February, 2008
(15 Months Prior)
"Where in the hell is he, Bella?" Jessica asks with a hateful voice. She narrows her eyes in that told-you-so kind of way, even though she hasn't told me much of anything in past three years. Only that she doesn't like Peter.
Once upon a time Jessica was my best friend, from kindergarten to freshman year, we did everything together. Then Peter O'Reilly asked me to the end-of-the-year freshman party and she didn't have a date. Jessica begged me to go with her and make it a girls night out. Instead I went with Peter and she never forgave me. Granted, Peter and I became inseparable after that, but that's what couples do in high school, where one goes, the other isn't far behind.
Peter is the cream of the crop; I don't know how I snagged him. He's so smart, in the top two percent of our class. He's the captain of the basketball and baseball team; he was even the star running back for our football team this past season. He has received so many scholarship offers for his athletics and his academics, he'll probably go Division One.
There's where my guilt kicks in. It doesn't bother me at all that in a little over four months we will split and go our separate ways with thousands of miles between us. I hate to admit that in a way, I'm looking forward to it. I know I don't love Peter—I even told him so months ago. I confessed that I loved him like a best guy friend, but that I wasn't in love with him, not like a girlfriend should be.
When we had our heart to heart I was afraid he would hate me. We had been together for so long, I was not sure I could have functioned day-to-day without him. How would have I spent my weeknight and my weekends? Who would have I talked to in school? Who would have I hung out with all summer? But he had simply laughed at me and said that it didn't matter—he loved enough for the both of us.
And I would never tell a soul, but I was very disappointed he didn't dump me or even put up a fight about it. I think that would have proved that he loved me more than brushing me off like he did.
I know there was a time I loved him like a first love should, there were lots of them.
I loved him in the beginning, when our love was fresh, new, and exciting.
I loved him when we began to experiment sexually and he was so caring and doting. He would get this look in his eyes and it would set my body on fire. I miss that.
I loved him when my grandfather passed away and he held me for what seemed like days and let me cry and snot all over his shirt.
I loved him when I had my tonsils taken out and he tried to make me homemade chicken noodle soup that ended up tasting like dirt.
I loved him when I told him about my dreams of studying abroad and how I was going to help produce this play that might win me a scholarship to do so. When he signed up to be my lead alongside me, I felt a flicker of that love.
But I haven't felt any of that love since, and I think if he would be brutally honest with me, he doesn't feel it either.
Yet here we are, Port Angeles' perfect couple, still together—for just a few more months anyway.
"Jess, he's probably stuck at practice, we'll give him five more minutes, then we'll start without him."
"Should have assigned Mr. Perfect an understudy," she mumbles as she stomps away.
She's right, I should have, but I didn't and it's too late in the game now to do so. We have already been practicing for six weeks already and only eight more weeks before show time.
The side door to the auditorium swings open. I smile thinking it's Peter, but my smile quickly fades as the figures come into my view.
It's definitely not Peter.
It's Principal Banner and Port Angeles High's resident bad boy, Edward Cullen.
I say a small prayer. This can't be good.
I look back and forth at the two; neither will look me in the eye. Mr. Banner knows what this play means to me, and as far as Cullen goes, I don't think he even knows my name.
"Bella, I'm sorry to tell you this but Peter isn't going to be able to attend your play practice for a while. He and Mr. Cullen here, got into a little scuffle this afternoon and Peter fell and sprained his ankle. He's at the hospital now but in the meantime, we have arranged for Edward here to be his understudy. Mr. Cullen has promised to do whatever you need him to do and he is at your disposal from now until the premiere. If you need anything else from me, please let me know."
I think Mr. Banner walks away but I can't see anything. My eyes are too full of tears that in no time are streaming down my face.
I plop down on the stage right there in the middle. My ass hurts a little, but I don't notice it much.
All I can think is that my future is ruined. If I can't put on this play... If I don't get that scholarship…
If I don't get out of Port Angeles...
Jessica is instantly at my side, her hand rubbing up and down my back. "What can I do Bella?"
I shake my head. What can we do? It's too late to hold a casting call for his part. I sniffle, "Cancel practice until Monday, I need time to think."
She quickly shuffles away and I hear her whispering to everyone.
I don't even care what she's saying.
The lights overhead flick off with a loud clap. Only the small lights above the stage are on.
I hear a sound to my left.
A tall figure sits down on the floor beside me.
Oh yeah, it's him. "Why are you still here?" My voice is sharp, even in it's quite tone.
He shrugs. He mother frickin' shrugs at me!
Why me, Lord?
I wipe off my face which now feels crusted and nasty. I can tell my eyes are swollen and strings of my hair are stuck to my skin.
"Why are you crying over him?"
I gape at him, mouth open, eyes wide as they can be, shocked... "What did you say?"
"Why in the fuck are you crying over that piece of shit O'Reilly?" He's picking at the lace on his shoe, not looking directly at me.
His words sink in like pin needles on my chest. I am the worst girlfriend ever. I haven't even once thought about Peter's well-being.
I shake my head and I don't know why I say what I do. "I'm not. I haven't shed a single tear over him."
It doesn't make me feel any better to say it aloud.
"Then why the water works?" He looks over at me, and I swear I see a small shard of sympathy there, or at least something that resembles it.
"This play… I'm pretty positive you just ruined it by taking out my lead man. I needed this to be perfect for reasons you rich boys wouldn't understand."
In one quick motion, he pops up off the floor. "How about this, Smarty Pants—you don't assume anything about me and I'll grant you the same courtesy? Deal?"
He sounds offended, but I can't find it in me to care.
Then he sticks out his hand to help me up.
"Whatever," I huff as he tugs me to stand.
"Like ol' man Banner said, I'm here to be your little bitch. Whatever you need me to do. So let's get started. What's first?"
I dust off my butt and realize he doesn't understand that Mr. Banner was implying he would play the part. Edward thinks he's going to be working set design or something, not an actually actor. I can have a little fun torturing him until I can figure out what else to do.
"Do you know where I live?"
He nods.
"Meet me there in an hour and we'll get started, I need to go and check on my wounded boyfriend."
He rolls his eyes and walks away, but not before throwing my favorite words back at me, "Whatever."
"Anyone who has spent a few nights in a tent during a storm can tell you: The world doesn't care all that much if you live or die."
~Anthony Doerr
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