perpetual_motion (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
perpetual_motion) wrote2009-02-19 12:39 am
perpetual_motion) wrote2009-02-19 12:39 am
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The first part of "Twilight" Chapter 8, with pictures! And a movie!
See icon for how this is gonna go.
I want to start tonight by letting you lot know that I found a copy of “Twilight” in actual book form. And, “dust moats” is, in fact, spelled “dust moats” in the COMPLETELY LEGITIMATE COPY OF THE BOOK.
When you think about it, though, it’s a good thing. That dust has every right to defend itself, and if it wants to do it with moats, then so be it. Perhaps the dust “motes” will show up and act as cavalry if the feared Dustbuster invasion ever actually happens.
And, yes, I am incredibly proud of that joke.
Moving on.
Last we left our completely inept heroes, my face looked something like this:
And The Husband [who has only listened to what excerpts I read him] had a look on his face like this:
Being a stalwart sort, I’m ready to start Chapter 8. Chapter 8 is titled, “Port Angeles”, and I’m betting we’ll get a great deal of incredibly purple description about the dresses the girls try on. I’ll not put too fine a point on it: any description we get of dresses or Port Angeles or the drive there will still be MORE DESCRIPTION THAN WE HAVE OF EDWARD.
Jess drove faster than the Chief, so we made it to Port Angeles by four.
Wow, first line and I’m already annoyed. There’s no damned reason for Bella to refer to Charlie as “Chief”. “Charlie”, I can easily accept, given the lack of time he and Bella have spent together. But that she could call him BY HIS TITLE is asinine. She wouldn’t. He’s CHARLIE. Or DAD. Not Chief.
It had been awhile since I'd had a girls' night out, and the estrogen rush was invigorating.
Because, when you put women in a car together, all their ovaries go off at the same time. Or something. What’s next? Stopping for bonbons and ice cream because they feel SO FAT?
Jessica's dinner with Mike had gone very well, and she was hoping that by Saturday night they would have progressed to the first-kiss stage. I smiled to myself, pleased.
About WHAT? Seriously, all Bella did was stop playing SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE for two seconds. You know who should be pleased about her relationship? JESSICA. Because it’s HER relationship.
Angela was passively happy to be going to the dance, but not really interested in Eric. Jess tried to get her to confess who her type was, but I interrupted with a question about dresses after a bit, to spare her. Angela threw a grateful glance my way.
So, Jessica, Angela, and Bella are the stereotypes that go dress shopping together, but they’re not the stereotypes to TALK ABOUT BOYS? REALLY? And take a drink for that grateful glance. That’s specialist snowflake bullshit because god forbid Angela just say “I’m not talking about it”. No, Bella has to RESCUE her from a VAGUELY UNCOMFORTABLE CONVERSATION.
Port Angeles was a beautiful little tourist trap, much more polished and quaint than Forks.
Oh, okay, so QUAINT TOURIST TRAPS are cute and fun, but Forks TOTALLY SUCKS YOU GUYS.
Jess drove straight to the one big department store in town, which was a few streets in from the bay area's visitor-friendly face.
This implies that the department store is something of a rat hole. Maybe it’s where the bad boys hang out. Oh! Bella might find another completely inappropriate boyfriend! THAT WOULD BE AWESOME. RIGHT?
The dance was billed as semiformal, and we weren't exactly sure what that meant.
WHAT. I was a 17-year-old tomboy, and I KNEW WHAT SEMIFORMAL MEANT. Because I wasn’t A BLITHERING IDIOT. They’ve driven TO ANOTHER TOWN to find dresses, and THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT SEMIFORMAL MEANS.
Both Jessica and Angela seemed surprised and almost disbelieving when I told them I'd never been to a dance in Phoenix.
Because how could THE SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE miss a dance, you guys? It’s like breaking a LAW or something. And that’s a drink.
"Didn't you ever go with a boyfriend or something?" Jess asked dubiously
I know the meaning of the word “dubious”. There is no way this question could EVER be “dubious”. RULE FIVE PEOPLE.
"Really," I tried to convince her, not wanting to confess my dancing problems.
Not liking to dance IS NOT A PROBLEM. It’s a DISLIKE. And, of course, Bella not dancing is completely unbelievable. BECAUSE SHE’S THE SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE.
I’m giving you this next bit because you have to see the whole thing together to believe it:
"Really," I tried to convince her, not wanting to confess my dancing problems. "I've never had a boyfriend or anything close. I didn't go out much."
"Why not?" Jessica demanded.
"No one asked me," I answered honestly.
She looked skeptical. "People ask you out here," she reminded me, "and you tell them no."
Jessica, please keep being awesome like this. Because YOU ARE AWESOME LIKE THIS.
We were in the juniors' section now, scanning the racks for dress-up clothes.
“Dress-up clothes”? REALLY? Are they SEVEN? They’re FORMAL CLOTHES, Meyer. That’s what the grown-ups call them.
So then Bella finds out that Tyler’s told Angela that he’s taking Bella to the prom. Bella is understandably upset. Because, hell, I’d be pissed if I dude I hadn’t said yes to had said he was taking me to the prom.
I was silent, still lost in shock that was quickly turning to irritation. But we had found the dress racks, and now we had work to do.
That’s right, ladies: If you’ve just discovered that a boy has lied about you, it’ll be okay because there are DRESSES. ALL THE DRESSES YOU WANT. But not all the grammar, because this is a book by Meyer. [“had found”, “now”—these are not words that go together.]
I ground my teeth. "Do you think that if I ran him over with my truck he would stop feeling guilty about the accident? That he might give up on making amends and call it even?"
So, Bella thinks that Tyler LYING ABOUNT TAKING HER TO THE PROM counts as Tyler TRYING TO MAKE AMENDS? On the other hand, at least we finally have Bella showing consistent characterization: When a dude acts creepy, she thinks he’s trying to BE NICE.
