Step One: "Denial is a defense mechanism postulated by Sigmund Freud, in which a person is faced with a fact that is too uncomfortable to accept and rejects it instead, insisting that it is not true despite what may be overwhelming evidence."

Song of the step: "Black Mirror" by: The Arcade Fire.

Song of the chapter: "Dammit" by: Blink-182.

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Chapter Two: A Lunch With Fate?

The day dawned, much to the disparagement of the students of the Fernwyck School District. The sounds of sychronized groaning in every household when the children awoke for the day were staggering, and the mothers were bemoaning the fact that they were no longer able to sleep in in the mornings, but get up with their offspring to make sure they were all good and ready. Coffee was commonly brewed from one house to the next, and the roads were filled by school buses, SUVs, sedans, minivans and pick-up trucks, all for the purpose of education. At eight-o-clock sharp the middle and high school went into session, with the elementary soon following.

Being a small town, there was not unlimited space for the educational buildings. The elementary and middle school were on the same campus as one another, with the high school located a few blocks down the road. All three behemoth institutions were built of firehouse brick with black tarred roofs. The classrooms themselves were done up in either pale, robin's-egg blue or an off-white shade. Carpeting was standardly brown, and where there was no carpet, slate-coloured linoleum took its place.

Rosalie Lillian Hale examined her own classroom, its posters displaying the alphabet and numbers from 1 to 100, the colours, and the shapes. It was a tranquil place, and she could tell that some good hours would be spent here. She had always loved children, especially those little ones that were in the kindergarten range. They were just so sweet and unassuming, malleable unlike their adult counterparts. She could be herself with no preconceptions other than being honest and being appropriate. And that is why she wasn't nervous for her first day of teaching. It wasn't the stint she had done as a teacher's assistant that had prepared her for this, it was the kids themselves that made her feel at home.

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As he sat back in his desk chair, Jasper wondered to himself why he was teaching where he was. The subject itself was explainable; he'd always enjoyed History, particularly that of the U.S. The location was homely, he'd grew up here in Fernwyck, and he had lots of friends here. But the grade level? That he would never understand...

Middle-school was a hellish time, and one could pretty much guarantee the kids only saw it as a stepping stone to high school, the supposed glory land. It almost pained him knowing that most of the kids who would go onto high school would wish that maybe middle-school hadn't flown by so fast. That they would have slowed down, and prepared themselves for what high school truly was, a living hell unless you were one of the lucky few who were on top of the social structure.

But that was the problem with kids and with education these days. They were always looking towards the next step, the next test. The love of learning, the quality of it had all but disappeared in recent years. Students who enjoyed school were few and far in between. Parents lived vicariously through their children because they had failed when they were in school. Failed to do what they subconsciously wanted because they were worried about moving on or acing an exam. What a pity.

The bell rang, and his first period students filed in, looking peeved. Jasper smiled. This should be an interesting class. It ought not to be too bad on the kid's part, seeing as the ineffectual bureaucracy of the schools had decreed that the first and second days of class were to be allotted to going over the class syllabus. He always hated this stipulation, thinking to himself that the kids could just read it at home, and the first couple days wouldn't be wasted on reiterating rules that had been pounded into the children's head from day one of their education anyway. They ought to know them, and therefore what was the point of wasting so much time with nothing new?

-x-x-x-

Her Franco Sarto boots made clicking noises as she walked up to the little building where she worked. Her office was on the second floor of the establishment. It wasn't too bad of a commute from Fernwyck to Algodon, only around twenty-five minutes. She'd one-hand the steering wheel and sip her morning tea on the way to work, and then fill up her cup when she got to the office. That was her day-to-day routine.

Her office itself was in creative chaos, with design books and papers all about, mingling with her desk clutter and other such items. That's how it always was when she was in the middle of a project, and she had made it routine to do a big office cleaning only when and if she completed the project.

Right now she was in the midst of planning a fiftieth-anniversary party for a nice elderly couple who lived on Stanisbury Lane here in Algodon. Their names were Michael and Janine Freedman, and Alice was hard-pressed to find nicer people to work with. The Freedmans were the epitome of every event manager's perfect client. They knew what they wanted, they had a decent budget, and pretty much gave the planner free reign. It was working out quite nicely so far.

