Okay, so I know that the last thing I should be doing right now is starting a new story when I still have to update "Remember to Forget". However, this idea wouldn't let me alone until I had written it. This is just a preview, I don't plan on updating this one until after I finish the aforementioned story. This is my first Third Person story so any feedback would be appreciated.

Breaking Barriers-

Chapter One-

Jasper Whitlock frowned down at the paper in his hands. He wasn't sure what the large red 'C' on his history report meant, but he felt anger bubble up inside him as he read the teacher's side note.

'The South lost, Mr. Whitlock. It's about time you accepted it.'

He crumpled up the paper and stuffed it haphazardly into his bag, not caring that his mother would be upset by the wrinkles when he gave her the paper later that night. Mrs. Whitlock was a stickler for order.

Scowling, he laid his head down on his desk, silently wishing that his teacher wasn't so narrow minded in his views.

Damn Yankee.

Jasper glared at his teacher, who was blissfully unaware of his furious student as he continued grading papers for his next period class. Unsatisfied that he wasn't bursting into flames before his very eyes, Jasper reached into his bag and pulled out a thick, black three ring binder filled with several neatly typed scripts and loose-leaf rough outlines of his current projects.

He pulled out the bundle of scripts and began to leaf through them, pursing his lips every so often as he searched for something more original for the school's next production. It seemed to Jasper that the same stories kept popping up, leaving no room for originality or fresh ideas.

How many times could the school put on "Romeo and Juliet" before the actors started to revolt? Their Juliet had graduated the year before and Romeo had declared he would never wear tights again after their last performance.

It was Jasper's first year in directing the school play and he hoped to make it the first of many successful performances in his lifetime. After all, Steven Spielberg started out just like him.

The bell rang, startling Jasper from his brooding and he smiled as he realized that his next class was Drama. Standing up quickly, he placed the scripts carefully in their binder, handling them with much more care than he had his history paper, and rushed out the door.

--

Isabella Swan sighed as her English teacher handed her the reading list for the year. It wasn't a surprise, but she still felt irritated that she had read all the material prior to this class. In fact, she would probably be able to teach the subject better then the man in front of her, who was currently scribbling down the first title they would read on the white board in bold red letters.

She rolled her eyes when she realized that the book they would be discussing was the one that currently resided in her bag at the moment. English this year would be no challenge at all.

Pity.

Isabella bit down hard on her bottom lip as she tried to stifle the yawn that threatened to break loose. She wondered offhandedly if her teacher would be terribly offended if she began reading as he spoke, but decided against it as she remembered the last time she had been caught reading in class. She hadn't gotten into trouble, she never got into trouble, but she didn't want to risk it.

It was to her great relief when the bell rang and she was able to leave the classroom, having not heard a word her teacher had said, but more prepared than the rest of her classmates would ever be. She skirted off to the side of the halls as she maneuvered her way towards her French class, an elective she had eagerly taken since she had already been fluent in Spanish.

"Bonjour Mademoiselle Swan."

Isabella nodded, smiling shyly at her teacher as she entered the classroom and took her customary seat near the front of the class. French was a nice change of pace for her, something that was new and challenging. Allowing her the option of broadening her horizons and breaking down the language barrier, all the while getting graded for something that she had always wanted to do.

"Hello Isabella." A quiet, slightly nasally voice greeted as a tall gangly girl with thick-rimmed glasses and frizzy red hair took the seat beside her.

Isabella frowned slightly at her friend. She hated being called by her full name, but Abigail Winters wouldn't hear of calling her anything else. "Morning Abby."

--

Edward Masen ran his hands across the smooth black surface of his piano that resided in the Band Hall. Well, maybe it wasn't his piano, but since he was the only pianist in the Band, he liked to think of it as his. A ghost of a smile could be seen as he fingered the keys fondly, touching, but not playing the magnificent instrument before him.

He knew he shouldn't be here, but the thought of going to Gym and participating in sports with the mindless jocks held no appeal to him. Edward knew that this was the music teacher's free period and he knew Mr. Travis well enough to know that he wouldn't be back from his coffee break for another twenty-five minutes.

Ensured of his solitude, he situated himself on the bench and pressed the first key slowly, savoring the sweet pure note that resonated throughout the room. He placed his left hand on the keys as well and without another moment's thought his hands began to move swiftly and expertly through a complicated piece that he had long ago memorized.

He closed his eyes, allowing himself to become immersed in the music, leaving behind the stress of high school for thoughts of his brown-eyed muse. Edward had never spoken to her; he was positive that she didn't even know he existed, but ever since the day he had first laid eyes on her she had become the inspiration for his music. The sole image that could pull him from his musical slump and jump-start his pieces.

