Hey guys, don't ask me why I'm writing another story, I've got like 3 going on already.

But this idea came to me today; I got the day off school coz of a freak dust storm! When I woke up this morning the sky was red, that's how thick the dust was.

I think I know where I want this story to go, so review if you like it.

Edward POV

My parents keep asking how school was. It's like saying. "How was that drive-by shooting?" You don't care how it was, you're lucky to get out alive.

It's a building full of try hards.

Not academic try-hards, because that would be acceptable. But socially active try hards.

You MUST be getting wasted on booze, to eat right.
You MUST be high on drugs to be happy.
You MUST wear the right clothes to dress right.
You MUST hook up with the right people, hell, hook up with someone.

You MUST NOT ace exams, only the sporting events.
You MUST NOT repeat the same outfit twice to be fashionable.
You MUST NOT socialize with the OUT people in front of the IN people to be recognized.

High school is a democracy of contradictory bureaucrats, everything right is wrong. Everything wrong is right.

So where do I fit in?

I don't try hard, I don't even bother really.

I ace every exam, every track, field, sporting event, yet I have only a few friends of the OUT variety.

I get hassled by the IN guys, for stealing their girlfriends, when I asked the girl to borrow her pencil sharpener, but I could take them on any day if I wasn't so against violence.

A lot of teenagers are people who express a burning desire to be different yet dress exactly alike.

All the girls want to be blonde, bronze and bony.
All the guys want to be, tough, tall, and team captain.

When people see me, they think I believe I'm too good for this place. Frankly, I believed they were right.

No one met my expectations, everyone was losers. Everyone resembled clones.

Then, one typical, dreary day, as I handed up an English Essay I finished that morning, a loud BANG from the back of the room startled me and I dropped my paper and the books I was holding.

"Sorry I'm late!" A flustered girl said a tad too loud while juggling the pile of books she cradled. She slammed the door she'd just bursted through, shut. I didn't recognize her, she must have been new.

A few snickers rung out among the students.

"That's fine, Miss…" The English teacher, Mr. Morton said.

"Swan. Bella Swan." She smiled and finished for him. Then she did the unthinkable. She waltzed right up to him and struck out her hand for him to shake, while balancing her books on her hips. "Pleasure to meet you Mr.…?"

"Morton." He finished, quite baffled and took her hand in his.

I blinked twice to just to see if I was indeed witnessing this.

The snickers become giggles and whispers of various labels; "What a freak… loser… dork… downer… suck up… wannabe…"

"This must be yours," She gestured and bent down to pick up my paper for me.

"Oh no, it's alright, I'll get it." I mumbled and bent down to retrieve it before she could. However, we bumped heads on the way down, and dropped our books.

"Sorry!" she gushed and fumbled around for her things.

"No, my bad." I grumbled, annoyed. I picked up my books and got to my feet.

"Here," she smiled tentatively, and handed my paper which I snatched out of her hands and gave to Mr. Morton.

She merely shrugged, and skipped to an empty seat.

That's right, skipped.

At this point the giggles had turned into blatant, hysterical laughing, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Quiet please." Mr. Morton instructed in his infamous monotone.

Till that point, I hadn't become aware of her attire. Instead of the regular skimpy short skirts and plunging blouses, she wore a long gypsy skirt and sandals. Instead of the common sleek, edgy, straight hair styles every girl had, her hair was waist length and wavy yet slightly on the frizzy side. It was pulled back at the front to reveal her interesting, make up free face.

She then flicked through her stack of notebooks and folders and settled on an empty notepad. She began scribbling away on the pad, although Mr. Morton hadn't ordered us to write anything; he was still in the process of collecting papers.

"Mr. Cullen, I have your paper, please return to your seat." He instructed.

I did as he ordered, noticing everyone busy whispering behind shielding hands, and giggling.

Typical.

When I got to my seat, I rifled through the stack of books till I noticed I book that wasn't mine. I flicked through the pages, astounded by what I saw.

It must have been the new girls'.

And with that book I began to realise this girl was definitely not like all the others.

Thanks for reading!

Now review.

If I get 5, then I guess I'll continue.