A.N. Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse, and Breaking Dawn. Laurie Anderson owns all things Speak.
Sorry for any misspellings and grammar errors. I can't type as fast as the story is coming to me, but I often try, which causes mistakes.
Author's Playlist: Her Diamonds- Rob Thomas, Strong- Jordyn Taylor, 3 AM- Matchbox Twenty.
The map that was folded in my right hand was absolutely no help. The lady at the front desk with neon orange hair told me it would help a lot. I knew by her hair that she shouldn't be trusted. It had taken me at least ten minutes just to find the right hallway and another five trying to find the right classroom. I hated this school, and I hadn't even been there for an hour.
I stood outside room 221 and rechecked my schedule, determined not to walk into the wrong class late. Yeah, this was it. Biology with Mrs. Briar in room 221. I grabbed the door knob and slowly turned it, trying to be as quiet as possible. I pushed the door open slowly, but a loud creak echoed through the empty hallways. Mrs. Briar looked up from her notes, and stared at me with a look that could kill.
I walked over to her desk, ignoring the millions of stares burning holes into my back. I got to her desk and stood with my eyes on the ground.
"So nice of you to join us Miss..." She trailed off, obviously wanting me to finish her sentence.
"Um, Renesmee Cullen." I murmured, so low that I was surprised she heard it. She looked down at her attendance sheet an checked off my name with a stiff flick of her wrist.
"Ah, yes. Miss Cullen. Since it's your first day, I guess I won't send you to the office for being late and disrupting my lecture on Mitosis." Great. Another month learning about the phases of Mitosis and looking at diagrams of cells splitting. "You may take a seat next too..." Her eyes scanned the room for an empty seat and an unfriendly face. A smile spread across her face, and it reminded me of an evil genius. " Mr. Black." She pointed her finger towards the back of the room and I slowly spun around to face my new lab partner.
The boy sitting next to the empty seat that was now mine, was a spitting image of my worst nightmare. I watched his muscles flex as he wrote in his notebook, and his chest move up and down as he breathed. I wanted to run from the classroom and throw up. I couldn't sit next to him. Anyone but him. My nightmare was playing in my head, starting without my permission.
"Follow me." He said, his muscular hand wrapped around mine, pulling me towards a barn in the backyard.
I giggled a few times and just trailed behind him. He was a senior. He was strong and gorgeous and he wanted me. I thought that he would be my boyfriend. Someone to protect me and love me and help me. How could anything go wrong?
I heard someone clear their throat and I realized that I had sweat rolling down my forehead. My hands were shaking and my legs were unsteady. I pushed myself forward, against the warnings my brain was screaming at me, and slowly made my way to the empty seat I was doomed to for the rest of the year.
I took my seat silently, still shaking and sweating, and Mrs. Briar started again on her lecture about Mitosis. I knew all about mitosis, but I couldn't look anywhere without meeting curious eyes, so I concentrated on taking detailed notes, keeping my eyes on my notebook at all times.
I had taken notes, almost a perfect record of her monologue, on the phases, until she started to drone about telephase. She had explained it, plain and simple, easy and clear, but of course there was one student who decided to question something scientifically proved millions of times. I was sick of writing and rewriting the same things. I started to let my eyes wander, which was a huge mistake.
I only met his eyes for a split second, but when I did, he flashed the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. I almost threw up. His teeth were snow white, glistening against his deep russet skin. Two dimples appeared on either cheek, and his eyes glowed. I couldn't look any longer. I turned back to my notes and kept my eyes there for the rest of class. My mind kept on wandering to the stranger's face. There was something there that had been missing from it's face. Something that brought on a feeling of security and trust. Don't trust him. I thought the same thing about it, and that's what got me... I couldn't finish the mental sentence. It would bring back the fear, the tears, the pain.
As soon as the bell rang, I pulled myself out of my seat and went straight for the door. I realized that I had to get some stupid paper signed by each of my teachers half way to the door and I froze, debating whether or not to bother. Something hard hit my back and I heard someones hand grab my shoulder and say, in an apologetic voice, "Oh God, I'm so sorry. You can't just stop like that, though." I could feel the warmth of his hand through my shirt, and I could barely keep from screaming. He stepped in front of me and turned in my direction, his hand still on my shoulder. He bent down so his eyes were at mine, and I couldn't look away. My mouth was hanging open and my eyes were wide still from the shock of his hand.
"Are you alright?" He asked, his voice full of worry and concern. I couldn't say anything. My throat was dry, but I had to say something. His eyes filled with honest concern of my well being, and I mustered up a quiet, "Yeah, sorry." and I turned out of his grip, almost running to Mrs. Briar's desk. I looked back for only a second and saw him turn, his eyebrows pulled down in confusion. He walked out of the classroom and I heard someone squeal, "Jake!" The voice was high-pitched and happy to see him obviously. So the dangerous, caring stranger's name was Jake. Jacob Black.
"Um, can you sign this?" I asked Mrs. Briar, studying the name plate on her desk. It was gold with black lettering. The black was starting to fade, and there were millions of scratches on the gold surface. She must have been at the high school for a long time.
She took the paper roughly and signed the line in tiny scrawl that, even with the elegance on the lettering, looked stiff and threatening. She handed me back the paper and shooed me away.
In English, I was only five minutes late, and Mr. Whitlock seemed very nice. His honey colored hair was wavy and slightly all over the place. He was tall and skinny, but he defiantly had muscle. He smiled at me warmly when I walked through the door and told me to find an empty seat anywhere in the room. Jacob Black wasn't in my English class, but someone that looked almost identical to him was. His name was Quil. He kept staring at me and I had no idea why. It wasn't a perverted stare, more of an interested stare. I could tell he was trying to figure me out. The only problem was, I had a very carefully constructed shell. It was what I liked to call the "Anti-Ness." No real emotions programed into her. All she did was cover up my wounds and pain.
Mr. Whitlock took my slip with a smile at the end of class and asked me what I thought of the school so far and if I had met anyone yet, and some other questions about my life outside of school. My answers were short and quiet, but Mr. Whitlock didn't seem to mind. He handed me the slip and said good luck, as if it would help.
Gym was third period, and it was one of the most humiliating situations I had ever been in. Mr. McCarthy kept picking on me for demonstrations, and I had never failed so miserably in my life. He was a happy man. He had huge muscles and always wore a grin that went from one ear to the other. His laugh was booming, but he brought energy into the room that made practically everyone smile. I found out who "Jake"'s girl was. Her name was Leah Clearwater. She was a cheerleader with an oversized chest and a curvy body. No wonder he liked her. He was a guy after all. I knew her name because Mr. McCarthy kept yelling "LEAH CLEARWATER! Jake's not here, so stop trying to look good and start running!" When ever she would slow down and look at the guys near her. I wanted to laugh at her, but I could barely get a cough out of my throat.
Mr. McCarthy signed my slip with a booming laugh and said, "Oh, how I hate these stupid slips. There's no point." He handed me back the now crumpled piece of paper and I left quickly. His signiture was messy and big compared to Mr. Whitlock and Mrs. Briar's signitures. But even Mr. Whitlock's name looked graceful and welcoming, if a signiture could feel welcoming. Mrs. Briar's was like cardboard compaired to them, just like her personality.