all right..blah blah blah

I don't own twilight… or any of its characters….like im smart enough to come up with it on my own anyway…

Heres chapter 3, hope u like it!

Chapter 3

The Future

My eyes shot wide open in surprise.

"Eh hem…" rasped the voice of my somewhat ancient English teacher, Mr. Lewis.

I was still turned around in my seat, facing Lee. I winced. I slowly turned around and saw my teacher, standing with his arms crossed in front of his chest. But there was something strange about his expression; he seemed as if at any minute he would explode, but that instead he was trying to restrain himself.

Odd, I thought.

"Miss Rosalie Watson," he began. He put a strong emphasis on my last name. I didn't really understand it.

"Would you kindly explain why you did not respond to me after I called your name a grand total of 5 times?"

Uh oh, I couldn't just tell them that I was staring in the eyes of the guy that I had recently started to regard as something of a threat, as though I was going to throw myself at him.

Wait.

Mr. Lewis wanted me to do something against my will.

That was another thing I didn't have happen to me very often; I was the one that always had things go my way. In fact, I quite often was called such names as "pig-headed" and "tenacious" and "spoiled brat".

So instead of acting like the condemned students who usually stood in my position, I narrowed my determined eyes and stared my teacher down.

"Is that absolutely necessary, Mr. Lewis?" I asked coolly with my right eyebrow raised.

"In any other case, I would have to punish you with 15 slaps across the hand. However, seeing as you are an exception to almost every rule, I will let you off."

Now I understood the emphasis on my last name.

He was scared of my parents, their social connections, and, most of all, their lawyers.

Now, most people think that I should feel blessed to have such powerful support, but I really just think it makes me unable to fully support myself.

At this point, almost the entire room started to whisper amongst themselves. Great, now I'm the subject of more gossip. Just what I needed, especially after all the attention I had been given from my reaction to Lee.

This guy was ruining my life.

Mr. Lewis turned back to the chalk-board and continued of with his lesson.

I didn't even pretend to pay attention.

I sat in my seat, my arms crossed in front of me, my lips pressed in a furious scowl. I remained like that for the rest of the class.

Finally, the class ended; a grand total of 53 minutes after the incident. I knew exactly for I had been counting.

I swiftly stood up and left the room before anyone else had even grabbed their book bags.

After storming out, I practically ran to Tyler, my chauffer. He immediately caught the power of my dark mood, and opened my door without a word.

I climbed in and settled myself while Ty shut the door. He briskly walked around the car, slid into his seat, and drove off. It was only five minutes later when finally couldn't hold on to his curiosity any longer.

"Did you have a bad day, Miss Watson?"

"The worst, Ty, the absolute worst."

"Well, is there anything I can do to make you feel better?" Tyler was like the dad I was supposed to have, the kind that cares about what you really think rather than what I want. He had been my own private butler for who knows how long.

"No Tyler, I don't think anyone could make me feel better. Not today."

He looked over and gave me a comforting smile.

"You know I'd do anything for you Miss Watson, don't ya?"

"Yeah, I know," I attempted to smile back, but failed miserably.

At that moment, we pulled into the large circular driveway that opened into the front of my house. Tyler picked up my backpack, and then exited the car. He came around to my side again and opened my door. I sluggishly stood up and almost crawled into the house.

Tyler had, of course, beaten me in and had already summoned the one person I could really trust and rely on, Beatrice, my maid. She had been the one who had raised me; my mom didn't have time for that.

As soon as I stepped onto the tiled threshold of our reception area, I was enfolded into Beatrice's decent sized bosoms and held there by her rather meaty arms.

"Oh sweetheart, tell Old Bea all about it!"

I managed to lift my face up and out of its previous, slightly uncomfortably position. Tying to look convincing, I smiled up at her and took in her familiar face. She was a matronly woman with bold features and chubby cheeks. I loved her like no other, even though she still was not able to understand or predict my actions; just like everyone else that is.

"Not now Bea, I have to finish my needlepoint take-home work."

"Well, you can finish while you spill what's on your mind."

Without any further time wasted on waiting for my response, she grabbed my waist and dragged me up the grand staircase to my room.

Once we arrived in my large, Victorian styled room, Bea lightly deposited my stiff body on the bed, which was, by the way, much larger than any decent person would need by themselves. She went to my vanity and picked up my needlework project. She paused, softly fingering my handiwork and looked up at me.

"Sweetie, it's gorgeous. After you get it back from Mrs. Ferris, I think I will add this design to a new blanket for your window seat." She smiled kindly, then handed me the project. "Now, what happened today? You look like a ghost."

