Mollie looked around the hallways filled with kids more or less her age. They all seemed to move without a care in the world. All they were focused on was getting out of school. Well, it was different for Mollie. She was focused on breaking out of the cell that was her brain.

You see, she had a troubled past.

Her mom died when she was eight and then her dad when she was ten. She grew up in foster homes. They say time heals all wounds. Time only heals it so that the wound can be opened again, causing the pain and loss to come flooding back in even more forcefully than before.

Every time she closed her eyes, she could see her mom's smiling face, her dad telling her everything would be okay, or the social service men coming to take her away, away from her home, from her life, from what she used to be, breathe, and live. Everything changed from that day forward. She wasn't just Mollie Jennings anymore. She was broken.

A broken girl can be dangerous, as you may know. A broken person might not have much to live for, but they have reasons to fight, reasons to get mad. And Mollie was mad.

She was mad that she was neglected and then beaten. She was mad that no one understood or could understand what was happening in her world, the world that had been corrupt the day her mother died.

Many things happened after her mother and father died. She went through foster home and foster home. Yes, she had gotten beaten, but some of the people were relatively nice. Mollie had loved these people for loving her, but they couldn't continue to do so. Mollie, when being loved, detached herself from the person, or people, that loved her. She always kept them at arm's length. None of her foster parent's understood that she needed someone to guide her. She wanted someone who would fight for her. That's what she had thought she wanted, anyways. Now she knows what she wants. She wants to fight for herself and her freedom. And this was one fight that she was not going to lose.

The events that had happened in her past seventeen years of life had led up to her walking the hallways of Beacon Hills High School. Truth be told, she had always felt out of place anywhere. But not here. No, there was something that made Mollie drawn into this small town.

Mollie had been living in a city a few hours away from Beacon Hills, until, one day, someone wanted her as a foster kid. She had no choice but to come. She never has a choice.

One thing that she didn't have a choice about either were her classes. It may seem like a small thing to get worked up over, but when you're already as mad and broken as she is, you can get worked up over anything. Mollie's schedule was perfect. That was like an insult to her. The things that mattered weren't perfect. The things that didn't matter were. That's how Mollie interpreted something as simple as a class schedule.

She ran her hand through her messy black hair as she stepped into her English class, sitting in the middle row, on the middle column. This was a symbol for her. A symbol that meant that she was always in the middle of something whether she wanted to be or not. Sitting in the middle was her own little rebellion. Even the smallest rebellions can make a big difference.

Mr. Cummings was her English teacher. He was probably in his late forties. She guessed that the only reason he still worked here was to have extra money to buy food for his growing collection of dogs since his wife left him.

That's another thing about Mollie. She could read people. It's just a sense, really. Most people would just call her stupid and go on with their day, but some how, some way, Mollie knew it was real. It's not an exact science, though. Sometimes it's right and it won't change, but it also can change. People and their inner self can change by things like love, hate, or revenge. Everyone changes at some point. Mollie had changed when her mother died. She could never go back to the little, happy girl she was.

Mr. Cummings was telling the class about a two new students. If it wasn't obvious, one of them was Mollie. She hoped against hope that he wouldn't ask them to stand at the front of the class and introduce themselves, but the world is not a wish-granting factory.

Mollie let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding as she walked up to the front of the class, all of the hormonal teenagers eyes on her. She scrutinized every single soul that dared to look into her eyes. You may say she was overreacting, but this was high school, the epitamy of overreacting, especially for someone like Mollie.

Every time she challenged a pair of eyes that looked at her, they immediately looked away, intimidated. She liked the effect she had on people. It kept them from asking questions, at least to her face. Everything was going smoothly until one pair of eyes didn't look away. In fact, they seemed to glow in the face of a challenge. And Mollie was up to the challenge. For that moment, Mollie had just been focused on his eyes, not his face, and not the teacher, who was currently calling her name, trying to get her attention.

He snapped his fingers impatiently in front of her face, bringing her back to the present, away from his eyes, the challenger's eyes. She gave him a fake smile then said, very un-ladylike, as her Aunt Grace would say, "What?" He pursed his lips and then repeated, "Why don't you tell the class a little bit about yourself?"

Another thing you should know about Mollie is that she's not afraid to let people know what she's thinking.

"Well, my name is Mollie Jennings. I'm seventeen since January. I live in a foster home because my parents died when I was eight and ten. I just moved here from a city a few hours from here."

