Before you begin reading this, I’d like to just thank you for taking interest in this fanfic. This is about Seth’s imprintee, Juliana. In order for this story to work as I would like, the story is going to be mostly in Julianana’s POV until/unless I do a chapter from Seth’s POV or any other characters’. It will be pretty long until you see her meet Seth and move to WA, but I believe it is essential for you to see Juliana’s life before she moves to WA and why Seth is such a miracle to her. If you’re ready for a long but detailed story about Seth and his imprintee, you’ve come to the write fanfic. Since school has started, I will not be able to update as often as I would like, but I will try my best. This, is His Exception.
Have you ever felt like you’re not good enough? Not pretty enough, smart enough, “cool” enough? Like nothing you do is right? Well that’s how I feel . . . every day. Okay, scratch that. That’s a bit melodramatic… but one thing I do feel off that list is not pretty enough. Before we begin my rant on my suckish love life, I’d like to give you a background of me.
One: my name is Juliana Rivera, I’m fourteen years old, I’m a freshman, I live in Texas, and I’m homeschooled. Before you label me off as a freak of nature or a weirdo, let’s take into consideration why I’m homeschooled. No, it’s not because I have a mental disability, and no it’s not because I cannot keep up with the school system. I chose to be homeschooled because it is for my education. Sure, I could go to public school if I wanted to, but I know both sides of the education world, and this is the one that works for me.
Two: I have two sisters. An older sister, Lauren, and a younger sister named Natalie. Lauren is going to college at ATM; she’s a senior, and she’s graduating in December. Natalie is going into seventh grade. Natalie and I both went to public school K—5th grade. I would have continued my schooling in public school, but the middle school I was supposed to go to was “too ghetto” for my mom’s liking, so she pulled me out. Natalie decided she didn’t want to continue elementary school either, (although it was a great school), and came home with me, too. The plan was for mom to school me for two years, and I was to return to the new middle school opening in 2008. That, however, didn’t happen.
Three: I am biracial. Not that this is essential to know, but my dad is Hispanic and my mom is half Native American and half Thai. I have relatives who live in Thailand, La Push, WA; and in southern Texas. This is a pretty good introduction of my life thus far, and now we may take the plunge into my incredibly sucky romance life.
August 27th, 2008
My first day of school as an eighth grader. I wouldn’t say I’m nervous—considering I know about half the eighth grade class from fifth grade—I’d say I’m . . . anxious. It’s six o’clock in the morning. I’ve just mustered up the strength to drag myself out of bed, tripping over my discarded throw pillows and stumbling to the bathroom. I thank God that Dad installed the adjustable light switch, for my eyes would be burning with the three hundred watt lights that are installed in every bathroom in every home you buy. (And they’re always those disgusting Hollywood-looking, boutique, round bulbs.).
I squint through my slits-for-eyes and through my glasses as my short, Polly-Pocket length hair; a tousled mess sticking up every which way. I missed my long, flowing, deep chestnut hair. Two weeks ago, we went to a new stylist, Cynthia, for a fresh back-to-school haircut. I asked for her to cut it to where it dried just below my shoulders. She did the style correctly, but the cut dried with the tips barely touching my shoulders.
I cried that night in the shower.
I come back to reality, and remember why I went to sleep with my hair in a wet pony tail; if I don’t, I wake up looking like a troll. I sigh, exhaling with a whoosh as the air blows my bangs up, fanning over my forehead before lazily falling back into place before I grab my hairbrush. I angrily wrenched it through my hair, ripping hair out by its root as I attempt to tame my lion’s mane of hair.
Natalie should be waking up soon, so I had better hurry up if I want to use the bathroom. In our stupid house, we have a total of three bathrooms (including the half bath). Thankfully Lauren doesn’t life with us anymore; if she did, all three of us would have to share a tiny upstairs bathroom. Sharing with Natalie is a hassle enough; she can be quite a pig. Hair scattered across the counter, shower curtain left open to mold, and my personal favorite . . . not replacing the toilet paper.
Do you know how many times I have had to call my own house to ask someone to bring me another roll? It is completely and entirely aggravating and embarrassing!
My hair is not suitable, and I quickly brush crooked and ugly teeth, and smile to check for any missed spots. I grimace once I see my smile, and quickly tear my gaze from the mirror to dry off my toothbrush.