They would be holding their party at the Algodon Country Club, a popular spot for get-togethers in the county, and the actual event would be an outdoor one. There would be a huge canopy tent pitched on the lawn to accomodate all the guests and extended family, and dinner would be served for a mere seventy-five people. The menu was fairly straightforward, except the Freedmans had asked that there be some vegetarian courses for their daughter and her family. To top it all off, there would be a layered cake and champagne toast so that it would almost be like a second wedding, except that no vows would be taken.

Bella had been contracted to do the centerpiece arrangements, and for that, Alice was glad she could suggest her. Friends help friends out, after all. She'd even angled Bella and Edward invites, so that Alice wouldn't have to go alone. She wanted to see her masterpiece when it was complete.

She just had one ticket left, and she was trying to decide on who to ask. She could invite Rosalie, it would be only polite, but then again usually she asked one of her boys to come with her. Emmett was always a fun "date," especially when it was time to dance. Yes, she'd have to ask him if he'd go.

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Lunchtime commenced, and the teachers breathed a sigh of relief. Rosalie was in between A.M and P.M kindergarten, and as much as she was enjoying it so far, she needed a break. You had to watch the little ones every second, and so there was no time just to slow down and take a breath.

She selected a salad and some bottled water, setting it all on a bright blue lunch tray to take to the teacher's lounge. A few of the teachers were already seated inside, while still others were subjected to the torture of waiting in line to get their lunches behind the students. She didn't envy them.

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He had promised Alice he would have lunch with Rosalie. That request in itself seemed innocent enough to the outside observer, but Jasper knew it wasn't all that innocent. This little game had been going on for years, ever since high school. A new girl would come along, and Alice would shove him in that direction with her little hints and "Oh Jazz, won't you?"'s that she knew he couldn't resist. It was madness.

He had thought that maybe, just maybe after all these years that she would start to add everything up, to realize that in the end, all the girls she tried to set him up with went away, and yet she and he were still just friends, a fact that irritated him to no end because it wasn't enough.

Alice had been the first, and so far only girl he had ever loved. He wanted to be with her so bad, but she just wouldn't let him. Jasper was sure she didn't even contemplate them together, hell, he might as well be her blood brother with all the romantic attention she had lavished on him.

So he wasn't surprised, merely frustrated when she had asked him to take lunch with the new girl. He remembered back to the car ride, where he had once again shelved his pride and gave in. "Fine, I will have lunch with her." Jesus, he really hated himself sometimes...

And there she was...

"Hey, Miss Hale, why don't you sit with me?" he motioned to her, and saw the look of relief flash across her face. All in a day's work, he grumbled to himself. She came over with her salad and bottled water, and sat down across from him.

"So, how was your first class? Little tykes behave themselves?"

Rosalie smiled. "For the most part, but you know kids. They have a mind of their own," she answered.

"True, but even adults can be petulant." He could easily think of one such example.

"Yeah, but adults are worse. Kids are fairly innocent; that's why I like being around them. They don't have ulterior motives," Rose explained. "But how about you? Middle school working out for you?"

"It does from time to time. I have this little punk in my class though, kid thinks he's the greatest thing to ever walk the planet. I hate kids like that..."

"Sometimes you just have to work a little harder with them, that's all. There's usually a reason they act out," she said, looking a little mischievious as she stared at me from under her lashes. Dammit, she was flirting with me now, he thought venomously. He knew what Alice would want him to do...

"Do you umm... want to... well Friday nights we go and get a drink, it's tradition?" he stumbled, willing himself just to get the words out.

"Come again?" Rose asked.

"I just wanted to know if you would like to have drinks with us on Friday. The whole group goes out, it's tradition," he said, sucking in a huge breath after saying it all on one long breath. He congratulated himself for doing it.

