Bella Swan and her best friend Jasper Whitlock are the poster children for juvenile deliquency. Parties, booze, and sex are the centers of their comfortable little world. But all will change with the arrival of a certain bronze-haired, brooding teenager. AU/AH/OOC.
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. That brilliant stuff belongs to the one and only Stephenie Meyer. I just borrow her characters.
2. Chapter 2
Rating 5/5 Word Count 2185 Review this Chapter
The Calculus final, mixed with my raging headache, mixed with a gaggle of annoying, giggling girls standing in the crowded girl’s washroom made me want to vomit. I knew for a fact that I had failed the Calculus final, but I didn’t give a shit; I knew my grade would still be the highest in the class.
“Oh, my God! Did you see Eric Yorkie’s gym shorts today?” Jessica Stanley said in her nasally, whiney voice. “Little Eric was poking out the entire time,” she giggled. I rolled my eyes.
“Oh, my God! Did you see Jessica Stanley’s jeans today?” I said in a perfect imitation of her irritating, high-pitched voice. “I mean, you’re supposed to wash them after you unexpectedly start menstruating!”
The look on Jessica’s pointy little face was priceless. I smiled to myself before leaving the washroom.
Jasper was waiting for me when I stepped out into the vacant hallway. He was leaning against the empty-except-for-one trophy case with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. His hair was a mess and his jeans had a stain on them, but he still looked better than any other guy in the school. I was proud to call him my best friend.
“Smoke before class?” he asked, quirking an eyebrow and gesturing towards the front doors.
“How about a smoke before we leave this shithole,” I offered, slinging my backpack over my shoulder and linking arms with Jasper.
“I like the way you think, Miss,” he laughed.
Jasper and I walked arm and arm all the way to his ancient, ’69 Ford Mustang. When we got in and Jasper turned the car on, he revved the engine, and in a flash, we were speeding down the rain-soaked streets of Forks. My feet were propped up on the dashboard while I smoked. I watched as the smoke blew out of my mouth to make stuffy little clouds between my parted legs. If there was one thing I loved in this world, it was the look of newly settling smoke. It was beautiful to me.
“Where to?” I heard Jasper drawl as he puffed on his own Lucky Strike. The smoke made beautiful swirls around the steering wheel.
“Your house. The Chief’s home and I don’t feel like explaining why I didn’t come home last night,” I replied, taking another long puff.
“One problem,” Jasper said, taking one hand off the wheel to grab something from the console. He produced a bag of weed with a smirk on his face.
Good boy, Jasper.
I smiled deviously and said, “To the lake!” as I saluted the little bag of buds benevolently.
Jasper’s antique, piece-of-shit car barrelled down the muddy road that led to the lake. I was thrashing in my seat as Jasper flew over the bumps and ruts in the road. When we finally made it to the disgusting, dirty, bacteria filled lake, my heart inflated. I loved this place almost as much as I loved settling smoke. My adolescence was devoted to this very place. I had taken my first drink here, I had taken my first puff of a cigarette here, and I had lost my virginity here.
Ahh. Home is where the heart is.
I hopped out of the car and made a beeline for the humongous boulders that lined the polluted shore. I sat on top of one, staring off into the distance, just marvelling at how much shit had gone down in this very place. My nostalgic thoughts were interrupted by Jasper elbowing me in the ribs, signalling me to make room. I scooted over on the boulder and let Jasper sit down next to me.
For the next hour and a half, Jasper and I just sat on that same rock, talking and laughing and getting high and remembering all of the good times. When my eyes were red and my brain was sufficiently fried, I decided it was a good time to bring up the previous night.
“Who was the lucky girl?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow in Jasper’s direction.
Jasper rolled his eyes. “Fucking Lauren Mallory,” he said, a shudder running through his body.
I laughed at his dramatics. “It was that bad, huh?”
“Bad? That’s an understatement. I could barely get off on account of the smell.” Another shudder shook his body.
Another fit of laughter erupted from me. Jasper sure knew how to pick them.
After another thirty minutes of just talking and laughing and reminiscing, I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and checked the time.
“S’almost four,” I slurred. Too much weed made me too lazy to speak articulately.
Jasper frowned. “Guess I should go home and kiss up to Mummy Dearest.” And with that, he grabbed me around the waist with both of his hands and carried me all the way to the car. My legs were swinging in circles as he walked. I didn’t even bother fighting him off; I could barely feel my arms.
Jasper’s driveway was long. Too long. It went on forever. But once you caught sight of the magnificence beyond the threshold, you realize that the agonizing drive was totally worth it. Jasper’s house couldn’t even be called a house without it being an insult. It was a mansion. A palace. A fucking temple. It was four stories high and had rose gardens and ponds and ornate fountains decorating the yards. An Olympic sized in-ground pool resided in the backyard, along with the biggest hot tub I’d ever seen.
“I love your house,” I sighed as we pulled into the five-car garage.
“I know you do,” was his lethargic reply.
We stepped out of the car sluggishly and shuffled our feet towards the front door. Being the gentlemen he was, Jasper opened the door for me and let me enter first. The smell of freshly baked cookies and tobacco filled my nose instantly as I walked in. Jasper’s mom was standing at the kitchen counter, a cigarette hanging lazily from her mouth, and a tray of steaming cookies lay out in front of her. She turned her head sharply when we walked through the door.
“Hi, Bella,” she said with a smile. “Afternoon, Jazz.”
“Hi,” I said just as Jasper said, “Mom,” and nodded in her direction.
“Can you guys keep it down for awhile?” she asked in a low whisper. “I know you two love to blare your music, but I’ve got company right now.” She gestured towards the living room. “Just for about an hour,” she added with a smile.
