I don't own twilight.


Jasper


I am relieved when school is over. It wasn't as horrendous as I had expected, but it was still unsettling to be cast into the spotlight and stared at by all other students. The only one who was bearable was Alice; she seemed friendly and sunny, her chirpy smile utterly refreshing compared to the gaping stares of others.

We don't have a car, which means that we will have to take the dubious- looking school bus home. Or rather, I will; Rosalie shakes her head as soon as she sees it.

"I'm going to do work in the library. Someone offered to give me a lift," Rosalie mutters. I highly doubt this, since she was in almost every one of my classes and we did not receive homework, Rosalie hates libraries, and she barely interacted with other people all day. However, I just nod once and climb onto the bus, which is stuffy and smells awful due to the number of damp students packed into it. Either the bus driver (a grouchy looking old man who glares at the students through thick glasses) is a terrible driver, the bus is so ancient it cannot function properly or both, as the vehicle lurches, stutters and grinds its way along the road.

In Texas, the buses were clean and efficient. I sigh slightly, looking out the window at the green haze that passes. It's raining. I am not surprised, as the weather here is highly predictable. Though the rain can sometimes seem fresh, it currently appears as nothing but gloomy and oppressive. I like being away from Texas for the reason that I can make a new start here, but Forks certainly is dismal. Then again, I remind myself, I would feel dismal wherever I was.


"How was school?"

Mama looks tired, as usual, her once spirited eyes lacklustre and ringed with black. I wonder if I look like that- I probably do, I think with a sigh. She sits at the counter, while a faint smell of meat wafts through the air.

"Fine."

Monosyllabic, as usual. I know she deserves more, deserves a son who will be cheerful and supportive. And she once did, but now I cannot muster that. She looks up, opens her mouth as though to speak, and then shakes her head.

"Jasper-" she mutters, but does not finish. She looks away at the oven, and I follow her eyes.

"What's for dinner?" I ask her, more out of obligation than curiosity.

"Chilli," Mama tells me, and for a moment I feel the tiniest smidgen of hope. Then she sighs, staring down at the counter. "Frozen."

"Oh." Of course. It has been a long time since Mama cooked, especially not her special home recipe for chilli, which used to be one of my favourites. For a moment, I think of Alice again, and how she gave me some of her mother's homemade scone. I wonder what Alice's mother is like; does she have the same bright eyes and petite build as Alice? Is she as energetic and effervescent as her daughter? Then I frown, wondering why I care. It has been a long time since I have truly thought or cared about something so trivial.

The frozen chilli lacks proper flavour, and is rather disappointing, but again I do not really care. I am becoming accustomed to the bland taste and chalky texture of microwave dinners. Rosalie appears at the front door just as we have started eating, looking drenched to the bone. Her blonde hair hangs dripping down her back, and water clings to every pore. Illuminated in the light of the doorway, she looks oddly corpse-like. Mama looks up and her mouth pops open when she sees the state of her daughter, eyes flashing with concern.

"Rosalie?" she gasps. "Where were you?"

Rosalie shrugs, looking hard and irritated. She steps inside, wiping her heavy boots- at Texas, she used to wear delicate heels and sandals, complaining significantly when she had to change to the more practical footwear- on the mat inside, hanging her heavy parka up against the wall.

"At the library," she says harshly, folding her arms. Mama frowns, moving forward slightly.

"You're soaking," Mama says softly, reaching out as though to touch Rosalie's shoulder, though Rosalie ducks away, seeming more aloof than ever. "It looks like you walked home..."

At those words, Rosalie lets out a sharp, and rather forced laugh that makes me tense.

"Of course not," she says hastily. "Someone drove me..."

She turns towards the stairs and starts up them all too quickly, but Mama calls up to her.

"Dinner's ready," Her voice is still soft and weak, as it nearly always is. Rosalie looks down, eyes scouring the food laid out. I admit that it does not look the most appetising, and Rosalie blanches slightly, taking in the sloppy microwaved dish. Still, she begrudgingly walks over to the table and picks up her plate of food.

"Is it Okay if I eat in my room?" she asks brusquely, her voice almost daring Mama to contradict her. I am shocked by how sharp Rosalie is- she reminds me horribly of my father right now. I want to tell her this, but I keep silent. I'm surprised that Rosalie even bothers to ask any more, since she nearly always eats in her room. Still, Mama nods with another sigh and Rosalie snatches up her plate, turning on her heel and stalking up the stairs. Mama looks down, her lips twisting into a frown as stares at her food.

"Did you meet anyone at school?" She asks, after a few minutes of shivering silence. I just shrug, but at the look of total depression on her face, I relent and give her a proper answer.

"Most people stared at me," I tell her monotonously. "There was one girl who was nice though. Her name was Alice."

It's not a very enthusiastic answer, but at least I am giving her more than a few mumbled monosyllables. Mama seems a little appeased by this, and shoots me a half smile. She seems happy that I have actually acknowledged another person, rather than being antisocial and keeping to myself.

