Nice to meet you, where you been?
I could show you incredible things
Magic, madness, heaven, sin
Saw you there and I thought
"Oh, my God, look at that face"
"You look like my next mistake"
Love's a game, wanna play?
- 'Blank Space' by Taylor Swift
Chapter Two: Rosalie
I'd never been one to shy away from attention.
Growing up, my whole life had been based around shallow praises and the envy of others.
I danced and simpered and twirled... because I loved having everyone's eyes upon me.
Admiration was like a drug to me. I was always perfect, because I couldn't function without the approval of others. My manners were spot-on, my appearance was flawless, I shopped at the right places and wore the right brands because I needed to be brilliant.
Strangers who saw me in the street would let their eyes linger a little longer on my beauty and my mother's friends would always comment on how perpetually perfect I looked. My mother would beam and hug me, and I would smile too, because I craved her praise the way a starving man craves food.
Never once had I wanted to feel invisible until I was stood in front of thirty other wide-eyed teens, none of which who looked like they knew how to shop from anywhere other than the local hiking store.
Ew.
"Class, say hello to Rosalie Hale." The annoying professor introduced me. His cheeks were puffy and red, and he sported a disturbing haircut that reminded me uncannily of a medieval monk. I found myself wondering how anyone could take him seriously...
"Hello, Rosalie." The class droned in monotone.
These seriously can't be the people I'm stuck with until graduation... I thought desperately to myself.
I caught the eye of one particular waif-like girl hiding at the back of class, who looked like the only person in Forks that actually knew how to dress themselves.
Alice Cullen.
Kill me now.
"Sir, Rosalie can share a desk with me!" She called, waving and beaming a little too enthusiastically for my liking.
"Thank you, Miss Cullen." The teacher nodded approvingly. "Rosalie?"
I attempted a smile and slowly made my way to Alice's desk. She was practically bouncing off the walls and grinning desperately at me like we shared some amazing secret.
"Rosalie!" She chirped. "I knew we'd be in the same homeroom! This is Bella, my sister, and her boyfriend, Edward."
Alice gestured towards a lanky, redhead boy with a snooty expression and shy-looking brunette girl who somehow managed to look both completely ordinary and extraordinarily beautiful at the same time. I couldn't help but notice the eerie similarities between all three of the teenagers - marble-like skin, irritatingly good looks, and were their eyes golden?
I shook my head. It must be a trick of the light, or contacts.
"Hi." Bella said quietly, offering me a small smile. "I've heard all about you."
I raised my eyebrows. "You have? That's... a little creepy, actually, considering I've only spoken to Alice once for about two minutes."
"No!" Bella flushed - or rather, she looked like she wanted to flush. Her skin remained icy pale and perfect. "That's not what I meant! Forks is such a small town, and everyone's been talking..." She trailed off. "Anyway, um, I hope we can be friends. I... I know what it's like to be the new kid. It can be a little overwhelming."
"You can say that again." I muttered.
"Rosalie." Edward held out his hand, which I gingerly accepted and let go of as soon possible. His skin was as cold as snow and his voice was smooth with the mannerisms of an earlier century. "Nice to meet you."
"And you." I offered a little uncertainly. I swallowed hard. There was something that was just off about the Cullens.
"So, Rosalie, where are you from?" Alice asked eagerly, turning on her elbows to face me.
"Rochester." I replied.
Immediately, my mind was flooded with images I'd much rather forget. My mother and I laughing and shopping... a wedding at a Church with vaulted ceilings and red roses... Vera and I sharing Coca Cola and cake at our favourite coffee shop... and Henry, sweet little Henry. My breathing stuttered momentarily. Nothing particularly graphic, but sometimes the most painful memories are the happiest ones.
"Rochester?" A sandy-haired boy on the desk next to mine exclaimed. "No way! Royce comes from Rochester. Hey! Royce!"
Across the classroom, I locked eyes with a boy who could only be described as devastatingly handsome. Hazel eyes, fashionably messy brown hair and a confident swagger... I felt a little part of the old Rosalie return when I realised that I really, really liked the look of that boy.
And the best part? His smirk when his eyes met mine.
