Penname: CullenObsession114

Original or Derivative (fanfiction): DERIVATIVE

Rating/Warning(s)/Note(s): T

Disclaimer: All copyrights, trademarked items, or recognizable characters, plots, etc. mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. No copying or reproduction of this work is permitted without their express written authorization.

Prompt: Phrase Catch: Repeat the following phrase to yourself five times, open a blank document and begin: In a pickle.

Playlist:

This Is The Thing by Fink

or

Summerboy by Lady Gaga

She was popping her gum obnoxiously, and tapping her pen in a rhythmic pattern on the podium placed six feet from the entrance to the Forks Diner. She was your typical middle-of-nowhere 50's diner waitress cliche. Her hair was ratted so thick that it looked like she belonged in the musical Hairspray. When she leaned over from her perch behind the podium to further get her point across to the insistent man who refused to leave until he got the information he so desperately desired, the waitress' badly penciled in eyebrows became more visible, as well as her overdone makeup that gave the opposite effect the woman was going for. It made her look horribly older, and frankly like a wannabe blonde bimbo.

"I told you, sir, that I don't know of any Isabella that works here. Now unless you would like to actually get a coffee or sumtin' I think it'd be best for ya to leave, otherwise you might find yourself in a bit of a pickle." Her voice was raspy from years of cigarette smoke.

The man sighed defeatedly. He had been badgering this lady fot over ten minutes hoping she could give him information, or the whereabouts of the cute brown-haired beauty that served him at the breakfast nook in the quaint diner three months ago. He had been passing through the small town of Forks on his way to his parents house in Port Angeles when he decided to make a pit stop for coffee, and a reprieve from driving. Two hours later he was still on his stool making easy conversation, and flirtation with said Isabella, who was working the night shift to get enough money to get her truck repaired.

For three months he couldn't stop thinking about her tinkling laugh, not overzealous giggles like other women, and her expressive brown eyes. Every morning when he awoke from dreams of her he deeply regretted the fact he didn't have the guts to ask for her phone number, or at least her last name.

Drowned in his mournful thoughts he was startled at the light tapping on his shoulder. He turned around to come face to face with a woman mid-thirties who held a little girl on her hip. "I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Marge." He assumed Marge was the overdone barbie waitress. "I think either she's suffering from memory loss due to all that hairspray, or just holds a grudge for you," she laughed. He joined her chuckles politely. "I'm sorry I'm getting off track. I wanted to tell you that I know Bella, and she works from ten PM to seven AM. I'm guessing your the Edward she's been sighing about for the past couple months?"

He instantly brightened, his posture straightened, and his heart started an irregular beat.

So she's been thinking about me too?

"Thank you so much! You don't know how grateful I am for you..." he trailed off for her name.

"Angela. And it's no problem, I'm sure she'll be shocked to see you tonight when you come back. You are going to visit her, correct?"

"Definitely."