A/N: This one's been kicking around for a good while, but I kept losing interest...we'll see how she goes this time. I sincerely hope that my OCs are NOT Mary-Sues, and if they are, feel free to tell me so. I'll try to remedy that. Reviews are welcome, flames will be used to light my barbecue. Hope you enjoy.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Twilight or any of its characters. I'm just borrowing. Believe me, if Jacob was mine...let's say I wouldn't be writing fics about him. I'd be doing, ahem, other things. Hehe.
CHAPTER ONE
I Might Call It Hell
Layla De Tonye hadn't been in town for very long, but there was one thing she was certain of; she hated Forks.
It was way too much like back home in England. Same sogginess, same green-ness...She found herself thinking that if she weren't already mostly mad, that town would be driving her to the brink of insanity.
That morning was her first day at Forks High School. The moment she drove into the parking lot, people started staring at her like she was an alien. Perhaps it was the fact she came in on a motorbike, or that she had several visible tattoos and piercings, or that her hair was short and shaggy like a boy's, but she honestly didn't understand why they were looking so closely. Everywhere she turned, there were curious eyes, testing her, judging her, labelling her. She hated it.
Pocketing her keys, she stalked over to the main office building. People moved out of her way as she walked, like she was Moses splitting the sea or something. She threw open the door as soon as she got there.
It was warm and fairly pleasant inside. A large, red-haired woman sat behind one of the three desks that sat beyond the long, room-dividing counter, and she looked up as Layla breezed through the door.
"Can I help you, dear?" she asked her with a smile.
"I'm Alayla De Tonye, I was told to come here as soon as I got in this morning..." Layla trailed off, uncomfortable. People in positions of authority had always irked Layla, but over the years she'd learned not to let it show.
"Ah, yes, welcome to Forks, Alaya!" she said merrily, digging through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk. "Here, I need you to get all your teachers to sign this, and here's your schedule, dear, do you think you could find all your classes?"
Layla took the schedule the secretary - Ms Cope - was holding out to her and glanced down at it. English, Chemistry, Art, Calculus, World History and Gym. "Yeah, it's all cool, Miss. Thanks for your help," she said, smiling at her politely before waltzing back out.
Back outside in the misting rain, Layla swore and looked at her schedule again. Period one was English, building three. Okay, that shouldn't be too difficult to find... she thought. Right, who the hell am I kidding? I can drive at top speeds on a motorcycle without blinking, but try to tell me which building to go to and I am screwed.
She wandered further into the complex of buildings, glancing helplessly around for building three, musing that she must have been born without a sense of direction.
A hand tapped her shoulder lightly and she turned, bright green eyes wide. She was so caught up in trying to find her class that she was completely unaware of anything else. Standing before her now was a small, pixie-like girl of unnatural beauty and grace. She smiled helpfully at Layla. "Are you new?" she asked.
"Extremely," Layla replied wryly with a sigh. "I can't find anything, my sense of direction is kak."
The other girl laughed. "I know the feeling," she said cheerfully. "Where's your first class?"
"English, building three."
"Ah, that's way on the other side beside the cafeteria. I'll show you, but we'll have to hustle to get you there on time," she said, putting a surprisingly strong hand at Layla's leather-clad elbow and steering her in the opposite direction from where she'd been going.
Soon enough, they stopped outside a class with a large black three beside the door; it was in plain view from the office building. Layla couldn't believe she'd missed it. She groaned.
The girl laughed. "Don't worry about it, everyone gets lost their first day. Have a good class!" And then she was gone, jogging quickly across the muddy yard to another building before Layla could even say 'thank you.' She shook her head and went straight in, standing in front of the teacher's desk until he looked up at her.
"Er, hi, sir, I was told you needed to sign this for me," Layla said awkwardly, holding out the yellow slip the secretary had given her.
"So you're our new student from Oxford?" Mr Smith asked curiously, scribbling his signature in the appropriate spot. He handed it back to Layla.
"Yes, sir," she replied sheepishly.
"There's a spot for you in the back there, Alayla," he said, smiling kindly at her, gesturing to the back of the room. Layla resisted the urge to correct him on the pronunciation of her name. There was only one empty seat, and she walked over and dropped into it with a sigh. There was a derisive snort from beside her, and she glanced over to see a tiny girl with masses of curly brown hair glaring at her.
"Something for you?" Layla asked warily, eyeing the girl in apprehension.
"Yeah, you can move," she sneered at Layla, tossing her hair. Layla raised an eyebrow.
"Look, mate, I dunno if you noticed, but this is the only empty spot in the class," Layla replied, looking at the front of the room. The bell rang just as the girl was about to reply, with something rude, no doubt, and Layla was very thankful.
"Alright, class, we have a new student today!" said Mr Smith cheerfully from the front of the room. Layla groaned and laid her head down on the desk. "Her name is Alayla De Tonye. Why don't you come up and tell us a bit about yourself, Alayla?"
