A/N: This is my first ever story for public consumption. Please be honest but gentle. I've had a certain scene in my head for a very long time (I'll let you know when we get there). It just won't go away. Thought I'd give it the life it's begging for. I don't know how long it will be yet. I think I'll just keep telling their story until they tell me I'm done. Please be honest but gentle.
I am a Jasper girl. Books and movies. Met Jackson Rathbone once, ran my fingers through his hair. I love him, in a non-stalkerish sort of way.
Please let me know if I should continue. Do you want to see the lists?
"A list, Alice? Really? Isn't that a little 1950's pajama party?"
"Why can you never just DO what I ASK, Bella? It will be FUN!" That's Alice, I think. The only person I know who speaks in capital letters. I half expect to see emoticons floating from her mouth into the air. They would surely take over the world, enveloping it in a cheekily obnoxious yellow swarm. It would be easy, since we'd all just stand around smirking, vaguely annoyed and slightly amused.
"You're right, Ali, it will be fun. Writing out a list of all the qualities I require in the man of my dreams- who, by the way, does not exist in available form- knowing full well I will have only certain disappointment to look forward to, will be the most fun we've ever had together. Even more fun than the time we got lost in that neighborhood at the beach and couldn't find our way out while "Twilight Zone" played on the radio. Even more fun than the time that guy propositioned us to have sex with his girlfriend while he watched. Even more fun than the time we got fucked up on Canadian Mist and I puked in your bathtub. So fun."
"He does exist. Somewhere. Maybe. Don't lose hope. You're only seventeen. But as organized and efficient as you are, wouldn't it be nice to have a list? Just to know what to look out for? You know you'll eventually make a list ANYway. You make a housecleaning list, for God's sake. Every week, Bella. Every damn week. It's BIZARRE."
"You made your own list already, didn't you?"
"And now you want me to do one so you feel a little less crazy."
"Fine." Sighing heavily, I took some of my very best cream stationary, the kind edged in scalloped lines of black from the drawer of my bedside table, to show her I was pretending to take this shit seriously. It's for serious lists only. The cleaning lists get the pale blue with a watermarked bubble effect. Looks like soap. Ali understands the significance of the serious paper and smiles in appreciation.
"I brought mine so you can get the idea," says Ali, nearly bouncing off the bed in excitement.
"Oh, God," I groaned, taking the pink paper from her. Pink. Of course.
"Mikey fits EVERYTHING on it."
"Yeah, that would happen if you make the list after you meet the guy."
"Bitch." She giggled to take the edge off the word.
"I'm just sayin', Ali, "I smirked. Wait, am I sending out volunteers for the emoticon army? Gotta watch that shit.
"For your information, I wrote the list to be sure Mikey is really who I want. It just made it more obvious why I love him. I love him SO much. He's perfect. So handsome, funny, athletic, thoughtful, romantic. He does this THING with his tongue…"
"Ali! No. Stop. You promised never to speak of any of that again." I just couldn't hear any more about Alice Cullen's sex life with Michael Newton. Ever. The last time she shared, she told me about the curve of his dick and how it hit just the right spot in her vajayjay. I believe I am scarred for life. And a little worried about his dick.
"So, do I list the things I want now, the things I think I'll want later? Do I write what will be good for me, or the things I find exciting?"
"Bella, YOU are the fucking list expert. Figure it out! You're over thinking this," she said, exasperated.
"Hmm, I need two lists, I think. One for the man I truly hope to find. One who's good and good for me. The one who will give me an amazing life."
"That list will be labeled 'Edward,' right?" she squealed as I threw my giraffe pillow pet at her.
"Shut up. Your brother doesn't need a list to tell me he's almost perfect."
"It's ok. I've made peace with the fact that you would jump his bones given an invitation. Again, be patient, Bella. I think he and Jessica are breaking up. Again. Just wait."
"Tired of waiting," I mumble. I know he thinks I'm cute. I catch him looking. We talk easily, hang out in the same circle, more or less. We'd work. There are some issues: the drinking, the arrogance, the controlling edge he sometimes walks. He's a hot, popular teenager; all those things are common in the guys I know. He's also brilliant, generous, friendly to everyone, focused. He might not be the man of my dreams, but he is the one I'm dreaming about. He just has to get rid of his bitch of a girlfriend before I greenlight this thing. But she goes down on him - often; it could be a very long wait.
"And the other list?" she prompted.
"The bad boy. The one every good girl wants, even if she won't admit it." I was getting into this now. Yum, bad boys. "The one we'd all fuck then lie about."
"I want one now, too. See what you did?"
"You can't. You have Mikey and his curvy dick. No cheating."
"Just write the fucking lists. You're taking all the spontaneous, silly fun out of this. And by the way, all those things we did WERE fun - except the puke. You didn't even remember doing it, and I had to clean it up. I'm gonna finish this stupid character analysis of Chillingsworth from Scarlet Letter then I want to read those lists, missy. Why she won't just let me do an oral report…"
As Ali wandered from the room, trailing complaints about writing a paper when her thoughts were too fast to capture with a pen, I got to work on the lists. I told myself I was doing it to please my best friend, but I found myself curious as to what I would write. Picking up my giraffe and lying across it on my stomach with my feet in the air, I began to put words to paper…