Girl Stuff: Let’s Write A Story With Nikki Reed!

Helloooooooooooo nurses! If you’ll all kindly go to your magazine baskets and fish out the latest copy of Seventeen, I need you to check something for me. Is there a section featuring a piece of short fiction written by Twlight actress Nikki Reed, with the request to add your own ending? I’m unable to check myself because WE ARE ADULT WOMEN WHO SHOULDN’T BE READING SEVENTEEN MAGAZINE! That was a trick! Put the magazines down, ladies, you’re better than that!!! Put them down and then quickly turn your browsers to the Seventeen magazine website, like an adult. There you will find the piece of fiction that I’m referring to. Here is the opening paragraph:

It had been almost a year since we began dating, but nobody knew about us. Sometimes I would bring it up casually, but he always found a way to twist and turn his words until they morphed into a theory that seemed to make sense. He was good with his words, and I was good at coming up with reasons to believe them. Only a few friends at school were allowed to know about us, and they were mostly hand selected by him.

WHEW! That guy sounds like a jerk! So like I said, Nikki Reed requests that WE finish this story for her. (She actually requests that we write a paragraph, and then SHE writes a paragraph, and then WE write a paragraph, but I can’t even BELIEVE how drawn out and bad that idea is. Nikki! Come on.) And what better way to celebrate the marriage of Bella and Edward than by finishing a short story penned by Rosalie, a different character? Right? We were all searching for a way to celebrate their marriage and have all come to the conclusion that this is the perfect way? GREAT! So let’s read the remaining paragraphs from our favorite author Nikki Reed and then “FINISH HIM!” – Mortal Kombat.

At the time it made sense, because he was convincing when he spoke about privacy being a persons number one priority. Sometimes I would tell him half jokingly that I wanted to scream it out to the world on a megaphone, because that’s what being in love made me feel like doing. He never smiled at that. Although my mom sensed there was something unusually dark about him, I always argued that it was self-induced. Besides, I couldn’t let myself believe that I was too good for him. He was endlessly charming, and intelligent, and philosophical beyond his years. At least that’s how he would secretly want to be described.

I knew I loved him, and that’s all that mattered. Sure I wasn’t the prettiest girl in the world, but he always said he liked me for that very reason, so I felt content with that. Most of the time that is. One time, I gathered the courage to sing a song in front of him in the lunch room (I had always loved singing), and he laughed and said “…that’s what’s so great about you; even though you aren’t a good singer, you’re not afraid to try.” That’s a compliment right?

I decided that it was definitely a compliment. Emboldened by his love, I jumped up on the cafeteria table. “What are you doing, you FREAK?” he said. But I didn’t respond. I knew what he wanted me to do. I began singing his favorite song, “Float On” by Modest Mouse, as loudly as I could. He always listened to the song on his iPod when I drove him to and from basketball practice, and even though he would always keep his earbuds in rather than play it through the stereo system because he “needed to get in the zone,” he listened to it so loudly that I knew all the words. Yes, this was no megaphone, but it was something. While I was scream-singing the words, I kept my eyes shut. Was I scared? No — I had wasted too much of my life being scared. I was focused. Everything was going perfectly until I hit the second chorus. “ALL RIGHT, AL-READY WE’LL ALL FLOA–” I screamed, but was interrupted when I heard the question I’ve been waiting to hear — “Uhhhhhh, is that your girlfriend?” I was eager to hear his response, so I lowered my volume slightly but made up for it with increased movement. “That girl?” Yesss, YESSSSS? “No. That’s just some FREAK.”

My heart was broken. Some freak? I thought he thought my singing was something that was great about me? And I had to assume he felt the same way about my dancing. Why was he calling me a freak? I decided at that moment that I needed to react. “I’LL SHOW YOU ‘SOME FREAK,'” I said, and lept from the cafeteria table. For the next four months I used his name as a username on Internet forums and asked questions about how people even DO sex. My life is good now and I have a boyfriend who doesn’t even make me park my car across the street when I drop him off at practice. We just went to see Twilight and I decided that I want our first time to be just like Bella and Edward’s.

The End