Housemating Season by AngryBadgerGirl COMPLETE.pdf

Fanfiction based on Stephanie Meyer’s Twilight Series

Rated M for Mature

Housemating

Season

By AngryBadgerGirl

Summary: Bella's a freshman at Dartmouth who lives with 5 upperclassmen, including

broody Edward, a vegetarian with a fixation on vampires. Plot line similar to the original

Twi novel w/o the cockblocking and with more laughs. LEMONS, AH, canon pairings,

BPOV.

~*~

Chapter 1. How To Lose Friends And Disinterest People

So here I am, Bella Swanofficially a college freshman at Dartmouth. It‟s my first day in

New Hampshire and I feel…good. The feeling I have isn‟t insanely awesome, but it isn‟t

horrible either. It‟s a mixture of excitement and fear of the unknown. I like being challenged

like that, to be honest. I‟m up for whatever comes my way.

On the other hand, I never thought I‟d move so far from my adopted hometown of Forks,

Washington. I‟m originally from Phoenix but moved to Forks to live with my dad when I was

seventeen. My mom remarried after being divorced from my dad for many years. I liked my

step dad and was happy for my mom. But honestly, their marriage was the start of a new life

for them that I didn‟t especially want to intrude upon. What I mean is there was a vibe around

them that frankly made me kinda weirded out. There was the constant kissing and snuggling,

the sweet nothings and “honey” and “sweetie.” It was like Valentine‟s Day everyday with

those two and I felt like a voyeur or creepy peeping tom around them.

My mom deserved all the romance and happiness, but I thought I deserved to feel comfortable

in my own house. So the perfect opportunity came in the form of my dad, Charlie. I used to

spend summers with him as a kid. It was fun until I realized there was nothing interesting to

do for people over the age of ten, unless you were the outdoorsy fisherman type. On top of

that, the weather just plain sucked. But in spite of that stuff, my dad was a decent guy who

didn‟t talk much, but when he did, he was always honest and straightforward. My dad was no-

nonsensevery “meat and potatoes.” He was easy for me to get along with and made the

ideal person for me to live with. So at the beginning of my junior year, I moved in with him.

My high school AP English teacher was a Dartmouth graduate. She came up to me on my

birthday senior year (in September) and handed me a thick yellow envelope. She just said “fill

this out and mail it. Don‟t think about it. Just do it. I‟ll write you a letter of recommendation.

Have a happy birthday.” I didn‟t have to look at the packet closely to know it was an

application to Dartmouth.

When I got home that afternoon I did end up thinking about it, but just a little. I honestly

didn‟t know what my chances were of getting into an Ivy League school. But I did know that I

didn‟t want to go to UW in Seattle. It seemed like everyone in the graduating class of Forks

High who planned on going to college was enrolling at UW. I was never a “follow the crowd”

kind of person. I needed to do something different and this was my chance to do that.

The truth is I had good grades. Literature was always my passion and I submitted papers to all

kinds of student journals around the country. I got published in some very respectable ones,

all nationally recognized and pretty selective. I volunteered at the nearby Native American

reservation in nearby La Push tutoring elementary school kids in reading. I worked as a clerk

at the Forks police department since my dad was the sheriff. These were the “well rounded”

qualities I knew the more competitive colleges were looking for. I figured “fuck it, the worst

that can happen is I get rejected.” To my sheer and utter delight, I did not get rejected.

Translation: I ran around my house screaming and jumping for an hour. Even my very even-

keeled dad got caught up in my craziness. “You did good Bells. I knew they‟d be crazy to turn

you down,” he said with a huge grin on his face. He gave me a tight hug and a pat on the

back.

My dad is with me today to help me settle in but is flying back home to Forks later this

afternoon. I just got my housing assignment today after not knowing all summer where I‟d

end up. It turns out the school has a really bad housing shortage this year and the housing

office is scrambling to place freshmen wherever there‟s space.

I look at the piece of paper with my assignment on it. It says

Name: Swan, Isabella M.

Location: Meyer Cluster, #913. Co-Ed

I cannot believe my luck. When I say luck, I‟m purposely not saying whether it‟s good or bad.

First of all, judging by my campus map, Meyer Cluster is a group of houses for

upperclassmen. Cool, right? Um, yeah, it‟s cool if you consider yourself a cool person.

