|Bella|
June 2005
This is going to be the longest summer of my life. Being deprived of my three best friends—Jake, Jared, and Josh (otherwise known as The J's)—is worse than I've imagined it being. It's only been a week and I'm already cracking like a nut job from the summer boredom. If not for the new kid across the street, I'd be in a room with padded walls already.
The new kid and his mother moved in the day after The J's left to go to hockey camp for the summer. I'm not even going to start on how unfair it is that I couldn't go with them just because of the fact that I'm a girl—a fact which my older sister says is debatable—because it will only make me punch something.
Anyway, The J's left to go become NHL material, and just when I thought for sure I was going to literally die without them, a moving van pulled up in front of the house across the street. Naturally, I was curious. So, I sat up in my room with a bowl of mint-chip ice-cream and Weezer blaring loudly through my open window, and watched as the movers began hauling stuff into the house.
After a few minutes, I stuck the spoon in my mouth and forgot to remove it until I got a massive brain freeze. This was not because I'm an idiot and don't know how to eat ice-cream. It was because a BMW, of all things, pulled up to the curb in front of the house.
Of course I've seen sports cars before (and it wasn't even about the fact that I live in the kind of neighborhood where people mostly drive minivans)—but a BMW? That's, like, German or something. If you're going to move to Detroit—well, okay, Canton, which is only a suburb of Detroit, but still—the least you could do is have the decency to drive an American.
I waited to see what kind of people would have the nerve to roll up in a foreign car, and the woman who stepped out from behind the wheel seemed to fit the stereotype I had in my head perfectly. She was super skinny, which, not to be rude to a lot of the mothers on my street, was not something we were used to seeing around here. She had really shiny brunette hair; like the kind you see on shampoo commercials. Her clothes were probably designer (not that I would really know), and she had something hanging on her ear, which I decided was one of those cell phone things you see people using in the movies. In fact, she looked like someone you would see in the movies.
Then he stepped out of the car, and I felt like I'd died and gone to The O.C. He had shaggy, bronze hair that was as messy as the guys' that play hockey with me, except that his seemed to be styled like that on purpose. It hung down into his eyes, making him look kind of mysterious, and he was really tall. Definitely varsity basketball team tall—not that he struck me as the type to play organized sports.
And tall is good, because I'm like five-nine.
Not that I'm planning our wedding or anything, I'm just saying.
He seemed a little on the skinny side, but you could see the definition under his polo-fit tee. It gave him the appearance of an Abercrombie & Fitch model, officially making him the hottest boy I'd ever seen. So hot, that I could feel myself blushing even though he was down on the street and had no idea I was watching him.
And that's what I've done this past week. I've watched him.
I've become obsessive about spying on him over the last week, since it's my only form of entertainment. Well, it's the most exciting entertainment, anyway. I do have my Xbox to keep me company, but even Grand Theft Auto can't compare with Mr. Abercrombie working out in his garage, like he's doing at this very moment.
The workouts started the morning after he moved in. Every morning around 9 AM, he works himself ragged. Half the days he does an extensive cardio workout, with a jump rope of all things, and then he beats the crap out of a punching bag. That's pretty fun to watch, but I'll admit that I like the days when he lifts better. He's got one of those weight machines that allows you to work out all the different parts of your body, so after he works his thighs and glutes, he moves on to my particular favorite: his upper body.
I kind of have the perfect view, too. My bedroom window is directly across from his bedroom window, which sits above his garage. So, after his workout, I can usually catch a glimpse of him stripping his tank top off as he heads into his bathroom to shower. Best ten seconds of my day. Only, today it's actually more like a whole minute, because he stops to look out his window as he gulps down a bottle of water.
I'm completely mesmerized by his hotness, and don't think to hide from his view until our eyes lock. I panic and quickly duck out of sight, hoping that we're far enough away from each other, that maybe he doesn't notice me. Maybe I only think he's seen me.
I wait a minute and then peek again to see if he's gone, but he's still standing there. Not only that, but it's like he's been waiting for me—like he knew I'd look again. At that point, what can I do, hide again? I think not. I'm already busted.
In an attempt to save my dignity, and hopefully make him think I've just happened to notice him and haven't actually been watching him, I throw my hand up and wave. He doesn't wave back, but beneath his intense stare he's giving me, the corners of his mouth curve into a half-smile. I can't help but think, Is he laughing at me?
"Who are you waving at?" a shrill voice calls out from behind me.