Jasper and I both nodded in unison, and being the snoopy bastards we were, we both walked further into the kitchen to sneak a peek in the living room.
In all of her brown-haired, beautiful glory, sat the epitome of the term ‘soccer mom’. Esme Cullen—the most well respected bank manager slash soccer mom in all of Forks—was sitting in Jasper’s living room sipping from a dainty teacup. Her eyes were focused on all of the unique and priceless art that adorned the walls, and her fingers were occupied with picking lint off of her red, cable knit sweater.
Esme Cullen rubbing elbows with Caroline Whitlock? That’s odd.
I was craning my neck around Jasper so I could get a good look at Esme, so when the pain came, I pushed Jasper out of the way to get a better look into the living room.
I was pretty fucking shocked by what I saw.
Next to Esme sat a bronze-haired, green-eyed vision of fucking God. His tousled copper hair was a disastrous mess, sweeping down over his eyes and looking like he’d just jumped out of the sack after a night-long fuckfest. It looked stunning. His lips were set into a hard line and his eyes were intense as they stared at the floor. He was wearing dark jeans, a white, v-neck t-shirt and a fitting leather jacket. He had a khaki-colored messenger bag slung over his shoulder.
My jaw dropped a little when I saw him.
Jasper nudged me in the side, and when I found it in myself to tear my eyes away from the beautiful stranger in the next room, I looked up to see a very amused Jasper staring down at me.
“I think you got some drool on the floor, Bells,” he laughed.
I shook my head a little to clear the haze that was suffocating my brain. I felt like a fourteen year old girl who had just discovered masturbation; I was totally blissful.
“Let’s go upstairs,” I rushed, pulling Jasper by the sleeve of his shirt.
The smell of Jasper’s room definitely helped clear the hottie-induced-haze from my head. It smelled rancid. Like cheese and pickles and burning hair.
“Jesus, Jasper. Clean much?” I asked as I crinkled my nose in disgust.
He shrugged. “No.”
I could tell.
And so the usual routine began.
I slumped into Jasper’s feathery, king-size bed, grabbed the remote, and flicked on the 64” plasma that hung from his golden walls. Jasper threw himself down onto the bed, as well, and began flipping the pages of the nearest magazine in his reach.
“You read Cosmopolitan frequently?” I teased.
Jasper turned the front page to check. “Apparently,” he said with a shrug.
I laughed and laid my head back on the down-filled pillow. I turned the channel to one of the random music channels and just basked in the comfort I felt as Jasper and I lay in bed and listened to music. But a certain pesky little person kept interrupting my bliss filled thoughts.
The bronze-haired boy below me.
I was slightly taken aback to see that Esme Cullen was socializing with Caroline Whitlock, but I was officially shocked to see such a beautiful specimen socializing right along with her. Maybe he was her son and she dragged him along for moral support? Maybe it was Caroline’s newest pool boy who was on entertainment duty? Or maybe it was Esme Cullen’s latest teenage fuckbuddy. All of the above were very plausible conclusions.
No matter what or who he was, I couldn’t get him out of my mind.
Maybe Jasper would know?
“Who was that guy?” I asked, turning my attention to Jasper’s incessant flipping of pages. He was probably looking for the dirty stuff.
“Hmm?” he said, his brows furrowing as he searched through the magazine.
“That guy. Downstairs. Who was he?”
Jasper looked up at me with a questioning look on his face. “I’m surprised you haven’t creamed in your pants yet, Bella. Jesus.”
“Fuck you. I’m just curious.” It wasn’t totally a lie. Though the guy was cream-in-your-pants worthy, I was genuinely interested in who he was. I had to test my previous theories.
Yeah, I’ll just keep telling myself that. It’s all for the theories.
Jasper smiled. “That, my dear, is the infamous Edward Cullen. You’ve never heard of him?”
Edward Cullen. Hmm. Didn’t ring any bells. But I did gather that my first theory was correct. Esme Cullen’s son.
“No. Why is he infamous?”
“Because he’s banged more chicks than any other high school kid ever has. At least, that’s what people are telling me. The dude is a legend.”
Wow. Didn’t see that one coming.
Jasper always prided himself on how many girls he’s slept with, so it was no small feat for him to graciously hand over his title as ‘Forks’ Biggest Man Whore’ to another guy. Knowing Jasper, he would probably make it his job to regain his title, though.
“Hmm,” I mused, thinking over all of the endless possibilities.
The most gorgeous guy I’d ever laid eyes on was a well-known player. Little old me was always looking for such thing. When you put two and two together—yeah, it made sense.
“Where is he from?” I asked, not really caring. I was still planning my assault on him in my head. Hopefully he liked parties. I was always more willing to fuck when I was inebriated.
“I’m pretty sure he just moved here from Arizona,” Jasper said, shrugging his shoulders and continuing to flip through the magazine’s pages. “I guess his dad is some hot-shot doctor or some shit.”
Any motherfucker willing to move to shithole Forks from sunny Arizona must have been seriously demented.
“Why did he move here?” I asked.
Jasper shrugged again. “Maybe he got tired of Arizona ass.”
Plausible, but highly unlikely. If he were a skilled player, he would have known that Forks ass was about as skanky as ass comes. Except for me, of course. I was clean as a whistle, thank you very much.
“Maybe,” I said, running through the possibilities in my head once again.
Jasper didn’t say anything more about Edward for the rest of the night, but I just couldn’t stop thinking about him. And as my thoughts began to wander from his beautiful head of hair and his immaculate face to what he may be packing between his thighs, I prayed to the Sex Gods that Emmett McCarty had another party lined up in the future. The near future, preferably.