The dress selection wasn't large
Because fuck forbid anyplace that isn’t Phoenix or Edward’s scrotum be good enough for Bella.
Oh, yeah, by the way? FUCKING CALLED THE DRESS THING:
Jess was torn between two — one a long, strapless, basic black number, the other a kneelength electric blue with spaghetti straps.
Angela chose a pale pink dress that draped around her tall frame nicely and brought out honey tints in her light brown hair.
That’s right: What the dresses look like is a more important fact than WHAT EDWARD LOOKS LIKE
The whole process was much shorter and easier than similar trips I'd taken with Renée at home. I guess there was something to be said for limited choices.
WHY IS SHE CALLING HER MOTHER RENEE? And the dress selection ain’t the only thing that’s limited. If you know what I mean. AND YEAH I THINK YOU DO.
We headed over to shoes and accessories. While they tried things on I merely watched and critiqued, not in the mood to shop for myself, though I did need new shoes.
One: The only thing Bella EVER does is sit around and critique people. If she spent as much time DOING STUFF as she did CRITIQUING people, SHE’D HAVE A PERSONALITY.
Two: THEN WHY THE FUCK DOESN’T SHE BUY NEW SHOES?
The girls'-night high was wearing off in the wake of my annoyance at Tyler, leaving room for the gloom to move back in.
All it takes for Bella to STOP HAVING FUN is to get ONE PIECE of SLIGHTLY UNCOMFORTABLE NEWS. In a better written book, I’d be seriously concerned about Bella’s mood swings and wonder if things were going to take a turn into teenage depression or some other problem. This book? I’m just hoping Tyler hits her with his van NEXT TIME so that I don’t have to read such ENDLESS FUCKING MOPING.
So then Bella angsts for three paragraphs about asking Angela if the Cullens are out of school a lot. The answer’s yes. They’re outdoorsy types, apparently, and like to hike.
She didn't ask one question, let alone the hundreds that Jessica would have unleashed. I was beginning to really like Angela.
BECAUSE ANGELA DOESN’T ASK QUESTIONS. That’s great, Bella. Then, when you show up with bruises, Angela will just compliment your sunglasses.
We planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn't taken as long as we'd expected.
Okay, first, it should be “had planned”. Take a drink. And why the hell can’t they go to dinner now?
I told them I would meet them at the restaurant in an hour
Oooh, so they ARE going to dinner. Just not RIGHT THAT MOMENT. Goddamnit, these sentences suck. DRINK.
I wanted to look for a bookstore. They were both willing to come with me, but I encouraged them to go have fun — they didn't know how preoccupied I could get when surrounded by books
God forbid they know BELLA LIKES BOOKS. And why the hell is this portrayed as a NEGATIVE character trait? Do girls not READ in Meyer’s world? Wait. Let me rephrase that: Do girls not read SOMETHING OTHER THAN COOKBOOKS in Meyer’s world?
Hold everything. I have to show you the entirety of this paragraph:
We planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn't taken as long as we'd expected. Jess and Angela were going to take their clothes back to the car and then walk down to the bay. I told them I would meet them at the restaurant in an hour — I wanted to look for a bookstore. They were both willing to come with me, but I encouraged them to go have fun — they didn't know how preoccupied I could get when surrounded by books; it was something I preferred to do alone. They walked off to the car chattering happily, and I headed in the direction Jess pointed out.
Allow me to demonstrate how this could be SHOWN as opposed to TOLD:
“Wow, that took a lot less time than I thought it would,” Angela said as we left the store.
“You wanna bum around on the boardwalk for awhile before dinner?” Jessica asked.
“I wouldn’t mind walking on the bay,” Angela suggested. “What about you, Bella?”
I thought about the chances that I could fall in the water walking along the bay. “Is there a bookstore somewhere? I’ve been looking for a couple of things.”
“Sure, there’s one up the boardwalk,” Jessica said, pointing to a building with a dark green roof. “We can go with you, if you want.”
“Nah,” I said, smiling to show it was okay, “You guys go take your walk, and I’ll meet you at the restaurant in an hour.”
“All right,” Jessica agreed while Angela nodded.
SHOW. SHOW. SHOW!!
Just sayin’.
I had no trouble finding the bookstore, but it wasn't what I was looking for.
Of COURSE IT’S NOT.
The bookstore is actually a new-age place with crystals and stuff in the windows. Because, OF COURSE, A PLACE THAT ISN’T PHEONIX WON’T HAVE A REAL BOOKSTORE.
Through the glass I could see a fifty-year-old woman with long, gray hair worn straight down her back, clad in a dress right out of the sixties, smiling welcomingly from behind the counter. I decided that was one conversation I could skip.
Because this woman has NOTHING Bella wants. OF COURSE.
I meandered through the streets, which were filling up with end-of-the-workday traffic, and hoped I was headed toward downtown. I wasn't paying as much attention as I should to where I was going
Last chapter, Bella couldn’t remember which way she was walking DOWN A SMALL FOREST TRAIL, but she’s totally cool WANDERING THROUGH A TOWN SHE’S NEVER BEEN TO.
I was wrestling with despair. I was trying so hard not to think about him, and what Angela had said
Again with the despair. Christ on a crutch. And what’s part of the despair? The knowledge that the Cullens GO HIKING SOMETIMES. OH THE HORROR.
when I looked up to see someone's silver Volvo parked along the street and it all came crashing down on me. Stupid, unreliable vampire, I thought to myself.
Yeah. What a douche. How dare he NOT BE WITH HER EVERY GODDAMNED SECOND. And how is he unreliable? He didn’t say he was gonna be at school or that he would see her. HE DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING AT ALL.
Also, we still have NO PROOF THAT HE’S A FUCKING VAMPIRE.
