Hello lovelies!

I had fun with this chapter considering it features Paul and Sophie and Romeo and Juliet...really, what's not to love? Personally, I love Romeo + Juliet...I just like to debate fictional characters with more fictional characters....

Enjoy!

Tress Blues


Chapter 2. Romeo Was A Moron

Sophie

I awoke to the sounds of a car driving out onto the street, loudly screeching the tires. I opened my eyes and squinted out of my window: what kind of person is making that kind of noise that early? The car in question was an oddly new car, something you don't see much of around here and it squealed around in a three sixty turn before the driver gave a loud laugh and screeched down the road. I glared at it and rubbed my eyes before turning to my alarm clock.

8:30 am. School was at nine.

I groaned but only softly and sat up, my feet skimming over the freezing wooden boards of the attic. I shivered and stood, delving through my closet. Most of my clothes were old ones of my moms and my own; I didn't get an allowance to buy much else. Occasionally, I'd take my father's wallet and go out to buy food but other than that, I did little with money. It was a good thing I'd reached my full height when I was fifteen, sixteen or else there'd be a problem. I tiptoed out to the shower in the bathroom across from me and poured on the water, slowly so it would wake my father.

The water washed over my face and I tried to make sure my hair stayed relatively dry. My eyes were still blurry as I let the water soak into my muscles, washing the grime and dirt away. Wash everything, I thought. Wash everything about me away. Let me just sink down the drain never to be seen again. But of course, the drain pipe was much too small for me as I turned off the water and wrapped a towel around me, returning back to my room. My jeans were hung in my wardrobe and I slipped them on along with a dark navy sweater that wrapped snugly around my frame.

I tiptoed across the room (which was low roofed and about as large as the downstairs foyer, which it resided directly above) and down the hall into the bathroom. I brushed my teeth in a bit of a daze, never fully waking up in the mornings these days. It seemed like an empty promise somehow, like today would be worth the preparation. When I was done, I brushed my long and slightly curled platinum blonde hair into a low ponytail and walked quietly and quickly down the steps to grab my bag from the hallway closet.

Dad was sleeping on the couch, snoring loudly, his nose twitching now and then. I picked up a piece of bread from the pantry (anything else would wake him up with the smell or the noise) and made sure the coffee was out and ready to go for when he was woken up. The tomato sauce from last night was cleaned up, the dishes washed and put away; I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror in the living room and winced as I spotted the tiny scratch on my temple from my father's blows last night. I was an expert at covering my injuries. I could make a broken rib seem like I fell down the stairs, make a handprint fade within an hour. But when blood was involved I couldn't help much of it except to cover it physically.

I pulled a few pieces of hair down from my bun and it fell just in front of my cut, hiding it away. I had to smile ruefully. I was a master at lying. It did help that I was petite, blonde, blue-eyed and had possibly the least threatening combination of features possible but all things considering I did a very good job at hiding myself. My reflection smiled back but in a way that made me feel sorry for her. It was sadder than intended. Sadder than I ever thought I was capable of.

I shook myself off and tried to force a neutral expression onto my face. My reflection turned passive immediately and I turned away, grabbing a set of keys from my bag and hurrying out to the garage. There were two cars parked in the dank, overcrowded garage: one was a rugged looking black four wheel drive that my dad drove to Downings (the mechanic in Forks, of which is so expensive it's a wonder they get any customers at all) Mechanics and another that sat passively beside it. It was blue, worn but it looked inconspicuous…the kind of car that could belong to anyone, that didn't draw attention. This car and the other in fact, I was not allowed to drive. But the bus didn't come past my stop at the right time and walking in La Push was like preparing for a hike in the rain so I borrowed it a few times, just for school, so that I didn't have to walk. Which was strictly forbidden according to my father.

Quickly, I pulled the off-white, dirty sheet off the car and put it over a series of cleverly arranged boxes that to anyone with a clear mind might've looked like a very stupid attempt of a car form. But to the hung over, slightly dizzy mind, it simply looked like the car that had always sat there. It was sneaky but it worked, I thought, heaving the garage door open, quietly as not to wake dad. I threw my school satchel in the back and climbed, quietly in the front before turning the keys in ignition and backing out of the driveway that the thousands of other houses on the reservation had. I made sure the garage was only partially closed so that Dad didn't have to figure out the lock again before driving down the street.

It was a rusty old brand car but it was an easy, smooth drive for someone with bruises like myself. I followed the path to La Push Senior High School's car park and pulled into my usual spot, careful not to park anywhere near the rev-heads who would damage it.

I waited for a few minutes in my car, making sure I had everything and relaxing for another day of having to fake my way through life. I watched the other kids piling in. Everyone in La Push had the same thick black hair, dark eyes and russet skin. Being fair, blue eyed and blonde, I probably wouldn't have fit in here if I hadn't known everybody since elementary school.

But of course there were the few that stood a foot taller than the rest. The La Push 'gang' were probably the most feared and admired students in the entire school. They were all incredibly tall, handsome and strong. Not to mention they looked to be about twenty, twenty-five years old.

