Disclaimer: I am not Stephanie Meyer nor do I lay claim to any of her accomplishments, characters included.
That being said, I am Emberlyn Ealise and other than character names I do own all ideas behind Lines on Paper. Any thievery will result in the end of any and all works under my name on this site and depending on how popular I become that may be an issue for possible future fans. If you wouldn't steal babies then don't steal stories. Ask any writer, it's practically the same thing.
Lines on Paper
In the crowded lunchroom of Madame's Alternative Academy sits a young girl staring out the window beside her while aimlessly doodling on a scratch pad with her left hand. There are other people around. Jessica Stanley talks animatedly to Mike Newton about the up coming Sadie Hawkins dance she and Lauren Mallory have planned. It's just another silly reason for them to pursue boys who otherwise would not give them a moment's attention. Angela Webber snuggles against Ben Chaney possible giving him the cold he is nursing her to get through. How chivalrous of him.
Above all there is one who stands out to me when she tries hard just to blend in, the resident outcast since eighth grade, Isabella Swan. She sits alone everyday much like I do. One would think that as misfits we would gravitate toward one another in a way of giving the finger to society but we don't. I'm undeserving of what little I already allow myself. To corrupt her alongside me would be unforgivable.
Instead I watch her from afar. "Man, if your don't get over there and snatch her up I'm going to have to do it myself," the buffoon next to me teases stealing the last chicken tender off my plate as if to demonstrate just how he would go about it.
I stab at the place where his hand had been moments before but he already has the piece in his mouth and is chewing with a wild grin. The sight is nauseating in itself. I want to remind him that our mother raised him better than that but seeing as how I am her greatest disappointment to date I find it hard to reprimand him.
With the absence of the chicken I move to stabbing at the last available tater-tot. Emmett's healthy appetite has rendered me near anorexic though I do enjoy when he eats all the things I don't like. "She'd be better off with you anyway," I mutter stuffing the treat into my mouth and chewing it behind closed lips the way I wish Emmett would.
He laughs with the last bit of chicken still tucked into his cheek. "No joke, little bro. I do know how to treat a lady to a good time." He wiggles his eyebrows and nudges my ribs suggestively to convey the meaning behind his words as though it could have been lost of me. As subtle as Emmett is his meaning could not have been lost on anyone. "I prefer the blonds though. You know me. Give me a tiny waist with a smokin' ass and I'll take it in a heartbeat but put a blond wig on it and I'm in love."
This is true. My brother has a week spot for the yellow haired beauties though the ones Madame has to offer are less than ideal. They're pretty enough but never up to his standards. He's waiting for some playboy model to walk right out of a dirty magazine and into his bed. I try to tell him it'll never happen here but he refuses to move on. I take a little offense to it but not much. Just because her chocolate hair has been a great source of pleasure to me does not mean my brother has to feel the same. If I'm to be honest with myself I'm sure it would be awkward if he did.
In true second rate spy fashion Emmett coughs loudly to alert me of an approaching visitor. It's not necessary since I can see Tyler Crowly in my peripheral as he meanders over to her table. Snickers behind me alert me to the fact that this is a set up of some sort. All gossiping has ceased. Isabella sighs as she leans further against the seat, possibly able to see his reflection in the glass. It's obvious that she had only just gotten comfortable moments before.
"What do you want, Tyler?" she questions in a bored tone not giving him the chance to say a word or the courtesy of taking her attention from the outside world. It is a wonder she can look out the window at all. The bars have always depressed me.
"Is it that time of the month already?" he asked steering into her line of sight. "And here I was thinking you might like the opportunity to ask me to accompany you to the formal. Unfortunately for you I don't swim up the red river."
His crude words have Emmett getting worked up much more easily than I. "You had better do something about him," he warns, "He's asking for it." He is indeed but its not my place to play savior.
"Just go," she whispers closing her eyes for a moment. He has taken he view from her and it's easy to see she'd rather stare at nothing at all than to be forced to look at him. Her hand is still moving in a circular motion across the page.
"You don't want that, love," he sneers, "We both know you don't want to be alone and since I'm the only company you'll ever get you might want to be nice."
There's a sense of malice in his tone and as he kneels to brush a finger along her jaw line I feel Emmett's anger worsen. "Edward," he warns again.
Isabella opens her eyes to roll them but does not remove the hand that now holds her chin. "You know Tyler, you should probably get some new material. What's next? Are you going to club me over the head caveman style and drag me through the dirt by my hair?" she snaps, "How chivalrous of you," she states grabbing his chin the same way he has hers and giving it a small shake.
"What a smart mouthed little bitch you've become," he smirks pulling away from her and letting her go at the same time. She doesn't answer, just looks back out the window. She has already said more on this first day of class than she did all last year. "Cat got your tongue?" Tyler asked.
"Just go," she pleaded once more. "You've had your fun, played your little game. Now just go."
"No can do, love. You've insulted my pride in front of all my friends," he gestured to the 30 or so students occupying the dining hall. All are sitting as far from her as possible. He sits down beside her and she immediately stands to leave. Quick as a flash his arm goes out to grip her wrist and hold her in place. "Didn't think I would just let that slide did you?"
Emmett has had enough of this. He jumps up from where we sit and begins to yell across the room. "Listen here, Asshole," he starts and I flush red with anger at all of them.
"Shut the fuck up, man," I match him in volume and tone as I gather my books and tray off they table, "I don't want to hear anymore of your bullshit. What the hell are you going to do about it anyway?" I dump what meager food was left on my tray while all eyes turn from Isabella to Emmett and me.
His face was livid at me this time. "So this is how it's going to be, huh? Can't stand up for the girl of your dreams but you think you've got the balls to put me in my place?" he spits on the floor and rolls up the long sleeves of his white button up. He's tensed and ready for a fight. i don't have it in me to pretend to fear him as he places his fists in front of him in a defensive stance.
"Yeah, that's how it's going to be. What are you going to do about it?" I shout. He looks saddened and puts his fists down, "That's what I thought, nothing. You can't do shit."
It isn't fair to act the way I do to him but life's not fair. We stand there staring at each other for a few minutes. The tables are still filled with nosy adolescents staring at the latest source for entertainment. Carmen Lenore is still practically falling out of her chair having never seen Emmett and I argue before though most everyone else is used to it after last year. At least I thought they were.
Em has calmed down for the most part and in turn I have too. I blink a few times to get myself under control as I watch him unroll his sleeves and shake his head with that all knowing grin that tortures me so, "That shirt makes you look like a douche bag," I comment earning a chuckle from the big guy.
"Oh yeah?" he looks up at me, "Well, you're face makes you look like a queer."
I start to laugh despite knowing that a part of Emmett honestly wonders if I am gay. Some times I wonder myself. The thought is easily put to rest when I remind myself that I have no sexual preference. I hate them all equally.
"They're staring at you, you know," he tells me. I don't have to look around to know it's true. I nod then riffle through my books to find my schedule. "So, what's next?"
I sigh, "Biology again. Maybe this year I'll stand a chance of passing." Last year I'd failed miserably when Mr. Banner accused me of cheating constantly even after Emmett swore to him that we weren't, that we were just talking after I had finished. I doubt that this year will be different but Emmett's optimistic.
I stuff my schedule back into my notebook and we exit the dining hall side by side pretending there are not eyes boring into the back of us but that does not make them any less there.