Chapter One: Living the Life and Social Deviation

I was athletic. I was insanely popular. I got the best grades in the school. I was terribly good-looking, if I do say so myself. I had friends coming out of my ears. I had wonderfully hot girls draped over my arms at every moment. I had more money than anybody who had ever lived in the tiny, tiny town of Forks, Washington.

I was Edward Masen, and I lived The Life. The life everyone wants to have, the life everyone dreams about. What more could I ask for?

--

"Hey, man, you up for a party tonight at my house? All the usual chicks plus that one hot Mediterranean babe with the huge ti—"

"Maya?" I interrupted my best friend coolly, easily dazzling a girl walking down the hallway with a lazy grin. James chuckled as he saw her eyes glaze over and she tripped over the air.

"Yeah, her, whatever. Are you in?"

Did he really have to ask that? "Aren't I always? Bet you fifty bucks I'll have Maya upstairs by the end of the night."

"I accept and counter your offer with another fifty that I'll get her naked before she even looks in your direction." He smiled arrogantly, obviously confident with his caveman-like 'I Man, you Woman, we have hot, sweaty sex until the early morning hours' seducing technique.

Hah. My technique was infinitely more effective—he just never bothered to listen to it.

"A hundred on Maya, then?" We shook each other's hand firmly. "May the best man win," I smirked.

James started to stalk away just as the tardy bell rang. "Shut up and get to class, Masen!" he threw over his shoulder, prowling down the deserted hallway in his usual almost leonine manner.

Chuckling at his lacking retort to my lacking insult, I turned to leave as well. I had English next, so being late wasn't an issue; Mrs. King loved me.

Maya Turner . . . she was going to be slightly difficult. But up against James? He didn't stand a chance, poor guy.

I must have been paying more attention to the task at hand rather than where I was walking, since a small someone barreled around the corner at full speed and ran straight into my chest, sending a flurry of the papers she was holding into the air and onto the floor.

"Sorry . . . sorry," she murmured, sticking a pencil behind her ear and grabbing the mess of papers I had gathered for her. Before I could say a word she was off again, muttering something that sounded like "Atlantis . . . Atlantis . . . evil queen . . . cataclysmic proportions . . . don't forget, don't forget . . ."

Strange doesn't even begin to cover it.

English and then Trigonometry passed in a blur of letters and numbers; it wasn't until lunch that my life finally slowed down around me.

"Dude," Laurent hissed across the table, obviously stifling a laugh. "Dude, that social deviant is staring at you."

"Who?"

x x x x x x x

"Alice! Alice?" Nothing. "Alice! Earth to Alice!" I waved my hand in front of her face. "Mary Alice Brandon!"

My tiny, spiky-haired friend jumped so high she almost toppled sideways off her chair before righting herself and glaring at me with her piercing ice blue eyes. "What?" she snapped.

"Alice," I said, fighting back a laugh, "you went into some kind of trance! Are you okay?"

She glanced nervously over my shoulder, in the direction she'd been staring. "Oh . . . yeah, I'm fine."

"You dirty little liar. What were you—" I stopped myself short as I realized I probably didn't want to know. "Okay, you win, Alice . . . but you will tell me eventually."

Alice was saved from answering as the rest of our friends walked over with their lunches; The Group, the only group that matters, had lovingly deemed us the social deviants, which I could understand to an extent. Among my friends was a man the size of a bear, but a softy at heart; an insecure, leggy should-be supermodel; a wannabe army major that might actually get there someday; and an overly bubbly shopping-obsessed pixie.

Then there was me. I was everything my friends weren't: plain, shy, more willing to stay at home with my nose in a book than to go shopping. 'Social deviant' worked for me, but my friends? They should be something so much more, yet they always stuck by me—no matter what.

"Bellaaa!" Emmett, the bear, called. "Trip over anything yet today?"

"Shut up, Emmett," I said, sending a piece of pizza crust at his head. "And yeah, more or less. Does that surprise you?"

"More or less?" The supermodel, Rosalie, giggled. "How much more and how much less?"

I lowered my head. "Well it was someone not something."

"Who?" Alice pressed, back to her nosy, bouncy self.

I tried unsuccessfully to hide my blush. "Edward Masen."

The table erupted into hysterics.

"Only . . . only you, Bella," Rose choked through her mirth. "Only you could run into Edward Masen, of all the people . . ."

"Ass," I muttered. "Didn't even say sorry."

That triggered a whole new round of giggles at my expense.