I stomped along in a southerly direction,
HOW WOULD SHE KNOW? Either you have a sense of direction OR YOU DON’T. And we’ve had it made clear that BELLA DOESN’T.
I definitely needed to get my mood in hand before I met back up with them.
That’s right. Because you DON’T WANT YOUR FRIENDS TO KNOW YOU FEEL BAD.
I started to realize, as I crossed another road, that I was going the wrong direction. The little foot traffic I had seen was going north,
HOW DOES SHE KNOW? HOW?
I decided to turn east at the next corner,
HOW THE FUCK DOES SHE KNOW WHICH WAY SHE’S GOING?
A group of four men turned around the corner I was heading for, dressed too casually to be heading home from the office, but they were too grimy to be tourists
GRIMY? RULE FIVE.
As they approached me, I realized they weren't too many years older than I was. They were joking loudly among themselves, laughing raucously and punching each other's arms.
I would like to take a moment and present these sentences with the MOST AWKWARD WRITING OF THE BOOK AWARD. Congrats. It was a strong year for awkward writing in this book.
So the guys Bella sees give her the creeps, and she tries to avoid them. Guess how THAT went?
"Hey, there!" one of them called as they passed, and he had to be talking to me since no one else was around. I glanced up automatically.
I don’t know about you lot, but when I’m trying to avoid a group of guys I’m skeeved by, I immediately look up when they talk to me. ALL THE TIME.
The closest, a heavyset, dark-haired man in his early twenties, seemed to be the one who had spoken. He was wearing a flannel shirt open over a dirty t-shirt, cutoff jeans, and sandals. He took half a step toward me.
Yup. If they skeeve her out, they must be UNATTRACTIVE IN SOME WAY.
"Hello," I mumbled, a knee-jerk reaction. Then I quickly looked away and walked faster toward the corner.
Look, we all know that they’re gonna start shit, right? I mean, it’s not like all of Meyer’s ideas of evil—BOYS SHOWING AN INTEREST, BEING UNATTRACTIVE—aren’t both in play here.
Oh, wait, she gets away for the moment.
I found myself on a sidewalk leading past the backs of several somber-colored warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks, padlocked for the night. The south side of the street had no sidewalk, only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protecting some kind of engine parts storage yard. I'd wandered far past the part of Port Angeles that I, as a guest, was intended to see.
In order, if I might:
How are warehouses “somber”-colored?
She’s still in the UGLY part of town, so I bet a confrontation is on the way.
I love the idea that the town should feel bad because BELLA’S NOT SUPPOSED TO SEE PART OF IT. Is this a town or a burlesque dancer?
I'd left my jacket in the car, and a sudden shiver made me cross my arms tightly across my chest. A single van passed me, and then the road was empty.
Oooh, atmosphere. Or, at least, as close as Meyer’s gonna get.
The sky suddenly darkened further, and, as I looked over my shoulder to glare at the offending cloud, I realized with a shock that two men were walking quietly twenty feet behind me.
Call me paranoid, but if I’ve JUST BEEN SKEEVED OUT BY FOUR DUDES I PAY ATTENTION TO WHERE THE FUCK THEY ARE IN PROXIMITY TO ME.
They were from the same group I'd passed at the corner, though neither was the dark one who'd spoken to me.
The dark one? THE DARK ONE? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME THE DARK ONE.
I knew exactly where my pepper spray was — still in my duffle bag under the bed, never unpacked.
Look, I don’t care if I’m alone in a room with my purse. I NEVER leave my mace behind. EVER. Does anyone WHO ISN’T BELLA? Especially when going to AN UKNOWN PLACE?
I didn't have much money with me, just a twenty and some ones, and I thought about "accidentally" dropping my bag and walking away. But a small, frightened voice in the back of my mind warned me that they might be something worse than thieves.
Look, I’m not saying that Bella shouldn’t be concerned here. She should. She made it very clear she had no interest in talking to these guys, and THEY’RE FOLLOWING HER. My question is, why, exactly do these guys freak her out AND EDWARD FUCKING DOESN’T? They’re only POTENTIALLY bad. Edward’s SAID HE’S A BAD GUY.
I listened intently to their quiet footsteps, which were much too quiet when compared to the boisterous noise they'd been making earlier, and it didn't sound like they were speeding up, or getting any closer to me. Breathe, I had to remind myself. You don't know they're following you.
YES YOU DO. You said THEY WERE GOING IN THE OTHER DIRECTION BEFORE THEY SAW YOU.
I continued to walk as quickly as I could without actually running,
Because, when fearing that someone may rob or rape you, YOU SHOULDN’T RUN LIKE HELL.
A blue car turned onto the street from the south and drove quickly past me. I thought of jumping out in front of it, but I hesitated, inhibited, unsure that I was really being pursued, and then it was too late.
So, she’s CREEPED THE FUCK OUT and thinks that GETTING HELP ISN’T A GOOD IDEA because she’s NOT SURE she’s being FOLLOWED.
Bella, please, JUMP IN FRONT OF THE CAR because then I don’t have to read about you BEING A COMPLETE BLITHERING IDIOT.
The street ended at the next corner, where there was a stop sign. I concentrated on the faint footsteps behind me, deciding whether or not to run. They sounded farther back, though, and I knew they could outrun me in any case. I was sure to trip and go sprawling if I tried to go any faster.
She’s not gonna run because THEY’LL CATCH HER ANYWAY. Because SHE’LL FALL. One would think that, were you concerned about YOUR PHYSICAL SAFTEY, you’d find a way to RUN WITHOUT FALLING.
The footfalls were definitely farther back. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder, and they were maybe forty feet back now, I saw with relief. But they were both staring at me.
Five bucks says she decides they didn’t mean anything by it.
Maybe they realized they had scared me and were sorry.
