Rose Blossom

Rose Blossom By Renee Travis


Dedication:


This is book I for mom, from her Best and Brightest, without her I would not have anything.

This book is for every little girl out there who put on a pair of vampire fangs and went, “Booya! This is SO what I want to be when I grow up!”

This book is also for my Sunshine girl, may she find her way in the dark.


chapter 1

The heart is a mystical thing. It keeps us alive by pumping blood to every part of our body. It is a strong organ which scientists say has no memory. But the heart is also a thing of great speculation and power; spoken, written, and even put into songs, by many great authors, singers, actors and poets around the world. The heart is supposed to be the center of love, feeling, loneliness and heartbreak.

And it was that organ, that great red Valentine's Day sought-after-object that was at present causing me trouble.

"Rho are you EVEN paying attention to me?" My best friend Mel, who was nothing like her name, punched me gently in the arm.

"No," I muttered, eyes still trained on what had caught my attention, causing my heartbeat to skip and sputter, literally.

Mel spun around and I groaned a little, because if my staring wasn't obvious enough she had to intensify the embarrassment. "Ooh, I see," Mel grinned and turned back to me, humor and worry lighting up her bright green eyes. She stepped in front of me blocking my view of....him.

My eyes darted up to her face, a small hint of panic making my heart flutter even harder, "please be quiet Mel, please, I don’t want him to hear us," I practically begged.

The he we were talking about was the new boy in school. He was handsome and smart and so out of my league, I knew I didn’t stand a chance with him. Provided my parents would even let me take that, or any chance, which I knew they wouldn't.

Julian and his younger sister Avalon had started attending our school last year; and they were still the topic of some pretty healthy gossip since our town was so small. Newcomers were always looked upon with mistrust, fear and sometimes, awe.

Mel's smile dimmed a little and she reached up, pushing a strand of her shoulder-length blonde hair behind one ear, a nervous habit she'd had our whole friendship, "Rho c'mon, it's only Julian Daramonth. He's pretty OK, I have him in Botany, he's nice."

"To you maybe, but you also play sports and actually get to interact at school. I'm just the girl behind the book in his English class." I rolled my eyes and leaned against my locker, eyes trailing back to where he had been standing, but was now an empty spot. I sighed; I took every chance I got to look at him, or to scribble his name in my notebook, just like in junior high, according to Mel.

"Just say 'hi!' " Mel said, exasperated, linking an arm through mine and leading me down the pale orange and yellow school hallway.

Las Plumas High School in Oroville, California was pretty typical. Boring and full of the same cliques, teachers and classes of every other high school in America. Ours just seemed to be in a smaller town with smaller people and even smaller minds.

"Just say 'hi,' and have my mom have a heart attack when someone tells her that I was talking to a boy?" I pitched my voice higher and mimicked my mom, "Boys lead to touching..."

Mel laughed and cut me off, "and kissing, and kissing leads to..." both our voices lowered and we whispered together, "sex."

We giggled together and kept walking, "Well whatever, talk to him or don’t talk to him, but I have to go to class," Mel said as we came to the end of the hallway, where the doors opened to the softball field.

As seniors, we got to choose our last class, anything we wanted, so Mel took an extra PE class versus a regular, dull elective. She spent the last hour of school practicing her pitching; Mel was the star pitcher of the varsity softball team. I, on the other hand went to a mind-numbing class where all I did, as usual, was read while other students did homework, played board games and chatted. It's not that I was a snob or unpopular, but I kept pretty much to myself and had a small circle of friends.

I watched as Mel pushed through the doors, disappearing outside. I would have given anything to have joined her outside in the fresh air, playing, running...doing something.....athletic.

"Why are ya looking so bummed?" asked a rough teasing voice near my ear. Startled, I jumped and whipped around, my heartbeat skipped as I focused on who had come up next to me.

"Athol," I groaned and smiled. Athol and I had gone to school together just as long as Mel and I had; we'd grown up together and had, at one time, lived down the street from each other.

Athol was short for his age, but was well-built, with light brown hair and pretty hazel eyes. He was an attractive troublemaker.

"Sorry Rho, didn't mean to startle you," he laughed, his eyes crinkling.

"Dork. You need something?" I asked, my hand resting on my chest as I took a deep calming breath.

"Nah, just saw you standing here and thought I'd come bug you," Athol shrugged. He grabbed my bag from me and slung it over one shoulder, bowing awkwardly, he winked, "May I walk you to class fair lady?"

I shook my head and grabbed back my bag. "Get up Athol, sheesh." I rolled my eyes, "and you can walk me to class if you really want to, I guess."

