I have nothing against Oklahoma, or hicks, btw. This was my brother's opinion on the south, though, lol.

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EPOV

Pulling out my iPod earphones for what I knew would be the last time for at least ten weeks, I stepped off the filthy government bus that had led me to the place I'd been losing sleep over for weeks. Months even.

This was what my mother had demanded I do with my life. And if she hadn't been on her death bed when she'd said that, God knows I wouldn't be here right now, looking at nothing but the flat nothing that was Oklahoma. Blue, unclouded skies, hicks, and knock off stores as far as the eye could see.

I looked around and saw that a good sixty or so men were already here. Guess my bus was late, I thought.

"Yo Cullen!" a deep voice bellowed. I turned around to find a huge, muscular figure towering above me. His size was quite intimidating, and quite frankly I'd thought he'd be the battery's own bully.

"Yes...?" It's a very strange, unsettling feeling to walk into an unknown place and have some random stranger just yell out your name. Especially since we hadn't even received our name tags.

He smiled a huge grin, literally ear to ear, and stuck his hand out. "Hey man, I'm McCarty. Nice to finally meet you, Cullen."

I'm sure confusion was written all over my face as I shook his hand.

He laughed and pointed to one of the men in the higher ranking uniforms. He had hair so gray that it was almost white, and was tall, almost lanky. "Dude, see that douche right there?"

I nodded. "He's a drill sergeant." Drill Sergeant Volturi wasn't one of the people I was going to be messing with. My brother James had quite a few horror stories of his own experiences here, most of them centered around him doing something idiotic and Drill Sergeant Volturi forcing him to do pushups or crunches or something. Oo, scary. But for someone as naive and unprepared as James, who always managed to find shortcuts in gym so that he wouldn't have to run a mile or do any exercise whatsoever, I suppose it was absolutely, crap-your-pants-on-contact terrifying.

McCarty lowered his voice; something I'd thought to be impossible. "No shit, he's a drill sergeant. His name is fucking Volturi. Keeps calling me Cullen. Asshole. He obviously can't read."

I laughed. "Just keep your mouth shut when you're near him. One of his favorite things to do is piss people like you off." In every single one of James' letters, he'd explain, in gruesome detail, the horrors of his personal piece of hell, basic training. I'd known for a fact that if my idiot brother had just kept his mouth shut, then he wouldn't have to run extra laps and do so many extra pushups.

"Nah. The worst thing they can do is fail me and send me to fat camp. I wouldn't mind the extra exercise." He laughed, and about twenty of the other newcomers turned to stare, questions written in their eyes. McCarty seemed used to people's reaction to his all around...loudness. I mean, it's sort of hard to dodge all those stares. "So, kid, where are you from?"

"Chicago."

"The windy city?" he asked, and I nodded. "Nice. I'm from New York."

I didn't need his answer to know he was from New York. His accent was a dead giveaway.

"Do you know anyone here yet?" I asked in a weak attempt to keep the conversation flowing.

"Sure do, my friend. I know, he seems like the type to run off dancing and skipping through a field of rainbows and unicorns, but I promise, he's cool," McCarty had a way with words. I had to fight the sudden urge to ask why he wasn't a poet. "Hey, Whitlock!" he called, and a tall, pale man, looking no older than his mid-twenties turned in our direction, putting his conversation with one of the Drill Sergeants on hold. He had blonde hair that was even longer and shaggier than mine, "C'mere, man."

Whitlock jogged over to where we stood. He outstretched his hand towards me, and spoke, in a heavy southern drawl, "Nice to meet you."

"Cullen, meet my good ol' pal Whitlock," McCarty said, pulling Whitlock into a headlock and ruffling his hair. "He knows his way down south, if you know what I mean."

"Shut up, Emmett...er...McCarty." Whitlock laughed.

"You guys know each other outside of this rut?" I asked.

"Sure do," Whitlock said, smiling a little and rolling his eyes. "'Monster McCarty' here's dating my sister."

"And she is fine," McCarty added, his eyes glazing over. "She does this thing with her tongue, where..."

"Alright, alright! I don't want to hear what my sister does with her tongue." Whitlock scrunched up his face in disgust.

I felt a twinge of jealousy. Sure, I'd had relationships with girls. They weren't lasting, though, and weren't anything memorable. With a sigh, a shook off those thoughts.

"Whitlock! McCarty! Cullen!" Drill Sergeant Aro Volturi called. "Fuckin' push! We called you over here two minutes ago!"

And with a groan, we dropped onto the dirt.