OH JESUS CHRIST I WAS BEING SARCASTIC. That’s right, ladies: when your intuition tells you that DUDES FOLLOWING YOU ARE BAD DUDES, you’re PROBABLY JUST IMAGINING THINGS.
There would be more people around once I got off this deserted street. I skipped around the corner with a grateful sigh.
Things Bella can’t do without falling down:
Dance
Walk in the woods
Play basketball
Play racquetball
Look at tide pools
RUN FOR HER FUCKING LIFE
Things Bella can do without falling down:
SKIP
And skidded to a stop.
Oooh, false sense of comfort, guys! Who’s not surprised?
And, yes, that’s the non-American middle finger. I prefer it.
The street was lined on both sides by blank, doorless, windowless walls. I could see in the distance, two intersections down, streetlamps, cars, and more pedestrians, but they were all too far away. Because lounging against the western building, midway down the street, were the other two men from the group, both watching with excited smiles as I froze dead on the sidewalk. I realized then that I wasn't being followed.
I was being herded.
No, you were STILL BEING FOLLOWED YOU IDIOT. I love how, the whole time two of the four guys are following her, SHE DOESN’T THINK TO WONDER WHERE THE OTHER TWO GUYS WENT.
So, she tries to get away. AND IT DOESN’T WORK OF COURSE, and then these lovely things occur:
I had a good loud scream, and I sucked in air, preparing to use it, but my throat was so dry I wasn't sure how much volume I could manage.
She THINKS about screaming and DOESN’T. Look, I don’t care how fucking dry your throat is, ladies; when you find yourself cornered by FOUR COMPLETE STRANGERS, you SCREAM LIKE A GODDAMNED BANSHEE.
Or, at least, YOU TRY.
I slipped my purse over my head, gripping the strap with one hand, ready to surrender it or use it as weapon as need demanded.
Notice how “surrender” is used first? Shocked, right? I know I’M totally shocked.
"Stay away from me," I warned in a voice that was supposed to sound strong and fearless. But I was right about the dry throat — no volume.
That’s right, even when you TRY to sound strong and fearless, you WON’T ladies. Because we are WOMEN and we AREN’T STRONG AND FEARLESS. Even when we make the EFFORT.
HOW DOES ANYONE LOOK UP TO THIS BINT?
And I’m gonna make this point again: Were this a better written book with a better written protagonist, I’d be more forgiving. I’d probably feel bad for Bella. I’d probably be scared for Bella. But you know what? I DON’T FUCKING CARE BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING ABOUT HER EVEN REMOTELY INTERESTING OR LIKABLE TO CARE ABOUT.
And then we’re told that Bella knows a little self defense. Palm thrust to the nose, eye gouging [no, REALLY], and a knee to the groin. All good points. HOWEVER, this is the girl who can’t LOOK AT A TIDE POOL without FALLING IN. I don’t buy it.
And then what happens? SHINY SILVER VOLVO. OF COURSE.
I dove into the road — this car was going to stop, or have to hit me.
Oh, second option! Please!
OF COURSE NOT. DAMNIT.
But the silver car unexpectedly fishtailed around, skidding to a stop with the passenger door open just a few feet from me.
"Get in," a furious voice commanded.
FURIOUS, people. A FURIOUS VOICE. Look, between you and me, if it’s four guys I don’t know getting ready to fuck me up and one guy I BARELY FUCKING KNOW saying FURIOUS things to me after SHOWING UP OUT OF NOWHERE, I honestly wouldn’t know which crazy bastard to call the safe one.
It was amazing how instantaneously the choking fear vanished, amazing how suddenly the feeling of security washed over me — even before I was off the street — as soon as I heard his voice. I jumped into the seat, slamming the door shut behind me.
HIS FURIOUS VOICE. You know, the one that came with the guy who SHOWED UP OUT OF FUCKING NOWHERE?
"Put on your seat belt," he commanded, and I realized I was clutching the seat with both hands. I quickly obeyed; the snap as the belt connected was loud in the darkness.
LOUD IN THE DARKNESS? One is a SOUND. The other is a LACK OF LIGHT. DARKNESS DOES NOT MAKE THINGS LOUDER.
He took a sharp left, racing forward, blowing through several stop signs without a pause.
But I felt utterly safe and, for the moment, totally unconcerned about where we were going.
Oh, yeah, I always feel safe when I’m in a car WITH A GUY I BARELY KNOW and he’s DRIVING LIKE A GODDAMNED MANIAC.
I studied his flawless features in the limited light
DESCRIBE HIS FUCKING FEATURES
Okay, look, she and Edward talk. And it’s BAD. So you get to see the whole thing:
"Are you okay?" I asked, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded.
"No," he said curtly, and his tone was livid.
I sat in silence, watching his face while his blazing eyes stared straight ahead, until the car came to a sudden stop. I glanced around, but it was too dark to see anything beside the vague outline of dark trees crowding the roadside. We weren't in town anymore.
"Bella?" he asked, his voice tight, controlled.
"Yes?" My voice was still rough. I tried to clear my throat quietly.
"Are you all right?" He still didn't look at me, but the fury was plain on his face.
"Yes," I croaked softly.
"Distract me, please," he ordered.
"I'm sorry, what?"
He exhaled sharply.
"Just prattle about something unimportant until I calm down," he clarified, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
Just so there’s no misunderstanding: Bella WAS ALMOST ASSAULTED and it’s more important that SHE CALM DOWN EDWARD FROM HIS MURDEROUS ANGER.
BECAUSE A MAN IS ALWAYS MORE IMPORTANT THAN A WOMAN EVERYONE. ALWAYS.
That’s it for the night. I’m typing in a way where I fear for my keyboard. And, not being a complete douche, I CARE THAT MY KEYBOARD IS OKAY.