Edward started in surprise as he heard the door open and only had time to swerve around in his position on the bench before he met the frustrated and slightly amused eyes of his music teacher.

--

Rosalie Hale scowled at the tall man before her. She didn't understand why the school insisted on letting students volunteer to model for the art classes. Those who usually did rarely had one decent feature let alone the looks of someone worth painting. What was the point of an assignment called 'Beautiful' if they didn't give you something beautiful to paint?

She let out a frustrated huff and slammed her paintbrush down on the table beside her, the noise startling her fellow classmates who all glared at her for making them mess up their paintings. She ignored their dirty looks and continued to pack up her paint set, allowing the brushes and paints to clatter noisily in order to spite her peers.

No one said anything, the students were too frightened of her and the teacher had grown used to her temper. If it were anyone else, she might have been given detention, but Rosalie was one of her star students and therefore the teacher turned her head on any disruptive behavior.

The model looked on in a mixture of anger and embarrassment as Rosalie loudly declared her frustration at such a worthless subject and without a backwards glance strode out of the room, her paint set and easel in hand.

--

Emmett McCarty's eyes drooped as his head rested on his palm, struggling to keep awake as his classmates all filed into the small cramped classroom. He groaned slightly as he took in the microscopes lined up on the countertops beside him. Class hadn't even started and he was already bored to tears.

A boy he recognized from the football team took the seat beside him and they shared the same bored, apathetic looks. Emmett thought that the guy was decent enough, but their shared loathing of Biology made working with partners on lab assignments incredibly hard. Neither of them cared enough to do the work.

The door opened from behind him, but Emmett didn't bother to turn around to see his teacher enter. Why look when you didn't have to? His teacher was hideous with wrinkles covering most of her face and large purple glasses that clashed with her bright orange hair. He thought she was related to Ms. Cope, but he couldn't be sure.

However, it wasn't his carrot-top teacher that passed him when the figure made his way towards the front of the class and Emmett grinned broadly, suddenly very awake as he saw an unfamiliar and incredibly nervous looking man pick up a white board marker to write his name on the board. The boy next to him sat up straighter in his seat and sent him a wicked smile.

Substitute Teachers were always easy targets.

--

Alice Brandon curtsied daintily as her classmates applauded her performance. The smile she plastered on her face felt fake as she moved to take her seat on the floor in the back of the class. A few eyes followed her graceful movements with envy, her every step looking as if they had been choreographed. She paid no attention to them, she never did.

Their instructor praised her once more, before calling up the next dancer to perform. The girl she had called on bit her lip in dismay and stood up uncertainly. She didn't want to follow her performance. She would look like an ungraceful troll after that.

Alice gave the girl an encouraging smile, which was returned with a not-so-nice glare. Her smile fell and she tried not to flinch, instead dropping her gaze to her hands, which rested in her lap. She should have been used to this by now, but it still hurt whenever her peers rebuffed her.

The music began, but she didn't look up. She didn't want to let the girl know that she had hurt her. Composure was key when dealing with catty classmates.

And Alice knew from experience that a cool façade would save her more grief in the end.

--

--

Forks Academy for Boys and Girls was situated in the small upscale town of Forks, located in rainy Washington where the sun never shined and the students took the phrase stereotypes to a whole new level.

The differences in social classes weren't as obvious during class periods, although it was always there. The only way to truly know where you stood on the social ladder or how prejudiced the school really was, was to experience lunch as a student.

The large dining hall housed roughly forty tables to accommodate the students' needs. It was more for show then any true need for them. The tables were lined up in rows with on long aisle running through the middle of the cafeteria, leaving room for those coming and going.

Where each group sat was usually based upon the locations of the others.

The Geeks sat farthest away from the Jocks and Cheerleaders, for their own protection and sanity. The Choir and Dancers were usually in the top right of the cafeteria, while the Musicians were forced to sit in the bottom left. The principal made this arrangement after a few particularly violent fights broke out. The artsy group sat closest to the doors and nearest to the Theatre crowd. They tolerated each other's presence, but didn't interact.

The other groups held less of a distinction or were significantly smaller in size than the others and floated around in location on a daily basis.

This was the daily life for the students. Interaction between the classes was kept to a minimum and on the rare occasion that they were forced to mingle outside of a classroom, well Forks Academy had a solution to that as well.

A Hierarchy within the classes.

Because when order was disrupted and the classes were forced to merge-

Rank was everything.

And whether they knew it or not, there was always one person who was considered the leader of their class. Held in higher esteem by even those in the other classes if only because they were in power.

Because when order was disrupted and the classes were forced to merge-

Power was everything.

So there you have it. Please review and give me your opinions, I'm not quite sure what to think about this one.