Disclaimer: These are not Stephanie's vampires.
Chapter One
Isabella Swan
I think I might still be high from last night. After I'd gotten off the phone with the ever so charming Tyler, who felt the need to quiz me on the test he was paying me to ace for him, I decided that adding to my already floating high wouldn't be a bad idea. It wasn't. Taking that last drag really topped me off and made my head just foggy enough that I could get a semi-decent night of sleep.
Now, I sigh, sitting up in bed, pushing my mind-of-its-own hair off my face. Tyler is an idiot. Tyler is pre-med but he couldn't name off the bones in a body or do an equation to save his life.
I can. I even had a reputation for being able to pass tests like this on the fly. Everyone at the University of Washington knew of me and, because of that, I was no stranger to a few crisp Benjamin Franklin's meeting my palm.
I was, however, a stranger to idiots like Tyler who thought I needed to be quizzed to pass his test.
Not likely. I tended to remember everything I ever read.
Unfortunately, for me, I tended to remember everything. Period.
Rolling my eyes at my own inane monologue, I glance at the clock and remember exactly why I think I might still be high. I never miss my alarm but today, I've missed it by half an hour.
There went my morning shower.
In less than five minutes, I was out the door, my hair thrown up in a messy bun that was pulling on a few strands of hair, a pair of fading print skinny jeans and a too-large mocha colored hoodie. I looked about as put together as I felt, which wasn't much. My head was still foggy from both sleep and the residual high and I could feel distinct pillow lines on my face.
If I had a roommate, I'm pretty sure she would hate me. I didn't keep regular hours – I slept until whichever morning class I had or I stayed up to catch said class and if I wasn't doing either of those things, I was working overtime. It wasn't consistent but it worked for me, left time for the part-time job I was pulling down at the corner diner that made up for my lack of tuition. And what my diner paycheck didn't cover, my side-job did; it's amazing what college youth are willing to pay to get out of taking a test.
Like Tyler. He was one of those people who had teeth so white it was obvious his best friend was his dentist and with hair so purposefully messed up that it drew attention to his very sculpted eye brows. A good looking guy, for sure, but the equivalent of a Ken Doll. He was pre-med because it was expected but he didn't have the brains to pull it off – after I passed this test for him, there would be no way he could make it through med school. For the lives of his future hypothetical patients, I certainly hoped he failed.
"You're late!"
Speak of the devil.
Tyler stands in the shadow of the science building, hood pulled over his head, dressed all in black – his version of being covert, I'm sure. The look on his face is one of haughty outrage. "Did you forget?"
I shrug one shoulder. "Overslept."
"This is important!"
I slip both hands into the pocket of my hoodie. "Only if I get paid," I say, raising one brow.
Tyler fumbles with his wallet and hands me three hundred dollars. I tuck the money into my back pocket. "Did you get signed in?"
He nods, his head bobbing up and down nervously. "Yeah, yeah I did."
"What's your registration number?"
Tyler tries to hand me a folded up piece of paper and I shake my head. "I thought you wanted-"
I sigh. "Not to keep. Just read it out."
Tyler blinks, his brows furrowed, and unfolds the paper, reading the number slowly. When he looks up, he manages to catch my eye and his mouth gapes open. "Are you high?"
I avert my eyes, carefully looking at his eye brows so he would think I was making eye contact. Of course, even as dim as Tyler is, he isn't a complete idiot; in college, half the students are high on something all the time. And morning light doesn't hide dilated eyes.
"I needed to be calm," I mutter.
Not a lie. I had nightmares and the high made me calm, which is why I had my ritual light and 'night before bed.
A few nerdy looking co-eds pass by and Tyler steps more into the shadows. "You needed to be calm? I'm paying you to pass this test! How are you going to take the MCAT's high?"
I purse my lips to the side. "I don't know, Tyler. Probably the same way I handled your little quiz last night."
"You were high then?" Tyler sputters, finally throwing his hands in the air.
"A lot more high than I am right now, too," I say, taking a second to check the time on his expensive watch. "And if you'll excuse me, I have to go take a test and miss a few questions on purpose."