Alexandra—rather, Alex—the dreaded older sister. Just the name makes me shudder. She's only a year older than me, but that's enough to make her think she's better than me in every way possible. I hate her because she's way pretty and wears lots of skirts and makeup, and hates me because I'm the polar opposite—a paler, frizzier-haired version of her who is taller than half the boys in school and can beat any one of them in hockey.
Alex barges into my room so suddenly that I jump sky-high at the sound of her voice. "What?" I yelp as I whirl around to face her.
"Why are you so flushed?" she demands the moment she takes note of my face.
She watched me suspiciously for a moment, and then puts the pieces together. "Oh, my God!" she shrieks. "You were watching the new guy work out, weren't you?" She pushes me out of the way and takes her own peek at the window across the street, which is now empty, and adds, "Did I miss him take his shirt off already?"
Good to know stalking runs in the Swan family.
I'm about to deny it and play dumb, but am still so stunned by him catching me that I blurt out a "yep" before I can stop myself.
Alex sighs in regret, but then pulls herself away from my window and turns her evil eyes on me. "Well, well, well... Is Isabella Swan finally crushing on a boy? It's about time."
"What? I don't—"
"It's nothing to be ashamed of, Bella." Alex rolls her eyes as she cuts me off. "He's totally gorgeous, and you're almost sixteen. I was starting to worry that you'd never realize what boys are for."
I've already had enough embarrassment for one day with the whole being caught spying thing. I don't need Alex making it worse with some sort of Welcome to Womanhood speech.
"What are you doing in my room?" I demand.
"Sheesh, I was just looking for my black clip."
"Do I look like someone who would use your hair clips?"
"You should. You actually have really nice hair, Bella. If only you'd brush it—"
I can't help but reach out to grab my messy braid defensively. "I brush it!"
When Alex sees the frown on my face, she studies me a moment, then sighs. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but, why don't we go shopping today and get you a skirt and swimsuit? Then, tomorrow, you can come with me to the lake."
"Excuse me?" Never in all of my fifteen years and eleven months of existence has such a statement come out of Alex's mouth.
"Listen, I know you miss those loser friends of yours, but maybe them being gone is a good thing." I'm shocked, because she actually sounds sincere. Well, sincere for her, anyways. "If you'll promise to not be quite so you"—and there goes the sincerity—"I'll let you hang out with my friends and me. With The J's out of the way, we might have a decent chance of turning you into a girl this summer."
I can't believe what I'm hearing. Has Alex gone mental? Am I not the only one going crazy from the summer break? Well, hell will have to freeze over before I agree to a makeover, and considering it's like a hundred degrees outside, I push Alex into the hallway and slam my bedroom door, yelling, "I don't have your stupid clips!"
"Freak!" Alex yells back through the door. I guess she's mad that I won't let her dress me up like a doll.
Fuck that.
Just because my best friends are all boys, and I like to play hockey, and I've never been kissed before, doesn't mean I'm not a girl.
Feeling ready to punch something, which is basically how I feel every time I have to interact with Alex, I crank up Oasis and climb out of my bedroom window and onto the roof of the garage where I like to go when I need space. I assume this is where I'll spend the rest of my day, because my life is just that exciting.
I actually don't stay out on the roof that long, because Mrs. Haskins pulls up in front of my house. "Bella, honey!" she calls through the open passenger window. "Are you free to watch Riley this evening?"
"Sure, Mrs. Haskins. What time do you need me?"
"Six PM, okay?"
"Should be fine."
"Thanks, Bella!" She starts to drive off, but then stops again. "Oh, and Bella?"
"Yeah, Mrs. H.?"
"If you see Winslow, would you mind hanging on to him until I can come get him?"
"He got out?" I can't help the surprise in my voice. It isn't like Winslow is a little Chihuahua that can sneak through a hole he dug under the fence. He's a seventy pound Boxer. He'd never hurt a fly, but he's still not the kind of dog you'd want cruising the neighborhood on his own.
"Frank forgot to shut the gate after he took the trash to the curb this morning."
I laugh, because that's just like Mr. Haskins. That man would forget his shoes in the morning if Mrs. Haskins isn't there. "You want me to help you look for him?"
Mrs. Haskins's eyes lights up at the offer. "Oh, would you?"
"Sure. Let me just put on my skates and I'll do a few laps through the greenbelt for you."
"Oh, Bella!" Mrs. Haskins sighs in relief. "What would I ever do without you?"
More like, What would I do without the Haskinses? I'm saving up to buy a car as soon as I get my driver's license, and the Haskinses add to my car fund more than any other family in the neighborhood. They pay really well and only have one kid—a baby who will be in bed by seven-thirty. Plus, they always have the cupboards stocked, and they get all the movie channels. It's almost a crime to take their money.
