Jasper's Point of View

The bell rang. It was official. School was starting in exactly five minutes. And I wasn't ready at all.

I groaned. Spending nine, entire months stuck in a room with a bunch of kids I didn't know or care about wasn't my idea of fun. But here I was in my car, parked in the student lot, just sitting, waiting, avoiding.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the review mirror. I groaned, annoyed at what I saw staring back at me. I hated how I looked; I blamed my looks for why I had always been an outcast, why I had always been hated, envied, and judged by others who knew nothing about me. It wasn't that I was hideous or ugly; to be honest, it was the exact opposite.

I was attractive, too attractive perhaps, and maybe, just maybe, that was even worse than being ugly. I inherited my good looks from my parents, James Whitlock and Alise Archibald. Maybe you've heard of them? My father, the quintessential actor turned director, starred in several hits in his day and started directing movies rather than acting in them when he was asked continuously to play the role of the father instead of the young, strapping son. My mother is a woman of many talents; she acts in all types of movies, television shows, and Broadway musicals, directs occasionally, teaches classes at UCLA, and designs for her own fashion label. My face resembled both of theirs remarkably; I have my mother's eyes, mouth, and ears and my father's nose, chin, and hair. I suppose, when people look at me, all they can see are my parents and their accomplishments, which make them believe I was different, and better, than everyone else. They expected me to be a little bit of everything and more. But I was only me, introverted and awkward, and a disappointment to all of those who I met. Needless to say, I remained alone, an outcast.

As I slumped lower in my seat, dwelling on those thoughts, I caught a glimpse of a yellow Porsche speedily parking in the space directly behind mine in the rearview mirror. Without even seeing the driver, I already knew who it was; hell, everyone knew who it was: Alice Brandon, head cheerleader, student body president, and all around nice girl that guys wanted to date and girls wanted to be.

I turned my head in the direction of her car just in time to see her boyfriend, star of the football, basketball, and baseball team, Emmett, open the bright yellow car door and hold out a gigantic, muscled hand to her. She placed her delicate hand into his and leaped out of the car, elegantly.

I looked away for a few moments; she was more beautiful than I had remembered. She was absolutely and undeniably breathtaking. Her face was shaped like a heart, wider near her light grey eyes, slowly tapering down to a pointy chin. The features in between were angular, yet soft and feminine at the same time: perfectly arched and shaped eyebrows, prominent high cheekbones, a pointy nose, delicate red lips, and dimples. Her dark, glossy hair, contrasting with her pale skin, was cropped short, cut perfectly to accentuate her great bone structure. She was small and thin, almost pixie-like, and beneath the five foot mark.

I sighed. From the moment I had seen her, I was completely and irrevocably in love with her. The only problem was she had no idea that I existed. And, as I watched her skip away, smiling enthusiastically, at her giant of a boyfriend, whose arm was wrapped firmly around her waist, I realized she never would.

Slipping my aviators on, I slumped even lower, pouting, still debating whether I was going to leave or not. I turned my head and watched people walk by outside my window with their faces parallel to the ground, backpacks slung over their shoulders. I tapped my foot, anxiously, trying to decide.

The whole "socializing" aspect that was expected, especially the first day, when it was an unwritten law to ask everyone what they've been up to, no matter how much you don't want to know, was physically and mentally draining for me. I could do without all the fake smiles.

I groaned, my third groan in the past three minutes, as I opened the front pocket of my faded messenger bag. After shuffling through empty candy wrappers, random hall passes from last school year, "excused absence" notes, a deck of playing cards, and a carton of Marlboros, I finally found what I was looking for, my schedule. I pulled the paper closer to my face. My eyesight was crap.

I sighed. My schedule wasn't as bad as I hoped. My counselor, Mr. Hodges, knew me too well. He purposely placed the two classes I didn't need to pass for graduation, after lunch because he knew that, unlike everyone else at school, I went to lunch after fourth period, but never came back for fifth. He had also put me in the easiest courses available; I had heard from past seniors that Rosemary was a pushover, Stevens was too preoccupied with her divorce to care about teaching, White's class watched videos all year long, and Patterson, if distracted properly, could talk the whole class period about politics.

Before I could change my mind, I pulled my key out of the ignition and grabbed my backpack and jacket from the passenger seat where it was thrown carelessly. I sucked in a deep breath of air and flung my door open.

As soon as I stepped outside, the sun hit me, glaring down at me. I looked up and glared back. I turned back towards my door, locking it, so much for automatic locks, and slammed it.

