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Boy in the Red Sweater by Starrynytex
Laced in silence and bound by his black web of a backpack, the new boy dressed in the faded red
pullover is driving Bella insane with curiosity. Don't judge a boy by his sweater. AH. M for future
chaps, language, dark themes.
Chapter 1 : Gunther, the Red Monster
I woke up feeling more tired than when I went to bed. My back was sore, series of cramps plagued
my stomach, and my head was pounding with a head ache so forceful and throbbing it felt like my
eyes would surely pop out of their sockets from the harsh pulses. I sighed, rolling over onto my side.
Oh, the woes of being a woman and having a monthly period. At least this was the last day I'd have it
for a month. Men were so lucky. So what, they would get accidentally hit in the balls every once in a
while. Bleeding your uterus out regularly was much worse and a scheduled wad of pain and
discomfort.
When I glanced at my alarm clock realizing that it wasn't it's resounding beeps of desperation that
woke me up, I groaned and whisked out of bed, nearly tripping on the way out of my bedroom door.
It was already seven o'clock, forty five minutes later than the time I usually rolled out of bed to get
ready for school. What made it worse was the stupid decision I'd made to not take a shower before
bed. Now I had to rush through a shower and be finished with my morning routine within half an
hour.
It was hard to rush through my shower. It soothed my aching muscles and washed away my sweat
and grime, making me feel at peace and relaxed. I quickly reprimanded myself when I noticed the
time once back in my bedroom, rifling quickly through the mass of clothes in the bottom of my
closet, searching for something decent to wear. I had ten minutes to dress, eat, and brush my teeth
before I needed to storm out that front door if I wanted to make it to school on time, and early.
And I always arrived precisely fifteen minutes early.
The school library was my safe haven and I spent the first fifteen minutes of my school day by
reading silently, clearing my head of all thought and preparing my mind for the mundane tasks the
school day would set before me.
I grabbed a banana and a small bottle of Sunny D out of the fridge before I was flying out the door,
the front door shutting loudly behind me and my backpack half hanging off my shoulder. I started my
truck, jumping at the incredulous roar the infernal contraption emitted and told myself that
tomorrow I would finally, for once, not jolt at the sound I listened to and anticipated
every day.
I petted Gunther's dash board (that was the name I'd given to my lovely, red truck) and whispered
my apology for calling him an infernal contraption. I loved my truck like it was my best friend.
Gunther sat through millions of my whiny and incessant complaints about the absurdity of high
school drama and my feelings. Alice hated riding in my truck, preferring her cute little Grand Am, but
she knew better than to insult Gunther to my face or his cab.
The drive to the small, dismal, and single high school here in Forks was uninteresting. It was a familiar
route, one that would be permanently etched in my brain until the day I died. Nothing in this tiny
town changed. There was a single grocery store, sporting goods store, two diners, and one coffee
shop – not exactly the most upbeat place to raise a hormonally charged teenager. That's what Port
Angeles was for; it was my home away from home. When the air felt too strained at home, Alice was
almost always up for a quick drive to the nearby town and we would lose ourselves in bookstores,
antique shops, and Alice's favorite store in the unkempt mall: Hot Topic.
I quickly peeled my banana and stuffed it down my throat, wishing I could relish it's taste but wanting
to keep my schedule at the same time. With one hand on the wheel I swallowed the Sunny D in one
gulp, tossing the empty bottle to the floorboard with the other countless containers littering my car.
Oh how I loved Sunny D, but it had to be the tangy original flavor. The other ones just burnt my
throat.
I swung my messenger bag ungracefully over my shoulder and hurried across the wet parking lot,
slipping once or twice on the unnoticed patches of black ice. I kept my eyes cast downward, watching
my feet instead of meeting the nosy gazes my fellow students would undoubtedly be wearing. It was
always like that. I was shy and kept to myself so naturally the whole school gossiped about the
secluded girl with only one friend. Idiots should find something more productive to keep their minds
on. Needless to say, I had every scuff and scratch dented on my sneakers committed to memory from
staring at them all day.
