Hello, again. I've got another little chapter for your perusal. So sit back and reminisce the 1990s with me.
This is an unbeta'd drabble. Rated M for language, situations and possible underage drinking.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of its characters.
I am not dolling-up today. Just because I'm planning to approach Jasper Whitlock in the North locker hall, doesn't mean that I should dress provocatively for his benefit. Right? My Levis and flannel shirt look okay, I think. Maybe I ought to wear that kohl eyeliner?
"Bella? Are you almost ready?" Mom calls from the bottom of the stairs.
"Hang on!" I grab the black eyeliner and smudge it around my eyes. I think I put it on the right way, but my eyes are watering up pretty badly. Where are the tissues?
I feel my way around my room and make it to the door in a blind walk. At the stair landing, I locate the rail and I manage down toward Mom. With a few hard blinks, my vision is returning to normal.
"Bella, you look like a raccoon! Why do you have black eyeliner smudged all around your eyes? That's not the way to wear makeup."
"Actually, Mom, it is. Seventeen Magazine calls it the 'Grunge Look'."
"Yuck. I'll make you an appointment with Heidi at Clinique next week. That grungy look makes you look strung out."
Thanks and no thanks. I keep quiet on the drive to school because if I open my mouth, I'm bound to start an argument. For better or worse, it's just Mom and me living in Forks. I really don't want to get sent away to live with my dad. He still thinks I'm five years old.
"Bye," she says and kisses my forehead as I exit the car.
Surreptitiously, I swipe the spot with my cuff as she leaves. I scan the parking lot for an audience, but no one seems to have seen me. Not to say that people usually look for me: being invisible is my trademark.
I used to think that being invisible was a bad thing, but more and more, I'm reaping the benefits. Last week, I snuck out of gym right after roll call and escaped doing jumping jacks. Jumping jacks = hurt boobs. I went to the library and holed myself in the classic literature section. Nobody saw me, unless you count a few dust mites.
On campus, I crisscross the quad and head toward the North locker hall. Jasper isn't at his locker, but that's not unusual. He's a Junior and I'm a Sophomore and the only class we've ever shared was Spanish last Spring. I gather my books and walk to Intermediate Art where Alice is waiting for me with her gluey hair.
"Love the eyeliner, Bella," Alice compliments as I sit next to her.
I smile because Alice always tells me the truth about my appearance. Over the summer, she eighty-sixed my bed-head. She says that "you can only get away with dirty hair if you're in a band." I think she should practice what she preaches. I happen to know that Alice can play an electric six-string like nobody's business.
The art teacher takes roll while the room buzzes with chatter. She gets to "Thompson" when the door pushes open, revealing a guy with a mohawk and a leather jacket. I sit up a little straighter in my seat and steal glances at him as he pushes a hall pass toward the teacher.
"Take a seat, Mr. Crowley. Please don't make a habit of being late to my class."
Crowley? Is that Tyler Crowley, champion varsity soccer player and the biggest bad boy at Forks High? Ohmigodohmigodohmigod! He's pulling out a chair at the table in front of me! He's taking off his jacket and underneath, he's wearing a Pennywise tee –shirt. That's an alternative band, right?
"Ouch!" I say a little too loudly. Alice just jabbed me with her elbow, signaling a "hottie alert". She 's a little late.
Tyler, with his magnificent mohawk, turns at my outburst. He looks appraisingly at Alice and then at me. He's looking RIGHT AT ME.
"What's up, Shorty?" he says with a devilish smile.
I can feel my ears burning and I know that my face has got to be beet red. I have to look away, this attention is so embarrassing. Wait, did he just call me 'short'?
He's still looking at me. Now he's chuckling. My 'shortness' must amuse him.
The teacher calls our attention to the front of the room, and Tyler finally faces forward. I look over at Alice, and she just shrugs. Yeah, if anyone is short, it's Alice, not me.
I try to pay attention during Art class, but I can't because I'm swooning over Tyler. Alice does most of the work on our Surrealism project because I'm zoning out. The teacher says something about a dolly and melting clocks, but the only thing melting here is me and my heart-shaped box.
The bell rings and Alice and I wait for the rest of the class to leave the room. I'm suppressing my giddiness, but I know she can read me. When we're the last ones left in the room, she grabs me by the shoulders and shakes me.
"TYLER CROWLEY TOTALLY CHECKED YOU OUT!" she shrieks.
"I know! He's really hot, isn't he?"
"That's one fine mofo."
I have to agree. Not only is Tyler a hottie, but he's also a Senior. Unfortunately, that makes him completely out of my league.
We continue our animated conversation as we walk back to the North locker hall. I have Biology next, and Alice has Geometry. As I shut the locker, Alice gets very quiet. I look up to see Jasper at his nearby locker.
"Hey, Bella. Who's your friend?" Jasper asks softly.
"Ouch!" She jabs me again. Uh, oh. "Jasper, this is my friend Alice. Alice, Jasper."
"Hey." He flips his floppy hair away from his face to reveal baby blues and one of the nicest smiles this side of the Rockies.
Alice looks fairly blue; I think she forgot to breathe. I want to jab her in the ribs, but think better of it. That shit hurts!
"H…hi. You made the Nirvana tape. I love you. – I mean, IT, I love it!"
I look at my friend sideways. Freudian slip much, Alice? I decide to save her.
"We both loved the Unplugged album. Loved it. I was wondering if you might have something else we might like? I mean, you've obviously got great music taste and all." Yeah, I guess that's laying it pretty thick.
"You like punk music? Operation Ivy?" he asks Alice.
She nods.
"Aw, well I think I might have something else you might like." His attention returns to me in the moment, but I think he was just asking my best friend what kind of music she liked.
"Great," I say lamely. I've totally forgotten anything else I should say to Jasper, because Alice is frozen in place with a big goofy grin. This time, I go for the elbow jab.
"Ow! You play varsity soccer. I mean, you play soccer, right?" My home girl is about as smooth as oatmeal.
"Yeah, I play forward. We have a home game afterschool," he offers.
Alice is so busted. I know where this conversation is leading to. She's setting us up for an afternoon of boywatching. I have a cumulative Bio test on Friday and need to study. There's no way I'm going to be her alibi. Alice's parents are even more strict than my mom about dating boys.
"I've gotta go to class. I'll talk to you later, Alice!" I say pointedly to my friend.
She's not listening to me. Judging by the daze on her face, she's already thinking of ways to thank Jasper for the next tape. Ew, I hope she saved her kneepads from Frosh volleyball.
A/N: So, if you haven't caught on yet, Bella is what probably would've called a "poseur" back in the day. Looking back, I can't believe we labeled people so easily. Teens are just trying to figure out who they are and what they want to be. Sometimes it takes a few tries, (and a few different hair colors, too!) The "genuine DIY punks" and all that just had a little more confident attitude, and confidence is sexy. If you need a little more confidence today, go treat yourself to a new lipstick or buy a pair of red shoes. It's OK, effleurage says so :) What were you like in the 1990s? How would you describe your teenage self?