What I thought might have been hurt passed over his face and was gone in a second as he gave me a lopsided grin.

"I was just teasing Rho, you know my last class is woodshop, in the opposite direction of Study Skills," He looked toward the doors we were standing next to and I was again filled with a sense of longing to have a class not so....boring.

"OK, well see you Monday, Athol," I told him. He walked away, turning briefly to give me a silly salute and then disappeared just like Mel had.

I walked into class and looked around; I was the first one there. Study Skills was in a small classroom, painted in what I thought the worst shade of brown in the whole school. It smelled faintly of pipe tobacco, as Mr. Larson was known to sneak away more than the stoner boys to smoke his pipe in the teacher's lounge.

I chose a desk in the back, like normal, and sat down, pulling out a battered and worn copy of Bram Stoker's Dracula. I had finished all my new books, but mom said I wasn't allowed into a book store for a couple of weeks; too exciting for me, apparently. Just thinking about it was enough to make me roll my eyes and wish I was an orphan.

I was completely engrossed in the part where Mina tells them she has been forced to drink Dracula's blood, when a soft male voice spoke to me. I looked up and my heart, that betraying organ, beat so loudly, I was positive he heard it.

Julian Daramonth was standing in front of me, with half a smile on his beautiful, full lips.

"What?" I asked, blushing and feeling incredibly stupid.

"I asked if I could sit next to you Rose," he repeated.

"Ummm, my name's not Rose," I told him. Great, didn't that make me feel even more like a loser?

"No, it's not, but Rhodanthe means 'rose blossom,' doesn't it?" he asked, his lips curving upward in a smile.

This time I smiled back and as my heart sputtered again, he frowned, like he could actually hear it.

"Now, Rose, may I sit next to you?" he asked again. This time I nodded and then dove right back into my book, letting my waist length pitch-colored curls fall a little in front of my face. My hair was the only thing I was truly vain about, so showing it off made me feel a bit better.

I tried to get back into my book but it was hopeless with him sitting so close to me. He smelled good, like the musky sweet incense that my dad burned in his office. I wasn't really supposed to know that because my mom wouldn't let him burn it near me, but when she wasn't looking, dad would let me curl up in one of his big leather chairs and read with him.

I glanced over at Julian; he looked like what I had always imagined the Greek god Hades would look like. His skin was pale and smooth and I had to restrain myself from reaching out to touch it. His hair was almost as dark as mine, with a little curl to it that fell across his forehead shading his eyes. His features were sharp and he looked to be right between the stages of boyhood and manhood.

Almost as if he could hear my thoughts or sense my gaze, he looked up from his Botany book and caught my eyes with his. I held my breath, a little frightened and excited at the same time. His eyes were crystal blue; almost too bright to be natural, but I couldn't see a boy like Julian wearing contacts.

I looked down at my book as soon as I could break from his stare, I could have sworn he chuckled.

"Rose, why don’t you look at me?" he asked.

I looked back up and smoothed my curls back so my hair didn’t obstruct my own view of his striking face.

"I was looking, but it's impolite to stare," I heard myself say.

"I'm staring at you, am I impolite?" he questioned, the smile widening on his lips.

"No, though I don’t know why you're staring at me." I told him.

"Because lavender is a very unusual color," he answered.

The blush on my cheeks deepened and my breathing became shallow, which just irritated me. Couldn't I at least flirt with someone like a normal person! I closed my eyes and took a few deep breaths, and jumped when a cool hand touched my own. I looked down to see Julian's pale, long fingers wrapping themselves around my hand.

"Are you alright?" Julian asked, a worried look crossing his face.

"Yes, just a second," I said, evening my breathing. I opened my eyes. "Sorry, but my eyes aren't purple, they're dark blue." The lie was easy enough.

My eyes, in certain light looked purple, but I had been born with them a dark blue, it was my medication that added the purple.

"They look lavender to me, so I shall keep that opinion," Julian said, laughing a little.

"Oh," I couldn't think of what else to say.

"Come to the dance with me tonight."

I almost choked on my own salvia, not a pretty thought, but a true one. Had Julian Daramonth seriously just asked ME out to the first dance of the school year? Sadness filled me before the excitement and happiness could take root. He must have sensed it because the hand that was lightly holding mine took a firmer grip.

"What's wrong? Am I too late? Did someone else already ask you?" he fired the questions at me fast and in a whispered tone. I looked at him and knew I had to be imagining the hint of jealousy that seemed to light his eyes.

