yeah, whatever. new story. Bella's out of character because i don't feel like working too hard. or, i think she's out of character. i can never tell. don't really know where i'm going with this, but let's just hope it's somewhere.
oh, and sorry if i offend any of the American Idol watchers out there. honestly, i just hate that show. deal with it.
on with the show:
Changing schools was shitty. Changing schools when you were me was even shittier.
The sea of faces stared as I was dragged down the hall. Whoever the fuck this girl thought she was, she better let go of my hand. I couldn't feel my fingers.
The girl – Jessica I think – turned toward me as she walked. "Okay, so next is lunch. You'll love that. I can't wait for you to meet my friends. They'll love you, and I know you'll like them. They're the best people in this school, and oh my God, Tyler hosts the best parties ever. I remember once last year I went with Lauren and these fabulous college guys showed up . . . ."
Right then. Just Great. Time to meet frizz-head's posse.
I wasn't even quite sure how I'd met this Jessica. I was in Spanish, the class had spent the entire period embedding my face into their brains, and then the bell had rung and all of a sudden I was face to face with some sort of 80s-disco-Abercrombie nightmare.
And then she opened her mouth.
All I caught was her name and that she was on the prom committee.
"So Izzy," she said, and I tuned back into her. "Did you catch American Idol last night? God, it was so fantastic. I hate when the seasons end and I have to wait for the next one. One day, I swear I'll try out. I really love that girl, uh, wait, what's her name?"
She looked to me hopefully.
I shrugged.
"Well, whatever. You know who I'm talking about. She's so cute and she can sing, like, so well – and Ryan Seacrest is so hot."
I blinked. "Uh, yeah." Uh, no. And this girl needed to learn how to hold a conversation.
I zoned out again as she dragged me into the cafeteria and thought about what I'd done last night.
We entered the lunch line and Frizz-head released my hand. I shook it out, rubbing my wrist tenderly.
I let my eyes wander over the lunch room. It was a lot smaller then my old one, but that was understandable. Aside from the size, it looked just like every other cafeteria. Linoleum floors, peppy posters encouraging school teams, your standard round tables. The usual crap.
And that did not exclude cliques. I took a moment to glance over the table groupings.
Yes, the usual. A few nerds to my left, a couple dudes with skate boards in the back, and a highly exclusive table right in the center where the crème de la crème made themselves at home.
Fuck, I hated high school.
We moved down the lunch line and I grabbed a hotdog, a bag of chips and Coke. We paid, and then Frizz-head waved me along past the other tables.
People stared.
Frizz led me to the center table, and sat down.
I remained standing.
A hush fell on the lunch room, like this was some showdown.
Whatever.
I took a close look at each of the center table dwellers.
They were all fairly attractive and wearing bright colors. The pretty blond girl was looking me up and down and wrinkling her nose. Couldn't really blame her. I looked like I just spent a night out on the streets - which, well, I kinda had – and she looked like a, a pristine slut really. Faded jean mini skirt and some too tight, too expensive polo.
There weren't any seats left.
I quirked an eyebrow at Blond-slut and turned around to grab one from the vacant table to the right. Somebody started whispering. The chair screeched as I dragged it across the floor. I slumped down into it and rested my chin in my hand.
"So, what's up with you guys?" I broke the silence.
I watched Blondie's reaction.
Her eyes widened, and she looked me up and down again. I didn't get this part of being a girl.
Frizz-head giggled nervously.
"Izzy here is chief Swan's daughter –"
"Bella," I corrected without breaking eye contact with Blondie.
Blondie wrinkled her nose again. "But that isn't short for Isabella." Her voice was nasally, and she drummed her pink nails against the table.
"Are you kidding me?" I asked.
Blondie looked to one of the boys, rolling her eyes toward me.
"Fine then." I extended my hand across the table and smiled widely. Grin, bear it, and then . . . something.
"My name's Belladonna, what's yours?"
Bitchy-blond looked down at my hand, hesitating.
"Look, I just changed my name for you. You want me to go wash my hands too?"
Blondie's mouth was hanging open like a fish, but she took my hand. "Lauren," she said.
I smiled sweetly. "Bella. Cut the Isabella shit."
I settled back into my chair and grabbed my chips, popping the bag open. I threw a couple in my mouth and tried to forget how bad they actually tasted.
"So, uh, Bella," said a blond boy sitting next to Frizz-head. His hair was done in rows of neat little spikes, gelled to perfection, and he was wearing a purple shirt.