"See you in a while, Mrs. Haskins!" I call with a big, friendly grin.
Not that looking for Winslow is all that exciting, but I'm more than happy to slip on my rollerblades and go for a good skate. I've been in the house too much this week and can use the exercise. So, as Mrs. Haskins continues to drive down the street calling out for her dog, I head in the other direction toward the greenbelt, like I promised.
I live in a subdivision called Brookhurst. I don't mean one of those new "housing developments" where you have to put a potted plant or a flag by the mailbox just so that you can tell which house is yours. My neighborhood is where there may be a house here and there in need of a pint job, but the trees are mature enough that they actually produce shade. Real estate people like to use the term "character."
It's the type of place where everybody knows everybody, and for some reason, once you move in you stay until you croak. Which is exactly why the new guy moving in has been so exciting, and also why I can't stop thinking about him as I roll around the neighborhood.
I go down every path in the entire neighborhood but don't see any sign of the Haskinses dog. Since Michigan is hot and muggy enough to be mistaken for a rainforest in the summer, I only do one lap and then call it quits. I get to my driveway and rip off my helmet to wipe at the sweat that has gathered under it.
No sooner do I toss the helmet in the grass than I hear the sound of paws thudding toward me. Not only does Winslow love me, because I feed him junk sometimes while I'm babysitting, but he seems particularly excited at the moment because of his current freedom. He comes barreling at me full speed.
"Winslow, no! Stay! Bad dog!" I call when I realize he isn't going to stop.
But it's too late. Winslow jumps and knocks me right off my skates, causing all of the air to dispel from my lungs.
Everything proceeding happens so fast. I crash back against my driveway hard, and for a second things go totally back. When I come to my ears are ringing, my head is pounding, and I feel like I'm going to vomit at any moment.
Then, just as I've been expecting, a giant tongue attacks my face.
Winslow only gets the chance to give me one good lick before he yelps and falls limp beside me. That's when I look up to see the new guy staring down at me with the most intense eyes I've ever seen. And, get this— he's holding a taser. "Hello, Bella," he says in a strong, yet very svelte-esque voice. "It's nice to meet you."
Well, of course I scream. The psycho has just killed the Haskinses dog! I scream loud enough that The J's probably hear me all the way at camp. Then, I try my best to push the new kid away from me, but he's too strong.
"Easy there, Bella," New Guy orders me, and then does the weirdest thing. He takes his shirt off.
Not that I don't appreciate what's under his shirt, but I scream again. Well, what am I supposed to do? The guy comes out of nowhere, kills a dog, pins me to the ground, and takes his clothes off? Oh, yeah and he knows my name.
How does he know my name?!
It isn't until he wads up his shirt and plasters it against the back of my head that I realize maybe he isn't attacking me. Once I comprehend this, it finally dawns on me how much pain I'm in. "Ugh," I moan loudly, my throat burning with the noise. There is a pounding in my head like nothing I've ever felt, and it seems to match the rhythm of my heartbeat. The thud, thud, thud is echoing in my ears and making my brain want to explode, but it's soon overpowered by a much worse sound. One that is unfortunately all too familiar, and makes my head ache even when I haven't just cracked it on the pavement of our driveway.
"Bella! What the hell is with all the screaming? I'm on the phone!" Alex is saying until she gets to the driveway and sees what's going on. The shriek that follows is bloodcurdling.
"Don't worry; she'll be alright. But, she will need stitches."
I'm startled because the voice comes from so close to me. It's like I've forgotten New Guy is here, and when I look up I'm surprised to see his face just a few inches from mine. They're blue, I think as I finally get a really good look at his eyes. I've been wondering all week what color they are. It's been hard to tell from my window. Deep, dark, ocean blue. Gorgeous, just like him.
He looks down at me suddenly with the same amused grin he gave me from his bedroom window, which I think is strange. But maybe I'm looking at him cross-eyed since he holds up a finger in front of me and slowly waves it from side-to-side. The motion makes me nauseous.
"She might have a concussion, too," he says, still grinning at me. Is a concussion funny? It certainly doesn't feel funny. "We should get her to a hospital. Are your parents home?"
"They're both at work," Alex replies in a frantic voice.
She comes rushing to my side as if she's completely freaked out, but I notice the way she puts her hand down on New Guy's forearm as she pretends to care about my well-being. I smirk at her fingers clinging to his skin. Obvious much, Alex?
Alex is suddenly glaring at me for some reason, and the new guy laughs. It's quite irritating, because the situation is anything but funny. Under different circumstances, I'd tell him where he can shove that laugh of his, but I start seeing these big, dark spots floating all around me, and I sort of forget that I'm annoyed.
