CH 2 – I Get Around

Should I call her?

I stare at her card. She gave it to me, so she must want me to call her. Of course, it's because she thinks I'm an idiot and I'm going to give her money. But hey, I'm not picky.

I pick up the phone and dial the digits but the call goes straight to voicemail.

Thank you for calling Rosalie Hale, academic facilitator.

I wonder if my number shows up unknown. And how many times can I call before she gets weirded out?

I'm currently with another client. Please leave your name, phone number and area of study and I'll get back to you within the next twenty-four hours. Have a great learning day!

The beep catches me off guard, even though I've been utilizing voicemail for at least a decade.

"Um, hi, Rose. Er, Rosalie Hale. This is Edward Masen. Phone number is 867-5309. I need help in math. Calculus." Oh my God, I'm a complete tool. Hang up!

"Have a great day," I mumble before hanging up the phone. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

I venture out into the living room and collapse on the couch. I want to die. I want to shrivel up and die right here on this plaid twill sofa. Just as I'm contemplating running away to the ministry, Alice and her camera crew explode through the front door.

"I'm busy with rehearsals for my play. It's an original script, written and directed by yours truly. Opening night is in five weeks and I'm just hoping I don't have any complications that would take me away from that." Alice wants to be an actress. She smears her belly with cocoa butter morning, noon and night to protect against stretch marks.

I turn on the TV, trying to force them into another room, but Alice sits down on the couch right next to me. Once she's down, she's not likely to get up. The producer asks her how she plans to juggle the responsibilities of parenthood with her career aspiration, and she tells them what she told my parents.

"If Angelina Jolie can do it, so can I," she says confidently.

She's actually really talented. Her ability to alter her personality on cue is impressive. And she's able to conjure up the most asinine rationalizations for shit. Like the time she stole my car so she could go clubbing with her friends. She told my parents their rules were stifling her creativity.

"I need a variety of life experiences to draw from," she had said. "At least I'm not on drugs. When Drew Barrymore was my age, she'd already been to rehab twice."

And my parents, in their effort to create an environment primed for prodigious development, handed over their credit card. You know, for emergencies.

"Edward! Alice! Dinner's on!" My mom yells from the kitchen. She's wearing an apron over her pantsuit and she rushes from the room to reapply her lipstick.

"I'm going out," Alice yells back and my mom peeks her head into the living room. The cameraman hones in, the potential for a dramatic showdown whetting his appetite for familial conflict.

"But I made your favorite, veggie lasagna," my mom says, heartbroken. She glances at the camera, practically willing her eyes to mist.

"Put it in the fridge. I'll eat it when I get home. Jasper's picking me up in fifteen."

"I thought you broke up," I say. A thousand channels and there's never anything on.

"We were on a break. We're trying to work things out for the baby," Alice scoffs. Her hand rests affectionately on the massive goiter spilling from her abdomen.

"Why can't Jasper come here? We can play Scattegories," my mom suggests and Alice blows up.

"I never get to do anything! I just need to get out of this house!" She storms upstairs, the crew like hungry hyenas scrambling to get a piece of the kill. She slams a door and my mom's quick to apologize.

"You're right, honey. You've been under a lot of stress lately. It's not good for the baby," she yells upstairs and Alice reemerges, leaning over the banister.

"That's what I was trying to tell you! But you never listen to me." Just then there's a honk, and Alice and her pack are out the door.

Jasper never comes in. He's afraid of my parents. They have a tendency to be a little overprotective of Alice.

"Be careful!" Mom yells after her. Her timer goes off and she hurries to check her lasagna.

We sit at the dining table and wait for Dad to get home. He's almost always home by seven but tonight he's running late. My mom refuses to eat without him.

I stare at my empty plate, the casserole dish in front of me steaming with fresh, homemade tomato sauce and melted cheese. My mom clears her throat a dozen times, tries to find something she can talk to me about, but it's futile. We have nothing in common.

"No game tonight?" she asks and I shake my head.

"Nope, we have a bye."

"What do you have planned for this weekend?" She folds her napkin for the tenth time. Rectangle. Square. Repeat.

"I have Saturday school," I say, tracing the pattern of the table cloth with my butter knife.

"Oh, is that an extra credit program?" she asks and I smirk.

"Kind of," I say and she nods.

"You need that extra credit if you want to get into a good college. Have you started applying?" My mom went to a private university. Thirty-thousand dollars a year. She majored in liberal studies.

"Nope," I say and my Dad walks through the door. She jumps up to greet him.

"Daddy's home!" she announces and I cringe. I hate it when she calls him that. It reminds me of this porno I watched once.