Jacob Black, Embry Call, Quil Ateara and Seth Clearwater. Briefly, I wondered where the other two, Jared Donaway and Paul Beckett, were before musing more on the social systems of La Push. They pretty much sat at the top of the food chain, along with Sam Uley, Collin Daniels, Brady Royce and Leah Clearwater. I kept my distance from them but I couldn't help but admire them from afar. Not for the same reasons my peers do, but because they were so carefree. They smiled happily because they really were happy. I could never be as happy as they were, as friendly or hopeful. I sighed. I really had to get rid of these thoughts, I mentally scolded. I'm starting to sound like a gooey self help book.

I hopped out of my car and pulled my bag behind me as I locked the car and melded with my classmates, walking like sheep into school. "Hey girl!" Erika squealed, tripping into step with me. I smiled at her and she pouted. "You missed a really great party last night." She whispered as we passed Madame Meyers, the French teacher. I glued my gaze to the floor until she passed before looking apologetically at Erika.

"I'm sorry, I couldn't go out you know, Dad's all about the study these days." I said, lamely but Erika shook her head in exasperation.

"Don't worry about it. That why you'll be the brainiest of our year and I'll end up failing English." She replied, gloomily as we walked into said class. Before I could reassure her that she would not fail English if I had anything to do with it, Mrs Oliver walked briskly in after us as the bell rang and Erika grimaced.

Personally, I had no problems with any of my teachers; I did well in my classes and they didn't call for parent-teacher meetings and they gave me good marks. I hadn't received anything less than an A since I was fourteen. But Erika had troubles with her literature and spelling and contextual skills and for that reason her and Mrs Oliver…clashed.

"Seats people, seats, we have a lot of ground to cover and only a month to cover it so," She slammed a thick series of files on her table and looked out over the classroom, her flyaway curls looking more hectic than usual. "Who can tell me who Shakespeare was? Jane Austen? Emily Bronte? T.S Elliot? Scott Fitzgerald? Come on, I want you all to think: who were these people?"

"Old people with funny sounding names?" Some wise guy cracked from the back and everyone laughed as Mrs Oliver rolled her eyes, annoyed. She wasn't strict just…different.

"Ha, ha, Mr Call you are a comedy genius and one day I'm sure you will make millions of dollars with your own...special brand of hilarity." She dead panned, flatly before turning to the board with chalk. "No, they were writers! They painted the classics we hear about today, they built the roads of literature! Their pieces were ahead of their time, futuristic, idealistic! Shakespeare is the first of a list of writers we will be studying and the first and most famous of his works I want to bring attention to is Romeo and Juliet."

"Wasn't that the one where everyone kicks the bucket in the end?" came a voice again and people snickered. I didn't even look up; I was too busy taking notes.

"Mr Ateara, if you are done butchering the work of geniuses into crude, crass, moronic statements, perhaps you can stop drawing on my windows and listen?" Mrs Oliver snapped and I had to turn around. Quil Ateara was looking, not bashfully but repentantly (save for the mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes) at the teacher, his finger withdrawing from the frosted window. I looked outside and smiled to myself; I'd been right to take the car, it was beginning to look like a hurricane out there.

"Sorry Miss."

"Now, what I really want to look at is the dynamics and the context of Romeo and Juliet…" All too soon, the bell rang for the morning period break and Mrs Oliver dismissed us from the classroom. We all stood, groaning and Erika smiled as we exited for our lockers.

"Aw Snowy, I love Romeo and Juliet!" she declared, spinning in a circle as we walked through the hustle and bustle of the corridors. When we reached our lockers, I snorted.

"Have you read the play Rika?" I asked, amused as I opened up the locker. She stopped, thoughtful before shrugging.

"I've seen the movie. Leonardo Di Caprio in a knight's armour was all I needed to know." She grinned, wickedly as I sighed.

"It's so terribly overdone though don't you think?" I asked, musing aloud. I was less than pleased with Mrs Oliver's choice: Romeo and Juliet in English class? Next there'd be a play or something and two of the students would fall irrevocably in love during rehearsals. It was like some cheesy chick flick that has a sappy happy ending. I had to admit, I was a little biased. I had some definite issues with the play and its themes. Love.

I didn't believe in love. Personally, I thought it just made you weaker, leaving yourself at the hands of someone else. How were you supposed to know if someone was just going to snap you in half and leave? I reckon, if love is so great and magical and wonderful, why did it make you feel like crap when it was over, huh?

"What do you mean? I think it's so romantic, imagine if it happened in real life!" she swooned, starry eyed. I rolled my eyes. Erika the sap.

"It was a play, written by a dead guy who pranced around a stage wearing tights and a dog collar all day. How is that romantic?" The last question was supposed to be rhetorical too. But Erika never misses an opportunity to prove me wrong.

"Soph! You have to look beyond the writer! Two people, meeting, falling in love but there's such a burden holding them back! Its just so…"

"Dreary." I finished, smirking. Erika scowled at me.