I want to start tonight by letting you lot know that I found a copy of “Twilight” in actual book form. And, “dust moats” is, in fact, spelled “dust moats” in the COMPLETELY LEGITIMATE COPY OF THE BOOK.
When you think about it, though, it’s a good thing. That dust has every right to defend itself, and if it wants to do it with moats, then so be it. Perhaps the dust “motes” will show up and act as cavalry if the feared Dustbuster invasion ever actually happens.
And, yes, I am incredibly proud of that joke.
Moving on.
Last we left our completely inept heroes, my face looked something like this:
And The Husband [who has only listened to what excerpts I read him] had a look on his face like this:
Being a stalwart sort, I’m ready to start Chapter 8. Chapter 8 is titled, “Port Angeles”, and I’m betting we’ll get a great deal of incredibly purple description about the dresses the girls try on. I’ll not put too fine a point on it: any description we get of dresses or Port Angeles or the drive there will still be MORE DESCRIPTION THAN WE HAVE OF EDWARD.
Jess drove faster than the Chief, so we made it to Port Angeles by four.
Wow, first line and I’m already annoyed. There’s no damned reason for Bella to refer to Charlie as “Chief”. “Charlie”, I can easily accept, given the lack of time he and Bella have spent together. But that she could call him BY HIS TITLE is asinine. She wouldn’t. He’s CHARLIE. Or DAD. Not Chief.
It had been awhile since I'd had a girls' night out, and the estrogen rush was invigorating.
Because, when you put women in a car together, all their ovaries go off at the same time. Or something. What’s next? Stopping for bonbons and ice cream because they feel SO FAT?
Jessica's dinner with Mike had gone very well, and she was hoping that by Saturday night they would have progressed to the first-kiss stage. I smiled to myself, pleased.
About WHAT? Seriously, all Bella did was stop playing SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE for two seconds. You know who should be pleased about her relationship? JESSICA. Because it’s HER relationship.
Angela was passively happy to be going to the dance, but not really interested in Eric. Jess tried to get her to confess who her type was, but I interrupted with a question about dresses after a bit, to spare her. Angela threw a grateful glance my way.
So, Jessica, Angela, and Bella are the stereotypes that go dress shopping together, but they’re not the stereotypes to TALK ABOUT BOYS? REALLY? And take a drink for that grateful glance. That’s specialist snowflake bullshit because god forbid Angela just say “I’m not talking about it”. No, Bella has to RESCUE her from a VAGUELY UNCOMFORTABLE CONVERSATION.
Port Angeles was a beautiful little tourist trap, much more polished and quaint than Forks.
Oh, okay, so QUAINT TOURIST TRAPS are cute and fun, but Forks TOTALLY SUCKS YOU GUYS.
Jess drove straight to the one big department store in town, which was a few streets in from the bay area's visitor-friendly face.
This implies that the department store is something of a rat hole. Maybe it’s where the bad boys hang out. Oh! Bella might find another completely inappropriate boyfriend! THAT WOULD BE AWESOME. RIGHT?
The dance was billed as semiformal, and we weren't exactly sure what that meant.
WHAT. I was a 17-year-old tomboy, and I KNEW WHAT SEMIFORMAL MEANT. Because I wasn’t A BLITHERING IDIOT. They’ve driven TO ANOTHER TOWN to find dresses, and THEY DON’T KNOW WHAT SEMIFORMAL MEANS.
Both Jessica and Angela seemed surprised and almost disbelieving when I told them I'd never been to a dance in Phoenix.
Because how could THE SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE miss a dance, you guys? It’s like breaking a LAW or something. And that’s a drink.
"Didn't you ever go with a boyfriend or something?" Jess asked dubiously
I know the meaning of the word “dubious”. There is no way this question could EVER be “dubious”. RULE FIVE PEOPLE.
"Really," I tried to convince her, not wanting to confess my dancing problems.
Not liking to dance IS NOT A PROBLEM. It’s a DISLIKE. And, of course, Bella not dancing is completely unbelievable. BECAUSE SHE’S THE SPECIALIST SNOWFLAKE.
I’m giving you this next bit because you have to see the whole thing together to believe it:
"Really," I tried to convince her, not wanting to confess my dancing problems. "I've never had a boyfriend or anything close. I didn't go out much."
"Why not?" Jessica demanded.
"No one asked me," I answered honestly.
She looked skeptical. "People ask you out here," she reminded me, "and you tell them no."
Jessica, please keep being awesome like this. Because YOU ARE AWESOME LIKE THIS.
We were in the juniors' section now, scanning the racks for dress-up clothes.
“Dress-up clothes”? REALLY? Are they SEVEN? They’re FORMAL CLOTHES, Meyer. That’s what the grown-ups call them.
So then Bella finds out that Tyler’s told Angela that he’s taking Bella to the prom. Bella is understandably upset. Because, hell, I’d be pissed if I dude I hadn’t said yes to had said he was taking me to the prom.
I was silent, still lost in shock that was quickly turning to irritation. But we had found the dress racks, and now we had work to do.
That’s right, ladies: If you’ve just discovered that a boy has lied about you, it’ll be okay because there are DRESSES. ALL THE DRESSES YOU WANT. But not all the grammar, because this is a book by Meyer. [“had found”, “now”—these are not words that go together.]
I ground my teeth. "Do you think that if I ran him over with my truck he would stop feeling guilty about the accident? That he might give up on making amends and call it even?"
So, Bella thinks that Tyler LYING ABOUNT TAKING HER TO THE PROM counts as Tyler TRYING TO MAKE AMENDS? On the other hand, at least we finally have Bella showing consistent characterization: When a dude acts creepy, she thinks he’s trying to BE NICE.
The dress selection wasn't large
Because fuck forbid anyplace that isn’t Phoenix or Edward’s scrotum be good enough for Bella.
