Tale I : The One

______________________________________________________

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11

______________________________________________________

BELLA'S POV

People are walking to-and-fro all around me, pausing only to consult the mall directories for directions or their cellphones for the time, stopping at the occasional kiosk, or disappearing into a store to shop. Whereas I, Isabella 'Bella' Swan, am quietly sitting down with my purple-themed backpack, a Dora the Explorer Rescue Bag, securely strapped onto my back and people watching. From my seat on the ridge of Scottsdale Fashion Square Mall's fountain, I hug my legs tightly to my chest to rest my chin on my knees and tilt my head slightly in search of my next victim...

Fifteen minutes fly by and still no suitable prospects in sight, I start to feel beyond depressed and just straight out of luck as my scouting amounts to nothing, yet again. Sigh. Just as I'm about to resign myself and call it quits on my one-month quest, thinking that today just isn't going to be my day, I spy a glimpse of someone out of the corner of my right eye and perk up. As I sit up straighter and do a double-take to my right—just then—that's when I see him.

I can't believe it!

As my eyes take in the sight of him my stomach does a backward somersault and my heart skips more than a few beats… Then the pitter-patter of my heart goes 'Donkey Kong' crazy on me and my face feels too hot! Trying to smother the scorching blush blazing brightly across my naturally rosy cheeks, I place my cold palms over them and discover that, to make matters worse, my palms are now extremely sweaty!

Finally, I've found him!

There he is… Just across the hallway from me, outshining the decorative plant next to him and nearly concealed on the other side of a kiosk. Leaning casually against the corner column to the right of Brookstone with his boot-clad feet crossed daintily at the ankles and looking considerably bored, he seems oblivious to everything outside of himself.

Mommy once said that leaning against a wall like that is called… What was it again? The word is relatively similar to boredom, which I was suffering from before finding him. Now, I feel like my small body can't contain my swelling heart any longer. It's beating so eager and fast now that it might just take flight! Drying my sweaty palms on my thighs, I think hard.

Wait! Was it brewing? No, no, that sounds like something you do in the kitchen… I think. Ah, yes, I remember now! It's brooding! Yes, that's it! That's what you call it! My victim is leaning against the beige column with his eyes closed, arms crossed over his chest, feet overlapping at the ankles, chin resting on his chest, and brooding. In my eyes, he seems to execute all these casual, stationary motions with an undeniable air of elegance. And I'm willing to bet that I'm not the only one who thinks so.

Considering how those who pass him by stare after him, I can only assume that they seem to think so too. I can tell. Simply standing there and leaning against that huge column, he's earning himself quite a few glances now and again. Given that I love to people watch frequently, I can tell that the looks are all very appreciative and mainly attracting a variety of whispering, giggling females—girls and women alike.

Fleetingly, I wonder if he's waiting on someone but just as swiftly decide that it really doesn't matter after all. So long as I get a chance to walk up to him and talk to him before whoever he's waiting on takes him away, I'll be a very happy girl. Mind made up, I nod and dry my palms on my thighs once more. Swallowing nervously, I uncurl myself from my current position so I can get to my feet, walk the distance between me and him, and hopefully talk to him.

Sliding off the fountain's ledge I hop to a standing position and I'm very happily surprised when I don't trip, or stumble while doing so. Shrugging as I remain standing on my clumsy feet, I smile triumphantly at the small miracle. Squaring my shoulders, I purposefully set my feet in motion and keep my sights on the brooding blond as I tighten my backpack's straps out of habit, heading over to his side of the mall with a skip to my every step.

______________________________________________________

______________________________________________________

Once I'm about four feet away from reaching him, my nerves start to get the best of me and I come to an abrupt halt. Trying to get my heart to slow down and the butterflies in my stomach to calm down, I take a deep breath for oxygenated courage and slowly let it out through my mouth with a whoosh. Now that the moment is finally here, it's only natural that I'm nervous! After all, he's exactly who I've been looking for this past month and all of this afternoon. Therefore, I have to make a good first impression. It is imperative that I do.

The moment I find the courage to walk the last few steps and stand right before him, all the chattering from the mall becomes background noise and ceases altogether. Unable to find my voice just yet, I find myself just staring up at him. Now that I'm up-close and able to see his face clearly, I decided that I've been right about him all along...

I have found him! He is The One.

Taking another moment to pluck up the nerve to actually say something, I really look at him and take all of his features in. There's a classic handsomeness about him that can be attributed to his straight nose, which borders on delicate, as well as the sharp, slightly hollowed but protuberant cheekbones, and strong jaw just starting to square. There's even a small shadow at the center of his chin that hints at a cleft, but a subtle one, making him all the more handsome for it.