"How was your day?" She takes his coat and briefcase as he settles into his chair at the head of the table. He exhales, takes a look around, and frowns.

"Where's Alice?" he asks.

"She went out." My mom serves him a large rectangle of lasagna, bustling around the table like an excited puppy.

He takes a deep breath, removes his glasses, and rubs his eyes. He's disappointed.

He doesn't say another word, just digs into his cheesy noodles and we spend the rest of the meal in silence.

I retire to my room, intent on watching a few episodes of Top Gear. Maybe play a few races on Forza in my underwear. I'm twenty minutes into an endurance race when my cell phone goes off. I think it might be Rose. But it's just a text. From Jessica.

She's drunk and stranded at Tyler Crowley's house. Damn, it's not even ten yet.

I put my pants back on and get in my car. I've picked her up from Tyler's house three weekends in a row. You'd think she'd just ask me to tag along by now. Merely out of convenience.

Lauren's standing on the porch with her when I pull up to the house. It's cold out and all I can see is the fog of her breath swirling around her face. She's been crying. And she's petting her phone.

"Edward!" she whines when she sees me, her arms wrapping around my neck. "My hero!"

I put my arm around her waist, supporting her weight as she drags her feet to my car.

"I love you, Edward. You're so good to me. You're just a great, great guy," she says. I help her into the front seat and buckle her seatbelt. She keeps talking about how nice I am but she's having trouble with her consonant blends. Her body's shivering so I give her my heavy flannel jacket and crank up the heat.

"Keep your eyes open, Jess." Last time she passed out in my car, she puked.

Just as I'm pulling out of the driveway, my phone rings.

"Hello?" I answer and clear my throat. I turn off the radio, turn down the heater. I wish I could turn off Jessica.

"Hi, Edward? This is Rosalie Hale, academic facilitator?" Like she needs an introduction.

"Why doesn't Mike like me?" Jessica asks me. Apparently she can't tell from the look of panic and trepidation on my face that I am having a very, very important conversation.

"I don't know, Jess," I whisper to her and then turn my attention back to Rosalie.

"Hey," I say, trying to sound cool. And if by cool, I mean completely lame then I succeed immensely.

"I see here you're looking for assistance in Calculus. I can meet with you on Mondays, from two to three in the library. If that works with your schedule."

Shit, I have band practice from two to three every day. But some sacrifices are expected in light of my recent dissension with derivatives.

"That would be great," I stammer.

"Payment is expected prior to each session and if you are more than ten minutes tardy, you forfeit the fee and your session. I'll see you on Monday!" Click and she's gone.

What the fuck just happened here? I don't know what I was expecting but that was just…sterile.

"Did Mike say anything to you about me?" Jessica's been talking to herself this whole time.

I look over at her. She's leaning back on the headrest, her eyes filled with tears, and relying on me for the answer. She wants me to tell her Mike is madly in love with her, he's just too insecure to do anything about it. The truth is Jessica's not packing the right equipment but I can't tell her that. She'd cry and get snot and mascara all over my flannel.

"Mike's just immature. Why do you want him anyway? He's a mama's boy." She smiles and sighs, wiping the corner of her eyes with the sleeve of my jacket. She's not convinced. "Seriously, have you met his mom? She's batshit crazy."

Now she's laughing and crying. And my jacket is ruined. Damn. I really liked that one, too.

"I know," she says as I park in her driveway. "But I can't just stop loving him. We had such a great relationship. I just don't want to let that go."

"Really? You liked staying up until all hours of the night waiting for him to call?" I ask and she rolls her eyes. She knows I'm right. Their relationship was a disaster. "Jess, you'll find someone else. I promise you."

She has tears in her eyes and she throws her arms around my neck again.

"You're the best," she mumbles against my cheek.

"I know," I say and she laughs, her arms tightening around my neck.

I try to pull away from her but the tension in her arms changes. She leans back, her eyes shiny and circled with black. It happens in slow motion. Her eyes flutter, she licks her lips, her face moves closer and closer and I start to panic. This can't be happening.

I don't have the heart to reject her. Not while she's drunk and all emotional like this. Besides, she probably won't even remember this in the morning.

I let her plant one on me. She smooshes her wet, snotty face against mine, exhaling in what I'm sure she thinks is a sigh of passion and I keep my lips sealed. She tries to deepen the kiss, her hands pull my hair and I don't know how much longer I can hold my breath.

"Jess," I garble but she's lost in the moment. I'm starting to get claustrophobic. I'm on the verge of hyperventilating when we're interrupted by a loud thud. Mr. Stanley's fist is pressed against my window and in his other hand, a fucking golf club.