Biting her lip at the mispronunciation, she raised her head and looked at the teacher. "If it's all the same, sir, I'd really rather not," she said quietly, ignoring the sniggers from around her.
"Really, Alayla, I insist," said Mr Smith, a steely look coming into his eyes. Layla sighed, stood and made her way to the front of the class, looking at Mr Smith balefully before turning to her classmates.
"Hullo," she said blandly. "I'm AY-lay-lah De Ton-yay, call me Layla if you don't want to get into a punch-up. Yes, I know, it's a horrid name. I just moved here from Oxford because my dog was allergic to my neighbours." And with that, she went back to her seat, leaving Mr Smith looking incredulously after her. He shook his head and started the lesson.
Layla leaned back in her chair once she was back in it, pointedly ignoring the looks the bint next to her was shooting.
"You know, you're supposed to be more forthright than that," said a smooth male voice from her left. She turned just her head.
Beside her, lounging similarly in his chair, was the single-most gorgeous boy Layla had ever seen. Elegant, smooth features, pale skin, bronze coloured hair, and caramel coloured eyes. She snorted in an un-lady-like fashion.
"Well, what'd he want me to do, state my favourite colour?" Layla scoffed. "Please."
The boy grinned a sexy crooked smile and turned his face away, closing his eyes. Layla found herself thinking he had quite the right idea, because not only was this class super boring, but she'd already taken this stuff and she was lacking sleep. Jet-lag is a real bitch.
Layla was started awake when the bell rang, jerking forward in her seat and stubbing her toe. She muttered a curse and stood up, grabbing her bag and shrugging into her leather jacket that she'd slung over the back of her chair, walking to the door.
"Have a nice nap?" asked a kind voice from beside her. There was a cute blond boy walking next to her with a grin on his lips. He was one of the only boys she'd met so far who was taller than her.
Layla grinned back. "Rather refreshing, really," she said back with a chuckle, brushing her shaggy dark hair out of her face.
"So you're Alayla De Tonye," he stated, enunciating each syllable of her name slowly and carefully.
Layla leveled a glare at him. "Did you not hear what I said about the punch-up?"
"I did, but I don't know what you mean by 'punch-up'," he said teasingly, doing brutal air-quotes with his fingers. Boys just can't seem to do sneer-quotes properly, Layla mused to herself.
"Eh, punch-up, fist fight...." she shrugged.
He looked astonished. "You'd get into a fist fight because someone called you Alayla instead of Layla?"
"Would you want people calling you Alayla?"
The boy looked embarrassed. "Well, no. But I wouldn't beat someone up for it."
"I have, and probably will end up doing it again," answered Layla offhandedly, consulting her schedule again.
She could feel the boy looking at her incredulously and ignored him. "Hm, History next," she said thoughtfully to herself. "Maybe I can squeeze in another nap."
Layla ignored the boy as he spluttered and followed a crowd, all carrying history textbooks, to building six. It was near where the girl found her before classes and so kindly led her to building three. Upon entering the class, Layla went up to the front, got the teacher, Mrs Hayes, to sign her paper, and retreated to a seat in the very back corner of the room. The best seat in the entire class. All the people she'd followed here were sitting way up in the front row. Yuck.
Layla was aware of someone putting their bag down and sitting in the desk to her left, but paid them no attention. Class started, and thankfully, Mrs Hayes didn't make her introduce herself in front of the class. Of course, Mr Smith could have called her and warned her about Alay. Teachers gossip worse than fishwives. Layla yawned widely and closed her eyes, leaning back in her seat with her jacket against the wall as a pillow. A finger poked her hard in the ribs when she'd dropped off for a few minutes, and she swore, opening her eyes to glare at the boy who'd sat beside her in English. His beautiful crooked smile was mixed in with a smirk, and he was completely immune to the harsh glare Ala was giving him.
"What the hell was that for?" Layla hissed at him quietly, watching Mrs Hayes talking from her desk. She was droning about some war in ancient Greece, and nearly everyone was in a vegetative state. She could see clearly several people who were fast asleep, snoring softly in the case of one boy.
"You should pay attention to this," the boy told her, his smirk more pronounced.
Layla glowered at him. "Look, mate, I've already taken this bullshit. I don't need to pay attention, I know it all."
"Alayla, could you answer the question, please?" called Mrs Hayes from the front of the class with a stern expression on her face. She, like Mr Smith, mispronounced Layla's name. Several people jerked awake with muffled curses. The boy smirked widely at her.
"Could you repeat it, ma'am, this boy was whispering right beside me and I couldn't hear you," Layla requested, casting a significant glance at the now-outraged boy sitting next to her.
Mrs Hayes looked at him disapprovingly, clucking her tongue. "Edward Cullen, I know you are ahead in my class, but that is no reason to disrupt my other students. Do it again and you'll be in the office. Understood?"
The boy named Edward Cullen gave a sullen, "Yes, Mrs Hayes," and glared at Layla. She just smiled sweetly back and easily answered a question about war techniques in ancient Greece.
