Chapter 3: Lunchtime
"So there are three sets for each subject; bottom, middle and Honours - you're in all Honours which is good, you must be smart and I'll be able to show you the ropes in most..." Brooke said, guiding me down the noisy main corridor.
I met Brooke at lunch, after speedily darting into the girls' toilets when I saw the creepy Cullens coming. She was a little bit shorter than me, and had long, silky brown hair that rippled when she walked and a small, knowing face.
"... you're in A3, just a long the corridor and left a bit, if you get lost, ask Angela for help, she's nice - no, that one, with the dark hair..." Brooke prattled on walking at the speed of light. I hurried to keep up. "Well, I'm in here... good luck, Rosalie."
"Aren't you coming with me?" I panicked. "I thought you were Honours, too?"
Brooke pulled a face. "Nope, not for Biology. Mrs Parler hates me; she's determined to fail me. Either that, or she loves me so much she can't bear the thought of me leaving her class. Don't worry; you know Alice Cullen, right? All the Cullens are in your class."
I groaned.
"Oh, you don't like the Cullens?" She raised an eyebrow knowingly. "I know they look a little weird, but seriously, they're okay! Well, maybe not Jasper. Or Edward. And Emmett means well, but he can be a little intimidating sometimes... but Bella and Alice are nice!" Brooke conceded brightly.
"So reassuring."
"And you are...?" Old Mr Collings wheezed, peering suspiciously over his thick glasses.
I gritted my teeth, bored of the same old introductions and sniggers from the class.
Come on, I urged the clock. One hour left... just tick a little faster.
"Rosalie Hale." I said through gritted teeth.
"Oh right... yes... I do believe we have a new student by the name of... what was it again? Rosie?" Mr Collings mumbled confusedly.
Someone snorted.
"Rosalie." I said forcefully. "I'll go and find a seat."
I marched through the rows of sniggering students and stopped at the last one. There were two spare seats. One was next to a dark haired, hulking boy - a Cullen. I knew immediately. Not just from the snow-pale skin or mirror-image features, but the bad vibes. Danger radiated off him. I shivered.
I turned to the other seat. A vaguely familiar boy smirked at me and looked pointedly at the stool next to him.
"Royce King." He said when I slipped next to him. "I think I saw you earlier."
"Really?" I replied vaguely, raising my eyebrows and getting my pencil case out. "I don't remember."
Royce looked annoyed and I smiled secretly inside. I remembered him - of course I did - but I liked the game of power. It's a game I always win.
Most of the time... The dark murmur inside me whispered. I blocked it out.
Royce whispered at me most of the lesson - telling me about his soccer and the old school he attended a couple of miles from mine and did I see business tycoon Mr King's interview last night? That was his father, by the way. It's too bad I didn't watch it. The Kings were a Big Thing in the money world.
I raised an eyebrow. "If you're so big, how come you're here, of all places?"
"We don't want to be." Royce told me scornfully. "My mother misses her social parties and all that and my dad feels so out of it. But my sister -" He rolled her eyes. "Is weird. The doctor said she needs a 'quieter environment' or something like that. Anxieties or whatever. So we came here. Crazy how two kids from such a big city ended up in the same small town."
"Mmm." I replied, thinking that if Royce was hoping for my own sob-story of how I ended up in the middle of nowhere, he wasn't going to get it.
Finally, the end of the day came. Royce smirked at me one last time at the end of the lesson, then left with his friends. I lingered slightly behind the slipstream of students pouring out of the school, and slipped into the girls' toilets. I rested my head against the cool mirror and closed my eyes. A migraine pounded dully behind my left eye. It had been a long, long day. I didn't feel like Rosalie Hale . . . whoever she was. My usual manners had evaporated; now I used anger to disguise the fear in my speech. The boys had looked at me - yes, of course they had - but now only a small part of revelled in it. The other part just felt tired and threatened.
Threatened . . . no, I wasn't used to feeling threatened. Especially not by people. But today, not one, not two, but a whole family of people had caused me to feel so afraid that I ran and hid in a bathroom, instead of facing the music and dazzling them with my Rosalie-ness, like I used to.
A sob choked my throat. I was useless, useless, useless. I missed the old me. I didn't miss the old mw. I felt tired, lonely, guilty and afraid. My arms itched.
I wanted my Mum.
The air stirred, and I thought I sensed a presence behind me, but when I turned, only the lingering scent of strawberries remained.