"Get your hands off her, you disgusting little prick!"

I shove Jessica away from me. She gets all offended and starts to cry. Great, this is turning into an episode of CSI. Tri-state area edition.

I reach across her to open the door because there is no way in hell I'm getting out of the car. Mr. Stanley moves to the passenger door, but instead of reaching for his daughter, he reaches over her and grabs my shirt.

"Dad! Stop it!" Now Jessica's screaming and her neighbors are starting to get nosy so he lets me go.

"Mr. Stanley, sir," I try to explain but he can't hear me over the commotion his daughter is making so I get out of the car. He refuses to listen and I sit there on the icy lawn while he gives me the verbal raping of a lifetime. He finally stops when Jessica pukes all over the sidewalk in front of their house. He drags her inside, threatens to call the cops if he ever sees me around his daughter again and then slams the door in my face.

Saturday school is an institution deemed an acceptable form of behavior modification not only by the state of Illinois, but the federal government as well. I find this incredibly disturbing. Basically, we are at the disposal of our supervising instructor for six hours. During this time, said supervisor may assign any duties he or she finds acceptable and/or necessary. This could be anything from grading papers to cleaning frog guts out of the biology lab sinks.

Karma must be on my side today, because Mr. Cullen is supervising. Not only is Mr. Cullen the coolest teacher at my school, he's also the band director. Today's going to be a cake walk. And I think I deserve a little cake, especially after the incident last night.

Jessica texted me an apology this morning but I didn't have a chance to respond. Most of the message was in text speak, but the gist was she explained everything to her dad and things were cool. Sideways smiley face.

"Edward Masen, this is a surprise." It's a shock to see Mr. Cullen in a t-shirt and jeans. He's one dapper son-of-a-bitch normally and seeing him without his three piece suit is weird. Too informal. Like he's just a normal guy.

I mean, he is a normal guy. He grew up here, just like my parents. Left for college but came back when his mom died or something and he's been here ever since.

I know all this because this town gossips something fierce. It's like the thriving life force behind the community.

"I need a new alarm clock," I shrug and he motions for me to have a seat. He hands me a plastic bag for my cell phone, keys and any other shit I might have in my pockets that could be a distraction. Or used as a weapon.

"Let's see that you take care of that, sir," he replies. I nod and hand him the bag. He writes my last name on it with a Sharpie and I wait for the festivities to begin.

Attendance is sparse this particular Saturday. There's me and two burn outs, Sam and Paul. Then there's Felix who has managed to get assigned Saturday school for the duration of his high school tenure. He used to go to my sister's school but I think he stabbed someone. His dad is on the school board so he's on probation or something.

They sent him to my school. As punishment.

I give him a nod and he grunts back. Not bad. I'll take it.

"Let me just mark off the no-shows and we'll get to work." Mr. Cullen pulls out a pen to mark at least ten names off the page.

"Wait! I'm here," this girl says as the door slams shut. All three of us swivel around to find this tiny chick in a big puffy gray coat that takes up more space than she does. She pulls the hood down and she seems oddly familiar. She walks by me like I'm not even there and dumps the contents of her pockets on the table.

"Miss Hale, just in time! Perhaps you should converse with Mr. Masen over there. It seems you both take issue with punctuality." She whips her head around and Mr. Cullen doesn't look up but I'm sure this chick notices the shock, horror and elation of my current mental and emotional state.

Bella Hale. Rosalie's little sister.

I haven't seen her since elementary school. She used to be good friends with my sister but when they went their separate ways for middle school, they lost contact. She's a junior, but sixteen like Alice. In fact, I kind of forgot she existed. There aren't even any pictures of her on Rosalie's Facebook. Which only now, seems a little weird.

Bella's dark. Dark hair, dark eyes, dark makeup. Even her small stature seems to put her in the shadow. Her skin is the contradiction. This she shares with her sister; the same perfect, pearly complexion.

She takes off her coat and she's even smaller than I thought. She's wearing this shirt that has these corny wolves on it, like a scene out of some Native American folktale or something, with these black leggings tucked into striped socks. And she's wearing like, little kid's shoes. The kind with a buckle. I'm starting to think there might be something really wrong with this girl. This cannot be Rose's sister.

Just then, our eyes meet. Intense. There's straight venom in her stare. I don't know, it might just be the steel bar through her eyebrow that's intimidating, but I make a mental note to avoid eye contact with her at all costs. My assessments will have to be made at a distance.

She whips her long hair around, a poofy mound of brown and red. And purple. And blue. Girl's got rainbow hair.

