A/N Hey guys so this is a first fanfic for me and a friend of mine, however it's not our first story. Hope you like it enjoy!
School was the one thing in my life that I felt I could control, the one thing that I knew my own potential. Being aware of these facts only intensified my confidence, and sometimes my laziness. Had I applied myself 100% of the time, I could've easily aced all of my classes. Once I got into college, my excuse turned into, 'I can just do this later and get a perfectly fine grade'. Most of my teachers throughout college pulled me aside at one time or another, to tell me I wasn't trying hard enough. I'd agree with them, and go home and try harder in that class for about a week. Maybe. My Film Theory teacher, Mr. Reynolds, loved randomly deciding that I was a terrible person that never tried doing anything in his class. He hated the fact that I could literally do nothing and have an A, not like it was hard, we basically watched movies, he'd lecture about it's great aspects, then we'd write a paper on it. His whole thing was he use to be some great director and producer way back when and I guess when movies were becoming new and young he was getting old and forgotten eventually he turned to teaching. Great story, but I honestly just didn't like him very much. Not only did he use this story as a parable to everything we did throughout the year, but also he only called me by my full name, Isabella or Miss Swan. "You know, Miss Swan, if you would try harder, you could achieve astonishing things, did I ever tell you about the time I worked with the great Bogart..." he'd go on to tell me another one of his great stories that would have more bragging then it did have lesson.
"Isabella!" Mr. Reynolds shouted at me one morning. I was sleeping in class again, but it wasn't my fault, I'd requested to be switched out to of this 6AM class.
I mustered up my energy to make my voice sound as awake as possible, "Yes, Mr. Reynolds?"
"What are some examples of Jeff's neighbors actions that mirror his and Lisa's relationship in Mr. Hitchcock's great film Rear Window?" his thick accent that no one knew quite where it came from, but yet still was equally annoying this early in the morning.
"Oh, it's," I stalled while I looked for my lecture notes, then I realized it was half-complete on the passenger seat of my car, can't do anything but guess "Thorwald and his wife are a reversal of Jeff and Lisa - Thorwald looks after his invalid wife just as Lisa looks after the invalid Jeff. Also, Thorwald's hatred of his nagging wife mirrors Jeff's arguments with Lisa," I heard a faint voice with an accent I hadn't had time to identify, but possibly British, from far behind me. It took me a second to realize it wasn't me who came up with that flawless answer.
"That is correct. Mr. Um, I'm sorry I can't seem to recall your name," Reynolds looked at his list and still couldn't conjure up any sort of name.
"It's fine I was just leaving" he said as he walked out nonchalantly as if he didn't just give an A+ answer and further impress our impossible professor. He walked out, and all I managed to see was a black bag that he was carrying. Then the bell rang, and I was released. I threw my binder in my bag, and slung the bag over my shoulder, still questioning who that was and how I did not know him. I mean Mr. Reynolds only has like 20 kids in his morning class, and I knew over half.
I walked out of his lecture hall, and into the main courtyard of my school, which was crowded with mostly freshmen and sophomores.
Out of nowhere, I hear a deep loud voice shout, "Bells!" and outside of family, there are few people that can call me that, but only one that matched that oh so recognizable voice. And he ran up behind me, picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.
Jacob Black. Star quarterback of our football team, had a nicely built body, not to much muscle, but enough to be totally attractive. He had dark brown hair, and eyes that were as black as the night. But I didn't meet that Jacob. And he didn't meet the Bella I was my senior year. We met when we were in sixth grade. I had dark brown hair, plain, and long; it was practically down to my butt. I wore it in a ponytail right at the base of my neck, everyday. A huge pair of glasses also took up my face. Jacob was a whole different kind of dork. His hair was too short, his clothes were too big for his scrawny little body, he had braces, and a very evident tan that seemed to never fade. But he still had those black eyes. He told me that I looked funny, and I told him he looked like an idiot. We were all each other had, that stereotypical friendship that happened purely because of the cutthroat judgmental middle-schoolers. I came to know he was a sensitive sweet guy; I loved him like a brother. And we acted like siblings. Puberty did us both well, I'd moved to contacts and I started doing my hair, and he'd replaced his braces with abs. We were friends because we were dorks, and we never really grew out of that label. But I trusted him with my life.
"What the hell, Jacob!" I slapped his back, as he was running down the hall carrying me, "Jacob, put me down now!"
"I'm sorry, please file your complaint with between business hours which are between 5-6 every other Thursday," He said in a mocked robotic voice, and then he started running faster.
"Jacob Eupherium Black, put me down! Now!" I was holding onto his mid-back so I wouldn't bounce up and down and look like I was humping his shoulder.
