Usually at the end but. . . yeah this is the new story. It could use your support! : ) Comment, Favorite! Disclaimer. . . I'm not our beloved Steph. Sorry. . . : )

Bella

A high pitched sound woke me up. I groaned groggily. Damn alarm clock. . . Eyes still closed, I reached over onto my nightstand, feeling for a clock. Wait, what? I don't have an

alarm clock! I use my phone. I gasped in panic. Sitting up on my bed, I looked around my room wildly. Shit. What the hell is that sound? There wasn't anything around me, so I looked out

the window above my bed. I could see at least half a mile down the street. I saw a car on the side of the road, lights blearing and all. So, that woke me up. Some one tried to steal the

car.

I uneasily slid out of bed, out into the small crammed hallway, and into the kitchen. Over the stove read the time. 4:42 AM. I was still tired as hell, but I knew I couldn't go back to sleep.

The car alarm put me on edge. I sighed. Its tough living in the ghetto. I quietly went into my bedroom. It was dark, but the car alarm had stopped. My bedroom door was

slightly crooked, but I closed it as best I could and turned on my lamp.

My room was faintly lit up. My space wasn't much. My mattress sat on the floor with plain black sheet, a comforter, and only one pillow. My night stand was really just a short chair that

was big enough to hold the little things. My dresser was old and had a mirror, and drawers. I had a small cabinet that held my ancient T.V. Man . . . that thing has knobs.

My walls are a faint green color and the paint was chipped.

I was really poor.

I try not to let it faze me. I'm seventeen. I have been working since I was fourteen years old. I was born as Isabella Marie Swan, born to Charlie and Renee Swan.

They have always called me Bella, and it just stuck. I remember them. I remember how much I loved them and they loved me.

They were murdered when I was twelve.

For the last four years I have lived in six different foster homes. I moved to Forks, Washington at the beginning of the summer. Mrs. Darby took me in. Mrs. Darby is a middle aged black

woman. Her husband died in a deadly shoot out at our local Office depot. Darby has quite an accent. It was all country-fide. It's incredibly uncommon up here in this very dreary town, for

someone to have an accent like that.

I stepped back into my room and almost tripped over one of my new school books. The first day of school was this morning. I registered at Forks High about six days ago. I picked up my

old beat up black backpack from the other corner and proceeded to stuff my books into the bag. After that was done, I went back into the kitchen to note the time.

It was a quarter till six. Dread began to fill me. I had to get ready for school. School is always the worst for people like me. In my other high school, I have always been an outcast. Back

then, I wasn't as poor as I was now because of the family I was living with. They always offered to by me clothes, but I have always been more comfortable in my own. I am my own

person; I can get my own clothes. Besides, their style was to prep.

No offence of course. Most of my clothes are tattered and old. Yeah, sometimes I just get attached . . . My clothes hold some meaning though. They remind me of all the things I hold dear.

Mostly memories. . . Sigh. I have had few good memories. So I have hardly any clothes. My life is nothing.

Not life does suck,but I'm not gonna walk around all my life depressed all the time. It's called exaggeration people! But it is true that I don't have many clothes, and they are old.

It's easy to figure out why I am prone to embarrassment. I have my collection of

band shirts. Most of them get too tight for me to be comfortable in. I'm so used to the extra room my other shirts provide.

While I was in the shower I let the scorching water loosen up my muscles. Washing myself was a good distraction from thinking of what was to come, later. When I stepped out, I let

myself breathe in the strawberries scent. Stepping over to the sink, and wrapping myself in a towel, I proceeded to brush my teeth. I'll have to buy more toothpaste soon.

I was on my way to the kitchen. I smelled bacon and saw the light coming from the room. Darby must be up. . .

I had already dressed in my one pair of sweatpants and my usual sweatshirt. Underneath I wore a guy's wife beater. It was too tight. It should have belonged to a skinny thirteen year

old boy. So, I was thankful for the hoodie. I had slipped on my beat up high top converse. There were images on them I had drawn with sharpie.

I was stepping through the threshold and tripped. Over what, I don't know. I am that clumsy. "Oh, shit!" I exclaimed as I fell. I landed painfully with a thud on my ass. Darby

had quickly turned her head and witnessed my fall. Her eyes shined in amusement. "Are you alright child?" She spoke with sincerity in her accented voice.

I grimaced slightly, but managed to give her a small smile. "Yeah," I laughed a little,". . . Just very klutzy." I finished while rising off the floor. I dusted my hands off and took the sandwich

she had offered me. With a murmured thank you, I went to my room and grabbed my back pack, beanie, and grabbed my black rimmed glasses off my dresser. I shoved the hat on my

head and ran out of the house, shouting a thank you to Mrs. Darby.

I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket to check the time once again. 6:40. I had one hour before class begins. Darby only has one car, and she has to go to work. It's only a 20

minute walk . . .

If I run.