I’ve never had pretty teeth . . . I was born missing a tooth next to my front teeth on the left side, so once my baby tooth fell out, there was nothing there to replace it. My body naturally wanted to fill the hole, so all of my teeth shifted to the left, which resulted in an ugly gap and off-centered teeth. That, on top of a colossal over bite.
Thus, I hate taking pictures—especially school a picture . . . who wants their hill-Billy picture in the year book for everyone to look at for the rest of their adult lives? Who wants your old friends and crushes looking back in the year book and saying, “Man . . . look at those teeth!”
I certainly don’t, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
By now, I’m dressed in my everyday outfit: jeans, brown ballet flats, and a bright magenta tee-shirt. I settled on pulling my hair back in a pony tail, and I clipped my bangs to the side with some bobby pins.
Tada . . . Juliana’s back to school outfit.
I already hate this place. I feel paranoid; like everyone is looking at me wherever I go. All of the girls here are dressed up for the first day in their skinny jeans and expensive tops—there was even a girl with high heels on.
Their hair is straightened or curled, and they’re decked out in Hollister and Abercrombie brands. Me? My parents can’t afford stuffing my closet with those expensive stores . . . not that we don’t have money, but with Lauren in college, the wallet is a wee bit tight. Sure, Mom treats me and Natalie every now and then, but we mainly shop at Target, TJ MAXX, etc., etc.
To make matters even worse, my “ex-boyfriend”, Ryker, has been giving me googley eyes and teasing me. The reason I quote ex-boyfriend? We “dated” in fifth grade . . . I don’t think eleven-year-olds technically have boyfriends . . . but that’s just me. He also never got over me since I broke up with him, and for the past three years, he’s been trying to win be back. All attempts have failed.
Okay, I lied. It worked, once. But it’s not because I liked him; it’s truly because I was dejected and desperate:
My old best friend, Kristen, was a bit of a promiscuous and boy-pursuer. She was one year older than me, so, being a typical, ignorant girl, I followed her. I copied and changed my style to match hers just so we could be more alike. Kristen was like my sister. One thing I failed to notice was that she was a fair-weathered friend; I was the only one making sacrifices in the friendship. That’s why it eventually crumbled.
My ex, Ryker, knew a lot of the people that Kristen and I hung out with, so, naturally, he would sometimes show up when we invited people over. One day, he brought Sean. Sean was Kristen’s age, tall, brunette, and extremely funny. Kristen and he developed crushes on each other, and eventually they went out. Prior to their dating, Kristen and I would go back to her house, and she would gush over how ‘cute’ Sean is or how much she liked him, etc., etc. As I said before, I copied and followed Kristen, and although I didn’t find him attractive, I pretended I did just for her satisfactory.
I do not recall how this happened, but somehow, I think I convinced myself that I truly did like Sean, because I became jealous that Kristen had a boyfriend and I did not. I knew Ryker still was crazy about me, so a couple weeks after Sean and Kristen began dating, Ryker asked me out.
I said yes out of sheer stupidity and desperation. The relationship lasted about four days before I came to my senses and dumped him. This was last year. I know it sounds harsh what I did to Ryker, but he is a player. He moved on.
Unfortunately I think I’m the only girl he truly and deeply has feelings for, because the feelings still have not gone away.
I cannot tell you how relieved I was when he wasn’t on my team; the only “class” I had with him was lunch, and I did not associate nor befriend any of his buddies, so I did not sit with him.
Spanish was my class before lunch, and I did not want to sit alone. I thought that my fifth grade best friend, Erika, would welcome me back warmly with a big smile, but instead, she only briefly said ‘hi’ to me in history before moving tables to sit with another friend. There was not enough room at the table I was sitting at, so I was left alone with strangers.
With Erika crossed off the list, I didn’t have much to choose from. I had two other close friends from fifth grade—Chloe and Maggie—but Maggie moved and attended a different school, and Chloe and I haven’t spoken much since Mom pulled me out of public school. I will further explain my relationship with Chloe and how and why it faltered, but, for now, just know that I did not sit with her, either.
I was relieved when I walked into Spanish, because I finally saw two faces which I recognized. Sweet Madeline Sullivan—a girl whom was homeschooled all through elementary school but enrolled in public school in sixth grade—and Taylor Perkins. Taylor and I had played on the same rec basketball team while I was in sixth grade, and we were pretty close casual friends. I hadn’t, however, seen nor spoken to her in about a year, so I was praying for God for her to be nice to me.