"Okay, troops. We're cleaning out my closet today so if you'll kindly make your way to the band room, we can get started and assign duties." Mr. Cullen claps his hands and motions for us to get a move on.

Felix stands up and Bella folds her arms across her chest as we make our way to the door. They're talking about some death metal band, from what I can gather. I guess they're friends. One of the stoners keeps sniffling and the other one looks like he's about to fall over. It's like some twisted version of the Breakfast Club. I guess I'm the nerdy one.

Mr. Cullen wants us to make piles, sort through instruments, music books, paper, trophies, costumes and other various crap. He puts me in charge of instruments. I'm supposed to sort the salvageable from the trash. Which is probably more labor intensive than any of the other jobs assigned, but I get it. I'm the only one with any experience with this shit.

I'm about to toss some tarnished cymbals when I see striped socks from my seat on the floor.

"Ketchup will clean those right up, you know."

Bella crouches in front of me to pick up the circles of brass for closer inspection.

"It's the acid, from the tomatoes. Eats right through the tarnish."

"I think that's a myth," I say. "I've always just used Windex."

"Do you have extensive experience with cymbal cleaning?" she asks me, amused.

"I've been known to buff a cymbal or two," I shrug and she laughs. Loud. Too loud for a person of her size.

"You're funny," she observes. "What's your name again?"

"Edward Masen," I mumble and she narrows her eyes.

"I know you." She's trying to place me. It's only a matter of time before she connects me to my sixteen year old sexually irresponsible little sister with a proclivity for reality shows.

"I've seen you at football games. You're like the tallest person in the band." Great. Now I'm the jolly green trumpet playing giant.

"Yeah, well, the hat adds a good six inches." She laughs again and I like the way it sounds. People rarely laugh at my jokes. I like it that she does.

"I think you might know my sister, Alice. She's over at Kennedy," I add.

"Oh, right!" Bella pulls out a piece of gum and folds the strip into her mouth. "Man, she's a blast from the past. How's she doing?"

"She's knocked up," I say. Bella offers a foiled stick and I accept.

"You're going to be an uncle," she says. She wipes the corner of her eye and sits, crossing her legs beneath her.

"I haven't really given it much thought," I shrug.

"What? Oh my God, if my sister were having a kid, it'd be all I could think about! Uncles are really important, you know. My uncle used to take me to the library every Saturday. Just me. It was the best day of my week."

"What happened to him?" I ask. "I mean, do you still see him?"

"No," she says, wiping her eye again. "He moved to Washington a couple years ago. My contacts are bugging the shit out of me. I'm going to see if I can fix them."

Shit. Did I offend her or something? I bet she doesn't even really wear contacts.

I finish cleaning my designated section and the whole time I'm waiting for Bella to come back but she never reappears. Mr. Cullen gives us forty minutes for lunch and I head out on foot to grab a burrito from this little Mexican place down the street.

I'm at the crosswalk when I see Bella on the opposite corner, leaning into the window of an old Nissan Sentra. I'm trying not to be nosy but stifling curiosity was never easy for me. The light changes and I start to cross. I glance at the car and notice this shady dude in the driver's seat.

She looks like she's arguing with him so I stop to see if she's okay. It's the gentlemanly thing to do. And she's Rose's kid sister. How would it look if I didn't stop to help the sister of the future mother of my children?

"Hey, Bella! You ready for lunch?" I ask and nod towards Miguel's. Like we're together. She looks confused. Shit, what if she didn't need any help? What if I just completely fucked up this…whatever it is she's doing?

"Edward?" she asks and I shrug, trying to find a way to fix this situation. Instead, she waves me over and I calmly approach the car.

The guy's my age, maybe older. His baseball cap's cocked to the side and plugs the size of half dollars stretch his ears. He's listening to Kanye and I'm tempted to spit phat rhymes. Something tells me he won't appreciate my vast knowledge of the gangsta rap phenomenon, even if I do give it up to B.I.G. on occasion.

Bella turns her back to him and I think she's going to introduce me or something but she just looks annoyed.

"Can you give me a ride home today?" she asks, her arms folded across her chest.

"Uh, sure," I respond, taken aback.

"Cool," she turns to the dude, flips him off, and grabs my arm.

"Just walk," she mutters and I don't look back. I can hear the guy yelling her name, along with various obscenities which I assume are meant for me. Then there's a rev of an engine and a squeal of rubber and for a split second I contemplate the fact that he might try to run us over. I can't deny it, my heart races and my fingers tingle. This is exhilarating!

