A/N Okay, so I'm currently buried in a pile of psychology books. I'm sooooo sorry I haven't updated since the summer. I didn't realize how crazy junior year was going to be, and taking three honors classes and one AP class isn't helping. Anyway, thanks to Dalonega Noquisi and KristyElla for the reviews. I hope this was worth the wait.
I spend the whole weekend attempting to figure out how to write my partner analysis. Jasper barely gave any useable information about himself. Eventually, at ten p.m. Sunday night I write up an analysis that sounds halfway decent without making Jasper sound totally uninteresting or just flat out strange. I use a little creative license and leave out the last question, because I have a feeling that Jasper would prefer for no one else to know about his answer.
Monday comes, and every hour up until lunch passes by quickly. I smile to myself when I realize I am getting accustomed to Forks, then scowl when that instantly leads to my unsolved mystery. I glance over at the Cullen table, and, unsurprisingly, everyone is behaving normally. I just stare, waiting for him to turn his head my way, but he never does. Of course, after a minute or two Jessica notices.
"Lizzie, why are you staring at the Cullens?" she asks, her tone implying that I may be going off the deep end.
"No reason," I sigh to myself, returning my gaze to the slice of pizza on my lunch tray. I get a glimpse of Bella looking at me questioningly, and I smile.
"Nothing to report, Bella," I mutter, my grin widening. She blushes and begins prodding at the mass on her tray. It is nice to know that someone else feels the same way- or at least has the same suspicions I do about the Cullens. Jess watches our exchange with a bemused expression. Then she shakes her head at us when it stops so abruptly.
"You two are weird," she states simply, glancing back and forth between us. We both smirk at her perplexity.
"Either that or we're normal and you're weird," I retort calmly, taking a bite of the pizza.
"Whatever," Jessica blows the comment off with and eye roll. Then she delves into another topic. "Will you two be coming to La Push with us once the weather gets nicer?"
"La Push?" I inquire, thinking of all the cheesy jokes that could be made with that name.
"Yeah," Jess says, "It's an Indian reservation. We generally go surfing and have a bonfire and stuff like that."
"I'm game," I say, understanding that my father will be pleased with my assimilation. "Though someone is going to have to teach me how to surf. How about you, Bella?"
"I'll come," she says, pointing her fork at me "but I'm not surfing."
"Sweet!" Mike, an unknown participant in our conversation interjects. "This is gonna be awesome!"
Bella and I look at him like he's an idiot. Jessica smiles.
"I know right," she chuckles nervously. "I thought they weren't gonna come."
Soon, everyone at the table is involved in planning for our trip to La Push. I silently wonder how long it will be until we can actually go. The weather in Forks is nasty, and I would prefer to go to a beach where it isn't raining.
I leave lunch early; it is amazing how a pair of crutches can slow you down. When I arrive at the classroom I sit down and reread my analysis. I get annoyed when I discover I've forgotten a comma in an obvious place, but otherwise, considering the lack of information, the essay isn't that bad. I start to reread it again (a bad habit from writing so many stories) when the bell rings. I finish when the bell sounds a second time and all the other students scurry to their seats. I hear the desk behind me shift as Jasper carelessly slips in.
"Okay," Coach Clapp's voice booms. "I assume everyone has their assignment completed and ready to turn in."
The majority of the students who have the assignment out on their desk nod. Two boys in the front corner of the room are viciously scribbling away in their notebooks. Coach Clapp eyes them for a second, and then continues.
"So, before you turn your work in, I want you to give your essay to your colleague and let them read it. Afterwards, we'll have a poll and see how many people's studies of their partner were accurate."
I snatch my paper off my desk and pass it off to Jazz's waiting hand. In return, he gives me his paper. Even thought I attempt to make eye contact with him, his golden eyes don't even offer a glance toward my brown ones. I sigh and delve into the paper.
Ten minutes later I'm staring incredulously at Jasper Hale as he finishes perusing my paper with his golden eyes. His paper about me is not what I expected. I predicted that it would be the flat out truth about everything I said at our interview, and possibly a hint of annoyance at how nosy I am. However, instead, he's clearly used a bit of creative license, and it barely reveals anything about what I'm really like. An excellent example would be how my favorite color is now lime green, indicating that I like exotic things and that I am easily distracted from daily tasks. Also, apparently my relationship with my family is "amazing," and we go on vacations to different parts of the United States every summer (and this has inspired my love of photography). He finishes his check of my paper and then meets my gaze, raising an eyebrow.