When they both saw me, they smiled. Good sign.
Taylor’s table was full, so I joined Madeline and occupied the last seat at the cluster of desks before someone else could snatch it up. She introduced me to her friends—Emily and Bridgett. Emily looked the same as she did in fifth grade. Short bob hairstyle and her features were the same. I wonder if she still had the lisp . . .
I did not recognize Bridgett, but nevertheless, she was friendly.
By the middle of Spanish, I was feeling less anxious, and was beginning to enjoy myself. Thomas Puckett was, unfortunately, in my class, but thankfully he was on the other side of the room. Thomas is a boy that hangs out with Ryker, and they are meant for each other—cocky, and overly macho.
I was about to deem Spanish my favorite class of the day until Senor Moreno assigned a “get to know your classmates” assignment. I groaned internally at this, and felt the pit of my stomach drop as he wrote these words on the board.
Name, age, Spanish teacher last year, school attended last year, hobbies.
The second and third questions hit me like a ton of bricks. Not that I’m ashamed of having been homeschooled, but almost everyone who I had gone to elementary school with thought it was “stupid” and “weird” that I was homeschooled. I knew people would stare at me when my card was read, but I unwillingly filled out the answers.
When my turn came, Madeline read aloud my card.
“Julia is fourteen, loves playing volleyball and reading,” I got a few snickers for that answer, “she was homeschooled last year, and her teacher was her mom.” I instinctively turned tomato red, and my face burned with chagrin as a table of girls diagonal from us giggled with their heads together, whispering. Madeline smiled at me as I bit my lower lip, and I half-heartedly raised the corner of my lips in a response.
I know it might not have been about me, but I assumed it was; the timing was a bit coincidental . . .
I glared at them, and Senor Moreno then proceeded to having the other table’s read their cards. I only wished the other students would dismiss my schooling as easily as he had.
When lunch came around, I decided to expand my friendship with Taylor. I caught her just as she was walking out of the classroom.
“Hey, Taylor . . .” I said meekly, reddening.
I usually do not blush and get frazzled easily, but for some reason, I couldn’t control my blushing.
“Julia! I can’t believe you’re here!” She exclaimed, beaming at me. She too looked the same; long golden hair with honey colored highlights and kind blue eyes.
“Yea . . . it’s definitely . . . different than what I’m used to . . . can I sit with you at lunch . . .?”
“Yea of course; I’ll meet you down there!” And then she departed with her friends.
That wasn’t exactly what I was hoping for . . . I wished she would have waited with me while I retrieved my lunch from my locker . . . but at least I had a place and a person to sit with at lunch.
Madeline’s locker was right next to mine, and she too was retrieving her lunch. I smiled when I got there, and opened my locker.
“Hey I guess we’re neighbors,” I joked, closing my locker door, ATM logo lunchbox in hand.
“Looks like it,” she replied, smiling. We walked down the hallway together, discussing classes in an attempt on my part to see if we had any more classes together, but, we didn’t to my dismay. At least I would see her throughout the day as I went to and from my locker.
We went our separate ways in the lunch room—she quickly found Bridgett and Emily and went to join them—and I was left to stare at the sea of eighth graders, searching frantically for Taylor’s table.
I reddened as I hastily scanned the horizon of heads for Taylor’s, and I—once again—felt paranoid that people were watching me as I pathetically searched for my table. I could feel tears building up in my eyes, and as I was about to give up and sit alone, I saw Taylor in the far back corner, and sighed with relief.
Taylor was sitting with two girls and one boy I remember from Mesquite Ranch Elementary School; Brock Hallfer, Mackenzie Kyler, and Briana Male. These are not people I would hang out with on a regular basis, but I pushed the disgust into the back of my head and sat down.
I quickly noticed that none of them had brought their lunch from home, and hid my lunchbox in my lap, pulling out my sandwich and putting it on the table. I didn’t want them to think I was some little kid.
Brock was being a disgusting idiot and talking about some vulgar subject which I tried to ignore, so I talked quietly with Taylor, who had her back to me.
“So are you doing athletics?” I asked, biting into my sandwich. She turned around and faced the table so she could listen to Brock and me simultaneously.
“Yup. Volleyball and basketball mainly . . .how about you?”