"What did you expect, Bella?" Jasper, the wannabe major, asked once relative calm had settled at the table. "Roses?" He snorted.

I rolled my eyes. "Let's move on, shall we? Are we doing anything tonight? 'Cause I got this really good idea for a story and—"

"Bella, please. You write or have your nose in a book every night. Tonight we're going—"

I groaned.

"—to a party! Won't that be fun?"

"Alice, I have this epic plot in my head and it's screaming to be let out! I'll forget it all if I don't . . ."

The look on her face was enough to make me trail off. "Oh, you'll see, everything'll be fine. Trust me—"

"I'm Alice!" I finished under my breath. She glared.

"That was not nice, Bella. I'll be at your house by four. And don't even think about locking the door—if I'm forced to break a window I won't hesitate, and you know that."

--

Well, it was worth a shot.

"Bella, I'm warning you . . . if this door isn't open in five seconds this window is dust. Five . . . four . . . three . . ."

I opened the door to a smiling Alice. "Okay, okay, fine, come on. Let's get this over with."

Two hours later, after being poked, prodded, pulled, plucked, primped and every other 'p' word on the planet, I stood in front of the mirror admiring Alice's handiwork.

She'd gone smoky on the eyes, but light and natural everywhere else. My hair was in a messy bun, like I usually wore, but it was more artistically messed and curled than I would have done. Several strands of hair fell into my face, and whenever I'd reach up to tuck them back, Alice would slap my hand and shout "Bad girl! Don't touch that!" like I was five years old.

The dress was a deep blue, and probably should have been a shirt rather than a dress. It hugged my curves perfectly, enhancing everything I didn't have. On the left was a normal short sleeve, but on the right there was a strap with a gold chain connecting it to the front of the dress. I had to admit it was very flattering, but it was more revealing than I'd like. I only really threw a fit when Alice pulled out the shoes I was to wear, though.

"Alice, what the hell?! Are you trying to get me killed? Those stilts are effing death traps!"

She shook the three-inch silver and gold heels in my face. "Bella, these shoes are a work of art, and they match your dress—"

"Shirt," I mumbled defiantly.

"—dress perfectly! Please, please, pleaseeee, Bella, please?" She pulled out her infamous puppy pout. The expression was truly heartbreaking—I was a goner.

"Fine, Alice. But if I die I'm sending you the funeral bill."

"YAAAYYYYYY! Yay, Bella! You won't regret it, I promise! I'm Alice!" she squealed, hopping up and down, before running to ready herself for the party.

While she was otherwise distracted I wrote down as much as I could about my new storyline—who would have thought I'd be inspired by Spongebob playing in my orthodontist's waiting room? The idea of Atlantis was so interesting to me—that maybe there was a city buried deep in the ocean, full of way-ahead-of-its-time technology, and if you countered in that the peoples of Atlantis were magical, could they have foreseen the future and built some sort of protection device? Could there still be a thriving city, miles below sea level?

If I had mentioned this notion to Alice, she would have scoffed and told me to get my head out of fiction and get laid.

I have sensitive friends, don't I?

No, really, I love all my friends. Jasper is a little quiet, but he and Alice—who have been dating for more than a year—are perfect together, and are obviously in love. Emmett and Rose, also together, are well matched as well, both being loud, outspoken, and opinionated. Us social deviants have to stick together—otherwise, people like James Hunter and Edward Masen would stomp all over you and your emotions. Luckily, they never noticed me. If they felt the need to pick on a poor deviant, they usually picked Rose, preying on her insecurities. Though she was insanely gorgeous, as was her brother Jasper, the slightest flaw in her appearance had her flying into a solution-finding frenzy.

The front door opened, interrupting my thoughts. "Bella, Alice! Time to jet!" Rosalie called from the foyer.

"Coming!" Alice and I shouted back at the same time. I walked, laughing, towards her voice just as Alice came bounding down the stairs, wearing a little black dress that covered even less than mine did. She looked spectacular, as usual. What was with me having gorgeous friends?

Five minutes later, after piling into Emmett's humongous jeep and enduring a short car ride full of Alice and Rose belting 'I Kissed A Girl,' we pulled up to a house practically pulsing with the sound from the bass inside. Strobe lights made white spots erupt in my vision.

"Alice, can we go home? Please?"

"Are you kidding me? Let's go!" she practically screamed, and took off into the swarm of scantily dressed teenagers.

Now or never. Here goes nothing.

I stepped from the jeep carefully, and made my way up the driveway, fully preparing myself for the worst.