I don't wait for Tyler to become offended – I simply slip into the side door of the building and navigate through the back hallways until I reach the large lecture room where the test is being held. Blue books have already been passed around and the facilitator has his back turned. I make sure to sit near the back and keep my head down, filling out the front of the blue book with Tyler's information. After the test officially begins, it doesn't take me long to finish and it's clear that I'm the first one done; I wait for the perfect group, two girls and two boys, to get up before I turn in my test. I'm careful to tuck Tyler's blue book in the middle of the stack and avoid eye contact with the facilitator.
By the time I'm out of the building, my shift at the diner is about to start. I take short cuts through campus, idly enjoying the crisp October air and the crunch of leaves beneath my tan leather Oxford-style ankle boots. The walk to the diner is short, since the diner is a campus commodity and doubles as a study joint. It has a very retro-feel, with black and white checkered floors and red leather booths, and it caters to vegetarians and carnivores alike.
The manager, a kind woman whose full name is Betty-Sue but only responds to Sue, is an older woman that moved to Washington from the South. "Oh, child, you're almost late," she winks as I walk in the front door, the tiny silver bell announcing my arrival. A pretty floral apron is tied around her waist.
"That must be the phrase of the day," I respond, ducking under the fold-up counter and tying on my plain back bistro-apron. "That's almost exactly what Tyler said."
Sue eyes my apron with distaste, the plain black color not loud enough for her eccentric preferences, and clucks her tongue. "You still taking those tests?"
"Of course. Why wouldn't I?"
The diner is a bit empty at the moment, save for Mr. Newton, the old trucker who makes a point to stop in for Sue's "soul warming pies" every time he's in town. He laughs, hearing our conversation, and Sue moves over to him, topping off his cup of coffee. "Thank you, ma'am," he says, tipping his head down.
Sue blushes.
I don't comment.
She turns to me, one hand on her hip and the other hand holding a stainless steel canister of coffee. "Why wouldn't you? Maybe because it's a little bit illegal, Bella."
I feel a smile tugging at my lips. "A little bit illegal isn't enough to stop me," I retort, wiping down the counter. I glance at the salt shakers and decided they need refilling.
Sue and Mr. Newton laugh and the subject is dropped as a couple of customers come in. Sue is eager to spread her special brand of Southern hospitality – which meant she tried to fatten up the kids she thought were looking too thin and raising her brows disapprovingly when older men ordered bacon – and quickly moves to greet the small group.
It's calm, mind-numbing work as I refill salt and pepper shakers, transfer ketchup to empty bottles and fit as many packs of Sweet'N Low into square white ceramic dishes. I think that's what I like best about working at the diner; I can just fall into the motions, slow down my mind, and forget things for a while. It's exhausting remembering everything and even though I can recite Mr. Newton's entire order from six weeks ago, I don't mind it – his apple pie with cinnamon whip cream is a memory much preferred than the memories that haunt my dreams.
It's after the dinner rush and my break that one of my few friends comes in, hugging Sue before sitting down at one of my tables. Victoria is a pretty Irish girl with skin the color of cream and shiny red hair that she keeps meticulously straight. Her boyfriend, who is usually only a few adoring steps behind her, is a lean rail of a man and, naturally, one of the Huskies' best kickers.
"Bella!"
I stop at their table and rest my weight on one leg. "Hey, Vicki. John."
"It's James," he says with a grin.
"And you're still an Apostle," I tell him.
Victoria leans forward on her elbows. "So, what are the specials?"
I raise a brow. "We have a delicious what-do-you-need soup with a half if-it's-a-party-I'm-not-going sandwich," I say dryly.
She pouts and James barks out a laugh. "I told you, babe."
"Shut up!" Victoria mutters, before turning to me, making her hazel eyes as large as possible. "Come on, Bella. You never do anything fun!"
"I beg to differ. I did something fun today," I tell her.
She rolls her eyes. "And while I understand that conning Tyler, that poor, stupid soul, is fun for you, I don't understand why you can't have fun with other people."
I fidget with the tie of my apron, smoothing out the kink in the fabric. "I have no interest in watching people get drunk. I'd rather watch grass grow. And for the record, there is no conning involved. He pays, I pass, fair and square."
Victoria waves her hand. "It's not even a frat party," she pleads. "It's just a house party on the west side of campus. One of James' teammate's roommate is throwing it."
