Mmkay...

So this is my VERY FIRST fanfic, and I'm superdooperpumped. Please read and review. I'd very much appreciate it (:

Twilight doesn't belong to me. It belongs to good ole' Stephenie Meyer.

Isabella Marie Swan

Another day in high school is synonymous with another day in my own personal hell.

Okay, so I that might be just the teensiest bit melodramatic, but who cares? I mean, I've never gotten anything worthwhile out of high school besides a few pieces of paper that will supposedly determine my whole future and a helluva lot of giggles behind my back from all the snotty girls at Forks High. I'm just trying to get through these last few years of prison so that I can move on with my life.

The only thing that's been keeping me alive and functioning in this hellhole is my very best friend, Alice Brandon. Alice is the kind of girl that you can picture weaving a crown out of daisies or coloring with chalk. She's got this kind of innocence about her that makes you just want to hug her. She's tiny and almost as pale as I am, with black hair that flips out at the ends. Her nose is dainty and slightly pointed up and her cheek bones are all high and model-like. She's amazingly cute and pretty, but she hides under layer upon layer of clothes. Don't get me wrong, they're nice clothes--designer, in fact--but she's always trying to disappear.

I guess that's why she's my best friend; we both like to remain inconspicuous.

The truth is, if she gained a little self-confidence, Alice could have any guy she wanted--she's that good looking. But she prefers to just keep to herself, just like I do. And that's why we get along so well.

I'm sitting at a lunch table in the cafeteria, picking through my salad and trying to get rid of all the soggy pieces of lettuce. I'm not having that much success.

Alice is sitting across from me, chattering away as usual. I swear to God, half of our school would die of shock if they knew just how much Alice talks when she's comfortable around someone. The girl never shuts up.

"Helloooo? Earth to Bella," Alice says, snapping her fingers in front of my face.

I lift my eyes up from my salad and give her an apologetic smile. "Sorry, Al. What were you saying?"

"Right. Well, I know Friday nights are usually reserved for chick flicks and pizza in Charlie's living room, but do you think we could go to the basketball game this week?"

"Why?" I ask, a bit taken aback.

Alice takes a bite of her PB&J sandwich and a bit of jelly dribbles down her alabaster chin. She daps at it with the sleeve of her expensive grey sweater (I honestly don't know why she pays so much money for a simple cashmere) and swallows her mouthful of food. "My mom has been bugging me about isolating myself from the rest of the school. She thinks I should go 'experience the joys of high school' and talk to someone other than you," she tells me with a slight smirk.

"What's wrong with just hanging out with me?" I pout.

"Nothing at all. My mother loves you, but I think she just wants me to interact with the opposite sex."

"Oh," I mumble, a little uncomfortable.

"Trust me, Bell, I don't want to go anymore than you do, but I figure I might as well go just to make my mother shut up about it. Pretty, pretty please with a cherry on top and sugar in the middle," she sings in that trilling voice of hers.

What's the point in refusing? I either go to this stupid game with Alice, or I sit alone with the chief and listen to him talk about the latest druggies he's locked up.

"Okay, Alice. I'll go."

Alice squeals and claps her hands like a fucking four-year-old in Disneyland, and pushes her charcoal hair behind her ears.

"Thank you, Bells! I looooove you!" she trills with a playful grin on her cute little pixie face.

"Yeah, yeah. Love you too, you crazy little fairy."

"I promise it won't be too horrible," she swears before chugging the rest of her milk and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "You can sleep over afterward, if you want, and we'll still do the whole girl's night thing."

"Kay."

Alice stuffs all the garbage from her packed lunch into the brown paper bag she brought it in and pushes it aside. Some guys in our grade walk past our table and give us questioning looks, probably wondering if we're lesbians like everyone says we are, and Alice lowers her head and blushes.

I want to tell her to not let ridiculous and idiotic gossip get the best of her, but I know better. Even though she prefers to stay under the radar, I know that Alice secretly craves a chance to be cool. And who can blame her? Hell, if I were given the chance to have what girls like Rosalie Hale have, then I'd take it in a second. Every girl wants to be pretty and popular with boys constantly hanging all over you. Even me and Ali.

The bells rings, dismissing us from lunch. I grab my tray and throw my bag over my shoulder before pushing my chair in and walking to the exit. Alice walks beside me and links an arm through mine, sneering at the boys leaning against the wall who are nudging each other and gaping at the "school lesbians". Atta girl, Alice.

I know the whole school assuming that me and Alice are fucking each other really gets to her, so I decide to think of a way to cheer her up. "Hey, Alice?" I say, squeezing her arm a little.

"Hmm?"

"What exactly does one wear to a basketball game?"

She gasps and covers her mouth with her free hand. "Dear Lord. Are you suggesting that we go shopping!?"

"Not exactly...Because you're my best and only friend, and I love you, I'm going to let you dress me."

Alice does that silly squealing thing again and kisses my cheek, earning us a few whoops and catcalls from almost every guy in the hallway, and even some girls, but we ignore it. "You, Isabella Swan, are the best friend a girl could ask for."

"I know it," I smile.

"Oh, Bella, I'm going to make you look so amazing. I think we should ditch the bulky sweaters and wear something sexy. After all, we hardly ever go out and I don't think I've ever seen you wear something that shows off your tits and..."

Alice is droning on about something having to do with denim and a pushup bra, but I can't seem to hear anything. In fact, I can't really see anything either. It's like the entire crowded hallway melts away and all I can see is this mess of beautiful and disheveled bronze hair.

Edward Cullen.

Edward is leaning up against the lockers with some slut tugging on the hem of his shirt and trying desperately to get his attention. For just a moment, his green eyes dart in my direction, and a slow smile spreads across his gorgeous face, revealing blindingly white teeth. My breathing hitches and I start to lean on Alice for balance.

Oh, God. He's smiling at me. Edward-fucking-Cullen is smiling at me.

But then I follow his eyes, and I see that it's not me he's smirking at. He's looking at Alice's arm through mine and giving this knowing smile, like our arms touching is indicative of us sleeping together or some shit. How original. A guy with a fetish for lesbians. I'm getting really effing sick of all this lezbo shit. I am not and never have been a lesbian, for Christ's sake! I just want to shout it out over the intercom so I can stop getting these looks everywhere I go.

The girl standing with Edward runs her hand over his abs, and his eyes flick down to her. And then I'm pulled back to reality when he leans down and kisses her cheek, moving his lips slowly down to her neck.

I will never have those full lips on my neck and I will never get to run my fingers over those perfectly sculpted abs. So the sooner I accept those facts, the sooner I can get over my silly Edward obsession.

I will never have Edward Cullen. Ever.