"What a week to quit smoking," I grumbled to myself as I ruffled through the contents of my backpack, only stopping when my hand wrapped around the carton of cigarettes I always kept in my backpack, just in case. I stealthily slid a cigarette from the carton without a second thought, popped it into my mouth greedily, and lit it the good, old fashioned way, with a match. When I heard footsteps nearby, I quickly ducked my head into the open window of my car, pretending to look for something.

"You're not fooling anyone, Whitlock," a voice declared, several feet away from me.

I was ready to defend myself already with an introduction of the name, which usually released me from any kind of trouble I found myself in, but if for some reason, this plan did not work, I was ready to pull my parents into this, promising a new library or biology lab or something. God knows they could afford it.

I groaned as I stood up, straightening my back, and turned towards the voice with a rather annoyed look on my face. I ran a hand through my messy blonde hair while dangling my cigarette from the other carelessly. The man standing before me was unfamiliar, too young to be an administrator and teacher, but I hadn't seen him around before and trust me, in Forks, everyone knows everyone.

"Do I know you?" I asked, uneasily, as I tried to figure out who he was exactly although he seemed to know who I was. He strolled up to me with an air of confidence, plucked the cigarette from between my fingers, and leaned back against my car, smoking my cigarette.

He rolled his green eyes and looked at me, incredulously, as if waiting for me to finally put the pieces together and remember who he was. After a few moments, he broke the awkward silence, "It's me…Edward, remember?"

My eyes widened in disbelief. This man in front of me wasn't Edward…or, at least, not the Edward I remembered. Edward was a short, pudgy boy that looked the age of thirteen. His round, emerald eyes were always too small behind his glasses, his beaklike nose seemed mismatched to his soft face, and his mouth consisted of two thin lines, one side higher than the other. No, no, this guy couldn't be Edward. This guy was, well, good looking…extremely good looking. He had tousled, bronze hair with piercing green eyes, a distinct nose, and a strong chin. But his mouth was set in a familiar, crooked smile. No, it couldn't be.

Edward was the shy, quiet boy, who shared three classes with me last year: Calculus, Physics, and Music Appreciation. In fact, Edward had helped me pass Music Appreciation because although I love music, I guess I didn't appreciate it much. He was the closest thing I could call a friend, I guess you could say. Sometimes, he would ditch school with me during lunch and we would go anywhere and do anything we wanted, but most of the time, he sat in the band classroom and played piano. No, this guy isn't Edward. He couldn't be…or could he?

"Don't you look different," I finally muttered as I stole my cigarette back from him and took a drag. "Where the hell did you go this summer?"

Edward shrugged before replying uselessly, "Around." He flashed me a devilish smile before placing his hands firmly on the trunk of my car and easing himself onto it.

"Mainly Mexico," he clarified. He shifted his eyes towards me. "Habitat for Humanity."

I nodded my head, knowingly. Of course, he would spend his summer in Mexico building homes for underprivileged, low income families. After all, he was ranked number one in the senior class; he had to keep up appearances. "At least one of us did something productive this summer. All I did was attend Hollywood parties with my parents."

"Sounds so terrible." I heard a hint of sarcasm in his voice. No question about it; this guy had to be Edward. No one could use sarcasm as well or as subtly as he could.

I discarded my used cigarette onto the ground and, without another thought, pulled out another and raised it to my lips.

Edward raised an eyebrow at me, suspiciously. "How many packs do you smoke a day?"

I knew what was coming next. I took one, long drag from the cigarette before answering. "I don't know. Maybe two packs."

"Two packs?" I could hear the concern in his voice. I hated it when he was concerned; he acted more like a mother sometimes than a friend.

"Get off my back, will you?" I said, half jokingly, as I shoved him lightly. "It's the first day of school. I'm stressed."

"Okay, okay." He cocked his head to one side, checking the time on his watch. "We're already eight minutes late to class. Let's go."

With a flick of my fingers, the cigarette fell to the ground where I promptly stepped on it, twisting my foot back and forth. I leaned into the open window of my car, grabbing the strap of my messenger bag, and pulled it over one shoulder with ease. "Promise me this."

I looked at Edward, who was adjusting the straps on his backpack, before continuing. "Remember me when you're hanging out with Alice and Emmett, okay?"

Edward laughed, heartily, as we started to walk in the direction of Forks High School. "Sure. Like that will ever happen."