, not scrutinize you like an ant under a magnifying glass. Of course, I did stick out like a sore thumb.
Pulling a notebook a pen from my messenger bag, I tried to follow the math example that my teacher was currently scribbling on the projector, but was aptly failing miserably. Math. These kids were ages ahead of us, and I was pretty sure that the math book I had been using was blue, not the tacky orange that stared up at me. Then again, I could have been wrong; I hadn't many an occasion to crack that bad boy open.
Three minutes into class and I was already missing New York. Okay, that was wrong—I had already been missing New York, all day, but it hadn't seemed so bad in English, where we were starting a unit on Shakespearian plays. Yum. But graphing quadratic equations wasn't as heartwarming. Not that I'd have understood it up there, but at least I would have felt comfortable in all my lack of general math knowledge. There was something about a new place that just made me feel a little unconfident.
In the middle of a waging war with my self-assurance, I idly bit at my lip. This was ridiculous—confidence was my thing! My ever-present float device that kept me buoyant when I was doing outrageous things like belt 1980's Broadway music on the subway, or walking down the street alone in the wee morning. How did the state of Washington turn me into a total pussy? Pssh, it was probably the rain, turning my soul to a wet mush.
As the bell rang, I scowled down at my mostly empty notebook. At least I learned one thing—massive internal dialogues were not good for my attention span. I shoved it all into my bag and walked up to my teacher's desk. Oh, god, what was her name? Mrs…Brecker. Right, I knew that.
"Mrs. Zalisego, I don't know what teachers in New York do, but in La Push we usually discipline those whom find themselves late to class."
"I'm sorry. I just keep getting lost, and I'm not used to the time difference, or the schedule yet. It's been a little difficult adjusting, but I'm sure I'll have it all down by next week." I gave her a thumbs up and a smile.
She mulled over this for a moment before replying, "Since it is your first day, I'll cut you a little slack. But don't try it again."
"Got it." I didn't even need to fish my schedule out of my back pocket to know where I was going next. I'd been excited for my mother's class all day, if only because it meant a sense of familiarity. First, however, I needed to put my math book away.
Walking down the halls was strange; I was used to shoving, pushing, and an array of people in various stages of fornication up against lockers. This school was far less crowded, and people seemed to be able to keep their hands to themselves. For the most part. A rather frisky couple was lounging right next to my locker, his fingers tightly looped through her belt loops. Good lord, the guy was almost as tall as the row of lockers, and I thought he was about the crush the twig in his arms. Standing next to them, twirling my combination into the lock, I could feel the heat radiating off of them. Ewwww.
Come on, in New York people would have at least been doing something to provide a good show, I laughed to myself, and I made it away from the oblivious lovebirds as fast as I could.
In my mother's room, the familiar smell of apple cinnamon and chocolate cookies swirled straight into my face, and I felt like I was sniffing around heaven. She gave me a big smile as I walked in, and abandoned her desk to come see me.
"Hey, Maddie. How's the first day?"
I shrugged. "I've been late to three out of four classes, these kids almost had sex on top of me by my locker, and everyone keeps staring."
"Well why do you think they're staring?"
"Umm…cause I'm the white girl from New York City? And it probably has something to do with the blue in my hair," I guessed. My mother chuckled and fingered a few of my formerly brown, presently brown and blue-tipped, locks.
"Does my little stageling have a problem with attention now?"
I stepped out of her touch. "Not really. But it's a little unnerving—and I thought we talked about how this is a good opportunity for you to stop treating me like this at work?" I raised an eyebrow.
My mother rolled her eyes. "Okay, Miss, go find an empty cooking station—wait, what did you say your name was?"
"Okay, we can play that game if you want." I turned to deposit my stuff somewhere.
"It's Madeline, right? What a pretty name; your mother must have some serious talent for nomenclature," she teased over the chiming of the bell. The last few hall stragglers scurried into class. When I tried to walk off, my mother grabbed my sleeve and pulled.
"Class, this is my daughter, Maddie. I expect you'll make her feel as welcome as you've made me." She pointed out where she wanted me and began with her lesson.
Even though we weren't having a one-on-one conversation, I felt a lot cheerier being around my mother. She'd accepted this job at the beginning of the school year, and left me behind at home, to stay with my father. We thought it would be best for me to complete my high school career surrounded by familiar faces, and she could move back up for the summers…but I couldn't do it. I mean, it had been her and me my whole life (dad was an intricate part, but I'd never stayed with him for longer than a weekend). And since it was only my sophomore year…well, here I was. In La Push, Washington. State of the Rain. Or mud. Or green. Something like that. Maybe it was just the reservation.
Mom loved it, however; she'd spent a few years living here when she was my age, adopted by some friendly natives with big hearts. She was devastated when they passed, and that's how she found herself in the Big Apple, a longing to get as far away from La Push as possible.
Most people assume that I'm also a culinary guru, like my dear mother, but they couldn't turn that into more of a lie if they tried. And she was bound to go harder on me than anyone else—this is one class I needed to pay attention in.
When I made it to the safety of my bed that night, I wondered if coming to La Push had been the right decision. I'd barely spoken to anyone, and at lunch I sat with my mom. Yeah, way to brand myself the loser on the first day. I grabbed my phone off of my nightstand and hit the first speed dial and speaker phone button. As it rang, I began to strip off my clothing and gather my pajamas.
"Maddster? How was your first day?" I bit back a sigh of relief at my best friend's voice.
"Do you know how pale I am, Vi? And you should have seen their faces when they heard me talking…"
She laughed that little trill that I'd grown used to. "Give them a day or two. I'm sure your mad social skills will win them over."
"Yeah, about those…I think I left them at your place. Think you can mail them back?"
"Maddie, baby, you're going to be fine. You're just not used to it."
"Did you know that this whole place is covered in trees? I didn't know that there were this many trees. And did I mention that Washington doesn't have Broadway, Violet? Because it doesn't. I have enough money to try for RENT lotto, but I can't. Was it you that told me moving here was a bad idea? Because you were right." Pulling up my sweats and a shirt over my head, I collapsed back onto my bed.
"You're so dramatic, Maddie," she sighed, and I could hear her eyes rolling. "Give it some time. Breathe in the fresh air. Go catch some bugs. I don't know, just try and fall in love with it. Go to a party, make some friends."
"I doubt that any concept of a party I might hold would seriously not compute here. Did I tell you about the trees yet?"
"You told me about the trees." She paused. "Madeline, I love you, and I know that Washington will too. You just have to give it a little time. The poor dears have probably never seen anyone with hair tips to match their eyes," Violet laughed. "Anyway, I'm like three hours ahead of you over here, and I should have been asleep yesterday…"
"Go to bed! And if the world ends over there, give me a 24 hour heads up, mmkay?"
She laughed. "Will do. I love you, Maddster."
"Ditto, Violet."
I pressed the end button with my pinkie and curled up amongst my pile of pillows. The only lights on were the Christmas lights adorning the molding at the top of my walls. With the constant pattering of raindrops echoing outside my window taking the place of traffic and the buzz of nightlife, I drifted off to sleep.
I hope you sort of enjoyed what I have so far, and don't think Madeline is a total cliché. I'm avoiding all of the emo past, medical condition, abusive parents situations and trying to make her as real as possible.
So please leave your thoughts and comments, and I'll take them to heart.
Oh, and I'm pronouncing her name 'Mad-a-lynn' because that's how I've always said the name, but a friend pointed out that many people read it as 'Mad-a-line.'