He's not, of course. But it's enough to make me forget that Bella Hale is tucked into my side. Under normal circumstances, having a chick so close to me that I can smell her lavender shampoo would send me into an awkward frenzy of embarrassing anecdotes and poor motor skills. But it's the most bizarre thing; this is okay. Comfortable even.

"Sorry," she says quietly and I think she's going to explain, but she doesn't say anything else. Just releases me to the solitary existence from whence I came.

We walk in silence to the outdoor window and I order a bean, rice and cheese. She orders taquitos and a Coke and then changes her mind and gets two chicken tacos with guacamole on the side. And a quesadilla. For later, she says.

We only have about ten minutes, so we inhale our food. I use too much salsa and almost choke. Miguel's salsa is really hot. I'm usually a minimalist, but Bella loaded up her tacos and I didn't want to look like a pussy. I know, I'm an idiot.

Once we're back at school, Mr. Cullen assigns new duties and he puts me outside, cleaning up the art and music department quad. I'm picking trash out of the slush-filled planters two hours later and it's time to go. Bella's by the door, waiting for me to take her home.

"You still need a ride?" I ask her and she shrugs, cool as ice. Shit, her vacillating demeanor is totally fucking with my self-esteem.

She heads out to the parking lot and I follow. She walks straight to my car.

"How-"

She cuts me off before I can ask.

"Deduction. There are three cars in this parking lot."

I get in my car and lean over to unlock her door. She throws her big bag onto the floor and plops down into the seat with a huge exhale.

"God, I'm glad that's over with." She immediately starts fiddling with my radio. Now, usually I'd pull the my car, my music card but I figure it's a battle I don't really need to fight. She puts it on some talk station and then leaves it on the news. I hate the news. It's so depressing.

I look over at her because she must be kidding but she's just gazing out the window as I pull out of the school parking lot. I'm stuck listening to the latest developments in the foreclosure crisis.

I know where she lives so I don't bother asking for directions and when I pull into her driveway, she gives me the same confused look I had burdened her with earlier.

"How-" she starts.

"Photographic memory," I explain and there's doubt in her pursed lips. "Alice used to walk home from school with you. My mom would always ask me to walk over and pick her up. We live one street over, on Northwood."

"You went to St. Mary's?" she asks.

"Nope, Central. But Alice did." I'm having trouble discerning the look on her face right now. Maybe surprised. Amused?

At any rate, she keeps her emotions under wraps and with a short thank you and a wave, she's out of my car. Rose's BMW is missing from the drive and I wonder where she is. Or who she's with.

I watch Bella walk into her house and drive the short trip home. The house is empty when I get home and I'm totally relieved. I grab a bag of CornNuts from the stash in my room and settle in front of the television. I'm halfway through the Bourne trilogy when my parents finally get home.

"Edward!" My mom says, surprised. "You're home. If we'd have known you were going to be home so early, we would have waited to have dinner."

"What is that smell?" my dad gripes.

"Dinner," I say and hold up the empty foil bag. My mom wrinkles her nose and runs to get the Febreze.

"You know that smell upsets your sister's stomach," Dad says and then my mom's frantically coating everything in the room with a fine layer of orange scented mist.

"She's not even here," I say to the extreme disapproval of my parents. Shock. Dismay. How dare I question the sensitivity of the fetal queen's digestive system!

"Never mind," I mutter just as my cell phone is buzzing in my pocket. It's Jessica. Shit. I let it go to voicemail and moments later she sends me a text.

Rents r gone. Party my plce. Brng yr suit!

Jessica's parents put in a pool and spa this summer. The only one on our whole block. She's been using it as social collateral. October in Illinois is way too cold for swimming but they turn the heater on the spa sometimes.

I don't want to go. I really, really don't. Not after what happened last night. But the thought of staying in my house with my parents causes me to grab my swim trunks.

With any luck, maybe I'll get pneumonia.

A/N:

Hey peeps! I hope this eases a tiny bit of the non-specific pairing anxiety. I know the unknown is scary but be brave, my loves! It looks like I'll be able to post weekly, probably on Sundays. Or Saturday nights at midnight. It's been a while since I've posted any fic and I thank you for checking this out. I appreciate every one of your comments. And I'm so glad we're all on board with the dick and fart jokes.

My dear friend, MisforMarisa, made me a top-notch banner. Check it out on my blog! (link is on my profile)

Darling prereader Boo, this Breakfast's Club's for you.

LightStarDusting is the Batman of beta. Swift and vigilant and totally hot when she uses her sexy voice.

**Please Note**

Edward's last name is Masen. Cullen is his band director. Sorry for the confusion, folks!