Author's Note: Thank you, everyone, for the wonderful reviews! Angeliss, your review was especially appreciated! Thank you so much! I hope everyone likes chapter three!

Chapter Three
Attention Faults
December 15, 1925-March 31, 1927

My tenth birthday was a huge affair.

The dining room was transformed into a wonderland of balloons and streamers. A banner hung above the picture window in the far wall, with 'Happy Birthday Rosalie!' painted on it in pink. Confetti was scattered along the sideboard and down the middle of the table. And the end chair (Father's chair) held a paste crown with glass jewels in it, just for me.

All of the children in my class were invited, even though I argued with my mother about this.

"Not Mary Beth!"

"Rosalie," Mother scolded, giving me a sharp look. "Why have you always disliked Mary Beth?"

I was exasperated, because wasn't it obvious to everyone? I explained, "Mother, she's messy and dirty. And she's always so rude!"

Mother shook her head, "Rose, we can't invite everyone except her-"

"Why do we have to invite everyone at all?" I implored.

She just gave me a look, and I knew I had no chance of changing who was invited or not (regardless of the fact that it was my party).

So, everyone was invited, and their parents were encouraged to come if they'd like. There was one advantage to having everyone invited: No one stopped talking about it. I mean, there wasn't a whole lot of spectacular things going on in Rochester for us as ten year olds, so the party was a big deal. Everyone asked me what we were going to do at the party, what kind of food would be served, what I wanted as a gift, what they should wear- everything. I loved the attention, of course, and I was even more excited for when the day would actually arrive.

And on the weekend prior to my party, Mother took me into the city to buy a new dress, just for the party, because I was grown-up enough.

I remember shaking with excitement on the train, with Mother laughing at me. I had never been to the city before, and this was such a big event for me, that I let all of my facades of coolness slide. This was beyond anything I could have been aloof for- especially at ten. And when we actually got into the city and began our trek to the department store, I was practically grinning. I dragged my mother along, pointing out things as trivial as lampposts and side streets, giggling and bouncing excitedly. I had never seen so many people in one place before- had never seen buildings so close together- couldn't believe it- couldn't stand the wonder of it. Everything was so busy and electrified, even in 1925, and it made me buzz with excitement, and wonder, and naivete.

That day Mother bought me (with Father's money, of course) the most wonderful pale blue dress I had ever seen. It was made of velvet and lace, with long sleeves that puffed out slightly, cinching at the wrist with trim. The collar was rounded and fanned out fashionably, and I felt like a princess because of it all. With it, we also bought white stockings and new party shoes.

I could not have been more ecstatic.

On the day of my birthday, I hid in my room until everyone was in the dining room. From my bedroom (no longer in the nursery with the boys) I could hear laughing and shouting- the voices of my classmates, and my stomach fluttered excitedly. I was all dressed, and my hair had been specially curled, and adorned with a white, silk rose. I was ready, but I was biding my time. This was more than half of the thrill- the excitement leading up to getting the attention- so I waited until Cooky came and scolded me for dawdling.

Vibrating with excitement, I ascended the stairs and walked into the dining room. All of the kids (and even the adults) were assembled there, and when I entered they all clapped and cheered.

I think it was at that exact moment, that I realized just how much I liked receiving attention.

And that attention continued for the rest of the afternoon. Even after the adults had disappeared into the parlor for tea and desserts, and Cooky had taken over maintaining the party, parents came in and told me how pretty I looked, and that they hoped I had a very happy birthday. And of course all of the kids fought for my attention the whole time.

"Rosalie! Rosalie!" Timothy shouted from the other end of the table. "You're going to give me the biggest piece of cake, right?"

Vera: "Rosalie, you must wear your hair like that when we play fairy royals again!"

"Remember when we had to draw that cake for Mrs. Woodrow, Rosalie? This cake looks just like that one!" said Molly Naltt with wide eyes.

Even Mary Beth tried to be nice to me, "You look so pretty Rosalie- I think you might really be a princess."

Whether people were telling me pointless things, reminding me of events that had never actually happened, complimenting me, or asking me for something, they all wanted my undivided attention. I basked in all of it. I absorbed this desire for my attention like it was my sunlight, my water, my air, my everything. It was sort of like discovering I could actually breathe for the first time, and I sucked up all the oxygen I could, greedy for more, afraid I would lose it at some point.

And I did. Everyone left before dinner. My birthday ended at midnight. And things went back to normal. But the damage was done- I was, from then on, a fiend, when it came to getting attention.