"Ha, you think my full name scares me. Here is your class, so I will let you go. I guess," He put me down and smirked at me.
"Not okay, Jacob, not okay," I was trying to be intimidating, but I was laughing. He laughed at me, turned and started to walk away. I yelled at him down the hall, "I'll get you for this!"
I walked into my English class, and my teacher, Mr. Banner, just rolled his eyes at me when I sat down. The bell rang, and he began a speech about poetry, various poets, and how important poetry was to literature, "Poetry, in my opinion, is the link between all generations, it holds us together. And while it is constantly developing, it still manages a similar meaning," I overheard a couple girls start quoting 'Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day' Psh, that's refined. For middle school, I thought.
"Bella, do you have a favorite poem?" Mr. Banner asked to stop the conversations that were starting.
"E.E. Cummings 'I Carry Your Heart',"
"Could you recite some of it for us?" His look was partially quizzical and interested, partially pleading me to keep these idiots quiet for a little longer.
"I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) I want no world (for beautiful you are my world, my true) and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant and whatever a sun will always sing is you"
"You're wrong. If it is truly your favorite, wouldn't you know that?" A British accent coming from the door had cut me off. He walked out into view, and I honestly wish he hadn't. He was absolutely gorgeous. He had dark bronze hair, that covered up his forehead, but mysteriously revealed his fluorescent green eyes; he had a medium/dark complexion, and a jaw line that had a remarkably chiseled look to it, even though he had to be 23 or 24; he also had a little bit of a stubble that gave him a chic scuffed-up look. This mystery man was wearing a pair of well fit jeans, a light blue button down shirt, tucked in with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, he also had a dark blue tie loosely tied around his open collar. He carried that black messenger bag; if any other guy had been carrying it, their sexual orientation would've been questioned, but this guy, he looked like a Calvin Klein model, but better.
I suddenly realized that he was the one who'd interrupted me in Mr. Reynolds' class and on top of that, he had interrupted me in here too, and that I was pretty frustrated with that whole concept, but he wasn't getting away with interrupting me this time, "Who do you think you are walking in here like you own the place, and correcting me? What if I meant to say that verse first?"
"Well then my dear that would be extremely stupid of you. If you're going to recite that poem out of order, at least give the poet some credit by reciting the last verse, the one that can stand on its own," he stood there leaned up against the wall, and radiated cool confidence.
"Well I didn't want to, obviously. And that is just pure opinion," I could feel my cheeks getting warm and flushed, and I stood up and walked over towards him. Mr. Banner was also clearly getting overwhelmed with this poetry debate about to go down.
But I didn't get a chance to say anything, instead he stood to his full height, around six foot two and began reciting, "Here is the deepest secret nobody knows," he started the last verse, also my favorite line, and it flowed off his tongue flawlessly, "here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud and the sky of the sky of a tree called life; which grows higher than soul can hope or mind can hide, and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart, I carry your heart."
He paused just long enough for me to recite the last line, "I carry it in my heart," I said as I tried gaining back some confidence that I had lost as soon as he began the last verse. It was my best afterall, I wasn't about to have some English punk think he can come right in and teach me English. Wait, ugh nevermind. My heart was racing, and he was standing right in front of me. I was silently praying he wouldn't hear my heartbeat, because I could feel it rocking my whole body. The class, dumbfounded, started applauding. Even Mr. Banner couldn't quite grasp what had just occurred. I just stood there, lust coursing through my veins, practically paralyzed, my pride being the only thing keeping my feet on the ground, instead of my entire body.
When the class finally waned, Mr. Banner attempted to speak, "Um, okay then. So who exactly are you?"
He smiled and walked away from me, so he could talk to Mr. Banner straight on, "I'm Edward. Edward Cullen. I'm a foreign exchange student from the United Kingdom," Okay. So, this was the name of the mysterious genius who liked to interrupt my classes. He talked in a way that seemed so confident, almost cocky, he sounded as if he was announcing his victory in a great war to the small town in which he came from and was defending. I suddenly remembered I was still standing at the front of the classroom, and I managed to stagger back to my seat. I just watched him. Every single way he moved was captivating. Instinct kicked in and I looked over at the seat to my right. It was empty.
"Well, Edward, welcome to the states, and specifically to New York. How about you go seat yourself over there," Mr. Banner pointed at me, "next to Bella. It seems we will be expecting more great literary debates from the two of you. Better brush up on your Catcher and the Rye, that's our next novel. I can't wait to see what arguments the two of you have about Holden." Leave it to Banner to make my biggest embarrassment a keynote in his class.
A/N Whew that was intense right! Wow there is some serious chemistry between these two. Well theres more to come ;D anyway review. Next chapter will get even more interesting.
