Chapter One: Just Because I Hate Men, Doesn't Mean I Don't Believe in Romance
by: Secretive

When our heart is threatened we respond in one of two ways.
We either run or . . . we attack. There's a scientific
term for this: Fight or flight. It's instinct . . .
We can't control it. Or can we?
-Grey's Anatomy

Rosaline's Point of View

Am I the only one bothered with the fact that marriage is a sham? Something created by men in order to gain power and peace between other nations? Marriage was not created for women, and I seriously don't understand why so many women want it in the first place. It's sick, disturbing, and wrong! Men stole women! They treated them like crap—like items! Lord, watch The Donna Reed show or Leave It to Beaver! Heck, look at how Darren treated Sam in Bewitched. Men are the devil, they're scum, and we women don't need them.
We have sperm banks and chocolate—what do we need men for?

If only I could convince my therapist mother this...

"Rosaline, at least pretend to be happy to be here!" Mom hissed from the background, I turned back and glared at her. "Don't give me that look." She retorted, shooting me one of her own.

"Mom, it's bad enough that you forced me to go to this stupid dance, but did you have to chaperon?!"
She rolled her eyes and sat back in her chair, "As long as Mr. Nichols is you're math teacher, than yes, I had to chaperon."

I crossed my arms across my chest and blew a mass of my crazy hair out of my eyes, "Whatever, I'm not dancing with Jere."

"Just dance with your brother."

"You're sick, Mom! You understand that you are advocating something that sounds a lot like incest, don't you?"

"Oh God, Rowe." Jeremiah (my older brother) groaned, walking up beside me and handing me a cup of punch. "Please do not say the word incest ever again." He shuddered and glanced back at Mom, "And I'm not dancing with my little sister when there are so many other high school girls here." He winked at us and walked away, heading towards a group of my peers. I watched him go and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm myself down—it's amazing that he managed to come out the way he did. You'd think living under the same roof as a (sorta) feminist would have changed a ladies' man's way, but no, it didn't have that affected on my brother. I actually think that serial dating is his way at getting back at me.

That would be me, by the way—the (sorta) feminist. My name is Rosaline St. James, and I am a self-proclaimed feminist and a man-hater. Moreover, I'm one of those girls that has every right to hate men—I've had two fathers in my life; the first one left before I was born—apparently the thought of having yet another child totally terrified him—and the second one cheated on my mom. As far as I'm concerned, that's an excuse to write them all off.

Men suck.

"Rosaline, at least smile! Glaring won't bring any guys your way!"

I turned to glare at my mother and then went back to glaring at the crowd, watching as my stupid peers practiced their mating rituals. The girls would dress really slutty and then start dancing like strippers out on the dance floor, all in order to get the guys (who looked like they were wearing their father's tuxes) to come out on the floor and start grinding against them. It was all disgusting to see and very disturbing to watch—kind of like watching mating season on Animal Planet...especially the hippos...

Educational television has really screwed me up.

Jeez, I'm feeling a little sick to my stomach now...I wonder if I could get away with running towards the bathrooms... Probably not, I've already tried to make a run for it—within ten minutes of arriving at the stupid winter formal—and since then, my mother's been watching me like a hawk. Man, to believe that she had one of her associates waiting outside the door for me... How's that for trust?

Moreover, I don't get how this is supposed to help me look at men in a new light and I'm beginning to get a little annoyed with her need to fix me. I have daddy issues coming up the wazoo, I know it and she knows it, you'd think that the fact that I can openly admit that have these issues would be enough for her. But no, instead she's trying to draw on my weakness for men in formal wear to get me to give men a fighting chance. And I don't know why I should be giving any of the boys here a chance—I've watched She's All That so many times that I can quote it, I know what they're thinking about. They're probably all talking about the hotel rooms they've procured for tonight and how they're going to "get them some".

Sick scoundrels.

"You're glaring again!"

I rolled my eyes and walked over towards the other side of the room, trying to get away from my mother. I headed over to where one of my close friends was standing with a group of her preppy friends. They were all dressed in formal attire and they all looked like hookers. Expensive hookers, but hookers all the same.

"Hey, Rowe-Rowe!" Bree, called walking up beside me, "What's with the somber look? Something die?"

"Women's dignity." I replied, shaking my head, "Look at the sorry excuses for women out there."

She grinned and rolled her eyes, before turning back to her group. "Talk to you later, guys." She said and then pulled me over to the gym's wall. "Come on, turn that frown upside down."

Why does everyone think I'm frowning?

I'm just observing my surrounds.

"Bree, how long until I can go?" I asked, slightly whining and turning to look over at my mother.

"She probably won't let you go until you dance with someone." Bree answered, beginning to fight back a smile, "So go dance with one of those hot guys out there!"

"Never."

"Come on."

"No."

"Come on!"

"No."

She rolled her eyes and then smiled evilly, "Fine, I'll go find someone for you to dance with." She declared and then shoved her way onto the dance floor before I could stop her.