Plus, he doesn't fall for Alex's techniques for getting his attention. He peers down at the hand on his forearm and immediately removes it. That earns him a couple of brownie points with me until he takes her hand and places it on the shirt he's been pressing against my head. "Hold this," he instructs, and then gets to his feet to let my sister tend to me.
I'm going to have to school him on just how not smart it is to leave a dying girl in the hands of my sister, when I see him scoop up something large into his arms, and then I remember what happened. Winslow! How could I have forgotten about Winslow?!
I want to yell at New Guy for murdering the Haskinses dog, but he's already disappeared inside his house. He comes back a minute later with keys in his hand instead of a dog, and a new shirt on—to both my sister's and my disappointment. "You know where there's a hospital?" he asks Alex, handing her the keys to his BMW.
"Uh, just a mile or two from here," Alex says, staring at the keys in her hand.
"Good. I'll get her. You drive."
The next thing I know, I'm being scooped carefully off the ground. My head responds with a vengeance, and I groan when everything starts to go black around me. Unfortunately, I don't get to pass out, because Alex screams again, "There's so much blood!"
I can feel the new guy shrug his shoulders beneath my weight, saying, "I've seen a lot worse."
"You've seen worse?" Alex asks, vocalizing my exact thoughts.
New Guy doesn't explain himself, though. "She's got plenty left. Trust me."
Alex frowns, but New Guy just sweeps past her, not bothered in the least about my weight—which is a lot more than you'd think, considering how skinny I look—and asks her to open the car door for him.
Alex does as she's told, but as the new guy climbs into the backseat with me, she asks, "Doesn't blood stain? You're going to get it all over your car."
Leave it to Alex to be worried about the car and not her dying baby sister.
I can barely make sense of anything at this point. My head hurts so badly that the pain is almost numbing, and I'm growing more tired by the second, but I can still hear the words he mutters under his breath as he pulls me against his chest, holding his shirt tightly against the back of my head. The expression on his face grows disturbingly dark, and he mutters, "Wouldn't be the first time."
"W—What d—do you mean, 'not the first time'?" I stammer, a little distracted by the threat of unconsciousness.
His scowl is gone so fast I'm not sure that it was there in the first place. "Shh," he says with a wink. Then he peers up at Alex and barks, "Just hurry, okay?"
The movement of the car only makes my stomach feel even queasier. It makes it very hard to fight off the unconsciousness that had been trying to overcome me. The world around me seems to slip out of focus, and then my eyelids droop.
"Oh, no, you don't." New Guy's voice is extremely tender, but the pat he gives my cheek, that makes my eyes roll forward once again is quite the slap. "No falling asleep, Bella."
Can't help it, I think. I'm so tired, and you're so comfortable. Maybe it's the possible concussion, but this is the closest I've ever been to a boy that hasn't just mowed me down chasing after a puck, and I fully intend to take advantage of it. I relax in his arms and enjoy the feel of the chest I'm being held against. For someone which such hard-looking muscles, the new kid is surprisingly soft.
New Guy's chest starts to tremble beneath me, and I glance up to see him shaking his head with laughter. I've officially had it with this guy and his being amused at my dying. My anger manages to give me a little burst of energy. Enough to steady my gaze momentarily and growl, "Is something funny?"
I think I sound pretty menacing, but New Guy doesn't bother to wipe the smile from his face. He just looks down at me and shrugs. "You are."
I try to glare again, but I can't focus my eyes enough to do it. I don't think I lose consciousness then, but maybe I do, because New Guy touches my face again. Only, this time, he doesn't slap it to keep me away; he starts brushing his fingers back and forth along my cheek.
The warm, tingly sensation his fingers leave on my skin is something I've never felt before. Certainly nothing like whenever The J's tug on my ponytail, or give me an elbow jab, or even when they give me a hand up after they've knocked me to the ground. This is different. It's like magic. Wonderful, wonderful magic that makes all the pain in my head disappear.
I'm sure it's a concussion-induced hallucination, but still, I'm beginning to think it's worth it. That is, until New Guy brushes my hair out of my face and says, "Such shiny, brown hair. Gorgeous, just like the rest of you."
My stomach lurches, and it has nothing to do with my head injury. I recognize his words immediately. Didn't I think the exact same ones about him only minutes before? Have I really been talking out loud this entire time? Suddenly, all of his amusement makes sense.
The humiliation is too much for me to handle with everything else going on at the moment, and all of those spots in my vision finally lump into one giant shroud of black.
A/N: Let me know your thoughts! :)