Alice was already sitting at our table, the one in the far corner of the library. It was surrounded by tall
bookcases and we both saw it as our tiny spot of solitude. It was the one place we could hide out in
at school since hall monitors strictly watched the girl's and boy's bathrooms now. Mike Newton was
expelled at the beginning of the year for selling and smoking marijuana in the boy's room. He was a
complete imbecile when it came to secrecy and it was about time someone finally caught him. But
Alice and I still had our 'escape box', as we liked to call it.
When I took my seat up against the wall Alice was wordlessly tracing a series of carvings we'd
marked into the wood years back. She did this when she was lost in thought and I knew not to
disturb her. I noticed it was the carving of two initials her finger tips were memorizing this time.
JW
. I
sighed, knowing that today would not be a good day for her. She was thinking about Jasper again and
that was never a joyous road to travel down. She looked up at me through the canopy of her short
cropped hair, her bangs swept over and concealing half of her face.
I pulled my new novel out of my bag and quickly turned to page 45, picking up where I'd left off in
Agatha Christie's
And Then There Were None.
Thriller and mystery books were my new obsession and
this one was proving to be worth the whole seven dollars I'd paid for it, for which I was thankful. This
library had poor tastes and the only way for me to read was to pick and choose from the bookstores
in Port Angeles. I didn't have just a lot of money to throw around and I would be depressed for days
if a book I'd trusted to buy by its cover and summary turned out to be a complete let down (
Lord of
the Flies
, for instance.)
Before I knew it the bell was sounding loudly, calling the moody and tired students to their first
classes of the day and I smiled and stretched, feeling at ease and relaxed. Reading was the best form
of mental therapy for me and it was one of my outlets for stress.
We gave a distinct nod of our heads before parting ways, Alice heading towards Chemistry and me
towards Pre-Calculus/Trigonometry. I definitely needed mental stimulation to push through that
class and muttered a silent thanks to the authors of old who magnificently wrote my escape from the
world.
But even with my mind and body relaxed and soothed it was incredibly difficult for me to focus on
the lesson. A sudden spark of inspiration hit me and I scribbled away in my red notebook, working on
the poem forming in my head.
Across the fields on the outstretched plain
Pearly white clouds form
Painted on the pure blue landscape of sky
After the passing storm
When looking forward you see the light
Giving off an angelic glow
While behind you lies dark clouds above
Anger in their eyes doth show
The storm clouds rage with shouts of fury
Flashing lights from them shine through
While the pearly white clouds catch the sun's light
Stretched on the bright color of blue
The dark clouds hiss and scream
And let out tears of pain
For it knows it cannot be as beautiful
As the clouds across the plain
The white clouds shine off a rainbow
As an apology to the black clouds
Then suddenly the storm's owner stops its crying
And ceases its loud, painful shouts
The storm gives a bolt of lightning
To sign a pact of forgiveness
Then the two part as friends and leave behind
A light blue sky of emptiness
I smirked, happy with what I'd written and flipped the book closed, clutching it tightly to my chest. I
loved my notebooks. They were like my children and I told them my darkest secrets and innermost
longings. They held every infinitesimal thought that I deemed worthy to write down.
I would surely die if I ever lost one of my precious notebooks.
With how my morning was already going, what with waking up late, Alice being silent, and being
unable to concentrate on anything the teacher was droning on about, I was surprised that something
semi-happy came out of my head and onto the page. Usually my thoughts were darker and more
brooding. Maybe this was a sign showing me I might actually have a good day today. Maybe.
Unless that bitch Lauren was here today.
I shivered, unable to stop the sudden anger and fear that seeped through my body. If I were to ever
kill someone, it would be her. Lauren and her band of friends placed Alice and I at the top of her hit
list, having some sort of personal digression against us both, which was probably misplaced.
But I shrugged her off and decided not to let her ruin my day. I yawned through French class,
managing to take a few notes, but my mind did a complete one-eighty when I hurried to English, my
favorite class of the day.
And it was my favorite for several different reasons. For one, it was the only class I had with Alice.
Second, it was the only class where my scribbling endlessly was actually encouraged rather than
reprimanded. I loved tackling essays and spurting on about ideas that no one else would ever care to
read about for my own simple pleasure and fulfillment. As is expected, I soared in that class, always
receiving the highest grades out of the bunch of dunderheads sitting in the chairs around me.