Oh, yeah, by the way? FUCKING CALLED THE DRESS THING:
Jess was torn between two — one a long, strapless, basic black number, the other a kneelength electric blue with spaghetti straps.
Angela chose a pale pink dress that draped around her tall frame nicely and brought out honey tints in her light brown hair.
That’s right: What the dresses look like is a more important fact than WHAT EDWARD LOOKS LIKE
The whole process was much shorter and easier than similar trips I'd taken with Renée at home. I guess there was something to be said for limited choices.
WHY IS SHE CALLING HER MOTHER RENEE? And the dress selection ain’t the only thing that’s limited. If you know what I mean. AND YEAH I THINK YOU DO.
We headed over to shoes and accessories. While they tried things on I merely watched and critiqued, not in the mood to shop for myself, though I did need new shoes.
One: The only thing Bella EVER does is sit around and critique people. If she spent as much time DOING STUFF as she did CRITIQUING people, SHE’D HAVE A PERSONALITY.
Two: THEN WHY THE FUCK DOESN’T SHE BUY NEW SHOES?
The girls'-night high was wearing off in the wake of my annoyance at Tyler, leaving room for the gloom to move back in.
All it takes for Bella to STOP HAVING FUN is to get ONE PIECE of SLIGHTLY UNCOMFORTABLE NEWS. In a better written book, I’d be seriously concerned about Bella’s mood swings and wonder if things were going to take a turn into teenage depression or some other problem. This book? I’m just hoping Tyler hits her with his van NEXT TIME so that I don’t have to read such ENDLESS FUCKING MOPING.
So then Bella angsts for three paragraphs about asking Angela if the Cullens are out of school a lot. The answer’s yes. They’re outdoorsy types, apparently, and like to hike.
She didn't ask one question, let alone the hundreds that Jessica would have unleashed. I was beginning to really like Angela.
BECAUSE ANGELA DOESN’T ASK QUESTIONS. That’s great, Bella. Then, when you show up with bruises, Angela will just compliment your sunglasses.
We planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn't taken as long as we'd expected.
Okay, first, it should be “had planned”. Take a drink. And why the hell can’t they go to dinner now?
I told them I would meet them at the restaurant in an hour
Oooh, so they ARE going to dinner. Just not RIGHT THAT MOMENT. Goddamnit, these sentences suck. DRINK.
I wanted to look for a bookstore. They were both willing to come with me, but I encouraged them to go have fun — they didn't know how preoccupied I could get when surrounded by books
God forbid they know BELLA LIKES BOOKS. And why the hell is this portrayed as a NEGATIVE character trait? Do girls not READ in Meyer’s world? Wait. Let me rephrase that: Do girls not read SOMETHING OTHER THAN COOKBOOKS in Meyer’s world?
Hold everything. I have to show you the entirety of this paragraph:
We planned to go to dinner at a little Italian restaurant on the boardwalk, but the dress shopping hadn't taken as long as we'd expected. Jess and Angela were going to take their clothes back to the car and then walk down to the bay. I told them I would meet them at the restaurant in an hour — I wanted to look for a bookstore. They were both willing to come with me, but I encouraged them to go have fun — they didn't know how preoccupied I could get when surrounded by books; it was something I preferred to do alone. They walked off to the car chattering happily, and I headed in the direction Jess pointed out.
Allow me to demonstrate how this could be SHOWN as opposed to TOLD:
“Wow, that took a lot less time than I thought it would,” Angela said as we left the store.
“You wanna bum around on the boardwalk for awhile before dinner?” Jessica asked.
“I wouldn’t mind walking on the bay,” Angela suggested. “What about you, Bella?”
I thought about the chances that I could fall in the water walking along the bay. “Is there a bookstore somewhere? I’ve been looking for a couple of things.”
“Sure, there’s one up the boardwalk,” Jessica said, pointing to a building with a dark green roof. “We can go with you, if you want.”
“Nah,” I said, smiling to show it was okay, “You guys go take your walk, and I’ll meet you at the restaurant in an hour.”
“All right,” Jessica agreed while Angela nodded.
SHOW. SHOW. SHOW!!
Just sayin’.
I had no trouble finding the bookstore, but it wasn't what I was looking for.
Of COURSE IT’S NOT.
The bookstore is actually a new-age place with crystals and stuff in the windows. Because, OF COURSE, A PLACE THAT ISN’T PHEONIX WON’T HAVE A REAL BOOKSTORE.
Through the glass I could see a fifty-year-old woman with long, gray hair worn straight down her back, clad in a dress right out of the sixties, smiling welcomingly from behind the counter. I decided that was one conversation I could skip.
Because this woman has NOTHING Bella wants. OF COURSE.
I meandered through the streets, which were filling up with end-of-the-workday traffic, and hoped I was headed toward downtown. I wasn't paying as much attention as I should to where I was going
Last chapter, Bella couldn’t remember which way she was walking DOWN A SMALL FOREST TRAIL, but she’s totally cool WANDERING THROUGH A TOWN SHE’S NEVER BEEN TO.
I was wrestling with despair. I was trying so hard not to think about him, and what Angela had said
Again with the despair. Christ on a crutch. And what’s part of the despair? The knowledge that the Cullens GO HIKING SOMETIMES. OH THE HORROR.
when I looked up to see someone's silver Volvo parked along the street and it all came crashing down on me. Stupid, unreliable vampire, I thought to myself.
Yeah. What a douche. How dare he NOT BE WITH HER EVERY GODDAMNED SECOND. And how is he unreliable? He didn’t say he was gonna be at school or that he would see her. HE DIDN’T SAY ANYTHING AT ALL.
Also, we still have NO PROOF THAT HE’S A FUCKING VAMPIRE.
I stomped along in a southerly direction,
HOW WOULD SHE KNOW? Either you have a sense of direction OR YOU DON’T. And we’ve had it made clear that BELLA DOESN’T.