"I like golf?" he intones, his expression amused yet serious at the same time.
"Yep," I reply, "And you also plan to become a member of the CIA and interrogate Russian spies when you're older. Or they could interrogate you. Either way would work." I smile and start laughing as he shakes his head at my story. The CIA part is in the paper, but the Russian spies aren't.
"Anyway, how did your question for me become 'How do you sleep?' and how did the answer become 'On my stomach'? What is that supposed to indicate?" I ask. "I mean, I used a little creativity in writing this paper too but…" I drift off.
"I figured you would prefer that others didn't know what you're really like, and I assumed you'd do the same for me. The only difference between us is that my secrets are far worse than yours." He somberly responds.
I eye him curiously, as if I can pick the answers off his face. He's still as hard to decipher as hieroglyphics without the Rosetta Stone, but, for some reason, I feel like he trusts me.
When Coach Clapp asks if the papers our partner wrote about us were accurate, Jazz and I both raise our hands.
Jasper does not appear in my line of vision for the rest of the school week. He returns the subsequent Monday, but he has put his aloof, uncaring mask on again. Later that week I try once, awkwardly, to start up a conversation in Psychology, but to no avail. The following week I start to become upset whenever I think of him. He refuses to talk to me, and avoids me like a cat and a swimming pool. Bella's mood reflects my own, semi-content, but with shadows lingering in the back of her mind. We talk often when Jess isn't around, and I feel like we understand each other fairly well, though not completely.
Friday, Bella agrees to drive me to the hospital and visit with Jace. He is going to be released approximately the same time I come to get my knee evaluated, which is less than two weeks away.
Jace cracks a grin at me when I walk in, and I realize how unhappy my social butterfly of a brother is at the hospital. The previous weeks he had multiple visitors and a lot of get well soon cards, but now that everything has died down, he's becoming morose from lack of contact. I make a note to myself to attempt to visit him more often.
"Who's this?" he asks as Bella walks in behind me.
"Jace this is Bella. Bella, Jace," I make all the proper hand motions during the introduction.
"It's nice to meet you Bella," Jace says. Then he adds, "I thought Lizzie was going to become a crazy cat lady if she didn't make friends here soon."
Bella raises her eyebrows at me and begins to speak, but I cut her off.
"He's had a little too much morphine lately," I shrug my shoulders. "We'll probably have to bring home a couple cases just to keep him sane. Plus he's allergic to flowers," I motion to the bouquets around his bed, "That's why he talks funny."
Jace's eyes narrow at me, and I crack a smile.
"If you touch him he has a seizure," I add nonchalantly. Bella looks at him cautiously, not sure if she should believe me or not.
"Ha-ha, very funny," he retorts in his nasally tone. Then he addresses Bella, "This is why she would become a cat lady."
"Actually," Bella says mildly, "I was going to say that if she became a cat lady we would have become close friends anyway."
"Fluffy and Snowball," I say, naming our imaginary cats.
Bella nods.
"Definitely."
At this point in time Jace does an impeccable impression of Jessica as he questions our sanity. I roll my eyes and shift the conversation toward a more normal route.
"So what's the doctor saying Jace?"
Bella and I sit down, and from there the conversation becomes relatively standard. We talk about each other's health, and how stuff at school has been. I ask him if he's talked to Bekki, which he says he has. Apparently he told her not to waste her money flying out here, that he would be fine and that she needed to focus on school. This led into a conversation about how much homework Jace needed to catch up on. He told that since I had inherited my father's brains I was obligated to help him with it. I told him no. After a few more minutes of banter, he pokes a sore spot.
"So how is your investigation going?" he questions.
"What?" I ask, caught off guard.
"You know, with what's-his-face who happens to be incredibly interesting…"
"Oh right," I instantly shut down. "It's fine."
"It doesn't sound 'fine'," Jace responds.
"Let it lie Jace," I hiss. Jace's expression transfers to worry.
"Is something up Liz?"
"It's none of your business," I retort. "Let it go, Jace."