“Well I’m trying out for Volleyball and I don’t want to do basketball . . . so I’ll probably do track.”
“That’s cool.” She replied, turning back to Brock.
This was not the Taylor I spoke to in Spanish. This was the Taylor who hung out with a crowd just to be considered cool and “in” the group. I do not think she genuinely liked these people; just liked how many people knew them.
Brock has always been “popular”, so I guess she wants to be in that crowd too. Me? I don’t care if you’re popular or not. I don’t care where you shop at or buy your clothes. All I care about is your personality and if you’re a good person or not.
I remember Taylor was like this at Mesquite, too. She dated Brock back then and hung around that same obnoxious crowd just like she does now. I guess some things never really change.
By the end of the day, I had English with another girl from my fifth grade class—Jamie—and now, school was out and I am fleeing the school. I told Natalie and Olivia—our best friend—that I would meet them in the car, and I am not changing my mind.
Mom was waiting in the idling suburban, and I couldn’t have been more thankful to see her. Most girls claim to hate their mothers and to have nothing in common with them, but for me, I love my mother. I don’t know what I’d do if something happened to her.
“Hey, sweetie, how was your first day?”
“It was . . . fine.” I answered, unsure of the words to choose for how my day had gone. It wasn’t bad, but I wouldn’t say it was good or great, either.
“That’s good . . . did you see a lot of people from Mesquite?”
“Yeah . . . I also saw Madeline Sullivan and Taylor Perkins. I ate lunch with Taylor.”
“Well that’s good! Do you know where the girls are?” She asked, peering out the windshield, searching for Nattie and Olivia.
“They’re coming; they’re probably walking together . . . well, strolling is a better word . . .” I smirked. She laughed lightly before responding.
“That’s true . . .”
When they finally reached out car, Natalie half-ripped the door off its hinges and bounced into the car.
“How was your day?” Mom asked.
“It was great! I met a really nice girl named Reagan in my science class and I sat with Tabitha at lunch.” She was beaming from ear to ear, her electric blue eyes bright and wide with enthusiasm and excitement.
“That’s great, honey! How about you, Livie?”
“It was good.” She replied, smiling.
I love Olivia, don’t get me wrong, she’s the sweetest thing I’ve ever met, and she can be extremely hilarious at times, but she is tends to be very vague in her descriptions. She is also right between Natalie and me; she’s in seventh grade.
After Mom prodded them with questions, we were homeward bound, and I was staring out the window, chin in palm, a bit melancholy that I was the only one of the three who had a mediocre day.
I broke down that night. I don’t know what hit me; maybe it was the realization that Mom wouldn’t be my teacher anymore; that I wouldn’t be able to get up to use the restroom or eat whenever I pleased—a prisoner to my teacher until the hour was up; that I wouldn’t be able to pet and cuddle with my dogs, Molly and Hank, whenever I wanted.
Whichever of those it was, it struck a nerve, and that’s when the waterfall of tears cam spilling out. I was on my parent’s bed, bawling my eyes out and crying to Mom that I didn’t like it; that I people stared and laughed at me in Spanish and at lunch. That Erika wasn’t the same; she left me during History.
“Julia, honey, what’s wrong? You were fine earlier today . . .” Mom asked, rubbing my ankle as she perched at the foot of the bed.
“I don’t know . . . I’m just stressed out, Mom!” I cried, sniffling and blowing my nose—an extremely unattractive trumpet noise following. I discarded the tissue and retrieved another, wiping my eyes.
“Well . . . do you want me to come have lunch with you tomorrow?”
“Mhm,” I half-whispered, hiccuping and sniffling once more, mascara dotting the tissue when I wiped me eyes.
“Okay, honey, I’ll do that.” She said, patting my foot before leaving to help Natalie fill out the nonsense packet of required paperwork.
I curled my knees up to my chest, resting my chin on my kneecaps and sighing. Would I get used to this school? I know Mom had said that I could come back if I didn’t like it; I wonder if she’d let me come back already.
Probably not . . . she’d probably make me go at least another couple of days until I decided whether I wanted to stay or not. The mature thing to do would be to suck it up and go another day. It’s too bad the mature thing isn’t always the easiest thing.
I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter from Julia's POV, and I hope people read and like it so I can continue posting the story for you all to read!
Thanks so much for taking the time.