I definitely needed to get my mood in hand before I met back up with them.
That’s right. Because you DON’T WANT YOUR FRIENDS TO KNOW YOU FEEL BAD.
I started to realize, as I crossed another road, that I was going the wrong direction. The little foot traffic I had seen was going north,
HOW DOES SHE KNOW? HOW?
I decided to turn east at the next corner,
HOW THE FUCK DOES SHE KNOW WHICH WAY SHE’S GOING?
A group of four men turned around the corner I was heading for, dressed too casually to be heading home from the office, but they were too grimy to be tourists
GRIMY? RULE FIVE.
As they approached me, I realized they weren't too many years older than I was. They were joking loudly among themselves, laughing raucously and punching each other's arms.
I would like to take a moment and present these sentences with the MOST AWKWARD WRITING OF THE BOOK AWARD. Congrats. It was a strong year for awkward writing in this book.
So the guys Bella sees give her the creeps, and she tries to avoid them. Guess how THAT went?
"Hey, there!" one of them called as they passed, and he had to be talking to me since no one else was around. I glanced up automatically.
I don’t know about you lot, but when I’m trying to avoid a group of guys I’m skeeved by, I immediately look up when they talk to me. ALL THE TIME.
The closest, a heavyset, dark-haired man in his early twenties, seemed to be the one who had spoken. He was wearing a flannel shirt open over a dirty t-shirt, cutoff jeans, and sandals. He took half a step toward me.
Yup. If they skeeve her out, they must be UNATTRACTIVE IN SOME WAY.
"Hello," I mumbled, a knee-jerk reaction. Then I quickly looked away and walked faster toward the corner.
Look, we all know that they’re gonna start shit, right? I mean, it’s not like all of Meyer’s ideas of evil—BOYS SHOWING AN INTEREST, BEING UNATTRACTIVE—aren’t both in play here.
Oh, wait, she gets away for the moment.
I found myself on a sidewalk leading past the backs of several somber-colored warehouses, each with large bay doors for unloading trucks, padlocked for the night. The south side of the street had no sidewalk, only a chain-link fence topped with barbed wire protecting some kind of engine parts storage yard. I'd wandered far past the part of Port Angeles that I, as a guest, was intended to see.
In order, if I might:
How are warehouses “somber”-colored?
She’s still in the UGLY part of town, so I bet a confrontation is on the way.
I love the idea that the town should feel bad because BELLA’S NOT SUPPOSED TO SEE PART OF IT. Is this a town or a burlesque dancer?
I'd left my jacket in the car, and a sudden shiver made me cross my arms tightly across my chest. A single van passed me, and then the road was empty.
Oooh, atmosphere. Or, at least, as close as Meyer’s gonna get.
The sky suddenly darkened further, and, as I looked over my shoulder to glare at the offending cloud, I realized with a shock that two men were walking quietly twenty feet behind me.
Call me paranoid, but if I’ve JUST BEEN SKEEVED OUT BY FOUR DUDES I PAY ATTENTION TO WHERE THE FUCK THEY ARE IN PROXIMITY TO ME.
They were from the same group I'd passed at the corner, though neither was the dark one who'd spoken to me.
The dark one? THE DARK ONE? ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME THE DARK ONE.
I knew exactly where my pepper spray was — still in my duffle bag under the bed, never unpacked.
Look, I don’t care if I’m alone in a room with my purse. I NEVER leave my mace behind. EVER. Does anyone WHO ISN’T BELLA? Especially when going to AN UKNOWN PLACE?
I didn't have much money with me, just a twenty and some ones, and I thought about "accidentally" dropping my bag and walking away. But a small, frightened voice in the back of my mind warned me that they might be something worse than thieves.
Look, I’m not saying that Bella shouldn’t be concerned here. She should. She made it very clear she had no interest in talking to these guys, and THEY’RE FOLLOWING HER. My question is, why, exactly do these guys freak her out AND EDWARD FUCKING DOESN’T? They’re only POTENTIALLY bad. Edward’s SAID HE’S A BAD GUY.
I listened intently to their quiet footsteps, which were much too quiet when compared to the boisterous noise they'd been making earlier, and it didn't sound like they were speeding up, or getting any closer to me. Breathe, I had to remind myself. You don't know they're following you.
YES YOU DO. You said THEY WERE GOING IN THE OTHER DIRECTION BEFORE THEY SAW YOU.
I continued to walk as quickly as I could without actually running,
Because, when fearing that someone may rob or rape you, YOU SHOULDN’T RUN LIKE HELL.
A blue car turned onto the street from the south and drove quickly past me. I thought of jumping out in front of it, but I hesitated, inhibited, unsure that I was really being pursued, and then it was too late.
So, she’s CREEPED THE FUCK OUT and thinks that GETTING HELP ISN’T A GOOD IDEA because she’s NOT SURE she’s being FOLLOWED.
Bella, please, JUMP IN FRONT OF THE CAR because then I don’t have to read about you BEING A COMPLETE BLITHERING IDIOT.
The street ended at the next corner, where there was a stop sign. I concentrated on the faint footsteps behind me, deciding whether or not to run. They sounded farther back, though, and I knew they could outrun me in any case. I was sure to trip and go sprawling if I tried to go any faster.
She’s not gonna run because THEY’LL CATCH HER ANYWAY. Because SHE’LL FALL. One would think that, were you concerned about YOUR PHYSICAL SAFTEY, you’d find a way to RUN WITHOUT FALLING.
The footfalls were definitely farther back. I risked a quick glance over my shoulder, and they were maybe forty feet back now, I saw with relief. But they were both staring at me.
Five bucks says she decides they didn’t mean anything by it.
Maybe they realized they had scared me and were sorry.