"I see," I say slowly. "No. I'm not going. Now, can I get you anything? Soda? Kick out the door?"
Victoria sighs as James orders a double bacon cheeseburger, much to the delight of Sue, who was eavesdropping on our conversation. She follows me behind the counter and waits until after I've given the order to Bill, the diner cook, to speak up.
"Your friend is right, you know," she comments. "You never do anything for fun. It's always class and work and taking those tests for you. Bella, you look exhausted."
I sigh, looking away. I didn't know how to convey that it just wasn't me, that it wasn't part of my personality to go out and party. I was perfectly fine reading and learning in college and taking those tests. In a roundabout way, I liked having the responsibility of my tuition on my shoulders – even if I didn't like why it was my responsibility.
When I was fifteen, my father was in a horrible construction accident that left him without a leg and without any job prospects. I was already a senior in high school at the time, having skipped three grades because of my eidetic memory, and I took on the blunt cost of bills in Seattle; Dad's workmen's compensation only went so far and when that ran out, government disability helped even less. By the time I graduated and started college, working full time or part time was second nature.
Bill doesn't bother ringing the silver counter bell when he slides James' plate to me over the half-wall. Sue is yammering reasons why I should take a real break, a vacation or something, and follows be to Victoria's table.
I glance at both my boss and my friend as I place James' plate in front of him. I heave a deep sigh. "I'll think about it."
"Great!" Victoria sings, rattling off the address while a smug Sue wanders away. "It's at nine. You're off then, right?"
"Yep."
"You won't regret this!" She calls after me when I move away to tend to my other tables.
I silently wonder if maybe the party will make me tired enough to sleep and instantly know that nothing makes me tired enough except for my light and 'night routine.
My shift ends at eight and I don't waste time heading to the dorm to take a very belated shower. I wasn't crazy about the whole communal showers deal that most dorms had and I especially didn't like taking a shower with Dollar Store flip flops to avoid a nasty case of foot fungus.
The shower I take is longer than most as I spend time shaving and washing my hair twice, purposefully wanting to arrive at this party late in the hopes that I could come back to my dorm and sleep. I towel off and cover myself with a fluffy robe, wrapping the towel around my head and slinking back into my room.
I frown as I close the door, noticing my window open and the cool chill of autumn in the air. I could have sworn I'd closed the window last night after taking that last puff. I could have sworn I locked it.
Shaking my head, I close and lock the window, pulling the curtains tight around the pane – I must have been really high last night, higher than I'd previously thought because I truly don't forget important things like that.
I dress quickly, pulling on black skinny jeans with little white unicorns printed on them and a flowing white baby doll shirt that visually gave me curves where I lacked them. I throw on a cropped white-wash denim jacket, pull on a bright green pair of flats and place an sparkly owl amulet around my neck. I leave my hair to dry in dark waves, running my fingers through the length of it as I lock my room door.
Being the daughter of an ex-Seal, I was careful walking through the dark campus, sticking to the brighter sidewalks even though it took longer.
It isn't until I'm almost a block away from the very loud party that I feel a rush of paranoia settle over me.
I expected to be paranoid when I was high and was even a little paranoid this morning while the high wore off.
But I wasn't high now.
And I shouldn't feel paranoid.
I look over my shoulder, stopping in the middle of sidewalk, noticing it empty – void of everything except the pulsing of dub-step music coming from the party.
Nobody is watching me.
But even as I continue towards the party, stepping on a red plastic cup as I cross the threshold, I can't shake that feeling of being watched.
Because that feeling?
That paranoia that comes without a high?
I've felt it before, in my dreams.
And nothing good ever, ever comes from that.
A/N: Fast update ;) You guys, I'm so shocked by the very quick response this story has gotten so….HELLO new readers, followers and reviewers alike. There's quite a few of you! For the record, chapters will be about this length, roughly 5 pages on Word, which is more manageable given my own college schedule.
As a note, eidetic (eye-dead-tick) memory is literally near-recall of anything seen, written or heard.
Now for reviews!
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And super special shout out to both a new reviewer and the first review of the last chapter, Jmcfall – Welcome! I hope you keep reading!
As always, be brutally honest. I can take it!
~cupcakeriot