The bell rang and Layla went on her merry way to Art, where she spent a half-hour drawing fruit. Mr Cole was very impressed by her art skills and tried to commission her to do a mural in the gym. Layla politely declined, saying she needed to settle in more and get used to Forks before starting anything extra-curricular. Mr Cole sighed dispiritedly but let it drop. Since she'd finished before all her class-mates, Laya doodled absently with her coloured pencils. The bell signalled the end of class and she looked at her half-minded drawing – and promptly crumpled it up, a scowl settling itself on her lips. There had been straight, beautiful, pale features, tousled bronze hair, and butterscotch eyes...
Layla took her bike out during the lunch hour, speeding through the back roads as fast as she dared in her distracted state. She got out to the La Push reservation and grabbed a snack from their one tiny store, munched on the chocolate bar for the length of a beach, smoked a cigarette on the walk back to the parking lot, then hopped back on her bike and sped back. She showed up several minutes late for Calculus and used the, "I'm new," excuse.
She grumped her way through PE, scowling at anyone who dared to talk to her; her bad mood seemed to scare people off. The small, bitchy brunette from English, and her Calculus class too, hit Layla in the head with her badminton racket purposely, trying to act innocent. Layla glared down at her, snatched the racket from her hand, and walloped her on the forehead too, leaving a bright red mark. Layla smiled sweetly at her as the girl swore, saying, "Ever sweet, now we match."
When Layla walked into her Chemistry class, her heart dropped into her stomach; the only open seat was the one in the middle of the class next to Edward Cullen, the boy she'd narked on in History. Mr Brouillard signed her paper and directed her to the open seat.
"Ah, sir, may I go to the loo?" Layla asked quickly as he started to walk away. He turned back to her, and, seeing her apparently-earnest expression, nodded and handed her the hall pass. Not that there's any halls, she thought grimly, running out into the misting wet of the outdoors. She ran all the way to the sidewalk and sat down, not panting at all, sticking a cigarette in her mouth in one fluid motion. She lit it and took a long drag, feeling the smoke warm her from the inside out. Sighing and blowing out the smoke, she calmed herself by counting to one-hundred in Portuguese, then in Romanian. By the time she'd finished her cigarette, and counting in the Native Ojibwe language, she was much calmer. She ran back to the classroom, somehow managing to get there without any difficulty, and handed the hall pass back to Mr Brouillard.
"What took you so long?" he growled at her suspiciously.
"I got lost, sir," Layla lied, ducking her head in embarrassment that seemed real enough, because he sent her to her seat with a wave of his hand.
Edward Cullen looked at Layla critically as she sat down. "You really shouldn't smoke, you know," he said, his eyes narrowed.
Layla raised her pierced eyebrow at him. "And how would you know if I smoked?"
He gave Layla a look, as though she'd just insulted his intelligence. "For one, you reek of smoke. And for another, I saw you with a pack out before you were even out the door."
Layla blushed and looked away. "Shuddup," she retorted weakly. Then a thought sprang into her mind. "Hold it, the prof didn't see me with the pack out, did he?" she asked Edward urgently; she didn't know what the rules about smoking were at Forks High.
Edward smirked disconcertingly at Layla. "Well..."
She grabbed a fistful of his ivory sweater and tugged him towards her. "Look, I'm sorry for being a right cow, but I really need to know. Did Mr Brouillard see me with my smokes out?" She punctuated her words by shaking him.
Edward looked shocked by Layla's behaviour for a moment, then he extracted himself from her grip with a cool look on his face. "I think I was the only one who noticed," he replied frostily. Layla edged her seat away from him and looked down at the table, ignoring the glare he was giving her.
Class moved slowly, it seemed, infinitely slow. Edward looked at her oddly when she unwittingly left her hand in the flame of the Bunsen burner for a minute. Layla hadn't even noticed that her hand was in the path of the burner; she'd been daydreaming about sunny beaches and palm trees and being away from the soggy state of Washington. Layla stammered something unintelligible and went off to the 'bathroom' to have another smoke. Mr Brouillard looked at her like she was mad, but she paid no mind.
She got out of Chemistry as fast as she could when the bell rang, trying to avoid her desk mate and his inquisitive stares. I can't believe I was so stupid, Ala thought angrily at herself.
She ran outside with her books all crammed into her tiny backpack, just barely zipped up, and skidded to a stop beside her bike. Popping off a section of the seat to reveal a hidden compartment, Layla pulled out several of the books and put them in so she could close her bag all the way. Grabbing her helmet out of the compartment and snapping the piece back in place, she swung a leg over the seat and started the engine, startling several people. In one fluid movement, she put the full-faced helmet on her head, minding her pierced eyebrow, and twisted the gas, tearing out of the parking lot and leaving only awed teenagers and a black tread mark to show she was there at all.
So? What do you think? Press that review button, you know you want to...