He was gay, I was sure of it.
"I, uh, like your rings." I glanced down at my hands and the pieces of jewelry on each one. For shit he did.
"Oh, that's nice. Thanks."
"So, um, my name's Mike and this is Tyler." Gay-guy continued, pointing to a really tan boy.
"I heard Tyler throws killer parties or something." I said.
"Oh yeah. He totally does. Right guys?" Frizz perked up and launched into the Tyler-party-stories-achieve.
The table gradually fell into their own rhythm, forgetting I was there, and the rest of the lunch room resumed its chatter. Well, eventually. Lauren did watch me eat though, eyeing my hotdog and soda while she took dainty bites of her salad and whispered to Frizz.
I decided, half way through lunch that I needed to get out of there.
I stood up and dumped my tray, and then wandered the halls until I found a bathroom.
It was empty.
I went to the sink and splashed water on my face, examining my reflection.
I looked like shit. But that was my fault. I hadn't gone home last night, just cruised around town in my truck while snacking on cold fries, courtesy of McDonalds. I hadn't remembered anything, not even after passing my old elementary school. No flashes of any memories.
I sighed, and wiped a little of the leftover black make-up out from under my eyes.
I needed to sleep.
I blinked.
My lids felt heavy, like cement was being injected into the skin there.
I needed a smoke.
I reached for my messenger bag and took out the pack of Marble Lights and lighter I kept there. I lit up, and took a deep drag.
Ah.
God.
That felt good.
I slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, relaxing into the tile. Smoke curled in wispy gray swirls in front of me. I took another inhale, feeling the smoke in my throat, in my mouth, and then blowing out.
I had flown in two days ago. Charlie was fine. The house was fine. The school was fine.
I was not fine.
And that was all I needed to say.
I spaced out.
The door opened.
I didn't move. Teachers didn't come into bathrooms, not if they didn't have to.
I needed a new cigarette.
"Bella Swan,"
My blood froze, and my head snapped toward the voice.
He was leaning against the door, hands in pockets, and just about the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen. Red-brown curls fell into his eyes, a faint shadow fanning across his cheeks from where he had yet to shave. He was tall, lanky, but not skinny.
Hot.
Familiar.
He smiled. "Got a smoke?"
I reached for my pack and he walked over, sitting down next to me.
I could feel the heat from his body.
I handed him the cigarette wordlessly, and he pulled some matches from his pocket.
"So," he inhaled. On the exhale: "Welcome to Forks."
"Thanks. Welcome to the Girl's Bathroom."
We sat in silence for a while.
The bell rang.
I wondered what his name was.
"Got a name?"
He shrugged.
"Really."
He turned and the corner of his lip lifted. "Edward,"
I nodded, rolling it around in my head. It was old fashioned but . . . well, now that he had said it I couldn't really picture him with any other name. Chris, Brad, Ethan . . . boring.
It got quiet again.
Water from the sink dripped once, twice down the drain.
He stubbed out his cigarette.
I closed my eyes.
"When you were five, what did you want to be when you grew up?" He asked suddenly.
My eyes snapped open.
"Uh, I don't know." True.
His eyes caught me. I didn't notice before; they were green, deep forest green. Beautiful. Burning. "You have to. Everyone remembers that."
My heart tugged. I didn't.
I tore my gaze from his.
"No, sorry, I don't remember."
I thought, after a moment where he didn't talk, that we had gone back to silence.
"I wanted to be a fire fighter."
I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. "What do you want to be now?"
"Don't know. Maybe I just won't get a job. Spend my life begging for change." He chuckled darkly. "Certainly would be easier than this. What we're gonna have to do."
He was serious.
He stared at the ceiling.
He scared me.
I hadn't been scared in . . . . forever.
"Don't," I said. "Don't do that. You don't want to have to beg."
He didn't look at me.
"Please, promise me you won't. It's not as easy as it looks, so just please, don't."
Tears clouded my eyes, and it occurred to me that I didn't even know him.
"Just, promise me."
He looked at me, turning his whole body.
He stared at me, green eyes blazing hard.
"Why do you care?" he whispered. "I'm just a stranger."
Tears spilled.
My hands shook.
He got up and headed to the door, but stopped with his hand on the knob.
"Bella. Meet me at the old playground tonight."
The door closed behind him.
Amnesia sucked ass.
