The Grimm Chronicles, Vol.1 by Ken Brosky, Isabella Fontaine

those exact same lines.
    No, I told myself. Different person. Edward isn’t Prince Charming. He has some faults. Sometimes, he … well, occasionally he’ll look … oh who am I kidding? I thought.
    He turned the car onto a bumpy road through a small park filled with baseball diamonds and maple trees. It led to an old, dark parking lot. Normally, it was probably empty. Tonight, though, there were a dozen cars parked right up to the sand. Beyond the cars on the beach were about thirty of the coolest juniors and seniors in school.
    Edward parked next to the old concessions shack, which didn’t look as if it had been used in a dozen summers or more, and jogged around the car to let me out. It was a touching little gesture, one I’d loved when we first started dating. But now … now it felt forced.
    I was suspicious .
    “Thank you, dear.” I stepped out, my hand brushing against my pocket to make sure the pen was still there. Edward’s hand found mine and he wrapped it around his waist, pulling me close. “We can leave any time,” he whispered. “Please. Just tell me. I care only about you.”
    “I’m OK,” I said quietly. His lips brushed against my cheek and a soft moan escaped my lips.
    “Come on,” he said. “Let’s find everyone.”
    The task turned out to be easier than expected. Everyone had congregated to the dozens upon dozens of picnic tables sitting on the sand about a hundred yards away. My feet squished into the sand, and twice one of my sandals slipped off. I regretted wearing them—what if something happened tonight? How would I be able to maneuver in sandals, fer cryin’ out loud?
    “What are you thinking about?” Edward asked.
    “I wish I’d worn shoes.”
    He laughed. “You’d get sand in them.” He lifted one leg. He was wearing khaki shorts and sandals. “These are perfect.”
    “Those,” I said, “are hundred-dollar Armani sandals. They’re going to be ruined.”
    “Then I’ll buy another pair,” he said simply.
    “It must be nice to have rich parents,” I said, laughing. “You should get a job at some point, though. So you know what it’s like to work. It’s a good habit.”
    His hand locked in mine. He squeezed it. For the first time, I didn’t feel a flutter of warmth run through my body. All I thought about was how I could break from his grip if I needed to. “You’re just volunteering,” he pointed out.
    “True, but I cooked French fries all last summer,” I said. “You should have seen me. You’d have loved it. I had this little hat and I wore a bowtie. It was easily the worst experience of my life. And the pay was awful.”
    “Right,” he said with a laugh. “It sounds like I’m missing a whole lot.”
    One of the track boys called out to Edward. They exchanged waves. Someone had brought red and yellow paper lanterns and set them up on the picnic tables. There were coolers sitting on the sand and a portable stereo playing pop hits.
    “A real party,” I murmured.
    Edward stopped at one of the coolers and opened it, pulling out a bottle of beer and a bottle of mixed alcohol. He handed it to me. I examined the label in the darkness.
    “Strawberry?”
    Edward nodded. “You don’t have to drink it if you don’t want.”
    I immediately thought back to what Seth said about the losers. “No! No. I’ll drink it.” Or just open it and hold onto it …
    “Alice!”
    I turned, squinting in the darkness. A blonde bimbo was bouncing toward me, weaving between students and picnic tables.
    “Is that Tricia?” Edward asked.
    “Oh. My. Gawd.” I laughed. “Tricia?”
    She stopped in front of us, out of breath, smiling. She was clutching one of the bottles of strawberry-flavored alcohol. She was wearing an outfit I’d never seen before: short shorts, a low-cut red tube top with her bra straps exposed on her bare shoulders, and a silver necklace. Her hair looked bouncier than usual. “Isn’t this awesome? This is the coolest party ever. Ever.”
    “Good