OH JESUS CHRIST I WAS BEING SARCASTIC. That’s right, ladies: when your intuition tells you that DUDES FOLLOWING YOU ARE BAD DUDES, you’re PROBABLY JUST IMAGINING THINGS.
There would be more people around once I got off this deserted street. I skipped around the corner with a grateful sigh.
Things Bella can’t do without falling down:
Dance
Walk in the woods
Play basketball
Play racquetball
Look at tide pools
RUN FOR HER FUCKING LIFE
Things Bella can do without falling down:
SKIP
And skidded to a stop.
Oooh, false sense of comfort, guys! Who’s not surprised?
And, yes, that’s the non-American middle finger. I prefer it.
The street was lined on both sides by blank, doorless, windowless walls. I could see in the distance, two intersections down, streetlamps, cars, and more pedestrians, but they were all too far away. Because lounging against the western building, midway down the street, were the other two men from the group, both watching with excited smiles as I froze dead on the sidewalk. I realized then that I wasn't being followed.
I was being herded.
No, you were STILL BEING FOLLOWED YOU IDIOT. I love how, the whole time two of the four guys are following her, SHE DOESN’T THINK TO WONDER WHERE THE OTHER TWO GUYS WENT.
So, she tries to get away. AND IT DOESN’T WORK OF COURSE, and then these lovely things occur:
I had a good loud scream, and I sucked in air, preparing to use it, but my throat was so dry I wasn't sure how much volume I could manage.
She THINKS about screaming and DOESN’T. Look, I don’t care how fucking dry your throat is, ladies; when you find yourself cornered by FOUR COMPLETE STRANGERS, you SCREAM LIKE A GODDAMNED BANSHEE.
Or, at least, YOU TRY.
I slipped my purse over my head, gripping the strap with one hand, ready to surrender it or use it as weapon as need demanded.
Notice how “surrender” is used first? Shocked, right? I know I’M totally shocked.
"Stay away from me," I warned in a voice that was supposed to sound strong and fearless. But I was right about the dry throat — no volume.
That’s right, even when you TRY to sound strong and fearless, you WON’T ladies. Because we are WOMEN and we AREN’T STRONG AND FEARLESS. Even when we make the EFFORT.
HOW DOES ANYONE LOOK UP TO THIS BINT?
And I’m gonna make this point again: Were this a better written book with a better written protagonist, I’d be more forgiving. I’d probably feel bad for Bella. I’d probably be scared for Bella. But you know what? I DON’T FUCKING CARE BECAUSE THERE IS NOTHING ABOUT HER EVEN REMOTELY INTERESTING OR LIKABLE TO CARE ABOUT.
And then we’re told that Bella knows a little self defense. Palm thrust to the nose, eye gouging [no, REALLY], and a knee to the groin. All good points. HOWEVER, this is the girl who can’t LOOK AT A TIDE POOL without FALLING IN. I don’t buy it.
And then what happens? SHINY SILVER VOLVO. OF COURSE.
I dove into the road — this car was going to stop, or have to hit me.
Oh, second option! Please!
OF COURSE NOT. DAMNIT.
But the silver car unexpectedly fishtailed around, skidding to a stop with the passenger door open just a few feet from me.
"Get in," a furious voice commanded.
FURIOUS, people. A FURIOUS VOICE. Look, between you and me, if it’s four guys I don’t know getting ready to fuck me up and one guy I BARELY FUCKING KNOW saying FURIOUS things to me after SHOWING UP OUT OF NOWHERE, I honestly wouldn’t know which crazy bastard to call the safe one.
It was amazing how instantaneously the choking fear vanished, amazing how suddenly the feeling of security washed over me — even before I was off the street — as soon as I heard his voice. I jumped into the seat, slamming the door shut behind me.
HIS FURIOUS VOICE. You know, the one that came with the guy who SHOWED UP OUT OF FUCKING NOWHERE?
"Put on your seat belt," he commanded, and I realized I was clutching the seat with both hands. I quickly obeyed; the snap as the belt connected was loud in the darkness.
LOUD IN THE DARKNESS? One is a SOUND. The other is a LACK OF LIGHT. DARKNESS DOES NOT MAKE THINGS LOUDER.
He took a sharp left, racing forward, blowing through several stop signs without a pause.
But I felt utterly safe and, for the moment, totally unconcerned about where we were going.
Oh, yeah, I always feel safe when I’m in a car WITH A GUY I BARELY KNOW and he’s DRIVING LIKE A GODDAMNED MANIAC.
I studied his flawless features in the limited light
DESCRIBE HIS FUCKING FEATURES
Okay, look, she and Edward talk. And it’s BAD. So you get to see the whole thing:
"Are you okay?" I asked, surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded.
"No," he said curtly, and his tone was livid.
I sat in silence, watching his face while his blazing eyes stared straight ahead, until the car came to a sudden stop. I glanced around, but it was too dark to see anything beside the vague outline of dark trees crowding the roadside. We weren't in town anymore.
"Bella?" he asked, his voice tight, controlled.
"Yes?" My voice was still rough. I tried to clear my throat quietly.
"Are you all right?" He still didn't look at me, but the fury was plain on his face.
"Yes," I croaked softly.
"Distract me, please," he ordered.
"I'm sorry, what?"
He exhaled sharply.
"Just prattle about something unimportant until I calm down," he clarified, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.
Just so there’s no misunderstanding: Bella WAS ALMOST ASSAULTED and it’s more important that SHE CALM DOWN EDWARD FROM HIS MURDEROUS ANGER.
BECAUSE A MAN IS ALWAYS MORE IMPORTANT THAN A WOMAN EVERYONE. ALWAYS.
That’s it for the night. I’m typing in a way where I fear for my keyboard. And, not being a complete douche, I CARE THAT MY KEYBOARD IS OKAY.