"Is that all?" Mr. Cummings asked. Mollie decided that she should show Mr. Cummings, a stupid authority figure, someone who was defiant, in her own way.

"One more thing," she said, giving him a half-smile, "Social service is a bitch." And, with that, she went back to her seat in the middle row, on the middle column.

Truth be told, Mr. Cummings had said there were two new students, so, naturally, there was still one other student in front of the class. There wasn't much interesting about her. She was a short, Asian girl, obviously a genius. Mollie sensed that she had skipped two grades, not because she wanted to, but because her parents wanted her to. She seemed eager to learn as she sat down, smiling up at the teacher, who seemed to like her. That's when you know the apple's gone rotten.

Usually first days of school are all about learning how everything is gonna go for the rest of the year, but, since Mollie started at the beginning of the third semester, she didn't get that. Instead, they sat in class reviewing indefinite pronouns so they could do an excersice on it. No nonsense.

When the ball rang, she was just lucky enough to have dropped all her things on the floor before it rang. "Shit!" she said, leaning down to pick up all her things. She didn't get the chance to pick them up, though, because someone else had picked it up and was holding it out for her. She hesitantly reached out and grabbed her stuff from...the challenger. That's what she called him. It probably had something to do with the fact that she had no idea what his name was.

He gave her a half-smile and said, "I think you dropped that. My name is Isaac, by the way."

Issac. His name wasn't 'the challenger,' it was Isaac. Isaac was hot. Sure, Mollie had seen hot guys before, but she had never talked to them. What's the point in talking to someone she might actually like if she's just gonna move again? "I don't remember asking you to pick it up, Isaac," she retorted. His eyes gleamed at that. Mollie grabbed her things and headed towards the door. Isaac called after her, "I didn't catch your name!" She smirked, although he couldn't see it, and said, "I didn't throw it." And, with that, she went off to her science class.

She had accidentally walked into the wrong science class. It didn't help that she was late to the wrong class. Mollie always thought that it was weird when came in late and everyone looks at you like they had thought they'd never see you again. But, since she was new, they weren't that worried. When she found out she was in the wrong class, she picked up her things without a word and webt to her actual science class with Mrs. Adair.

School here was like it always was for Mollie, distant. It was like she was hearing what the teachers said, but she wasn't really aware of it. She was in a world of dreams and hope. Although she would never admit it to anyone, Mollie can be soft and caring. She had hormones and feelings, too, just like everyone else.

Mollie flew through her classes. It was the end of the day and, to her, it had felt like no time had passed at all. You could tell other people didn't think that, though. People kept glancing at clocks and falling asleep in class. While they were doing that, Mollie just simply sat in her chair. She always sat in the middle. In every class, she was in the middle. Her last class made no exception.

The last class she had was Art. Since Art class required a lot of space draw, paint, or create, it was was set up so that two people sat at one long, wide table. Mollie was the second person to get to the classroom, but the first person just happened to be sitting in the middle. The first person was Isaac.

Mollie gritted her teeth, tensing her jaw, and felt his eyes on her. This was another challenge. She was sure of it. She looked over at him, slowly walking down the aisle. He raising a perfectly curved eyebrow at her while obviously hiding a small smirk, but failing. Mollie arrived, taking the seat next to Isaac.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Challenging me."

"No idea what you're talking about."

She refused to believe that he didn't know what he was doing to her. It was like this was an obstacle course and Isaac was the obstacle that she couldn't get past. She was determined to get past the obstacle that was Isaac. No matter what.

Mollie turned facing him and stared into his gorgeous eyes that showed know emotion and said, "You know what you're doing, I have no doubts about that. I've been through hell and back and you can be damn sure that I'm not gonna let something as simple as a confident hormonal teenage boy get in my way."

Mollie was expecting him to say something sarcastic, something that would make her think about it all day and night into next year and still not know the answer as to why he asked that. She was right about one thing. She didn't understand and never would why he asked the question he did.

"What's your name?" he asked. It was a simple question, one she knew the answer to, but one that was completely irrelevant to any and everything that she had just said. She creased her eyebrows, pondering why in the hell he would ask that and coming up blank. She was gonna tell him, she was, but then she thought that if he really wanted to know, he'd keep pushing after being rejected. So, she settled for, "Wouldn't you like to know."