"Did he do something?" Jace asks protectively, "Because if he—"
"He didn't do anything, Jace, now stop," I'm almost yelling now. Jace is ticking me off.
"Bella, do you know Jasper Hale?" Jace questions. Bella's lips pull into a tight line, because implying Jasper implies Edward.
"It's none of your damn business Jace now shut up." I start to get up. "Come on Bells, we're leaving."
"I'm telling Dad," Jace threatens.
"If you love me, you won't," I tell him as I leave the room.
An hour later I'm sitting on my mattress typing. Then Carrie dies. I hold the backspace key for about a minute and then start over. She dies again.
I slam the laptop shut as hard as I can without breaking it and drop it by the side of my mattress. Then I bury my face in a plush pillow.
The shadows in my head swarm about. Why does Jasper Hale mean so much to me? Why did I let him get between me and Jace? Why is Jazz being such a jerk? What is his secret?
I growl into my pillow and my frustration builds as I cannot answer a single one of those questions. A boy should not be able to do this to me. Why is Jasper so different?
Eventually I pull the pillow off my face and throw it across the room. Then I roughly begin pulling my hands through my hair. The second time through, I accidentally pull too hard, and I wince as a strand or two falls out. I place my hands on my lap and stare at them. Then having vented at least a little amount of my anger I attempt to come up with a reason for my behavior. I finally settle on the following:
Jasper means a lot to me because he is one of the few people I can relate to here in Forks.
Jasper seems like a mystery worth solving, and I dislike it when I cannot figure out what's going on.
Jasper makes me feel insecure, like he can see right through me.
Jasper makes me feels secure because he seems to know me better than anyone else I've ever met.
I trusted Jasper more than I should've, and I thought he trusted me.
I let him get in between Jace and me because of the five reasons above.
I don't know what he's hiding, or why he's being a jerk.
I snatch my computer and type all these in a document that I name '". Then, having a few answers, I calm down and type an apology note to Jace.
Dear Jace,
I'm sorry for snapping at you. I feel absolutely terrible for behaving like that, especially in front of Bella. I know that you have a protective complex, and that you want to know what's going on with your little sister, but I can't tell you. What I need you to do is let me deal with this by myself. I swear I will not let myself get hurt, and in fact, what I'm doing isn't even dangerous, I promise. Another thing I need you to do is get better, because Mark and I need you at home.
Lizzie
When I finish the letter I hobble down the hall to what almost resembles an office to print it. Then I hobble back to my room. I decide I am calm enough to start writing my story again.
Carrie dies a third time. I think there's a dent in the backspace button. I really need to start highlighting and then deleting.
Dad arrives home at noon the next day. I talk with him for a bit about this and that before giving him the letter for Jace. When he asks what it's about, I tell him that Jace and I had a dispute, and that I'm the party at fault. I also politely enquire that he doesn't read it. He agrees, and then leaves the house with Mom and Mark to go see Jace. I am pleased to have the whole house to myself, and just kind of wander the empty halls in order to distract myself. Ultimately, I go to the office and start Googling different ideas for my room. I'm thinking about magenta and navy blue, that way, my room wouldn't be neon colors, but it wouldn't be dreary either.
At some point in time, I hear the door downstairs open and feet plodding in the main entry. A period of time after that my dad opens the door and peers in. He sees me at the computer desk and saunters over to see what I'm doing.
"That's right," he mutters when he sees the picture of a red bedroom that I have brought up on the screen. "We never did get around to that."
I bob my head, and continue my search.
"What did Jace say?"
"He said that he'll call you tonight, but that in short, he forgives your crazy-cat-ladyness."
"Good," I smile in relief.
My dad pulls up the second rolly chair that resides in the room and just watches over my shoulder for a little bit.
"What if we go shop for your room next weekend?" he interjects. "We can also pick up your stuff from the company hotel room. It's been there ever since I brought it here for the move."
"That would be great Dad," I turn around and hug him fervently. "Thanks."
He seems surprised, but then smiles softly and ruffles my hair.
"Anytime, sweetheart, anytime."
After a few more minutes he gets up and exits the room, and I'm left alone to my thoughts. I try to reign them in, but every once in a while a blonde boy with killer looks and golden eyes wanders into my mind.