"Briana Rodriguez, get back here!" I screeched and when I realized that she was coming back, I raced over to her group of friends and ducked behind them, trying to use them as a shield. Yeah, I was running in fear, what of it? I have a mother who thinks that I need to give men a chance, an older brother that is constantly bringing back home "safe" guys (otherwise known as guys that are completely terrified of my brother), and a best friend that thinks that...well, that my (sorta...) feminist ways would change if I just made out with somebody.

So not happening, by the way.

I'll sooner become a lesbian than make out with a scum bag.

One of Bree's snooty friends, Lianna Bennett, gave me an odd look, "What are you doing here, St. James? I thought you didn't associate with our kind."

"You mean women that have no pride for themselves?" I immediately asked.

She rolled her eyes, "You seem to have enough pride to wear makeup and a bra—not too big on your feminist kick, are you?"

"I just don't want to sag, Bennett." I hissed, "Something you don't seem to care about." I added, starting pointedly at her clinging dress. A dress that couldn't be worn with a bra, apparently.

"You're just jealous." She muttered.

"That I'm not top heavy?" I asked, smiling at her innocently.

"You know, staring at my chest would make you a lesbian."

I grinned and put my hands on my hips, "Sugar, you are so not my type—believe me, if I were a lesbian, I could do a lot better than you."

"You can't even attract a man." She hissed, glaring at me. Staring at her contorted face, I suddenly realized why my mom had been trying so hard to make me smile—glaring looks downright evil. She looked a bit like a demon, to tell the truth.

I was thinking this through, when Bree tapped my shoulder and grinned, "Alright Rowe, meet your dance partner."

I turned towards her absentmindedly and then glanced at the guy she was clutching; it was then that I saw red. "You." I hissed.

He smirked, "Me."

"You."

He raised an eyebrow and gave me a skeptical smirk (yes, he has perfected the smirk to such a degree, that it can convey many emotions),

"Me." He repeated, amusement evident in his tone of voice..

"Drop dead, Rodriguez."

"Hey!" Bree exclaimed and I rolled my eyes.

"Not you, Bree."

"I can fee the love, St. James." He replied, his smirk widening into a grin.

My eyes narrowed, "I'm not dancing with you, Javier."

He laughed, his dark eyes catching the twinkling Christmas lights, "Really? For some reason my cousin said you were."

That's right, my best friend (okay, one of my best friends) is the cousin to the spawn of all evil. Thankfully she was spared from most of the evil that runs through her cousin's veins. She was probably spared because his birth sapped up all the evil in that family's bloodline. He probably has horns that he removes in the morning...

Just to throw us off.

Can't fool me, though.

I glared at Bree, and she smiled. "Hey, do you want your mom to leave you alone or not?"

"I'd rather she make me dance with my brother."

Javier shrugged, "Fine with me, I already have a dance partner." He quirked an eyebrow and smiled suggestively, "And with her, I at least know where the night is going to go."

"Pervert."

"You know you want to hit this."

I frowned, knowing that he couldn't mean I wanted to actually hit him, because...well, yeah, I do want to cause him physical harm. It must in some way allude to sex, I just have no idea how. However, that's all he generally talks about, so it's a safe assumption.

He grinned, "Wow, Bree—she wants me."

"Oh, gag me." I retorted, "The only thing I want with you, is for you to disappear."

"I'm so sure."

"Or to completely and utterly change you."

He rolled his eyes, "No, what you want to do is dance." He declared, grabbing my arm and dragging me out onto the dance floor.

"No I don't!" I bit out, trying to wrench my arm from his grip.

"So you want to completely and utterly change me?" He asked, repeating me word for word—okay, so he apparently has listening skills...whatever, "That's what you really want?"

I waited a moment, thinking it over, and then nodded my head, "Yeah, that's exactly what I want."

He grinned and deftly pulled me closer to him, "What if that's not what I want?" He asked in a husky tone. Which...yeah, made me feel really uncomfortable.

"Who cares?"

He stared at me for a moment and then smirked, "You can try to change me." He whispered, before beginning to actually dance. It took me a moment to realize that we were actually slow dancing, and not grinding in any way. And that he was pretty good at the box step... Weird thing to be good at when your entire life is about getting laid...

"And why are you suddenly okay with the idea?" I asked as he pulled me back towards him. "Suddenly realize that you're scum?"

He laughed, an action that I could feel throughout my body, and he shook his head. Causing his straight black hair to fall even more into his eyes, "No, you can try to change me as long as I can try to change you." He said softly, leaning down towards my ear to say so. To a common observer it would look like we were really into each other—when we're anything but.

I frowned in confusion...but that quickly changed.

Where the heck does he think his hands are going?!

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A/N: Okay, it's back up! I'm so sorry that I ever did that idiotic thing in the first place! And...yeah, I changed some things in this chapter a bit, added a bit... Wow, Rosaline sounded a lot different in the beginning than she did later on. Hmm... I think I should try a little hard at keep her voice the same... Um, I hope you guys (re)liked this chapter! I'm sorry again! And to any newcomers—welcome! And there was seriously no need to worry, I was always going to continue on with this story...

Thanks for reading!

Soundtrack to this revising this chapter: "Grace Kelly" by Mika, "Smile" by Lily Allen, and "Nobody Move, Nobody Get Hurt" by We Are Scientists.