Second of alldid that say Co-ed ?!? These houses have male and female residents. They

don‟t share bedrooms but they probably share common areas…like bathrooms. Crap! Charlie

is gonna go nuts. Not to mention, I‟m no prude but I don‟t know how I feel about sharing

space with the opposite sex. I just hope they aren‟t slobs or pervs. Looks like I‟ll be spending

a lot of time in the library. Eh, some things don‟t change.

I tinker with the new keys in my hand and show my dad where we‟re headed.

“Bells, this says „co-ed,‟” he says as he looks up at me with a raised eyebrow.

“I know Dad. Trust me; I requested an all female freshman dorm. I wanted to live on the

literature floor for English majors. This is where they had space, I guess.”

“And you‟re OK with this, Bells?” he asks, looking a little apprehensive. Uh oh, here comes

Papa Bear. “I don‟t really like the idea of college boys living in the same house as my

daughter. I know you can handle yourself; it‟s them I don‟t trust. I was a young guy once, I

know how they think, and I know what they‟re thinking!” he huffs as his left eyelid starts to

do that crazy twitching thing it did when he‟s agitated. It‟s the only way to tell when he‟s

getting worked up.

A comment like that deserves a flippant response. “I‟ll try my very best to defend my honor

and virtue, Charlie,” doing my best Scarlett O‟Hara drawl while tilting my head back and

pressing the back of my hand to my forehead. I always called my dad by his first name. It‟s

been my way of showing affection for him in my own weird way. “Besides, if I live in a

house with a kitchen, I‟ll get to cook my own meals. That alone makes it worth it,” I add,

seriously. My dad knows how much I loved to cook. It never felt like a chore for me, in fact

it‟s like a favorite hobby that makes me happy. And not to be snobby or anything, but campus

cafeteria food sounds totally unappealing to me.

It looks like that snapped him out of his overprotective mood and with resignation in his

voice, he says “alright, well. Whatever makes it feel like home for you is fine by me, sweetie.

Just know I‟m only a phone call away.” He‟s calmer now and his eyelid is back to normal.

“Bells, I‟m gonna miss your cooking,” he says with a sigh. I know what he really means he‟ll

miss. But that‟s what great about me and Charlie. He didn‟t have to say the exact words he

was thinking for me to understand.

We navigate our rental truck through the massive traffic jams around campus and find our

way to my new home for the next nine months. Meyer Cluster was a group of small two

storey houses, surrounded by trees, their leaves now starting to change color for fall. It all

looks so quaint. Beautiful reds, golds, and browns adorn the landscape. The small street has

old black wrought iron lamps to softly light the night sky. The houses themselves look turn-

of-the-century, made with red brick with beautiful arched picture windows. Of course, there‟s

ivy growing along the sides of every house and a charming little chimney on each roof.

There‟s a bay window in the center of every first floor with a large cushioned bench instead of

a window sillperfect for cuddling up on with a book on a cold snowy day. These homes are

old but lovingly maintained. I feel like I‟m looking at a postcard.

We find my house and there‟s chaos everywhere outside around the cluster. There are people

moving their stuff in every which way. Cars are parked on the lawns and people are lugging

their belongings in boxes, bags, and trunks. There‟s a frenetic energy in the air that I can‟t

help but get caught up in. It‟s all about possibilities . It‟s all about taking a giant bite out of life

and savoring every last morsel. It‟s time to start a new chapter in the book of Bella and I am

so up for it.

I get to the front lawn of my new house913 Meyer Lane. The front door is wide open.

Great, that good buzz I was feeling is now rapidly turning into anxiety. Someone is already

here. I can literally feel insecurity wash over me in a wave. It‟s not that I‟m shy per se. I just

always seem to have trouble making a good first impression. It‟s pretty much a forgone

conclusion for me by now that people always need a little extra time to get to know the real

me. Not to mention, these new housemates were all older than me. It‟s likely they‟ve known

each other for a long time and have lived together before. Talk about a socially uneven

playing field. I am doomed to be the odd one out here. I just know it.

I grab a box out of the back of the truck and head towards the door. I see someone walk out.