He eyed her for a moment. Mollie didn't know that Isaac was a werewolf, didn't know of the supernatural in the town, and didn't know that Isaac had had a rough past, too. He felt drawn to her, drawn to someone who would see him as a person, not as a broken monsterous thing. Isaac loved the fact that she confronted him and knew what he was doing, knew how he challenged her. He loved how her heartbeat kept a steady pace, never going to fast or slow, no matter what the confrontation. He felt like he knew her and always had. That's how he knew to persist to know her name.

He said, "Yes, I would, in fact. I want to know your name. I want to know what I should call you everytime I talk to you and that might be more than you would like."

Isaac heard it. It was small, just slightly different, but it was there. Her heart beat just a little faster when he said he would talk to her a lot. He smiled internally, loving that, loving that he did that to her, no matter how small the reaction.

Mollie heard the words come from his mouth, although her brain didn't really process it until a few minutes after. That's when she realized that he had been waiting for her answer. She said, "Fine. My name is Mollie. Happy?" She didn't want to be irritable towards him, didn't want to be sarcastic or rude, but she was. She needed to drive him away from her. She knew what he was. He was her drug, and she sure as hell wasn't gonna have the first taste that would leave her hanging on forever.

That's why she stayed quiet, staring at the teacher, when he said, "You have no idea."

Mollie liked Art. She liked the idea that she could take something plain, something normal, and make it extraordinary. She liked the idea that she could make whatever she wanted. When she did things like that, she felt in control, stable. And that's not something you'll hear often about her.

Today's assignment was to draw the saddest time in your life. If only the teacher, Mr. Deason, knew how many sad times that she had had. But, since this was the start of the sad times, she chose the day her mother died. She remembered watching her laying down on the bed, holding freshly-picked roses in her hands, fighting for her life and her daughter. That was how Mollie remembered her mom. She fought for what she wanted. She was strong.

Mollie got her piece of paper, a pencil, and got together her thoughts and memories. She pictured her mom that day clearly. It was exactly something that was easy to forget. Mollie sketched the outlines of her face, drew her hair falling around her, shaded her eyelids when they were closed, traced over the shape of the roses and the indents in her mom's cheeks. Mollie captured her mom's essence, her meaning, into the picture. This was a sensitive subject, yes. Mollie was strong, yes. But being strong doesn't mean that you're always strong. In her opinion, crying didn't mean you were weak. It just meant that you'd been strong for too long. And, let's just say, Mollie's been strong for way too long.

When you don't want to cry, you'll probably cry. When you do want to cry, you probably won't. The world is just proposterous like that. So, naturally, Mollie was wiping away tears from her eyes, practically screaming in her head, "Please don't let anyone see!" But, the same logic appears here. When you don't want something to happen, it'll probably happen. Isaac saw her.

Isaac not only saw her, but he had felt the sadness radiating from her, and smelled the tears that had started forming in her eyes. He was a werewolf. All senses were heightened. Isaac was the newbie, basically, to Derek and Scott. That's what they thought of him as. It probably didn't help that he had trouble learning how to track from scent. None of that mattered, though. He wanted to comfort Mollie, to make her feel better, to keep her safe from any and everything that would come for her and hurt her.

Issac knew that he sounded overbearing, knew that he was way too protective over this girl, this human, that he had met only hours ago. Maybe it was his werewolf senses that were heightened or maybe it was fate, Isaac didn't know. You never know.

He watched her, raising his eyebrow. It was a signature move for him, although he didn't always realize he was doing it. "Mollie?" he whispered to her, concerned, if you couldn't tell. She sniffed and wiped her nose on her sleeve, staring down at her drawing. The drawing. That's what he realized was what made her cry. The teacher ha told them to draw their saddest moment. He remembered that she had said that both of her parents had died, but they had been at different ages. Isaac guessed her mom died first. It was obviously who she had drawn. Although it was only a drawing by a 17-year-old girl, it was detailed and well-drawn. You could clearly see everything. It looked almost real. Isaac could clearly see some details of the woman that reminded him of Mollie, who was currently wiping away more tears, avoiding Isaac.

Even though she obviously was trying to be strong, trying to stop crying, and didn't want anyone around her, Isaac still, against her wishes, wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, petting her wavy black hair. She tried to object, to push him away, but Isaac used a small amount of his supernatural strength to hold the upset girl to him while she let out her feelings.