"That's good," She nods, turning to stare at the clock hanging from the wall. It is nearing five o-clock, and we both know to keep on our toes around this time of evening; any moment now, my father could barge in muttering angrily about some aspect of his job or complaining about something or other. More often than not, he works late these days, but occasionally he will come home straight after work and become infuriated if his dinner is not ready for him.

Thinking of my father reminds me of art today, and how the teacher tried to persuade me to enter some art competition. Thinking of that makes my chest feel hollow; as much as I try to convince myself that art is not important, I cannot quell the longing to showcase my work. But I know what would happen, if my father found out. Visions of sketches, torn up out of fury, flit through my head and I flinch.

No. I will not let art- just a stupid hobby, I reiterate mentally- damage everything. It's better to stay in the background, anyway. I learned that long ago.


Alice


I should have prepared myself. As soon as I set foot inside, hanging up my dripping coat on the coat rack, Emmett pokes his head into the hallway, grinning maliciously.

"So, Allicat!" He booms, and I stifle a groan; he is inevitably about to tease me, one of his favourite pastimes. I turn to face him, placing my hands on my hips.

"What now, Emmett?" I roll my eyes and his grin widens.

"I saw you got to sit with Jaaaaasper..." He drags out. I shoot him a look, eyebrow raised. Emmett will definitely jump at any chance to irritate me, I think drily.

"He's someone I've known for two days," I scoff. In fact, it is a very loose interpretation of the word known. I barely know Jasper; he seems very withdrawn, and it was hard to get more than a few false smiles from him.

"So?" Emmett grins. "Maybe it's love at first si-"

I smack him in the gut, and though my tiny hand against his muscular chest isn't enough to do any damage, it shuts him up.

"Don't be ridiculous," I snort at him, passing my laughing brother and walking into the kitchen. Edward is there, finishing off the last of Mom's homemade scones from last night.

"Don't tell Emmett," he mutters quietly. "If he had his way, he'd have eaten all of them the second Mom got them out the oven."

I grin; often, it'll turn into Edward and I vs Emmett in our house, because Emmett is just so irritating he deserves to be teamed up against.

"Don't tell Emmett what?" A boisterous voice protests from the other room, and Edward and I share identical grimaces as Emmett bounds in, looking as eager as a puppy.

"SCONES!" He yells, so loud I am surprised the neighbours don't hear him. "Yes!"

"My Scones," Edward corrects, lifting the final piece of scone to his mouth and swallowing it. Emmett looks thoroughly crestfallen, and I giggle.

"What?" Edward rolls his eyes. "You ate about six last night..."

Emmett lets out a huff. "I'm a growing boy?"

To this, Edward replies with a snort. "What am I, then?"

However, this baits Emmett even more. "A girl," he replies swiftly, reaching down to ruffle Edward's hair. This is probably the ultimate insult to Edward.

"Not the hair!" he yelps, shoving a chortling Emmett's hand away and tweaking his prized hair. I stifle a laugh at this. Edward's worst nightmare is probably getting his hair ruined and has been ever since the crib. I remember when he was five how he wanted to join the navy, then cried after finding out they have to shave their heads. Granted, I spend just as much time preening my hair, but I'm a girl and have every right to.

"Emmett, stop monopolising your brother," Mom calls, appearing through the glass doors that lead outside from where she is sitting on the porch. Mom likes to do that; relax outside with a book and a drink, even though it is gloomy and raining outside. I have tried it a few times, and though it is nice to breath in the scent of fresh rain and relax, I am far too active to enjoy sitting for long periods of time- I like to get up and do things like reorganising my wardrobe, looking up the collections that are due to come out or even just doodling wildly in a notebook.

Mom steps inside, brushing off the faint drops of rain that have managed to cling to her clothes.

"Dinner should be ready in an hour," she informs us, shooting Emmett- who is inching towards the pantry- a look. Emmett frowns.

"An hour is so long," he pouts, and I snort.

"Can you go more than twenty minutes without eating? You were stuffing your face with doritos on the way back from school..."

"Yes, and in my car." Edward grumbles. He despises Emmett eating in his car- Emmett is not exactly the most delicate eater, and tends to get crumbs everywhere. Edward still has not forgiven him for the time he left a melted candy bar on the seat, staining the upholstery.

"I'm a growing boy."

This is Emmett's typical excuse, one said so often that I mouth the words with him, smirking. Mom places her hands on her hips, shooting her eldest son another stern look.

"No more food until dinner," she says firmly, but the moment she has turned her back and is in the lounge room, Emmett disappears into the walk-in-pantry, and returns holding a box of protein bars.

"You're not going to eat them all, are you?" Edward says shrewdly, and Emmett nods, tearing one open with his teeth and cramming the entire thing in his mouth, before bounding upstairs. Edward turns to me, face disdainful.

"I often wonder how on earth I can be related to him," he says drily. I laugh slightly, comparing my two brothers on my head. They are extremely different, and yet I love them both ridiculously. Edward is highly intelligent, musical and the kind of sibling who can give me serious advice if I need it. Emmett is sporty and playful, and his antics can easily cheer me up if ever I need it. Rolled into one, they would make the ultimate big brother.

Sometimes I have wished I'd had a sister, but I am usually happy with the family I do have.