Suddenly my foot gets caught on a stone in the grass and I stumble forward, launching my

box full of toiletries into the air and they land scattershot all over the lawn. Shit, isn‟t this just

perfect?

I look up and see the cover of Vogue staring down at me with a raised eyebrow. It‟s a

perfectly shaped, highly arched eyebrow on a face that would make Heidi Klum look like a

puddle of oatmeal. She has gorgeous blonde hair that cascades in perfect waves on her

delicate shoulders. She looks like a combination of the beautiful Veronica Lake and the saucy

Mae West. She‟s wearing a gorgeous silk red peasant blouse with a plunging neckline and

snug khaki capris. I look at her feetblack patent leather peep-toe stilettos with that

trademark red sole. I read the celebrity gossip blogs occasionally. Even someone as fashion-

challenged as me can recognize Christian Louboutin heels when I see them. She‟s standing in

the grass, on move-in day, wearing thousand dollar heels. This just keeps getting better.

I look up again at her face and she‟s glaring at me. She‟s still a vision, even when pissed off.

“Sweetie,” she pushed out sharply between perfect, wintry white teeth. “Can you please not

fertilize my lawn with your tampons?” Several people within earshot turn and giggle quietly.

I feel the sudden rush of heat to my face. Fuck! I hate the way I blush. It‟s so freaking stupid

to react this way when I‟m flustered. It makes me look like a socially retarded shut-in.

“Um, yeah, I‟m sorry. I tripped and dropped my stuff,” I stammer as I try to right myself back

up. Another perfect first impression made by Bella. I swear, Murphy‟s Law was written just

for me. Only I would encounter a complete goddess and trip like a spastic ostrich in the first

minute I meet her.

“Yes, I saw that. Let me help you before you water the Ivy with your mouthwash,” she replies

dryly. She walks up closer to me and extends a perfectly manicured hand. “I‟m Rosalie Hale.

And you are?”

“Isabella Swan. Everyone calls me Bella,” I reply as I shake her graceful, soft hand.

“Ah, Bella! Parlate italiano? Come siete? Amo Milano nella molla,” she says, rolling the

words easily from her tongue. Is she really speaking to me in perfect Italian? God I am so out-

gunned, it‟s not even funny.

“Sorry, I don‟t understand Italian,” I reply sheepishly. “I just happen to have an Italian first

name because my mom liked it.” I couldn‟t feel any less awkward and completely ordinary.

Suddenly I‟m like a teeny tiny goldfish in a huge ocean and a beautiful, cunning shark was

trying to make idle chit chat with me.

“Oh,” she says tilting her head and pursing her fire engine red lips. Geez, Dita Von Teese had

nothing on this chick. “I asked how you were and said that I love Milan in the spring. I‟ve

spent time there both for pleasure and to work for Versace at their headquarters. I‟m double

majoring in Econ and French. I plan on working at one of the major fashion houses in Paris

when I graduate, handling financials, mergers and acquisitions, and the like. I have an

internship at Chanel lined up for next summer.”

Of course you love Milan in the spring and work in fashion and financials and speak a bunch

of languages all the while managing a double major course load, you perfect creature with

stunning features and cultured manners. Now let me embarrass myself further by admitting

that I‟ve never even been to Canada even though I lived in the Pacific Northwest for two

years, I think to myself. Oh and did I mention I only speak English and still count on my

fingers?

“Wow, Milan and Paris…” I mumble. Nice response Bella. You simply ooze glamour.

“So, you must be our new housemate,” she says. “I heard we‟re inundated with freshmen this

year and campus housing has placed you here. Well, sorry you‟re stuck with us,” she says,

smiling warmly now. I think she understands the awkwardness of all this, and decorum

demands that she be gracious. It‟s clear she‟s just following social protocol and not really

trying to assuage my feelings. Sharks don‟t exactly cuddle, after all.

“Come, let me show you around. My movers will get your things, don‟t bother with it

yourself. We‟ve got more important things to do,” she insists as she clears her throat loudly.

Instantly, a man in a work uniform materializes by her side. With a flick of her hand and a

few quick words, she sends him in the direction of my truck, its bed full of my things.

OK this chick has her own movers? What the fuck? She‟s got a staff of lackeys for move in

day. I‟m both terrified and blown away by all this. I feel like I‟m on a different planet.

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