Meanwhile, his skin is evenly sun-kissed, a color that I think suites him well, and gives his complexion a healthy ruddiness that gives way to the more prominent features of his face. While staring at his face before me, one thing is made clear to me as I take notice of the fact that there are no signs of a beard, like the one my daddy sometimes grows on his face, or any five o'clock shadow growing in. He's still a boy. An older boy, yes, but still a boy.

As my scrutiny extends to his head, I first realize that his hair is ash-blond, thick, and has a slight waviness to it, adding more volume and height to his lean stature. Styled in a faux hawk fade, his hair compliments his angular bone structure efficiently and adds an elegant yet edgy look to his features. Although a darker shade of blond, his eyebrows are the right thickness and add character to his slightly boyish appearance, setting the structure of his eyes perfectly. Whereas the eyelashes framing his eyelids are a lighter blond than his hair and probably ghost softly over his cheeks every time he blinks, casting soft shadows as they now do since they are long and thick.

As I conclude my scrutiny, the oblivious boy before me sighs irritably and shifts slightly, re-crossing his feet at the ankles so that his right foot now rests over his left. The suddenness of his actions startles me out of my awestruck trance and makes me blush furiously as I realize that I was staring. His reaction serving as a reminder that it is not polite to stare, under any circumstances, and I suddenly feel slightly guilty, since I've been staring at him critically all this time.

Maybe he isn't so oblivious after all…

Chances are he probably senses my staring, due to my seemingly unabashed scrutiny, and feels self-conscious, which might very soon turn to irritation. Still, to my utter disbelieve, his eyes remain closed, though his eyebrows become knitted. Blinking owlishly, I stare up at him a moment longer and will him with my probing stare to please open his eyes and look at me.

If I'm ever going to talk to him, I need him to notice me.

All the same, he doesn't budge.

Feeling slightly nervous, I look around me and notice for the first time that the crowd of shoppers is significantly thinning. This sudden change makes the mall, previously fully packed with shoppers going about their shopping with loud, buzzing, and indistinct chatter, a much quieter place. I am relieved and grateful for this sudden change. I want to be heard. Need the boy in front of me to hear what I have to say. And I just know that this much quieter environment will help my case.

Being the shy seven-year-old that I am, I'm not a very loud spoken person by nature, which is one of the main reasons why I usually choose to lose myself in the pages of my books and avoid crowds. Instead of striking up conversations, I much prefer to devote my time to discovering new worlds filled with fairytales, princes and princesses, knights in shining armors with unbelievable quests, dragons, secret worlds, gardens, and heroes. On any given day, my world of fantasy makes for a better universe than the one I live in but feel I don't belong to.

In addition to the inherent shyness, I mostly like to keep to myself anyway. Usually, because I become a blushing and stuttering mess every time I try, I never go out of my way to speak to people. Much less a total stranger! But since this situation is special, I want to be brave and go out of my comfort zone. Just this once, I'll forget all about my shyness and be heard.

No matter how many shades of red I discover and blush along the way, I have to do this for myself. So long as he hears me out, I remind myself, it will be worth the humiliation. After all, he is The One! Breathing in oxygen-courage, I stretch out an arm and reach toward him. After a heartbeat's hesitation, I reach for the boy's closest piece of clothing and tug, twice. Once again, as I wait for him to open his eyes and look at me, I remind myself to breathe. Sometimes, you know, I just tend to forget how and when to breathe…

A moment later, his eyes flash open and I gasp slightly as I realize that his eyes, a clear aqua, match the color of the accents in my bedroom. Uncertainty flutters in my stomach, sending those butterflies into a frenzy, the moment I realize that he is much more beautiful than I originally thought. Immediately his brow furrows as his gaze goes right over my head and he sees nobody standing before him or annoying him.

Like always, when things like this happen, I get slightly annoyed and my temper gets the better of me. Taller people, I've learned, always do this. They never seem to expect the little people to want their attention too. Why is that?

Thankfully, his reaction distracts me from my uncertainty, and once again I know what to do to grab his attention. Clearing my throat irritably, I decide to speak up before my growing disappointment can take root. He can't be anyone else but The One, I am sure. Though I don't think I quite manage it; I really, really try not to sound as irritated as I feel when I clear my throat again.

"Down here," I say, finally speaking up.

______________________________________________________

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11

______________________________________________________

JASPER'S POV

Kidnapped by people who claim to love me but only wish to inflict a severe case of brain-putty upon my wilting brain, I am certain, I've been brought to my least favorite place on the planet—a crowded, and noisy place called Scottsdale Fashion Square Mall. Once again, I live to see another day confined within the walls of this mall—my worst nightmare.

Please, don't say it. Don't even think about it. Since I have enough confidence in myself, I can. But you most certainly can't. Poor, wittle, Jasper Whitlock... There. I thought it. Happy? 'Cause I'm not.