While Isaac thought he was comforting her, Mollie wasn't feelings comforted. She was angry, once again. She was angry that she fell prey to her feelings. She was angry that she cried on her first day of her thousandth new school. And, most of all, she was angry that she was too weak at that moment to push Isaac's comforting arms off of her.

When she had shed her last tear, she silently pried Isaac's arms off of her and took her drawing to Mr. Deason, and walking out because the bell had just rung. Mollie was startled when Isaac caught up with her because she had had such a great head start out of the class. He said, "Mollie. Do you need a ride home?" It would've been creepy, if Mollie hadn't known what she thought she knew about Isaac.

Remember how Mollie can 'read' people? Well, Isaac was no exception. He was very sensitive to small spaces. His parents were dead, too, like Mollie's, but it had been more recently than hers were. There was one more thing she tried to dig out of him, one big thing that would tie up the whole exsistance of Isaac, but she couldn't find it, couldn't bring that small part of Isaac out and know what it was. Little did Mollie know, that part of Isaac would scare her out of her pants. Isaac was a werewolf, and that's something that he never wanted her to know.

"Sure. I was gonna walk, but I guess I wouldn't have ended up there until tomorrow morning," Mollie replied, suddenly nervous about being alone with this gorgeous boy that she had forbidden herself from. She refused to give into her hormones.

He guided Mollie to the school parking lot and to the car that he may or may not have stolen. What she doesn't know won't kill her. He opened the passenger door for her, accidentally being a gentleman. She raised an eyebrow at him, but stayed silent.

She looked around in his car, looking at his glasses hanging on the mirror and a bunch of food wrappers in the back seat. Isaac stepped into the driver's side and gave Mollie a half-smile then cranked up the car and started playing some music. The music was loud, but not so loud that talking was unwelcome.

"Don't you need to know where I live?"

"I totally forgot!" he said, shaking his head for a moment, "I was just about to take you home with me."

Mollie gave him an incredulous look then typed her address into the GPS on the dashboard. She found it strange that she had already remembered the address. She shrugged it off, thinking maybe it was just a catchy street name, not even considering the fact that maybe, just maybe, she was meant to be there in Beacon Hills.

Isaac followed the GPS's instructions, soon arriving at Mollie's house without a word, although she could tell that he had wanted to talk to her the whole way there. He, once again, acted like a gentleman and walked her to the door. Isaac looked at her for a moment, giving her a look that made her hormones go "BOOM" for once in her life. She had never felt the urge to kiss someone so badly, had never felt this...indescrible want to be near him, be with him.

"Is this your house?"

"Yes."

"Do you like it?"

"Yes."

"Do you miss your birth parents?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?"

"Yes."

He looked at her for a moment, backing her up against the door, putting his face right in front of hers, so close that she could feel his breath on her face, sending a shiver down her spine.

She knew it was wrong. She didn't want to kiss him, didn't want to fall prey to the heroine that was tempting her so badly. Her heroine was calling her, wanting her, begging her to use it. She looked up at him for a moment, seeing his lips open slightly, his usually emotionless eyes gazing down at her, very alive, and let's not forget the fact that he had pinned against the door. Mollie was so overwhelmed with this new feeling, this new hunger.

She looked at him for a moment and then stopped fighting it, stopped fighting him. "Fuck it," she said, looking us at him, "I'm going to hell anyway." She grabbed his face and pulled him down to her. Suddenly the fact that she'd probably be gone soon faded away. The pain, the brokenness, everything just faded away as he molded his lips with hers. It was in broad daylight on her doorstep. It wasn't very romantic, but it was all she needed. He didn't know that that was her first kiss, and he didn't need to. She ran her hands over his chest while he still had her pinned against the door, kissing her back as passionately as she was kissing him. The fact that she had met him just hours ago didn't matter anyway.

Finally she pulled away from him, moving her hand to the doorknob and smiled up at him. "See you at school," she said, smirking up at him and then opened the door and disappeared inside. As soon as the door shut, she leaned on it, sliding down it and looked up at the ceiling. "Damn," she said, touching her fingers to her lips. Little did she know that Isaac was still listening on the other side of the door with a ridiculously wide grin and a pep in his step.

Mollie thought maybe Beacon Hills was the place for her. And, no, it had nothing to do with a certain Isaac. In that moment, Mollie felt finally alive.