Chapter 4: Grape Juice

Bella

The rest of the weekend was the same old shit. I cleaned the house, got the laundry done, cooked for Charlie, did my homework, and slept like a mother fucker.

I love sleeping during the daylight hours. I could sleep all day long. I like to stay awake at night. No one's around needing you to do something for them. It's awesome.

It's blissful.

It's quiet.

I'm mostly alone all weekend. Charlie goes fishing at the break of dawn on Saturdays and sometimes stays away until Sunday afternoon. He says he stays at Billy's house. I think he stays at Sue Clearwater's. Why he lies to me, I don't know. Its not that I mind being alone. He knows I like it that way. He has tried many-a-times to get me go fishing with him. I just ignore him when he asks. He knows the answer will always be "Do you want to fish or do you want me to scare the fish away like last time?"

Even the fish don't like me around. Figures.

School on Monday is the same as every other Monday. At lunch, everyone is sharing their weekend activities; Lauren gave a blow job at the 'Party from Hell' to some senior jock - she thinks she's the shit or something - yeah, or something; Jessica is detailing how Mike gave her the perfect evening that night - I'm zoning out on that one; Eric is talking about some sci fi movie he went to see in Port Angeles - now everyone is zoning out for that one. And here I sit, feigning attention and staying quiet. I've got nothing to contribute.

Although Angela - God bless her for trying - asks me about my weekend. Now, I could lie through my teeth and say something like I went on a shopping spree in Port Angeles... and found the cutest pink blouse I've ever seen... On sale!... With my Dad's credit card... Or I could just tell them about the epic battle I had Saturday with Charlie's stinky socks... They almost sucked the life out of me when I got them out of his hamper... The smell still lingers on my nose...

"Nothing much. Just hung around the house. How about you?" I shrug my answer to her and divert her attention from me. She looks at me with concern for a second and as she starts telling me about her picnic with Boyfriend Ben.

That's my name for him: Boyfriend Ben; I like to tease him with it.

"I don't get you, Bella." Lauren interrupts.

Esqueeze me?

"You practically live alone on the weekends and you don't take advantage of it."

Here we go. Lauren's little nuggets of wisdom.

Brought to you by Forks High lunch period: 'Because you can't never get enough during your classes, come on over our table and she'll torture you some more'.

Now with a side of mystery meat. Free!

I just look at her general direction so she thinks I'm paying attention. "I'm just saying. If I got the house all to myself on weekends... Wow! The parties would be out of this world!"

We have another contributor to this little 'Let's make Bella cool' tirade. Tyler adds,

"Oh man! Totally epic parties! Bella, you could totally do that! We bring all the booze and shit. We'll even clean up afterwards. You just put up your house and we'll take care of the rest. Come on! You'll be cooler and more popular than... than..." he trails off.

Oh oh. He's thinking. He's going to burn the last brain cell he has up there. Better save it or he won't be able to remember how to roll his joint later.

"Guys, you seem to forget who my father is," I throw at them.

Silence.

"Charlie?"

Nothing. I think I can hear the leaky faucet from the second floor girl's bathroom from here.

I sigh, exasperated, "Chief of p-o-l-i-c-e?"

"Aaaah, right, right." Everyone is murmuring and shaking their heads like they've figured the answer to this morning's trig question.

"That's right! That's why we've never gone to your house to party. I forgot," Tyler chuckles weakly.

Ass.

I better get out of here before I start thinking out loud. "I'm out, guys. Gotta return a book. Catch you later."

I pick up my bag and the food tray and head to the trash bin closest to the doors. Why do I waste money on cafeteria food is beyond me. I never eat it, but I guess because it's what is expected of me to do. I could always bring food from home. I always cook for Charlie, so how much work would it be to make a little bit more?

But that would be more unnecessary effort on my part to fit in and I just really don't give a shit. I won't eat it anyway. I empty the tray and throw it on the bin. As I'm about to turn around, I hear it.

"Go long, Eddie!"

Everything is in slow motion now.

Of course it is; so the pain and anguish can last a little longer.

"Fuck, Emmet! Don't call me that!" I swear to God he hisses it right by my ear. But I can't really confirms this because right as I'm about to fully turn around, a football comes flying through the air, landing square in the middle of Edward's food tray. Said food tray is conveniently propped in such a way that when the ball lands, the opened bottle of grape juice spills directly on the left side of my shirt.

Because, OF COURSE, this would happen to me. In front of HIM, no less.

"Fuuuuck, that's cold!" I whisper, frozen in place. I don't need to draw more attention to this mess by swearing out loud. I look up. I cannot believe this. I'm about to slap a bitch, because FUCKING HELL this was my favorite t-shirt! It's a Pearl Jam vintage tee I got on a trip to Seattle a couple of years back. I love this shirt; it's white, but is so worn it's kind of see through, so I always wear a tank top underneath. It's sooo soft.

And now it's fucking ruined. Who the fuck drinks grape juice anymore?! In high school?!

I look up and I would have totally been laughing at the situation if it wasn't happening to me. His face is priceless. Pale as a ghost and mortified beyond belief. But I'm so mad I don't care if he's the second coming of Jesus: he ruined my favorite shirt, dammit!

"I'm so sorry, Bella... It's Emmet's fault! ... He threw the ball and I couldn't get it... 'cause you know, I was holding the tray..." he's stammering.

Fuck, he's cute!

What? Cute? Keep it the fuck together!

"It's okay. No worries," I need to get out of here because I'm staring at those lips even when they aren't moving, and nothing good can come out of that. I turn around and hurry to the door. I can hear the whispers and laughter. Don't give a shit, remember?