I can almost hear the News headlines:

"Jasper Hadrian Whitlock, male, 5'6", of age 14 as of last August, reportedly perished today at the mall, suddenly, due to boredom and wilting of the brain. Our hearts go out to his family during their time of sorrow."

Now, before you go and judge me, let me just inform y'all that I'm not the type who's much into drama, under normal circumstances. No, really, I'm not the type. In fact, usually, I'm all about the action, you know. It's a guy thing. But when, like me, you are faced under the reign and regimen of a 5'4" She-Devil who's wearing an added height of 6" stilettos, courtesy of (I-Hate-You-With-a-Passion) Prada, and claiming to be the authority, given that said She-Devil is my aunt, normal circumstances are expected to be damned.

Add my momma to the mix in her 6" Louis Vuitton art deco ankle boots in calf and suede and you've got yourself a time bomb ready to detonate any second. Oh, and did I mention? They both possess this terrifying ability to wrap men and young men alike (better yet if they are their kids) around their little fingers, turning them into their submissive little slaves, or make them cry a river.

Keeping that in mind, I bet that you can now understand how even I can fall prey to the clutches of drama acutest. However, even though it's only late afternoon on a Thursday and I've been dragged—kidnapped, really—into coming to the Scottsdale Fashion Square Mall for the fifth time this week, I had put my foot down at being dragged around the whole mall all over again and insisted on staying behind.

There's only so much I can handle without using drastic measures. Besides, I've already been to this accursed mall twice today already. Thus, I made the decision to remove myself from this latest shopping expedition and leave my poor cousin, Emmett, to fend for himself. Hopefully, he'll be smart enough not to get caught between the crossfire of the two most important women in our lives—our eccentric mommas.

There's only so much my male pride can take people!

Emmett, unfortunately, became collateral damage in the process… I will make it up to him… Later. Much, much later. Somehow… If I survive another day to tell the tale…

That is why, if anyone had been looking for me, they would have found me near Brookstone, leaning against the corner column and brooding with my eyes closed. What? I'm sporting a barking, pounding headache, and trying to ignore all the chatter and stares of the people around me. Don't dis it 'til you've endured it, I always say.

Especially when it concerns my momma at the mall, together and alongside her favorite little She-Devil, Alice. Or should I say, Aunt Alice? Also known as, the She-Devil (that is, behind her back, of course), by yours truly and by her own son, Emmett. Since I've been raised to be a total gentleman, calling my Aunt like that to her face just wouldn't do, or bode well for my survival. (Smirk.)

Though, I've got to fess up, this little She-Devil is, still, my favorite aunt. It doesn't matter that she's the only Aunt that I have; she would still be my favorite if I had ten other aunts to choose from.

_____________________________________________________

______________________________________________________

It seems that all my life, up to this point, I've been on some sort of exhibition. Apparently, I'm under some sort of spotlight that seems to draw the eyes of everyone within a 360 degree-radius of me, and I do mean everyone. Come to think of it, I believe I heard my momma telling me once that I was kidnapped as a baby, too... Then again, that's a story for another day.

However, it seems that once I hit puberty last year, those stares increased tenfold. I even had to get a restraining order on this seemingly unassuming girl by the name of Mary-something-or-other. It was necessary, especially after she began stalking me and her obsession got the better of her when she tried to (get this) steal my gym shorts after I wore them for gym class. That's just plain disgusting and nasty.

Hopefully the severely disturbed girl is now somewhere far away from my side of the ocean and getting psychiatric help, like I'd suggested to the judge in the process of issuing the restraining order. (Shudder.) I'm a realist. I know my sweat stinks just as bad as the next boy, if not worse—I'm athletic and into M.M.A. for heaven's sake, it doesn't get more EXTREME than that.

Needless to say, girls like Mary terrify me… I just don't get them!

Oh, alright, I get it… I'm cute. Handsome when the occasion calls for it, sexy even, and, my personal favorite, charming (eye roll please)—just to mention a few names I've been labeled with over the course of my young life. Then again, you might already be labeling me with your own 'original' heading and not in need of ammunition... Just, please, don't let me catch wind of it! It'll be humiliating for me.

No, seriously people, find your own new face to ogle at!

There are some sick people in this world, let me tell you. Honestly, who goes lusting after a boy who turned fourteen years of age only a month ago? Men and women alike, I can feel their depravity oozing off their bodies whenever their eyes land on me. It rolls off in waves toward me and makes me shudder. Again and again and again this continues to happen, getting me accustomed to something I have no business getting used to.

(Cue long-suffering sigh... Sigh.)

If only I had a dime for every stare… I'm certain I'd be Donald Trump rich, or richer by now.

