Thank you to Jessie the twilight girl for her lovely reviews!
I do not own Twilight.
Biology.
History.
English.
Study.
Lunch.
Math.
I recited the schedule over and over in my head, carrying around the neatly written slip of paper I looted from the office to help me remember. I got to class late that morning and made up the excuse that I didn't know where to go. The blatant lie slipped through my lips like silken hair through soft hands, and the teacher looked at me skeptically. She smiled despite that, her chapped lips forming a little crescent beneath her long nose.
I slid into my seat easily and locked my hands together. She was reciting a clearly plagiarized lecture about medieval sicknesses that I took no interest in; I had read and watched enough medieval dramas to lecture three classes uniquely. There was the sweating sickness, syphilis, the black death . . .
My pen tip sat precariously on the edges of my fuzzy teeth. I ran my tongue over them and cringed. I had forgotten to brush them this morning and they felt dirty and cottony, like someone had glued little fibers all over my incisors. I surely would have brushed them if I hadn't been late getting out of bed by at least an hour. It was just one of those days where I would have to smile with my mouth closed— or not smile at all.
The professor walked towards me slowly, her hand hovering in the air as if she was on a runway. She set her open palm on my desk once she got to it and pursed her lips in thought. I let a small smile tug at the edge of my lips— just enough to acknowledge her, but not enough for her to ignore me, apparently.
"Miss Uley, since you seem ever so interested in this topic, would you care to tell us a bit about The Dancing Plague and what it entails?"
I moved my pen from my teeth and set it down on the desk.
"It started in Strasbourg with one woman named Frau Troffea. Within four days, more people joined her. By the end of the week, the number was close to four hundred. People started dropping like flies because of all of the dancing they were doing. Physicians supposed dancing was the cure. Some places even hired musicians and built stages to make the sick keep dancing," I recited. It sounded like I had been expecting the question; the teacher stared at me as like I was an alien. I gave her a small smile and placed the pen tip back in its spot resting against my teeth.
"I'm listening, I promise."
"I'm sure you are, but—"
"Mrs. Strauss, I'm listening."
Biology.
History.
English.
Study.
Lunch.
Math.
She sighed and moved on to the next vulnerable student. She was moving towards the bum of the class, a kid I knew would not be able to answer any question she asked him. That was probably her goal, though. To make a fool of some other kid to redeem herself after the lesson I had just given her, with her chapped lips puckered and watery eyes soft and vulnerable. She was a desperate case; one that would do anything to be superior to anyone she found inferior.
It reminded me of Nessie and I, and once again my mind wandered to the hall pass.
And I sighed.
Because everything came back to the stupid girl with the coppery ringlets.
"You look happy."
I practically bang my head on the beam above me.
"Don't ever do that again. Why are you in my house anyway?"
Rachel shrugged, grinning at me. "You guys don't lock the door."
I turned slightly to glare at Rachel, but rolled my eyes instead and busied myself with the task of kicking my shoes off and settling my bag onto the couch. She was staring at me from behind, though. I felt her eyes burning holes through my cardigan-clad back and creating little singe marks on my subconscious. She had a way with clawing out information from people that I just couldn't place. She was like a therapist, but better. She was Rachel. Not a best friend or even an encourager . . . just Rachel. And "Just Rachel" could coax feelings out from a rock.
"I had a complicated day at school."
Rachel nodded slowly, mouth closed, eyes searching for more information. I knew that even though she had not been in a school for a dogs age, she would understand. School was school, drama was drama, and days were days. Everyone had days. Maybe they weren't as strange of days, but they were comparably stressful.
"The youngest Cullen girl goes to my school."
"Renesmee?"
I nodded.
"I hate her."
I looked at her, not shocked at all. "Is it because she dated Jacob?"
Rachel huffed. "That's only half of it, she used to make us all want to jump off of cliffs. And not in the fun way, in the 'I'm going to die' way."
"Why?" I asked tentatively.
Rachel rubbed her forehead. "Look, she was just annoying. Renesmee can't keep her hands to herself and no less her feelings."
"She seems to keep finding me everywhere I go," I confessed.
"Even after the whole scaring you half to death with 'legends' thing?"
"Yup," I replied. "She came to me earlier and asked about Jacob, so I gave her a fake act. Also, she invited me over to her house. I declined quite rudely, actually. I think I might have a kill order set on me now, actually."
I smiled. Rachel frowned.
"That's not funny—"
Ring.
I pushed myself up and off of the couch, propelling my body towards the door. Rachel peeked around the corner towards me, but I ignored her. I was sure to get the rest of her lecture about things that could potentially kill me if I even spared a glance in her direction.
Ring.
Ring.
"I'm coming!" I yelled at nobody in particular. I peeked through the peephole, expecting Emily or Sam to be on the other side of the door, but instead find someone tall and tanned looking at me from the other side. They looked around, as if expecting someone to let them in any second. I briefly fiddle with the lock on the door, paying attention more to the person than to the task at hand.
I realized it was a stupid decision when I opened the door without making sure I wasn't in danger. The person turned around, tan back a contrast against the light and leafy greenery surrounding the house. My heart beat fast, like a hummingbird's wings in flight.
"Dammit, Paul," I breathed out, partly in relief, partly in annoyance, at the grinning man in front of me.
"Hey Uley, is Rachel here?"
"Yes, actually. She broke into my house and is currently harassing me."
"It's not your house, though."
"For now it is," I replied jokingly. "And I don't like to get scared half to death every time I walk into my house."
"Paul!" I heard shrilly from behind me. I moved to the side. I had been trampled one too many times to make the mistake of standing in front of the girls' imprints again.
I watched them hug and pepper kisses, but turned my head away within a few seconds and walked back into the kitchen. Other people's relationships made my stomach churn in disgust. It was too mushy-gushy, lovey-dovey for my taste. But that's the thing with love, isn't it? It's meant to be mushy-gushy lovey-dovey.
I started making a sandwich, but it wasn't for me. It was for Jacob when he came over after pack duty. Because I'm not into that mushy-gushy lovey-dovey thing called love. I'm into that mushy-gushy lovey-dovey thing called Jacob. And nobody could ruin that, not even the stupidly copper-headed little vampire that kept reappearing in my head.
QOTD: Where are you from? I'm from the Eastern United States :)