"Dreary?"

"Well yeah. Look at the facts Erika." I said, opening my locker. We were in the main corridor again, clinging to the metal doors to stop being shoved to the floor by the mad rush of students. "One: this Romeo guy is all hung up on Juliet right?" she nodded fiercely. "Well whatever happened to Rosalind? You know the one he was 'in love with' before he met her? How can a play be romantic and dreamy when the main lead is a complete player and jumps from one girl to another so fast?"

I didn't pause to let her answer "Two: They love each other after what, a party? He dances with her and jumps her amongst a whole crowd of people, oh how sweet! There's a name for that, it's lust. Not love. And what about the ending? Boy loves girl, Girl loves boy, they both die, cry, cry, cry, the end. That is how the story goes, right? I'm pretty sure that if they loved each other so much, they would've at least checked that they were both actually dead." I lectured; Erika was scowling even more fiercely now.

"Yeah, yeah, but you're only on about the negative bits! What about the positives?"

"Erika, there are no positives. That's my point! Everything ends badly because they fall in love." I spat the word out at the end. Love ruins everything. Erika rolled her eyes.

"Well…his heart was so overrun with his love for her that he didn't think when he heard about her death: he acted and then she followed him into death. That just means they were equally in love with each other and you don't kill yourself over lust. And he didn't think of Rosalind when Romeo met Juliet at all! He simply couldn't contain his adoration for her and in the end, he didn't even care about her background…Romeo loved her anyway!" She pointed out, sounding awfully passionate for someone who hadn't even read the play. I snorted and shut my locker in sync with Erika.

"Erika, the whole play starts off on the flimsy concept of love at first-" but I didn't get to finish my sentence because at that moment, someone bustled past in a hurry and something heavy shoved me, hard. I fell backwards, face up. As soon as I registered I was falling I closed my eyes and braced for impact.

But instead of being met with the white linoleum floor as I was expecting, I felt something, big, hard and hot wind around my waist and catch me inches before I hit the floor. My breath caught in my throat and I cautiously opened my eyes. Brown eyes filled my vision, swimming up to meet my own. For a second I couldn't see anything but those eyes. Big, brown and endless, they bore into mine with such an intense look; I shied away from it instinctively. But seeing as how the arms those big brown eyes were attached to, were kind of wrapped around my waist, I couldn't escape. And after a moment…I didn't really want to.

The eyes backed off a little and I saw something that I never, in a million years, would've thought I'd see. Paul Beckett's face was still intimately close to mine, with a look of surprise across it. I swallowed and broke away from his gaze, although my head was shrieking at me to take another look. There was just something…familiar about those eyes. Comforting. I looked, pointedly down at my waist and the whole world shook as he pulled me upright. There was an awkward silence for a moment, backgrounded by the bustle of every other student

"Are you okay?" he asked and at the time, I thought that they were the most beautiful words in the English language. Because he said them. Which was why I mentally gagged a second later, completely disgusted with myself. But Paul looked worried. Overly worried for someone I'd never spoken to.

I nodded and gave a weak smile. I was still in shock. "Umm…err…y-yeah. T-thanks. You know, for making sure my head didn't scramble itself on the floor." I said, appreciatively rubbing the back of my head. He laughed and grinned at me in relief. Relief? Weird. I saw Erika's jaw drop and close again as she looked at her watch. She looked annoyed before smiling and winking at me. He stuck out a hand.

"Paul Beckett. And you are?" As if, I didn't know. I was about to reach out to him but the bell rang and fourth period started.

"Leaving. Sorry. Err…Thanks again though." I said, walking away before Erika could completely desert me. Something about his face slumped a little. He frowned but I turned around before he could say anything. My mind conjured up his face, entirely on its own free will.

Something was wrong, I decided, about that face. It was…broken. My entire body screamed at me to turn around. To say something. Introduce myself. Anything. It was the strangest of urges but I tucked my hands in my jean pockets. For some strange, unknown reason, I wanted to turn around and look once more at Paul Beckett. Just for a second, my body pleaded with me. My heart did the cha-cha in my chest, so loud I thought everyone could hear it. I swallowed nervously, slightly annoyed. What was wrong with me? I'd never done this before!

I caught up with Erika just as she turned into class. She gave me an outraged look. "Sophie Miller, what are you doing here? I thought I left you with Mister Beckett?" she demanded. I gave her a withering look and sat down next to her. Her eyes lit up. "So, spill. What did he say afterwards?"

I shrugged, uncomfortable. "Nothing. I thanked him for not letting me go splat and then the bell rang. I don't think he even knows my name. I didn't get a chance to introduce myself." I muttered and Erika fumed next to me.

"SOPHIE!" she whisper-yelled. I winced. "He doesn't even know your NAME?!" I shrugged, sheepishly but she just smacked my shoulder in scolding.

The teacher came in a few seconds later but I could tell from the angry, frustrated looks from Erika that this wasn't over. By a long shot.


Read and review now that you know a little more about Sophie…