______________________________________________________

______________________________________________________

As to be expected, here I am, casually minding my own business when out of nowhere I get the strangest sensation of being stared at, which is now causing my skin to tingle. My Spidey Senses sure are tingling in overdrive today! It's as if there's a persistent pair of curious eyes clinging to my every move and trying to dig a hole onto my face in their quest to earn my attention. Still, I desist and refuse to open my eyes to give them the satisfaction of satiating their curiosity, unless prompted.

Ignore, ignore... there's no need for gore. The exclusive rule to determine my sanity and survival, which I've turned into a mantra of sorts.

Though I'm beginning to feel slightly uncomfortable by now, to the point of feeling very tempted to open my eyes. Stubbornly, I keep on resisting the urge to do so and persuade myself into believing that I'm overreacting. These sensations are all in my head, a figment of my imagination. In reality, there's probably no one looking at me for longer than a passing fancy.

Shifting position, I try to push the feeling away from my mind. Only, I think I might or might not have heard someone gasp in the process and this gives me pause... Frowning slightly, I strain my ears and listen attentively. Did I just feel someone's body heat just now? If so, whoever it is must be way too close for comfort.

Mentally shaking my head, I sink deeper into the porous surface of my column with my mind made up to feign ignorance and that's when the unforeseen happens. From one moment to the next I feel a tug—two, to be exact. With my heart in my mouth my eyes flash open and scan my immediate vicinity to find… (Frown.) Well, no one. Nonetheless, there's a little, breathless gasp that tells me that I'm not imagining things, though I can't see the one who utters it.

Invisibility Cloaks are real now…? I speculate. Unlikely. Still, can I have one too?

Utterly confused by it all, I frown. Again, I'm sure someone just tugged at my shirt or something. I'd been planning on using my best glare on them, too. Pity, really. Chalking it up to my overactive imagination, I'm about to dismiss it all when I feel another tug. This one originating at my jean-clad leg, without a doubt. The tugging sensation slightly more insistent this time around and is followed by a little voice that sounds slightly peeved.

"Down here," my tugging intruder announces.

Instantly curious, I bow my head and my eyes meet with a pair of perfect brown doe eyes, which are set on the pale, heart-shaped face of a little girl. Said girl is staring back up at me indignantly, straight in the eyes. My brows rise in surprise as I note that the little girl still has a tight fistful of my jeans clutched in her small hands.

So, this is the little tugger, I surmise. Withdrawing from my wall, I notice that my belt buckle is almost exactly eye-level with her. What a shorty.

"Um…" I scratch the back of my faux hawk, trying to buy time as I fix my aqua gaze on her brown ones once again. "Are you lost, little ma'am?" That's the wrong thing to say, I realize in an instant. As her eyes narrow at me and her mouth turns into the most adorable pout, I bite my lip and try not to laugh.

Too cute, and adorable, and... Does she come in pocket size, so I can take her home? Sheesh, Jasper, that doesn't sound like something a creep would say. Not. At. All.

"No," she informs me, indignant, crossing her arms over her chest for emphasis. "I know where I am." She drops her hands back to her sides and arches a challenging brow at me. The girl's got some brow game, I'll grant her that.

"Okay…" My lip twitches. She is making it hard for me not to laugh. Seriously... "You do know you shouldn't talk to strangers, though, right?" I hedge, clearing my throat in my attempt to rid myself of the laughter trying to bubble up and burst free.

Duh! Her latest glare seems to say. However, she simply glares up at me and crosses her little arms over her chest once again. If possible, she now looks more affronted than she should be able to look. Considering that she's probably, like, five.

"Where's your momma then?" I ask, most likely against my better judgment.

"She's lost," she informs me with a weary and impatient sigh. That's it! I can't hold it in anymore, I laugh. A barking laugh so loud and belly-deep that a few passersby give me odd and worried looks as they hurriedly walk by us. In fact, she looks worried for me. This kid is too funny! Even then, I can't bring myself to care about how I'm being perceived.

"Are you sure it's not the other way around kid?" I ask between chuckles.

"No! My mommy is the one lost," she scoffs indignantly and a blush spreads across her cheeks as she stomps her little foot in frustration and shows me the funniest little scrunched up face yet. It looks like she's disgusted with me yet again.

"And how did you work that out?" Trying not to lose it again, I snort back a laugh.

"Because I know exactly where she's at and where I'm at," she explains gravely, and once again, her logic has me in stitches. She blushes adorably once again, but a challenge shines bright in her big brown eyes. "Mommy doesn't."

"Well, kid," I clear my throat, "you and your logic are something else."

Now that she's blushing like a mad little tomato, I notice just how flawless and snow-white her skin is and how it contrasts with the dark, chocolate brown of her hair. Naturally, her paleness lends the perfect canvas to highlight the blush on her ruddy cheeks and makes it that much more pronounced. As I appreciate that blush, I barely catch myself staring into her brown eyes a beat too long and only then realize that I can't take my eyes off her face. The thought of waiting to see her blush some more takes a strong foothold within me in an instant. The urge is potent, and I bite my tongue in my attempt to quiet the need and desire to further aggravate her blush with my next words.

