This story was previously "Hothead Bipolar Asshole.. That I love", but it got taken down. So I guess I am starting over.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Twilight Saga or Paul Lahote (sadly)
The name's Sammy. And when i want to convince people I don't have a "unstable" background, I tell them it's Samantha. Which probably doesn't help anyway.
So here's my story:
I was born fifteen and a half years ago or something close to that. My parents-if you can even call them that, gave me up at birth. Ever since then, I'd been from foster home to foster home and I owned maybe a suitcase full of clothes and an old mp3 that carried my world-music. About a year ago, I was taken in by the Parkers, who managed to tame me, make me care about them, and found a way to channel my rage. Pretty much by rolling around on a mat and kicking people's asses. And right now, they're going through the adoption process. Which I can't decide if it's a good thing or what. I kinda like going from place to place. I don't think I'll ever have a true family or find my own that'll make me want to stay put. But for right now, I'm stuck in LaPush with a surgeon father a stay at home pregnant mother and nine sweaty, loud brothers.
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I wake up on schedule, the routine four a.m. It's not like I don't want to sleep in... I just can't. I've waken up at four a.m for all of my life.
I get in the shower, and wash away the previous nights sweat. I rinse through my hair that's really begging me for a cut, and throw it in a ponytail. It's gotten to that too-long point where it's almost too much to keep under control under head gear. But I think I like it. I'm not sure yet.
When I get out, I pull on a pair of shorts and a sports bra. I leave the house with a sweater on and a pair of shoes in my hands. I check my watch, I have exactly thirty minutes to run to the border of Forks and LaPush twice.
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School
First hour creative writing. Yeah, don't ask me what I was thinking, I won't be able to tell you. I mean, I'm an alright writer, but her lectures make me want to choke something...
"Lahote, why are you late?" The teacher asks abruptly. And truthfully, that might've been the first thing I heard her say all morning. I sit up straight in my chair with my ears perked up. He doesn't bother to give an answer, just sits down in the desk next to me. I fidget a little bit, and glance at him.
"Well?" She demands.
"Because I was sleeping." He says lazily, slumping down in his desk.
"That's better than being in this class." I say quietly, so no one can hear me. Or so I thought. Paul laughs out loud, and I look up bewildered. He looks at me, grinning, and just stops. Like he completely freezes. His grin disappears, and his almond shaped eyes become clouded. I clear my throat and look away, but I can see him staring at me out of the corner of my eye. And it frustrates me; just like everything eventually does.
"Take a picture it'll last longer." I snarl.
"What?" He asks eventually.
"I know you heard me." I whisper.
"So we're starting over now." He says confidently. "Paul Lahote. And you are?"
"Sammy." I mutter.
"You got a last name?"
"Maybe."
"You wanna tell me what it is?"
"Not really."
"Ok..?"
Silence. Except for the teacher. But no one is actually listening to her, so doesn't that count as the same thing?
And apparently I made him mad or something. He crosses his arms and stares angrily at the front of the classroom. I glance at him, and looks right back at me, "Take a picture it'll last longer."
My cheeks flush and I slouch in my chair.
"Wanna tell me now?" He asks, smirking.
"Parker. Technically."
"What grade are you in?" He asks slowly.
"Why?"
"Because I want to know." He say matter-of-factly.
"None of your business." I say, and stick my tongue out.
"Except for the fact that it is.." He says slowly, shrugging.
"I'm a freshman ok, are you happy now?!"
"No." He growls, looking uncomfortable.
I laugh, "I'm sorry my age disappoints you."
"No it's not that. You don't disappoint me. It's just.. I thought you were older. You look older."
"Really?" I say scornfully, "Just really? I look older than fifteen to you?"
He looks at me in a way that makes me completely uncomfortable, and my cheeks turn pink.
"Yeah. You definitely look older than fifteen."
I face forward again, realizing that I had turned and faced him. I pick up my pencil to take notes, trying to focus on anything but Paul Lahote.
I do not look older than fifteen. I look like a twelve year old! Or maybe I only think that because of my lack of height. I'm only 5"0. No centimeters no nothing. Just a straight five feet.
"So what's up with the fiery hair? I know that is not natural." He says eventually, as the teacher sits at her desk. I glance at him, "What?" All of a sudden, his hand is coming towards me, and I jerk out of the way. He slowly withdraws it, "I wasn't going to hurt you." He says quietly. "Well what were you going to do?"
"This." He says grinning, holding up the ponytail holder from out of my hair, which falls in waves around my elbows. "Can I have that back?!" I hiss. He holds up a strand of my hair, quirking an eyebrow
"I died it blonde, then got red, orange, and magenta highlights." I say fussily, reaching for the holder. He holds it out of my reach, "That's pink."
"Nu uh."
"Yeah huh."
"No it's not."
"Yes it is."
"I would know!"
"Well you obviously don't!"
"It's more purple than it is pink."
"No, but your eyes are." He says quietly, staring again.
"What is up with you and spacing out?" I say, looking away. "I'm not spacing out." He says defensively. "Oh yeah? Then what would you call it?"
"Trying to figure out the exact color of your eyes. Which is hard, seeing as they change colors a lot." I blush, and touch the corner of my eye, "Yeah I know it's weird, alright?" "No it's not. It's unique. And the shade of blue they turn, that dark royal bluish, it's my new favorite. And then they turn dark purple and then a really stormy gray.. And I'd say it's pretty amazing."
"Leave me alone." I say defensively.
"What? don't know how to take a compliment?" he asks.
"Thank you." I huff, crossing my arms.
"You're not welcome." He says nonchalantly.
"What?! But you just said-" I stop talking when he laughs out loud, and slap his arm. "Whoa! Let's not get touchy, you barely know me!" He says, looking serious. "What?! You're the one sitting here and talking like this isn't the first time you've ever noticed me!" "Someone's on edge it's just a joke, jeez." He says, laughing.
I set my jaw and start to work on the homework assignment, when something hits my cheek. I catch the ponytail holder, and glare at him. "What? You said you wanted it back and we're on a no contact basis."
The bell rings, and I stuff the papers in my bag, "We're not on any basis at all!" I walk towards the door, pulling my hair back into a ponytail. "Why those colors?" He asks, hot on my heels. "It's distracting. People never see it coming. Guys I wrestle already expect someone bigger than me coming and the fact that I'm a girl plus this hair, it can help sometimes." "Wait. You wrestle?" He asks. "Yeah." "That is not okay." He says, glaring. "Why not?" "You mean to tell me that a bunch of random guys you don't know are just slamming you onto your back and whatever else you do in that stupid sport?!" He asks wildly. "It's not stupid! And no! I usually win!" I hiss back. "I'm not okay with that." He says.
"Well... Sammy probably doesn't care." We both look towards the door, and see my boyfriend, Blake Hewes. Quarterback on the football team, point guard on the basketball team, so on and so forth. He's tall and muscular, and has long hair. Obviously Paul's taller and way more muscly.. But he's not my boyfriend.. So moving on!
"You have a boyfriend." Paul says lowly, stating the obvious. "Yeah." I say nonchalantly and give Blake a side hug. "How do you not tell someone that you have a boyfriend?" He asks angrily. "You didn't ask." I say defensively. "We're done here." He says, and walks off abruptly.
"Well.. That was weird."
Sammy's character is a little different. She's more serious now and kinda dislikes LaPush and her new family.