My shirt my shirt my shirt.

I make it to the bathroom, take the shirt off and it's straight to the sink. "No no no no no!" Not the shirt! Please! Not this shirt!

It's the only thing left. It's all I've got.

Under the faucet it goes. With some soap from the dispenser, I try to furiously scrub the stain out, but it's no use. "Shit shit shit!"

"Hey Mom! Look at this one!"

"Let me see it. Pearl Jam?... What is that?"

"What is... Wha... Pearl Jam is one of the best bands of all time! How can you not know that, Mother?!"

"All right, all right! Settle down! Jeez... Give your old mamma a break will ya?"

"Can I have it, please?"

"But it looks all worn out, Bells. It looks old."

"That's the beauty of it, Ma! It's vintage!"

"It's used."

"It's got character."

"It's been sweated on!"

"It's eight bucks!"

"Okay, okay!"

"Best Mamma Ever!"

A hand on my shoulder brings me back to the present.

"Hey, are you okay?"

I'm crouched down on the floor. Clutching the shirt to my chest. My face is wet. I've been crying.

I look at it. Yep. Totally ruined.

"A little bit of bleach will probably get that stain right out."

Did I say that out loud? Who's taking?

"Thank God its white, right?!"

I turn around and find the crazy pixie from the party looking at me. She's smiling, but it's forced. I can tell. I'm a master at that smile. Her eyes are concerned. Not pitiful, thank God.

She probably saw your meltdown, genius! I mean, how long has she been standing there?!

"How long have you been standing there?!" I blurt out desperately.

Hello, filter? Where are you?

"Oh," she hesitates. Yeppers. She saw it all. "I... I just got here. I mean, I saw what happened back... you know, there... But still..."

She doesn't know when to stop.

"You can get it out... with a little bleach..." she tries to smile again. It comes out like a grimace. She takes a step towards me.

I stand up and wipe my face. This is getting beyond awkward and the bell will ring soon.

"It's okay. No worries." I put on my hoodie and get my backpack off the floor. One last look at it and I throw it in the trash.

"You're gonna toss it?!" the pixie gapes at me.

What's her problem? To her, it's just a shirt.

To me, it should be just a shirt.

"It's ruined," I tell her.

"But you can fix it!" she snaps at me.

It's she getting angry at me? What the hell, Pix?!

"It's just a stupid shirt." I leave the bathroom.

I'm shaking all over. I'm nauseous. Some things should never be remembered.

The bell rings. Shit! Now I'm late. As I get to Biology, some asshole closes the door in my face. Awesome. I'm about to yank it back open when through the door's glass opening, I see it.

Copper hair. Long, beautiful fingers combing through it.

He's here. At MY FUCKING BIOLOGY CLASS!

And of course, he's sitting at MY TABLE.

I'm the only one without a partner.

Well, not anymore!

I can't do this. I can't keep bumping into him! Literally!

This is ridiculous!

I can't think around him!

I take deep breaths.

In and out. In and out.

No. I HAVE to get in there. I can't fail a class just because he's there.

I can do this. I can do this.

I will do this.

It's gonna be okay. He's just another guy.

Who cares. Same as all the rest, right?

He thinks you're weird, remember?

I'm going to throw up.

Of course he does. He can see you. He can see right through you.

I'm done for the day. I pass Ms. Cope on the way to my truck and tell her I'm too sick to stay. Really don't care if she believes me or not. I just keep walking.

I get home and park the truck. Charlie's not home. That's good, no interrogation. I climb up the stairs and shut the door to my room with my foot. Toe my shoes off and my jeans. Put on my pajama bottoms. The hoodie stays on. I climb onto the bed. My head is killing me.

I have to stop thinking. Need to sleep.

Hard sucked-ass day.

Tomorrow will be better.

I open my eyes. It's still dark out. I think I hear the TV downstairs.

He got home okay, then.

Did he check up on me? Can't remember if I heard him come into my room.

Maybe.

Probably not.

The closing of the front door startles me awake. It's daylight. I can hear the cruiser creeping out the driveway.

I close my eyes. I'm staying put today.

My throat is dry. And I gotta pee. I don't want to move.

I'm so comfortable.

I wonder what time it is.

Stayed awake all night. Just looking out the window. The rain was falling hard.

Charlie didn't check up on me.

I'm buried under the covers. I like it down here. I wonder what day it is.

The ringing of the house phone wakes me up a couple of times throughout the day.

Nobody is home, people! Stop calling.

I hear the front door. Charlie answers. I hear it close again.

I wonder where he's been eating.

Maybe at the diner.

It's night again.

Footsteps on the stairs. Two pairs. That's odd.

There's knocking on my door. That's odd, too. Charlie never checks on me.

"Hey, Bells? You decent?"

Yes, I'm fine, Father Dear. And you?

"Yeah."

I hope he hears me because I don't like repeating myself. The door creaks open and he's talking with his torso half-inside my room.

"You okay?"

I wonder what day is today?

"Yeah."

"Um...okay, well..." he murmurs. "You have a visitor."

What did he say? Visitor? Can't he see I'm not available for visitors?!

"Come on in, Doc. She's a little indisposed at the moment."

Doc?

I unearth my head from my cozy cave of blankets to look at the person who's crazy enough to come here and interrupt my sabbatical.

Blue eyes and blonde, silky combed-back hair come to view. He stops at the foot of my bed and appraises the mess that is me.

"Hello, Bella. My name is Dr. Cullen."

Uuuuuuuhhhhhh….WHAT!