"Bella," she mumbles.

"Sorry?" I say distractedly, "Didn't quite catch that."

"Not 'kid', my name is Bella," she sighs with a huff.

Cute. Now she's becoming impatient with me. The prospect of witnessing her impatience makes me ridiculously giddy. Maybe being at the mall today isn't going to turn out to be such a waste after all. I muse. Guess I might as well introduce myself.

"Well, Bella, I'm–"

"Prince Charming!" Bella interrupts ecstatically, before I can get as far as telling her my name, nearly vibrating before my very eyes with excitement.

"–Jasper." I gape at her. Blink. Did I hear her wrong?

I must have heard her wrong, please?

"Umm…" she hesitates, frowning and looking suddenly unsure. "You mean, Prince Charming Jasper?" She gives me another funny look and it tells me that she really doesn't like the sound of that but is still holding hope that I will agree to the ridiculous name she's deluded herself I go by.

The real question is: Do I have the heart to break it to this kid—to Bella?

"No, just Jasper?" I say tentatively, though it comes out sounding more like a question. Bella stares at me without blinking and then stares some more, until I feel like squirming.

Boy, this is worse than when I went and told that poor Newton kid that there's no Santa Claus. Albeit, that had been an honest mistake and in true Jasper fashion, I'd put my foot in my mouth. Thing was, I had accidentally run into the kid one evening after having the worst day of prepubescent life and spilled the beans, but still... To this day, I still feel so bad that he took it so hard.

Did I mention it happened a week after Thanksgiving Day? That's not all. Do y'all want to know what the worst part of it all was? His parents didn't blame me in the least, even though they had to be the ones stuck with Mike's gloomy face for weeks to come and I got to walk away unscathed. Although they're my neighbors, they allowed me to suffer long enough to grovel and show them how appropriately remorseful one could be. Even then, in the aftermath of a disillusioned Christmas for one Mike Newton, I knew I had gotten the better end of the deal.

What can I say? I'm an honest gentleman.

"Prince Jasper?" Bella tries again. The look on her wide-eyed stare a little too hopeful for my liking and I instantly have this distinct urge to take my hand, slap my face with it, drag it down, and then repeat the process. Better than self-mutilation, at least.

"I–" I hesitate, unsure of how to proceed. What is the right thing to say in this kind of situation? What's making it worse is the fact that Bella is, well, she's a little ma'am and my mamma has ingrained it in me to be a gentleman through and true. And, now that I think about it, she never did mention any age limitations. Hmm… (Sigh.) I'll be damned! I'll blame it all on my upbringing if I end up with my foot in my mouth again. Evasion it is! "Is there something you wanted to ask me?"

Her smile returns full force, lighting up her face like an energized sunflower and the sight is blinding. She might just end up combating Aunt Alice for the Energizer Bunny title, hmm, and Emmett for the Comedy Central award.

"You might not be Prince Charming, though I swore you were," Bella rambles on some more, looking at me critically. "But you look just like him though, just not your clothes…" I smile uncertainly at her, fidgeting, as she wrinkles her nose and critically examines what I'm wearing. "–But you'll do," Bella finishes decidedly.

I find myself gaping once again, sirens going off in my head on the background.

"Will do for what?" I ask, almost afraid to and aghast.

"My birthday is this Saturday. Two days from today," Bella tells me, counting the days out on her fingers. Nodding to herself she glances up at me once again and suddenly, looking shy, blushes brighter than before when my eyes meet hers.

Okay, Jasper, do not panic. Breathe. Most likely, this is some joke. Someone must have set Bella up to this, I reason as I try to rationalize what's happening. Real life doesn't usually spiral into Twilight Zone territory for no apparent reason. Not just like that. Suspicious now, my eyes comb the near vicinity for any hidden cameras and, or sightings of one Mary-something-or-other.

"Emmett…" I whisper darkly under my breath, fully knowing that he is the only other person capable of orchestrating this kind of prank. Just when I start to scan the minimal crowd yet again with narrowed eyes for his familiar face or headful of dark curls, Bella interrupts me.

"I didn't want a party or presents," she tells me offhandedly and my eyes land on hers once again. "But my mommy insisted." She shrugs, looking doubtful. "She said it's important for little girls like me to have a birthday party and invite friends."

"It is, Bella," I agree, making her blush some more. "How can you not want a party?" I snort. She shrugs, fidgeting. "How old are you going to be anyway?"

"Eight!" she answers brightly, showing me eight fingers exactly, five on one hand and three on the other, after struggling with keeping up the three on her right from turning into four.