Except for Alice, of course. She loved writing just as much as I did, though art was her true passion.
While I whisked my world away through words and fantastical worlds, Alice shunned her
environment out with a paint brush and charcoal. We were the perfect ends to artistic development
and Alice would often use my work as inspiration and vice versa. We were rubber walls and bounced
idea after idea off of each other until we were going mad with imagination, moving our hands as
quickly as possible over paper and canvas, unable to produce our thoughts as literal images as fast as
we would like to.
I showed Alice my latest poem and she jotted her response on a separate piece of paper.
A bit happy for you, eh? Where's the angst filled child I know and love?
I giggled beside her, grabbing my pen and writing back.
I know, right? I'm taking it as a sign that I'm having a good day, or would that be tempting the
wrathful gods of jinx?
I tried not to laugh when I read her reply.
Dear Isabella! What have you done! You've angered the gods greatly! Bow down and offer up songs
of endless praise to the all powerful beings above, or they shall smite thee with their holy hands of
spiteful hatred!
I chuckled to myself, slipping the note of senseless banter into my notebook to file away once I was
home. I was happy to see that Alice's mood improved. She was challenging to be around when her
thoughts swirled around the past. A depressed Alice was the worst Alice.
On the way to lunch, Alice whispered something in my ear while we joined the end of the line. "So
the gossip of the day is all about the new boy." I rolled my eyes and she popped me on the shoulder.
"You know better than to dismiss any event that Lauren and her pompous ass friends find
important!"
Ah, Alice. She was one endless sprite of sarcasm, and I loved her all the more for it.
"So where's the new kid and how long will it be before rumors about his bastard child and insanely
rich and problematic family start spreading around the entire student body?" I asked with a hint of
distaste in my voice. It sounded so harsh but we both knew the words rang true. That was the type of
thing Lauren would come up with.
"He's sitting in the corner, in the red sweater, and I've heard people already making fun of him
because apparently, he's shy and doesn't talk much."
Of course he was shy. He was in a brand new school with lecherous mounds nothing but flesh, blood,
and bone ripping him apart, searching for his secrets so they could hold them against him for the rest
of his miserable high school experience. They'd done it to me, Alice, Jasper, and countless others,
and Lauren was the center of it all, the queen bee of the school, so to speak.
I turned towards the direction Alice was looking subtlety and took in the boy's appearance.
He was wearing a ghastly looking red sweater. It looked worn and it shrieked age. The fabric looked
flushed like it'd been washed a million times. I had some clothes like that; I called them my comfort
attire and I had a full drawer in my dresser dedicated to the various assortments of pants, shirts,
hoodies, and socks that somehow helped my despairs melt away. Maybe it was like that for him and
that sweater was his security blanket, like how my soft soled mid-calf knitted socks were mine.
His hair was an alluring shade of... What should I call it? Dusky red? Bronze? Both of them seemed to
fit and it was lengthy, pointing out in a ton of different directions, seemingly untamed and vicious. A
small section swooped down in his face, like Alice's bangs, obstructing his eyes and parts of his
cheeks and nose. I thought I could see the rims of spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose but I
couldn't be sure, he was too far away and his hair was clouding my vision of his face.
I felt a sudden burst of sorrow for the new guy, wishing him all the best, knowing he'd be shoved
under the popular kids' microscopes like the rest of us.
We paid for our food and rushed out of the crowded cafeteria, sneaking off to our escape box when
the teachers weren't looking. I sighed the moment I stepped through those double doors, reveling in
the pure silence ringing through the shelves of books.
"Now
this
," I said, sweeping my hand in front of me, "is the proper way to dine. In silence and
security."
"You don't have to tell me that," Alice huffed, hurrying past me and settling in her seat. "So are you
coming over tonight?"
"Sorry, can't," I mumbled through the big bite of apple I'd just inhaled. "Dad insists that we don't
spend enough time together and decided that going to a movie with me was the perfect solution to
our problem."
She smiled, shaking her head. "Yeah, that sounds like Charlie. Tomorrow then?"
"Yeah. I'll bring my stuff."
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