"No it's just... I'm not...I'm not allowed to go on dates." I shrugged, defeated.

"Ah," the playfulness was back in his tone, "well then I'll see you tonight, at 7:30." As he finished his sentence the last bell of the day rang.

Before I could find out what he meant by that, he was gone. Goosebumps rose on my arms as I stared at my hand where his had been only a few seconds before. I could still feel the coolness of his touch on my skin.

I stood up, a little shaky and knew that I'd be a tad paler than I normally was. As I was gathering my things I heard Mel's laugh outside in the hallway. She was my ride home two days a week, when my mom had her aerobics lessons, something else I wasn't allowed to do.

I walked as quickly as I could out of the classroom and saw Mel leaning against a locker while Killian Thompson was kissing her neck. Killian was her current boyfriend and when she wasn't with me she was attached to him. He was good-looking, with dark brown hair and brown eyes, his skin was forever tanned and he played shortstop on the varsity baseball team. While he wasn't the best guy for my best friend, I was OK with it... for now.

Rolling my eyes, she gave another high giggle and slapped his hand away shrieking, "Killian, bad!" I walked over to them, slightly annoyed but used to it.

"And how are the lovebirds today?" I asked, a sarcastic smile on my face.

Mel looked down at me, have I mentioned she's almost six foot to my five foot six? Just like she's the slim perky sports star to my curvy round goddess.

"Oh hey Rho," I could see her taking in my pale coloring as she frowned, pushing Killian away from her, he muttered a short, "hey Rho, later Mel," and walked away.

"What's wrong? Why is your skin gray around the edges?" Mel asked, putting an arm around my shoulder quickly and leading me toward the senior parking lot.

"Julian Daramonth just asked me to the dance tonight," I pretty much whispered it, not feeling so good.

"What!" Mel practically screamed it in my ear, as we stopped just outside the school doors, she turned and gripped my arms, "Oh my God, Rho! That's awesome!" She jumped up and down a couple of times and then stopped dead, "ah crap." Her tone drastically changed as she realized what I had, that my mother would never allow it.

"Yup,” I frowned and we began walking again. "She'll never let me go, not now, not when I'm 50." I climbed into Mel's dark blue Ford Escort, going through my bag as my breathing continued to be a little rough. I pulled out a few blue pills and quickly, discreetly, swallowed them.

"Well, go home and talk to her, make her see reason. You guys can meet Killian and me there and I'll keep an eye on you," she didn’t need to add the 'like normal.'

As we drove to my house I told her all about Julian and mine's strange conversation. She dropped me off grinning, positive she'd see me at the dance that night.

My family lived in a neighborhood where all the houses looked the same. I called it the Stepford Housing Community. It was all brand new housing, and we'd moved in three years before. I missed our smaller, more unique home on Foothill Boulevard.

All the houses on Summerset Lane were the same style in varying shades of grey, blue and pale purple, all two-storied monsters sitting on small patches of deep green lawn, all with the same beds of blue and red pansies. Our house stood out from all the other homes on the block due to my own addition; three deep red rose bushes that I was completely proud of.

I pulled my keys out of my pocket, opened the front door, and walked into the front hallway. Our house was the cleanest house of anyone I knew; all the white rugs were spotless, enhanced by the fact that everyone was required to take their shoes off at the door. I dropped my black book bag onto the hanger my dad had installed next to the coat closet.

Coming farther into the house I could hear the quiet strains of Frank Sinatra coming from down the hall, I smiled; it meant my father, a local middle school teacher, was home early.

His office was next to the kitchen, so I walked past the living room entryway, ignoring it. I hated the pale peach walls of our house and the brand new looking furniture in matching shades of peach and light tan. So instead of flopping on my mother's oh-so-proud-of furniture, I walked into the kitchen. It was just as sterile as the rest of the house, tiles in dark blue and off white with my mother's precious top-of-the-line kitchenware and bone china plates.

At one time my mother had a personality, but ever since we had moved into Stepfordland she'd changed, and only in her own bedroom did I see a little of the woman I'd grown up with. Shaking the melancholy thoughts from my mind I knocked on the door to my dad's office.

"Come in!" my dad's distracted voice called out.

I opened the door, drawing in the smell of my dad's space, this room and this room alone felt like home. It had all my dad's stuff in it; his ratted dark green recliner, two chipped bookshelves holding an incense burner, books, knick knacks and pictures of me growing up. My dad sat at his desk, glasses perched on the edge of his nose, the first three buttons on his shirt unbuttoned. You could barely see his desk under all the papers and magazines.