"Wow! You're gonna be a big girl, Bella!" I tell her, offering her a high-five and feeling slightly amazed by the fact that she's three years older than I had imagined. Such a shorty.

"Bigger," she corrects, giggling, and high-fives me as she stands on her tiptoes.

"So, what's your party theme?" I ask, genuinely curious, and she blushes.

Hmm… curious, very, very curious…

"Princess!" It's but a breathless reply, filled with glee.

"Aah…"

"That's why I've been looking for Prince Charming, you see," she confides shyly. And I have no idea where she's going with this, but decide to be polite and listen, though alarms are going off in my head in inexplicable warning. "My mommy and daddy told me I had to find him myself…"

Bella shuffles on her feet as I stare at her and she glances shyly at me from under her eyelashes. For a moment, all I can do is blink and then, blink again. I bet it looks like I have a twitch to anyone looking in. In fact, I'm positive I look like I have a twitch.

"Hmmm… I see." I don't, for the life of me 'see', mind you. At all. Bella smiles a toothy smile, eyes lighting up. Oh no, what does that mean? "So, you came here to find him?" I venture… Suddenly, it's like my words give me some illumination. Comprehension. But it can't be… can it?

She nods. "And found you."

Oh… Ding, ding, ding! Oh, hell no.

"And what are you going to do, now that you found your Prince Charming?" I ask, bordering on grudgingly, and attempt to rule myself in, not willing to show Bella the panic building within if I can help it.

"Nothing," she says simply, looking shy all over again for the world to see. I arch a brow at her, that little blush is so not making me believe a word of it. "I just wanted to let Prince Charming know that… t-there's gonna be a Ball… maybe then," –She shrugs, voice growing smaller the more she speaks– "you know… he'll dance with me on my birthday."

Now Bella is furiously blushing and not looking at me as she fidgets where she stands. Which is rather convenient for me, because my mouth is hanging open in my state of utter disbelieve. She has to be pulling my leg. She just has to. I refuse to believe otherwise.

Again, I find myself scanning the vicinity for any sightings of either Emmett or Mary-something-or-other and come up short yet again. Then I remember she's about to turn eight and by this point I can only assume that this is all this shorty's doing, apparently. What did they feed kids these days, faerie tale droppings to rot the young mind for breakfast, lunch, and dinner?

"Ahem," I clear my throat repeatedly, feeling as if my Adam's apple is painfully bobbing against sandpaper, instead of my esophagus. "Is that what you want, Bella, for" –I can't believe I'm about to say this– "Prince Jasper to ask you to dance with you at your Ball?"

She nods vigorously, still not looking at me and with that damnable and innocent blush still flushing her cheeks another notch. Kneeling before Bella, I sigh and get all 'Real-Life-Knight-in-Shining-Armor' on her—minus the shining armor, obviously—of my own free will.

Not like I really have a choice now, do I? With her looking all shy and hopeful. When it comes to pleasing others and meeting their expectations, I'm everyone's go-to guy. I'm a natural sucker for people-pleasing. As you can imagine, this little ma'am's matter is no different.

Still, once again, I can't believe I'm doing this…

"Then, don't you think you need to send Prince Jasper an invitation?"

Bella lifts her head up, lightning-quick, eyes huge as she braves meeting my eyes and stares at me with those damnable puppy dog eyes swimming in disbelief. That look tells me that she almost hadn't dared to hope, and it completely disarms me. The longer Bella stares at me with those huge brown saucer-like eyes of hers, now shining with mirth, and says nothing, the more I begin to feel like an idiot for kneeling in front a seven-year-old girl.

"Really?" Bella asks, voice full of wonder, and clasps her hands tightly in front of her, finally finding her vocal cords.

"Really, really," I assert and hope that the awkward smile I've plastered on my face will convince her enough, if my words fail to do so. Meanwhile, I am mentally slamming my head into a concrete wall, repeatedly, until I succeed in giving myself a concussion and pass out before this conversation leads to a conclusion.

Bella squeals, momentarily deafening me, and starts to move. Next thing I know, she unexpectedly jumps at me, thrusting herself into my arms, and wraps her little arms around my neck with so much force that we nearly topple over at her added weight. But thankfully, the column behind me catches us, and, in the flurry, somehow, I manage to brace a hand against it to steady us.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you…" she says, over and over again, hugging me tighter and tighter.

"Prince- Jasper- can't- -breathe," I manage to say. Chuckling awkwardly, I glance around us and instantly start getting a little worried. We were starting to attract a bit of an audience. I can't have that. No one would believe for one second that she was the one who approached me and not the other way around, given our clear difference in age. "And can you please stop with the squealing?" The last thing I need is to be labeled a perv or something. "People might think I'm kidnapping you, when clearly, you are the danger here."

