A/N: This is my second story, and will be much more lighthearted than my first. Shall I continue? Hit or miss; you tell me? Next chapter completed; awaiting your approval. I did not go to medical school, but I am a Katrina survivor. I own nothing unless I say I do. PLEASE read and REVIEW!

Much love pplz!

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I was the new guy in town; the latest addition to Louisiana State University's baseball team. I'd transferred, from Harvard, much to my father's chagrin, after falling in love with the people we rescued during the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina. My father was a high society Sports Medicine physician in New York; he'd envisioned me completing my higher education in Harvard, or perhaps Yale—even Dartmouth would have been acceptable. LSU? Yeah, not so much. It was just an ordinary afternoon practice, and my teammates were scattered on the field. Some stretching, some playing long toss; some hitting on balls, and others on women.

There was no shortage of good looking women in this place.

Briefly, I caught myself thinking of Tanya. Ahh, Tanya, last year had been my summer of love. She'd left me after I had confessed my feelings, saying she wasn't ready for a commitment yet. We had been together since high school; I was devastated. I'd been something of a mess after she dumped me; dating girl after girl—with little to no space in between. I'd developed quite the "love 'em and leave 'em" reputation, but that was exactly what I was trying to erase from my record. I was at the peak of my displeasure when my father suggested that we offer aid to a state that had been ravaged by natural disaster.

I stood by the dugout, on the practice field, scanning the scene in front of me. Pulling my new cap over my forehead, I delved into a deep daydream.

We'd entered the city by boat, searching buildings for survivors. Tirelessly working twelve hour shifts, we broke into houses, searched, called out, and marked our findings on the roof in fluorescent orange paint. I'd never seen anything quite like it, and in my two months there, I knew I'd fallen in love. I could see myself building a home, rebuilding a life, here in the "Big Easy". Nothing seemed easy for these people now; people that I rescued out of water eleven feet high. People whose homes I helped rebuild from pure rubble, with my bare hands. The most striking memory I had, was pulling a school teacher off of the roof of her two story home. She'd been standing on a three foot square of roof, dehydrated and delirious, for more than four days before we found her. Her aged father had drowned inside; she wasn't fast enough to get him outside when the 17th street canal burst.

After arriving home, I applied to the University, and went through the necessary hoops to get myself onto the team. Transferring had been easier than I anticipated. I met no resistance, academically, as I was coming from Harvard, and was a staple on the Dean's list. It was really late for me to sign up for the team, but a few very large donations opened a cushy pitching spot for me. I knew my father didn't support my decision, but I had to go, to heal, to grow up, to be myself. The first step had been finding, and purchasing a house. With the help of my mother, Esme, that turned out to be easy and rewarding. She even came with me to pick out furnishings, after she finished redesigning the interior, of course. All the money I was saving in tuition could easily cover the expense of starting out—real estate was an excellent investment.

"Cullen!" a gruff voice called to me, snapping me out of my memories. "Let's go boys!; time for drills!" A shrill whistle sounded, and all of my new team mates drew into a tight circle.

"Gather round, ladies!" Everyone, myself included, snickered. "We've only got a few weeks to turn this rag tag group of guys into a team. We're gonna stretch till you can tie your girlfriend's legs behind your head. We're gonna run till you collapse. You're gonna catch every ball you toss. Knock every ball you hit out of the park. Am I clear?"

About twenty-five "Yeah!"s floated down the field. I pulled my hat lower over my brow as coach Minieri blew his whistle again.

"Then get the fuck out of here and run till I tell you to stop!" And that's exactly what we did.

"Jesus Christ!" One of my teammates exclaimed, as I wiped oceans of sweat out of my hair. Louisiana heat and humidity was legendary! "He was a real sadist today." This guy had a good six inches on me, and I was over six feet tall myself; it was an accomplishment. He was HUGE, almost as if he were blown up on steroids, with curly black hair and truly kind blue eyes.

I shook my head to clear it, not realizing he was talking to me. "What's your name, soldier?" He asked me, extending his colossal hand to shake my own.

"Edward. Edward Cullen, it's good to know you...Mr..."

"What's with this mister shit, pal. Name's Emmett, Emmett Swan." Wiggling his eyebrows like a vaudeville villain, he gave me a good pat on the back, and let out a booming laugh. "I won't let these guys give you too much trouble. Hey, some of us are going out tonight. Let me show you around! I got a designated driver and EVERYTHING."

Something in my expression made his laughter ring out louder. I wasn't really the bar type, but the idea of hanging out with someone other than myself was fantastic. "Write your address down; I'll pick you up at nine." He stripped off the last of his uniform, and headed to the showers. My eyes bugged out as I realized just how muscular that guy was. He must body build in his spare time. I sure as hell wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley...

After practice, I made my way over to my Mercedes, and was putting my duffel into the trunk when I heard several noises in quick succession. First it was the sound of wheels rolling, a crash, the sound of a woman's scream, and books smashing to the ground. I turned to see someone rollerblading away at top speed. It was the whimper that turned my attention back to the ground, where a young brunette was haphazardly strewn, holding her ankle.