His hair color was the same as mine except short, and besides the difference in our eyes - his were dark brown, I looked a lot like him and that was the happiest part of my life sometimes; that I looked and acted more like him than mom.

"Hey Rose," my heart jumped a little at the familiar nickname, "how was school?" he asked, a twinkle in his eyes that I couldn’t name. I came farther into the room and sat in the chair in front of his desk, I might have been curvy but I was little enough to actually "curl" up in the chair.

"Good. Um, dad? I really want to talk to you about something," I peeked up at him from under my long hair.

"What's up?" He turned, giving me his full attention.

"I got asked to the dance tonight and I really want to go," I rushed, wanting to get it all out before he said 'no.' "I mean I'm 17 and I've always followed your rules, but I'm a senior this year and I really want to go. I promise to not dance and to obey any other rules you see fit to give me, but please, please can I go?"

My father looked at me intently for a few seconds before his lips quirked up a bit.

"I did have an inclination you would be asking me. I got a rather polite phone call from a young man asking to take my daughter to a dance at...what did he say? Seven thirty tonight."

My mouth fell open as I listened to him; Julian had called and asked my dad's permission?

"Well?" I asked, almost too afraid to hope.

"Well let me talk to your mother about it and we'll see," dad said. I squealed and jumped up, fear flit across my father's face and I stilled and took a deep breath.

"Sorry daddy," I muttered.

"Yes, well as long as you don’t do any of that tonight," his brow puckered like he was re-thinking his decision.

"No, of course not. Look I'm going to my room to do homework, come get me when you've talked to mama, OK?" I asked

"Wait! You got a call from grandma today, she said she got your last letter and would call tomorrow to talk to you." dad told me hurriedly.

"Really! I haven't talked to her all month!" I exclaimed. Grandma Lacey was my dad's adopted mother. He had come to her when he was three and she was the only 'relative' I knew on his side of the family. She was the coolest grandmother ever and we were really close. I hadn’t seen her in four years because of a fight she and mom had.

Grandma didn't like the way mom treated me and my illness. She wanted to try acupuncture, an herbalist, some holistic healing. My mother had called her a crackpot and said that until she got such foolishness out of her mind, grandma wasn't allowed in our home.

Dad and mom got in a pretty big fight that night, but like always dad gave in. I used to think my mother was a wonderful, special woman and dad was lucky she married him, now it's totally the other way around.

"Yes really, now go upstairs and do your homework." Dad winked and went back to the papers he'd been grading when I interrupted him.

I went up to my baby pink painted room (my mother's choice, as if you couldn't guess) and became engrossed, not in studying, but looking through my meager wardrobe for something that Julian might actually think I looked sexy in. About an hour into my (I wish) frantic clothing search, I heard my mother's voice, yelling at my father. Cringing I sank down to my pink ruffled day bed (another thing I hated in my room) holding the red tank top I'd finally decided on. I was doomed. There was no way she would let me out of the house that night.

I glanced at the alarm clock on one of my matching mahogany bookshelves, 5 p.m. hopefully they'd wrap up the screamfest before 6:30 so I could get in the shower. I sat there listening to the tones in my parents' voices until there was silence. I stood up slowly and sat down at the vanity that matched my shelves and stared at the gold antique mirror across from me, staring at my softly squared face, hoping that maybe, just once, my mother would think about what I wanted and not what she thought was best for me.

My eyes darted to my door as I heard the rapid knock, and before I could say "come in," the door opened. My mother stood on the threshold, her eyes just like mine; she was a bit taller than me and much thinner. She had shoulder-length light brown hair and was rather unremarkable in looks; you know, not plain, yet not pretty either.

"Rhodanthe," she began, "your father and I have talked and while I don’t really think a dance is a good idea," she said, worry underlying her tone, "he has convinced me that maybe keeping you locked up in this house isn't good for you...socially." I tried my best not to scream out the 'YIP' that was building in my throat.

I looked over her shoulder and saw my father standing just behind her, he gave me an exaggerated shoulder roll, and I bit my lip to keep myself from smiling.

"So, we shall let this....boy...take you to the dance tonight, but you have to be home by 11:30; no dancing, no caffeine, no jumping or screaming or too much sugar, or anything else that could make you...excited." Mom gave me an all-knowing look that grossed me out a little.

"But I can go? For real?" I asked, a little breathless, mom's eyes narrowed.

"Yes, but let's not make a habit of this, OK?" I nodded quickly and she turned and left. Dad gave me a thumbs up, leaned in and shut my door.

I have never wished I could jump up and down for joy more.