Bella giggles and relents her hold on me, causing me to grace her with my signature tilted smile. Despite myself, I'm happy that she's happy and that I'm the one that got to put that extra shine in her big, dark eyes. It's infectious, almost viral. Besides, this is the egotistic side of me shining through, the part of me that always wants to please and help others. I can't help it.

"Where can I send your invitation?" she asks me. I groan, low enough for her not to hear me. She is serious about this, I realize, feeling a slight current of panic rising from my gut up. Only the realization that I'm a willing victim makes me open my mouth.

"You have a notebook and pencil in that little backpack of yours?" I ask, noting her purple backpack for the first time. Her long brown hair must have covered the straps from view until now, I assume.

"I do," she nods eagerly. Removing her backpack, Bella holds it out between us as if she has every intention of handing it over to me.

Strangely enough (as if this whole afternoon isn't strange enough already), I recognize it as being a Dora the Explorer merchandise. Not taking it, I stare at the backpack for a beat too long and she takes the liberty of placing it in my hand anyway. On closer inspection, I see that Bella's backpack has eyes and a smiling mouth with a side pocket holding something that also has eyes and a mouth—something that might be a fake map, I think.

"No, way," I refuse. "A man never puts his hands into a ma'am or little ma'am's bag or purse. Much less, if he values his life," I inform Bella, watching her pout and hand it back to her. "I value my life, thank you very much."

"You're funny." She giggles at that, understanding, and begins rummaging in her backpack for pen and paper. At the rate she's going, chances are I wouldn't have found it anyway.

"Besides, my momma's raised me to be a gentleman," I inform her. "And I've learned my lesson." I have tales aplenty from my much daring and naïve days that have left their marks behind, to know that I don't want any repeats.

"Here!" Bella announces triumphantly as she straightens up and extends her arms, holding a notebook and a pen in each hand for me to take. As she hands over her purple notebook with the word 'Princess' bedazzled into the front cover and a pink-feathered pencil and contemplate not taking the proffered items, I find myself wishing I had my own black and normal Paper Mate pen at hand.

"Thank you," I say, regardless. Taking them from Bella's outstretched hands, I open the notebook to a blank page and write down my full name, address, and home number in purple lead. Give that to your mamma and poppa and have them call me," I instruct as I hand Bella her things back.

"Okay," she chirps, joy, rainbows, and butterflies radiating and repelling off her with bursts of sunlight as she takes her pen and notebook, stuffing it back in her backpack.

I think I might gag and get sick…

"Bella, no. Listen, I'm serious," I tell her, insistent, trying to drive it home. "If they don't call me, I won't go." She pouts adorably, wrinkling her thin, delicate nose. "Promise?"

"Promise!" she vows, beaming, practically singing the word. That will have to do for now.

"You've troubled me enough for one day now," I tease, and she has the decency to look abashed. I can only smile at that. And in a more pleasant tone, add, "Run along now, or do you need help finding your lost mamma?"

The woman must be running around the mall like crazy by now trying to find her daughter, I figure. Looking at my watch, I note that we have been talking for a good fifteen minutes, tops.

"No, thank you," Bella declines politely, much to my surprise. "I should ask security to page her though. She might have gone on the move…" Bella ponders, and I bite back a laugh. She sounds like the parent here. "I've done it before, you know," she adds, eyeing me warily, as if she knows I still doubt her, and I gape at her once again, shaking my head in wonderment.

What kind of momma does she have? Without realizing it, I'm beginning to worry about this funny and sweet girl's future. Shaking my head, I remind myself that it's none of my concern.

"Okay. I believe you. Goodbye, Bella," I bid with a chuckle. "Nice meeting you." And I mean it, even though I think this is going to be the last time I'll see her. Surely, her parents wouldn't be crazy enough to listen to their seven-year-old daughter's whims and invite a total stranger to her party? Even if she is a total brat about it, which I honestly can't picture Bella being. So, I'm sure her parents will have enough common sense to not invite a total stranger over.

"Bye Prince Jasper!" she bids in turn. Skipping away, presumably, Bella heads towards the security booth with her backpack bouncing on her back as she goes. I stare after her in wonder. Bella really is going to ask them to page her mother. Shaking my head, unable to wipe the incredulous smile off my face, my smile widens when Bella turns around just a short distance ahead with a hand in the air and waves at me, saying, "See you at my party!"

Trying not to chuckle aloud, I wave back at her. One last wave and Bella is out of sight and earshot, just not out of mind. I don't think I can ever forget this charming little encounter. I'll probably look back in years to come, remember it, and still laugh about today.

"What was that all about?" I hear someone ask me and stiffen. "Where's the party at?"