"Are you hurt?" I asked her, her small heart-shaped face snapping up. Startling her was not my intention; she had not realized that I was there to witness her downfall. I recognized her as a girl from my advanced physiology class. In my weeks here, I saw nothing but her in that classroom.

Her eyes were the most beautiful chocolate orbs that I'd ever seen; her upturned nose the pinnacle of cuteness. She was built on a slight frame, delicate, breakable. She had a freckle over her left eyebrow. Her watch of choice was a blue Swiss Army; she always wore a turquoise bracelet, and a ring with a white stone. Other than the fact that I was absolutely obsessed with her, there was nothing remarkable about her. The odd twist of her Converse laden ankle worried me. I reached down to help her, my open trunk quickly forgotten. "Can you move at all?" Crouching low, I reached my hand out to feel her ankle. It was just beginning to swell, but it was not broken.

Her first words were in supreme irritation, and shocked me. "Well I'll be... Ugh! Some people have no home training!" (A/N: Manners) She huffed loudly, and her drawl reminded me of Scarlett O'Hara. I could almost picture her saying 'Fiddle dee dee.' as she smoothed her hoop skirt. The thought of that alone, set my emotions on fire. This girl was, most certainly, a native. "I'll be happier than a pig in shit, if I could just get my hands on him..." She winced as she moved her ankle in circles. I began to gather her books, grinning at her overly candid nature. This one was feisty; she had spunk. The suspicions I'd developed these past weeks were correct--she was perfect.

"May I walk you to your car? You shouldn't carry the extra weight with your ankle. Be sure to put ice on it when you get home." She gave me a 'you're talking to me?!' kind of look. I'd give anything to hear what was going on in that mind of hers.

"It's not necessary, really." She turned her face away from me, staring at the ground, and shrinking away from me. "It's just over there; I think I can make it." She began to flush, violently, as I started heading in the direction she had pointed, but not before I grabbed an ACE bandage from the trunk of my car; I'd wrap her ankle before I let her go.

Reluctantly, she followed me. "You're awfully polite, for a Yankee." I roared with laughter; I couldn't help it. Perhaps I should've worn my Yankees baseball cap—I have a feeling that would've made a lasting impression.

"And you're most definitely a true Charmer." I'd been reading a book on the local vernacular, and I was proud that I could use my first word. She rolled her eyes at me, and continued to limp towards her vehicle. A white 2003 Toyota Camry; a nice dependable car. She was feisty, had spunk, was dependable. Still perfect.

"Thank ya' for bringin' my stuff to the car." She was fumbling with her keys when they fell out of her purse. I bent down to pick them up, and unlocked the door for her.

"You're very welcome. Please, sit down; I'd like to wrap your ankle, so it won't hurt as much when you walk on it." She smiled a smile that touched her sad brown eyes.

"A'ight, Yank." My first nickname; I could have leaped into the air with joy! Somehow, my heart skipped a beat. She called me Yank! Laughing, I asked her where she was from. "I was born and raised here." She extended her arm to demonstrate that she considered this place her home.

"How 'bout you, Yank? Where ya' from?" I had finished untying her shoe, and was gingerly slipping it off her foot, so that I could wrap it.

Glancing up at her, I noticed how lovely she was; even close up. Even her nose hairs were perfect. "I was born in Chicago, but my father relocated us to New York, when I was young; it's the only home I really remember."

"Ooh boy." She exclaimed, with a wink. There must be some inside joke that I'm not a part of—probably because of my birthplace and parentage.

"What?" I laughed again; she conjured images of puppies and rainbows in my head. Her speech was just so colorful; so delightful! And yet, her eyes didn't match the rest of her; I could feel the intense distress radiating from within their deep brown depths.

"You're a real Yankee. We Southernista's have names for people like you!" She sounded like we were a different species; she was hysterical. I skipped another heartbeat when she winked again. She'd changed my black and white world to absolute color with the simple flick of a switch, and it was the first time we'd spoken. I hadn't been this tongue tied around a woman since high school. Total de-evolution.

I grinned at her, and winked back. "That's it, my friend." I found myself sighing, as I finished wrapping her left ankle. She would leave now, and I found myself cringing at the thought. I patted her leg as I stood from my crouch. Too personal of a move? Ah well, too late now!

She shuffled her leg carefully into the car, and closed the door. I still had her sneaker, so I knocked on the glass, and she grinned. She manually rolled her window down, and I mustered all the courage that I had; it was now or never. "Hey, Charmer? What's your name? Can I look you up in the directory?" I didn't want to let her slip through my fingers, if I could help it.

Her big brown eyes popped a little wider, and she said, "Maybe next time. Thanks for the help, Yank!" She winked at me as she drove away, taking a little piece of my heart with her.

Special thanks to Den20, without her these first few chapters would be pitiful.