"Oh, yeah, that sounds fun," she agreed, sounding mildly disappointed. Whatever, he thought. She agreed, and that was the point of it. He couldn't suck up the courage to ask her out on a solo date. Maybe after he'd had a drink or two on Friday, then he might be okay. It wasn't called liquid courage for nothing after all.

"Well then, if that's settled, I'm gonna go grade some of the kid's tests. They took away my planning period this semester; they wanted me to go ahead and teach 20th Century History as well."

"All right. I'll get in touch with you later then?"

"Sure. Call me anytime."

Rosalie floundered as Jasper relievedly made his escape. She mouthed, "I don't have your number..." hopelessly, but he was already out of the room, moving like a bat out of hell. Rose sighed. At least there was always the phone directory...

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Jasper was happy to get back to his classroom, and even more euphoric that he didn't have to outright lie to accomplish this feat. It was true he had papers to grade, but the thing is, technically he had plenty of time to grade them when he got home. Maybe he'd treat himself to a gratuitous shower instead, what with all the extra time. Read a book or something useful.

As usual, his rather pedantic student Marcus was waiting outside the door. Marcus was always the first one back from lunch, in fact Jasper sometimes wondered if the kid even ate at all. Sure the kid was eager to learn, unlike most, but why did he have to forgo lunch?

"Hey Mark, are you prepped for the pop quiz today?" Jasper asked him sternly, unlocking the classroom door only to swing it open. His student filed in after him, setting his red backpack on one of the front-row desks.

"Yeah, Mr. Whitlock, I'm think I've got it in the bag," Marcus answered, pulling out his history textbook from the backpack. "But just in case," he added thoughtfully, "I might want to give this another read."

Jasper sat behind the teacher's desk, picked up a red marking pen, and slapped the first test sheet he came in contact with down on the desk's surface. Without even eyeing the master key, he began grading the test. He worked in companionable silence while Marcus read the textbook.

Inevitably something had to break the silence. The phone on his desk began ringing, and he sighed heavily, set the pen down, and picked up the reciever before it could make any more noises. The ring of it was so annoying...

"Mr. Whitlock's room. Speaking," he rattled off dutifully, his hand picking up the pen again anyway. He liked to keep his hands busy.

"Hi Jazz, it's Alice." He smiled.

"What's up with you, Ali?" he wondered aloud, daring to hope.

"I was just checking on you...so did you have lunch with Rosalie?" she wanted to know. His hand clenched tightly around the pen, threatening to snap it in half.

"Yes, I did," he said, trying to keep the hurt out of his voice.

"Good boy. And what else...did you ask her out?"

"No, but I did invite her to the brewery for Friday. You know, with the whole group."

"Oh...I see," she said, the disappointment tempering her voice. His heart sank, and he felt conflicting emotions well up inside him. He was angry. And sad. And he didn't know which emotion was stronger right now. He wanted to scream about how much he wanted her, how much he didn't want to go out with this new girl. But in the end, he knew he would do what he had always done. He would yield.

"I just thought it would be a little forward to ask her out right now," he sighed, lying through his teeth.

"Okay, I guess I can understand that. Well, I'll let you get back to molding those young minds, Jazzy, don't work yourself too hard!" she giggled, and it sounded like bells to him. His breath hitched, and his hand shook a little.

"All right, have fun making other people's dreams come true," he said, knowing she'd hardly sense the hidden meaning in that. She murmured a goodbye, and then they hung up. He felt drained after that little phone call, knowing that the cycle was just starting all over again. She'd pressure, he'd yield, he'd go out with someone he didn't like, hate himself, and then find some way to break up with the girl and make excuses to Alice. Then it would happen again...and again, and again. He had no doubt that it would always be this way, and with that thought, he was melancholy.

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Author's Note: This story has been bugging me for a while now...it just demands to be written. I would really like to get some reviews, not just alerts and favourites. Please, pretty please?

I am one of 25 authors that has been chosen to write a "lemon" for BritishBitches' First Annual Twilight Smut-Vent Calendar! My one-shot will be posted in their story on December 4th. If anyone would like to go give it a read, now you know about it. Also go ahead and check out the other entries, the first of which was posted today. There's so much talent, I think you'll be blown away.