Turning in the direction of the voice, I relax once I realize that it's only Emmett, which is a danger in and of its own, since he's my age and my cousin, and my Aunt Alice's son to boot. I smile nervously, muttering under my breath, "Just what I needed…"

"And, more importantly, am I invited?" He arches a brow at me, while a malicious smile makes an appearance and instantly dominates his mouth, asking, "Prince Jasper?"

"Emm…" I groan. He is never going to let me live this down, for as long as either of us lives. And considering we are family, well, the chances of us never speaking again in the near future to safe face are very, very slim. I wave goodbye to my intact and dent free reputation, until today, sad to see it slip away from my fingertips at such a young and tragic age.

"Spill, Your Highness!" (Sigh.) Emmett practically cackles. "This ought to be good."

Please, people, do try to remember, I still don't do melodrama. No, honestly, I don't. Oh, don't give me that dubious look... Okay, so I don't sound very convincing right now, so what? I'm still all about the action!

"Honestly, I don't know, Emm," I admit, feeling slightly dejected. I shall welcome my miserable fate like a man, dammit. "But I think it's safe to say I just got hit on by a seven-year-old…"

"What are you talking about, man?" Emmett booms jovially with barely sustained laughter, draping an arm over my shoulders. Leaning in conspiratorially, he whispers, "Should I be worried? When are the upcoming nuptials happening? And, I'm invited to the wedding, right? Yeah, I totally should be worried…"

I roll my eyes. Like Emmett ever worries about anything but food. Even while he's gorging down food like there's no tomorrow, he's still worried about what he's gonna eat three to four hours from then. Not that I'm any better… but I, at least until the next meal period, only focus on the food that's right before me. Which reminds me...

"By any chance, Emmett," –Glancing sideways at Emmett, my eyes turn to slits as I glare at him with suspicion— "you didn't have anything to do with that, now, did you?" Emmett shakes his head and lifts his hands up in silent surrender. "Never mind…" I sigh.

"Yeah, I'm worried," is his only response, at first. "What has become of my cuz?" He grins at me, flashing dimples and all, with no true concern for my well-being shining through whatsoever. "Why must he blame the all innocent moi?"

"Oh, shut up, Emmett!" I huff. Leave it to my cousin and best friend to find something entertaining in my agony. Don't get me wrong, he's a great guy and all, awesome to talk to when you're in a bind and the occasion calls for it, but he sure can be a hell of a goofball most of the time. But once he's given ammunition, like this one, all hell might just get loose. I'm already dreading it…

"Come on, J.H., I just got here and–"

Suddenly, the AP overhead whines and shrills, interrupting Emmett, and the two of us glance up at the speakers curiously. Not a moment later, a very clinical sounding voice begins to speak in a monotone, saying:

"RENEE SWAN, PLEASE, COME MEET YOUR DAUGHTER, BELLA SWAN, BY THE SECURITY BOOTH. AGAIN, RENEE SWAN, PLEASE, COME MEET YOUR DAUGHTER, BELLA SWAN, BY THE SECURITY BOOTH."

A moment of silence and static… and then, I'm chortling uncontrollably. Bella's really done it! Now, I'm laughing so hard that Emmett who, by now, thinks I've lost it for real startles and is genuinely looking at me with concern. Now he decides to show his concern.

"Um…" He says, "You know how I hate to point out the obvious, cuz, but there's something seriously wrong with you." Pause. "You should, like, get checked out or some–"

Quicker than Emmett can react, I loop an arm over his shoulders to forcibly bring him down to my level and nudge his headful of curls with my left fist. Profanities tumbling like rapid-fire from his lips, Emmett struggles to get out from under my arm as I headlock him—what a shock, I know—and tries to do the same to me in turn, which leads to some playful wrestling and disruption of the peace that earns us a wide berth. Boys will be boys, right?

"What's the matter, cuz?" I tease, pausing to catch my breath but not relenting my hold on Emmett. She really did it! Catching movement on the second floor, I glance up and let Emmett go.

"What's going on?" Emmett asks, knowing that I never let him off so easily. Following my gaze, he sees what I see but doesn't connect the dots as I do.

"There she goes…" A woman who could only be Bella's mother is leaving GUCCI, scurrying down the fountain stairs to answer the summons and meet up with her daughter. From where I'm standing she seems to have similar hair color to Bella's, only her daughter's might be a shade darker, shinier, and wavier, I note fleetingly—seeing as I can only see part of this woman's retreating form, but I'm willing to bet that that's where the resemblance stops.

"Ah!" Emmett exclaims, smirking. "The woman security just paged?"

"Duh!" I punch him playfully, rolling my eyes.

"What's that for?!"

"Baby."

"Well, Your Majesty, excuse me for being so sensitive," he retorts.

"That's Prince Jasper to you," I scowl, which only sends us into fits of laughter.

On second thought, maybe I can look forward to being Bella's Prince Charming for a day after all.