Embarrassed at how I was acting, I looked away, down at the hardwood floor.

"Nothing happened it was an uneventful day," I lied, still not looking at her.

"Oh, no. You are not getting away with that young lady. I haven't seen you this emotional since you were 14 and you were first asked out for a date." Darn her for being so observant. I knew I would never be able to keep from confiding in her.

"Fine, there is a new boy at school and I can't understand him. In fact, I'm scared to death of him."

Bea looked surprised for a moment, then her face turned into a sly grin.

"Oh, is that so. This boy, is he handsome?" she asked, pretending to be indifferent.

"Well, yes, if you think that a major body builder is handsome, you will think he is too."

She raised her eyebrows at that and looked down and started fiddling with her hands. Most likely she was trying not to laugh.

"Oh, so he is strong then. What else is so scary about him, or are you just afraid that he will beat you up?" She was trying to lighten the mood, bless her heart.

"No, he doesn't seem like a bully. He just…" I paused, "I don't know. I can't describe it. He just…intimidates me."

She looked up at me then with a curious expression in her eyes. She had a knowing smirk on her face and her eyes quite fairly sparkled up at me.

"Does this young man have a name?"

"Lee. Lee Marks."

"I see. Has he shown any specific interest in you?"

I looked away again, focusing on my hands as the stitched the design onto the fabric I was using.

"Well, yes…I think…I mean, perhaps…I mean…I don't know! I don't know if he has his eye on me, I don't know anything about him!" I was almost crying again. This had to be one of the worst days of my life.

Bea saw how affected I was. She stood up and walked over to me. She took the needlework from my trembling hands and put it on my bedside table. Then, she pulled me into a strong, yet soft embrace. Unable to contain myself anymore, I wrapped my arms around her and buried my face in her shoulder and for the second time that day, I was crying again.

We remained like that for a long time, even after I stopped crying I remained safe in her arms. Finally, I stood up and wiped the remnants of tears from my eyes. At that exact moment, there came a soft tap at the door.

Bea went to answer it and I sat back down on my bed and closed my eyes and just breathed.

Bea quietly shut the door and came to my side.

"Honey, your father just came home. Dinner will be in half and hour. Why don't we get you out of these clothes and into something suitable?"

I nodded and she helped me up. I swayed on my feet but stayed standing after the vertigo calmed down.

She walked towards my closet and opened it. She knew what kind of clothes were expected for dinner, so she picked out a lovely dress for me to wear.

It was a dark purple frock with a peter pan neck and puffy cap sleeves. On the right hip, there was a red flower and a light purple ribbon spilling off the side.

Perhaps the perfect word that could be used to describe it was "chaste".

But in my family, chaste was expected of the daughter of a household such as mine, even if the daughter was technically of age.

My parents critique everything I do, for they expect to marry me off to some very high ranking social aristocrat; and since they control all of my inheritance and could very easily take that away, I do what they want me to.

And if that means dressing up as a frump every time my father eats with us, so be it.

After the dress was on, my hair came next. My hair has a lovely natural curl to it, but my parents still expect me either to have my hair in a high bun or in barrel curls swept back in a ponytail.

If they still wanted to pretend I was 10, all the power to them.

I really didn't care what I wore to dinner, nobody saw me except for my parents and our servants. Besides, no matter what I wear, I am beautiful.

So as Bea set about setting my curls, I thought about what I was going to do the next day in school. I obviously couldn't act like the imbecile that I had acted like today. I obviously couldn't pay any particular attention to Lee; none at all would be preferred. I also obviously couldn't let anyone, especially my gossip loving "friends" who pay attention to my every move.

I could feel the curlers getting hot, but I didn't pay any attention.

What was I going to do?

How did he do it? He obviously was interested in me too…wasn't he?

Yes, I was fairly sure he was interested. So how was it that he able to be so calm around me?

Was he just suave? Ooh, I hate suave people: they make me sick.

But, no, I don't think that was it.

Then I had an inspiration. Maybe he was determined to get me, so he would play hard to get.

Two can play at that game, buddy.

Now I knew what to do, I would play hard to get. However, my objective would be to remain single, as opposed to dating him.

Yes, that is what I would do.

"Done!" squealed Bea, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Thanks, now downstairs to my torment."

"Oh, how bad could it be? Good food, pleasant conversation, all dressed up like, it must be torture."

As much as she jests, she really does know how hard it is for me to put up with my parents. She isn't a big fan of them either. In fact, the only reason that she has stayed working in this house was because she thought of me as her daughter.

If she did leave, I would probably die.

