AN: Short and silly chapters in Curve Ball style that I wasn't planning on writing about Bella and Jasper. This one is for Ragg Dolly, Soph Drea, Natalee Cherie and whoever else wants it. It was all their peer pressure to write this thing. My inspiration is Mortissues. She writes great non canon! This mess isn't my fault at all. Nope.

Yeah, Ed is in it. Don't get your hopes up, kids.

The Popsicle Chronicles

Chapter 1

I'm the bringer of death.

Every single one has lost any bit of life they once possessed. They now surround my feet wilted and devoid of their former beauty.

Black should be my new go to color for clothing, because I was the Grim Reaper. Unfortunately, it washes me out so I'll stick with purple.

The slugs were crawling all over the red carcasses. They enjoyed the demise I created.

My thumb was black as night and my poor tomatoes were done for.

I had replacements for them and on this overcast day, I would try again. Mrs. Clearwater at the Garden Center said I shouldn't have planted the last batch in the full sun.

The sun probably did them in. Actually, it was more likely due to the fact that I forgot to water the poor tomatoes.

My garden was a wasteland of dead things. It was more like a plant graveyard than a plot of land that would sustain vegetable life. The weeds were barely surviving and those things could probably outlast a nuclear disaster.

I grabbed that tiny shovel thing and started to dig out the dead when I felt like I was being watched. It was almost always the same person.

"Howdy, neighbor!" I called out, angling to look at the pale blond guy who lived next door. He looked at me with his normal frown.

The guy wasn't bad looking, but he always appeared to be sucking a lemon. Not exactly a turn on.

Both hands gripped the curls on his head in frustration. He finally spit out, "Hello."

He promptly ran into his house that was surrounded by overgrown grass.

What a weirdo.

XXXXXX

Mr. Henry had been complaining for two days about the lawn next door. He would knock on my door every morning and whine about the overgrown grass. The old man would sit on my porch, drink my coffee, and bitch the morning away. Wiping away moisture from his almost bald head as he lifted up his combover, Mr. Harris would bemoan those fraternity boys who were probably drinking beer and smoking pot instead of caring for their property.

Every time I caught a glimpse of them, those guys looked like they were nauseous. Maybe they were all ill and couldn't properly care for their home?

That was why I suffered in the hot and humid weather trying to mow their grass. I was a nice person to do this. Of course, I thought that mowing might make Mr. Harris stay at his own damn house every morning. I had a manuscript deadline and listening to that coot wasted my day away.

I was dripping with sweat and stopped to wipe it off with the end of my tank top. From the corner of my eye I saw the curtain move.

Wouldn't it be considerate to offer the kind girl who is doing your yard work a cool drink? No, I guess, because it's more fun to spy on her doing your job. Assholes.

I had made quite a dent in the crazy mess of grass and weeds when my mower hit something large causing me to stop.

Crouching down, I had expected to find a basketball or football. I moved the grass away to find a rabbit's head staring up at me. It's dead, glassy eyes were mocking me.

"What the fuck!" I yelled and landed on my ass.

Quickly, I got up and noticed the curtain was open. The large boy with the dark hair was laughing at me. He had insanely deep dimples. He could hide things in those face holes.

My first instinct was correct. Assholes.

"Bella Swan, you need some help?" Mr. Henry called from out of his window. "I can call my nephew. Michael can come over in about thirty minutes."

Michael Newton was the son of Mr. Henry's sister. The guy had a boundary issues. His hand needed to touch my ass.

I looked at the head by my feet. "Don't call Mike. There's a head. A rabbit's. I guess an animal got the poor thing."

"You want a shovel, honey?" The older man asked. "Go in my garage."

I thought I heard more laughter in the mysterious house of men.

Assholes. I could now lump Mr. Harris in that category.

Chivalry is dead.

XXXXXX

"You smell clean."

It was not exactly what I expected to hear when I opened my door to see the weird blond guy. He was wearing a suit like he was going to a funeral.

I looked down at my pink, fluffy bathrobe and felt my dripping hair against my neck. "A shower has a tendency to do that to a girl. What can I do for you, Mr.—"

"You mowed my grass," he stated without giving me his name.

His eyes were yellow. They reminded me of that fancy mustard you bought in a jar. A part of me wanted to ask him for some Grey Poupon, but was certain that Mr. Lemon Face wouldn't find me amusing.

"Isabella Swan is the name." My friends call me Bella, but this man wasn't going to be my friend. "Your lawn needs a haircut. You're welcome."

"It was fine, Ms. Swan." If it was possible for him to look more annoyed, he just did.

I tightened the belt of my robe. I didn't want to show this stranger any boob, but I was certain he wouldn't care anyway. He seemed asexual. I explained, "We have a home owner association. They would have fined you. I was trying to help."

"We can handle it. Edward is an excellent gardener."

Edward must be the boyfriend. He was the good looking red head that always glared at me. They must be a couple.

"He needs to do it then, because I'm not being paid to be your landscaper. There was a rabbit's head I had to bury. Thanks for that."

"It's been sunny." He rubbed his temple like I gave him a headache. "Ms. Swan, you shouldn't step foot on our property. It isn't safe."

"What isn't safe?" I noticed him staring at my neck. I pulled my robe up slightly. I thought he was gay, but he looked liked he wanted to eat me.

He came closer. "I'm not safe, Ms. Swan."

There was an glimmer of seduction, but for me it was more—

I started laughing hysterically. I was a red belt in karate. I could totally take this guy.

"I write stories about werewolves," I said, trying to calm down. "Pale, skinny guys like you? Oh yes, you're frightening! The picture of terror!"

I laughed so hard I snorted.

"There is no reason to mock me!" He grabbed my wrist.

The neighbor was ice cold like the red, white, and blue rocket popsicles I had in my freezer. His touch chilled me, but there was an unexpected current of electricity between us. I wondered if he rubbed his feet on a rug so he could shock me.

"I'm Jasper Whitlock. I shall see you again," he said with wide eyes. He kissed the inside of my wrist. "Good-bye."

I stood and watched him flee back to his house.

A beer was called for or maybe two.