In competition against each other, Vera and I were good. But together, we were a force to be reckoned with- particularly when it came to getting attention.

We dominated when it came to playing with the other children and demanding attention in the classroom. Manipulation and deceit weren't needed anymore- we simply gained everyone's favor and attention, their praise and their respect, by being Vera and Rosalie. People appreciated our differences as individuals, but they appreciated us together as well. They realized that I was classically beautiful, fair and light. And that I was quieter- passive aggressive, unafraid. They also knew that Vera was darker, severe and surprising in her prettiness- and that she was a pistol when it counted.

The girl never thought about what she said or did. She shot off her mouth whenever she wanted to- called people things without considering their feelings- and was only afraid and shy after she realized what she had done. But I loved her for it. It was easy being the best friend that picked up the pieces of a thoughtless action. I pretended like it was this big thing, but really, I liked being the one who was calm and collected, and the one who smoothed over fights and drama in the neighborhood and at school. And even without her thoughtlessness, I loved Vera dearly- it felt like I had a wonderful sister.

Yes, I could say that I was never jealous of Vera again after we became friends in the closet at school. But, that's not true. At all.

She was my dearest friend, but she was also pretty and witty. When she was able to smack people with these insults that left them astounded, rather than upset, I envied her. When she complained about her crusader-mother, who was always going off to Washington D.C. and New York City, changing the world, I silently grumbled. When she whined about her father buying her too many dolls, I told her to enjoy it. When she acted nonchalant when it came to her vacations to France and Italy, Greece and Turkey, I told her to shut up.

Many a petty fight erupted between us because of our jealousies. But, in the end, we knew that we were best friends, and that was what counted the most.

I wasn't aware that there was such a thing as bad attention- the kind of attention you don't want at all, for whatever reason. Or that Vera and I could receive it.

I was only eleven when she and I were accosted by a young man on the way home from school.

It was the last day of March, and an impossibly beautiful afternoon. The sky was bright blue, with wispy clouds painted lightly here and there. Although a chilly breeze was blowing around us, it was all together warm for the time of year. We walked along one of the back roads that ran along the edge of an empty grass lot, on our way to our street. Were were alone, because we had stayed after school to help Miss Rawly plan some of the scenery for the spring pageant she was going to put on in May. But we walked leisurely, our arms linked, chattering about everything and anything, giggling and smiling.

We heard a whistling behind us before we saw the man who was doing it.

"What's that?" Vera had asked, looking over her shoulder.

I looked with her, and saw the man slinking toward us. He was dark-haired and crooked-backed, but that was all I could see from so many meters away. He was whistling provocatively at us, jiggling his hand at his side nervously. It's clear to me now that he had something wrong with him, but I couldn't have known that then. I just saw a young man walking toward us, strange and creeping, and I felt slightly nervous, mostly disgusted.

Grabbing my friend's arm, I said, "Come on," and steered her onward.

The whistling continued.

"Ignore him," I instructed Vera before she turned and looked again.

The street was abandoned, save for us, and the man's whistling made me anxious.

"Hey-Hey! Girls! What's the rush? Huh?" he called.

Vera looked back.

He continued, "Yeah-Yeah! Cuties!"

"He's talking to us," Vera whispered to me, as if we should stop and chat with him. "And he's getting closer-"

"Are you stupid or something?" I hissed at her. "We don't know who that is! Just ignore him."

And we walked on.

His legs were longer than ours though, and he caught up with us quickly. When he got in front of us, I finally got a good look at him. He had a layer of fine hair covering his face- not like any beard I had ever seen- and it was over his forehead, even. His eyes bulged slightly, and his crooked teeth protruded from his mouth, covered in a film of yellow and off-white decay. I wrinkled my nose, because he smelled awful too- like urine and manure- and because he revolted me.

Why did he think he could talk to us? What made him think he had the right? I wondered.

"Hello girlies," he leered, leaning toward us. "Want an after school treat?"

I didn't know what he was implying, but his words sounded crude. Listening to him, looking at him- being within a yard of him- made my skin crawl and my hands clench. Run, Rosalie, something told me. My heart sped up, but I kept my cool outside. Giving him a scathing glare, I dug my nails into Vera's arm and pulled her around him. She stared at him, as if she didn't understand him and was unable to look away from him- even with his revolting attitude and appearance.

Vera stumbled along with me, and I hissed, "Come on!"