She helped me up and gave me balance as I stepped into my fancy matching 1" heels. As much as I hated 1" heels, they were the only kind of heels allowed for me to wear at the family dinner.

Lucky me.

I stood before my bedroom door, silently willing th door to not open so that I would have an excuse not to go downstairs. But the door did open, smoothly and perfectly, like everything else in this house, and I was forced to step out into the hallway.

Bea led me downstairs but stopped before the dining room door and turned back to look at me. She had an expression on her face that was extremely pitying and mouthed, "I'm sorry." Then she turned back to the door and opened it slowly, escorting me in.

Our dining room is definitely something to be admired. It ahs marbled floors, a very long wooden table, and tapestries on every wall, of which there were eight. There were also two stone statues of cupids on either side of the main entrance.

But even more glorious then the room, my parents sat at the table: my father at the end, my mother to his right. My mother, Abigail, is quite beautiful herself. She too has long blonde hair and perfect features. She also has the most amazingly blue eyes and a slim body. My father, Richard Watson III, has incredibly well kept, with dark brown hair, bold features, and my eyes. I get my height from him for my mother is only 5'5".

Bea led me into the room and pulled out my chair. As I sat down, I saw my parent's eyes gleaming at me, as though I was a project they had just completed and they were ready to show it off.

Lord, how I loathed that look.

Now that I had arrived, the servants started bring in our salads. That is another perk of having such rich parents, we have an amazing chef. The salads had a lovely raspberry vinaigrette dressing and the leaves were all hand washed and prepared. Heaven.

After being served, my parents immediately started eating, but I waited and thanked the server, Bernard. My parents looked up at me when I did that and raised their eyebrows; they think that thanking the help is low class.

I looked down at my plate and mentally rolled my eyes. My parents could be such pricks.

I worked my way through my salad, but I slowly began to get nervous; usually, by this time, my parents would have started talking to me. However, they just sat there, watching me eat as they ate bits of their own meal.

After our salads were finished, our servants came directly out and cleared the dirty, empty plates. They came right back out with the main course: meat lasagna with an extra piece of garlic bread on each plate.

My mouth began to water, but my head began to wonder. Why would Chef Francesco make my favorite meal today? Do the servants know something I don't? He usually only made my favorite foods on days when I would need comfort at the dinner table.

Just as I was about to write it off and place the first, deliciously smelling bite in my welcoming mouth, my father began to speak.

"I think it is time we discussed your future."

I nearly lost my appetite. In point of fact, if it had been any other meal, I would have stopped eating altogether, for when my father started a conversation with that line, it usually meant that I was in for some bad news.

My mom saw my expression and, of course, misinterpreted.

"Now, darling, don't worry! We aren't going to send you to college."

"Well, thank you. I'm glad I have that load off my shoulder," I replied. In my mind it was said sarcastically, but when it was in actuality stated, it sounded pure as snow.

My mother smiled, seeming genuinely gladdened by my response.

"No, but we would like to talk to you about what you are going to do after you graduate in May," my father said, retaking the dominant position in the conversation.

Super. I wonder what the topic will be tonight; what I would spend the rest of my life doing was my best guess.

"Yes Father, what did you have in mind?" I asked sweetly, like any good, innocent daughter of thirteen might do.

"Well, as you know, you are eventually going to be married. My dear, if you want a say in who you wish to marry, you must tell us. I told your mother that you had shown no interest in any certain boys and that you would, therefore, have no objection to our choosing a suitable husband for you. However, she insisted that I at least let you have a small say in your future. Which is why I am now asking you, is there anyone who you would want to be married to?" he said this calmly, as if we were discussing the weather.

I simply stared at my parents in awe. I truly had not expected them to discuss my future marriage before I graduated school. Then I remembered that my father had asked me a question.

"Father, this is quite the question to spring on my unexpectedly. I must say that I have no certain person in mind. However, I would like to be part of the eventual decision after you have come up with a list of suitable husbands."

Something tugged at the back of my brain. I knew what it was; it was the memory of the boy who had aroused jealousy in me for the first time, who had caused me to feel an odd sensation in my stomach that was completely unfamiliar to me, the one who I could not predict.

My parents exchanged a glance and my mother shrugged. In response, my father raised his eyebrow at her, but seemed to be considering. He finally turned back at me with a small, business-like smile on his powerful face.

"Very well, it is agreed. You may enjoy the rest of your meal now." He had, of course, noticed that I had stopped eating.

I smiled back, the same cold, yet, agreeing smile on my face and nodded. Then I turned back to eat my lasagna, yet this time, I was accompanied by an ominous feeling in my heart.

k, so thats chapter 3...next chapter goes back to carlisle...im excited