I slip out of the kitchen and upstairs to my bedroom. I may have homework, but I honestly can not be bothered to complete it yet. Dad often jokingly despairs of my lazy attitude towards schoolwork, but he knows it does not hinder me. I may take a long time to get it done, but it is almost always handed in on time and I usually get good marks- he can't really complain.

To pass the time, I log onto Facebook. I am not the hugest fan of the site, unlike many of my peers, but I do occasionally enjoy trawling through it. Emmett has, as usual, shared several ridiculous and trivial images which make me snicker, and I scroll down. Lauren Mallory and Tyler Crowley have officially ended their relationship and are now both "single", but I already knew this- it has been buzzing around school for a while. I check my pending friend requests to see if any have been accepted, and then my cursor hovers over the option to find friends.

Without thinking, my hands type in Jasper Hale.

A handful of different profiles pop up, and I scroll past them. I am a little crestfallen when none of them appear to be my Jasper... or, rather, the Jasper I know, I correct myself. However, after bypassing several unfamiliar photos, I finally find one without a picture, just the default avatar.

Jasper Hale. Forks, Washington.

I try to curb the strange excitement I feel at seeing his page, and click on it. However, my excitement soon dwindles when I see there is very little shared on his page. It is private, but extremely scarce even for a private profile. No photos, no cover photo, and only three friends added- I recognise his twin sister, and the two other girls named Kate and Irina Denali, who look as though they are his cousins- they bear a striking resemblance to him and Rosalie.

This is odd, that he has no actual friends on his page. Yes, he is rather withdrawn, but surely there must have been someone who he sat with in Texas? Without even hesitating, I make a small series of clicks, and a friend request is sent to Mr Jasper Hale.


Jasper


Sometimes, I actually wish teachers would give us more homework. Homework is good, it is a constant amd numbing thing, a distraction. I never used to enjoy homework, but now I do- I like it because while I am working I am absorbed in it, and I do not think about other things.

But since it is our first day at the new school the teachers, by some almost cruel kindness, decided to "spare" us from much homework. So after less than an hour and a half my evening is free, and am sat at my desk alone, not sure what to do. A long time ago, in another life, I would have enjoyed the spare time.

But that isn't me any more. It hasn't been in a while.

I wonder if I should sketch. Then I toss that idea aside. Dad is home- I can hear his raised voice downstairs. Again. It sounds as though he has stopped off at his favourite place home from work (a bar) and I know that when he is in one of these moods then he could burst into my room any second. And if he sees me sketching... I shudder at the thought, torn scraps of paper flitting around in my mind's eye. So I sit, and I stare at the wall, wondering what to make of this time. Finally, I waste time with meaningless tasks.

Email. Check inbox. A handful of newsletters I have subscribed to, and nothing more. Not that I expected anything from anyone. Not even Maria...

I shake my head. No Maria. Not tonight.

Youtube. Check subscriptions. An art channel I once loved has uploaded videos with new tutorials on certain brushes and pencils.

The part of me that is still able to want, wants to watch them.

So I don't.

Facebook. Check notifications. Nothing has happened, so I-

Wait. A small red bubble appears, and I frown. A friend request. Probably, I think dully, from someone who collects random friends they don't know. I am about to decline it when a picture and name crop up on the side, a girl with huge green eyes and wild black hair swirling around her face. A face that the artistic part of my mind appreciates, because it is reminiscent of the old portraits and dramatic, someone I wish I would be able to sketch.

You have one new friend request from: Alice Cullen.

Alice. It always seems to be Alice. She has been nothing but nice to me these past two days, for some inexplicable reason. Nice when she met me at the grocery store, nice when she saw me at school, telling me my art was good. And now she even has sought me out on Facebook.

I want to accept it. But...

Ignore request?

My finger hovers over the button for a few moments. I should just decline her friend request and ignore her but I don't actually want to. She was kind to me and it seems just plain rude to do this. But accepting it would mean calling her my friend and I don't know if I can do that.

So I just stare at the request, then leave it.

I sit alone in my chair, looking at the computer screen long after it turns black. My mind wants to swirl with thought and confusion but I try to push them out and feel numb, thinking of nothing. I try nt to listen to the sounds of shouting in my father's loud voice or my mother's sobs from downstairs.

But I listen anyway.


At eleven thirty I hear the shower turn on. I have been lying in my bed and trying to sleep, but instantly I am alerted. It is Rosalie- I can already sense it, and though I know I should leave her be since last night she was angry when I interrupted her I find myself opening the door just a little to listen. The shower stops prematurely again, and then I hear her footsteps thud across the landing. I frown slightly; it doesn't sound like she is going to her bedroom.

The footsteps go down the stairs.

The front door opens.

Rosalie is going out. At nearly midnight.

Why?

I push my door open further and tread quietly across the landing, hoping she doesn't see me as I peer over the banister. The front door shuts, and Rosalie is gone. Where, I don't know. Why, I don't know. I barely know my own sister anymore.


Yeah, I haven't updated this in almost a year. I'm sorry! I've just been really sidetracked and other projects have and this just hasn't crossed my mind. If anyone is still reading this, I hope you liked this!