He got in front of us again, blocking our way. Before we could say anything though, he was fiddling with the buckle of his belt. I didn't know what he intended to do, or what he thought we wanted to do or see, but my gut-reaction was to run like hell. Vera was no longer interested in him, but disgusted and angry. I could tell by the look on her face that she was getting ready to verbally blast the creep to Hades. But I had no interest in telling him off. I just wanted to get away. Pulling at Vera did no good, she batted me away, put her hands on her hips, and scowled at the man defiantly.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she pulled back and shouted.

That was Vera though- no regard for propriety or polite language.

I never would have dreamed of saying 'hell' in 1927.

"What makes you think we'd be interested in a dog like you?" she spat. "Arrogant fool!"

He wasn't listening to her though. Having opened his belt, he was now working on the buttons on his trousers. I tried to pull at Vera, but she was determined to give this guy what he deserved. However, I don't think she was capable of that, because he deserved a cell, and possibly a psychological doctor. She continued slashing him with her verbiage, regardless.

"Rosalie!"

For a moment, I thought it was the man saying my name, but then I looked behind me and saw my father hurrying toward us, with his briefcase in hand. The man undoing his pants heard my father and looked up, startled. Then he ran across the grass lot like a scared deer, disappearing into the block on the other side.

By that time, Vera was steamed up, but silent, with her hands clenched at her sides. I was confused and rattled, but relieved to see Father. He reached us and looked accusing and angry. I wasn't afraid of that though. We hadn't done anything wrong.

"Who was that man?" he demanded.

"Some creep," Vera muttered. When she noticed my father's expression, she added, "Sir."

Father asked, "What did he want?"

"He was going to pull down his pants right in front of us, sir," Vera shook her head, disgusted. "Fool-"

Upon hearing this, my father's face went red, and he grabbed me with his free hand. He barked at us and told us to hurry up, that we were going home. We followed him, exchanging curious glances back and forth as he steered us down the street, muttering angry things under his breath. When we reached Vera's house, Father said he would be calling her parents shortly, and then he dragged me home, looking even more angry and frustrated as the minutes passed.

When we got home, he slammed the door behind us, and all but pushed me into the front parlor.

Mother came down stairs, with Stanley and Charles not far behind her. She looked at me, and then at Father, who had thrown his briefcase onto the sofa.

"What is it?" she asked. "What happened?"

Seeing my two brothers, Father snapped, "Go to your room!"

They scampered away like obedient dogs.

"George," Mother began hesitantly, taking a small step forward. "What happened?"

Father was almost too angry to speak, but he managed, "Some scumbag stopped Rosalie and Vera Goodchild on the street on their way home," he shook his head. "Apparently he was going to open his trousers for them."

A disgusted gasp resounded from my mother, and she said, "But he didn't- Did he?"

"No, I reached them first- But your daughter just stood there!" He wheeled on me, "Did you provoke him?"

I stepped backward, "W-What?" I didn't understand.

"Did you make him open his trousers?" he barked, getting close to my face.

"George!" Mother scolded.

He glanced at her before turning to me again, "Don't you ever let a man do that again! Do you understand me?" I nodded, terrified of him. "No matter what they say about you, or what you think- Don't you ever let it happen again!"

"George," Mother said softly, trying to abate his harshness.

He stared down at me, and then seemed to realize himself. Tiredly, he said, "Go up to your room now."

I ran away before he could start yelling at me again.

Within the safety of my room, I cried, because I didn't know what else to do. I was confident and aloof- so, how had I let this happen? What did the man mean to do once he got his pants open? I didn't know at the time. I was young and naive. I was innocent and silly. But Father's scolding, and the way he all but blamed me, set my world ablaze, and I cried because I was angry, and because I felt so confused and nervous by it all.

Looking back on it, I guess that my father had been frightened of what that man could have done if he hadn't come home from work early. He had never been one to deal with his emotions in any proper way to begin with. His sadness and his fear were turned into anger automatically, and so it had been when it came to that man and his sick attempt. It just happened that I was the nearest and most reasonable outlet for his rage.

My father had told me to never let it happen again, and I told him that I wouldn't. I wasn't exactly sure how I could prevent that, but it hadn't been my fault to begin with- I would just be smarter next time. Little did I know, that next time I wouldn't be so lucky- that when anything like that happened again, I wouldn't be able to prevent any part of it.

Author's Note: Still building up her character and her childhood. Royce King will make an appearance in just a few chapters. And the Cullens will as well. Just a few more chapters! Thanks for reading and reviewing!