I know, this took forever. I've actually had it done for a few weeks, but my beta is having trouble printing it so that she may edit. Therefore, this chapter is unedited. Please be patient with any grammatical errors and I will repost the edited chapter when it is completed. Thank you.
Disclaimer: I don't own any Twilight-related items, except for the two posters hanging up on my wall.
Eckhart Prep. I have heard of it before, of course. It's not a place that just exists; Eckhart makes its presence known. Anyone who is going to make it big goes here. The athletics are unbeatable; the arts are perfection; and the academics… Harvard University can't compete. Good thing Eckhart is just a private high school, or the other universities would have to settle as being fallback schools.
Everyone who has even the slightest chance tries to get into Eckhart. How Charlie got me in here is a complete mystery to me; I'm not athletic or artistic, and my grades are only alright. Okay, so I was top in my class in Phoenix, but that was public school. Eckhart is on a completely different level from any other school in the country. I don't doubt that European school don't compare, either.
Yet here I sit, in my mandatory Monday uniform, awaiting admittance onto the school grounds. Since the process is taking a while, I take a moment to survey my surroundings.
Eckhart doesn't play around. The entire facility is enclosed in ten-foot-high wrought iron security fencing, complete with a single gate from where people can enter and exit the premises. This impressively intimidating gate contains an intricate 'E' in its center, and the arch above it houses the Eckhart crest and script which reads: "Ualeo Sulum Vultus per Veneratio quod Civilis"- To Succeed in Every Aspect with Honor and Civility.
I glance down at my black blazer, studying the emblem stitched onto the pocket, which is located on the left side of the jacket. It parallels the design on the arch, the only variations on the stitching being the 'Eckhart Preparatory' above the crest and the motto below it.
I turn my head to face Charlie's side of the car, looking out his window. There is a guard station that is fully equipped with monitors, computers, and a muscle-bound security guard, who is currently inspecting our IDs. I notice he keeps a watchful eye on his gun, a bulky piece of equipment I seriously doubt I could ever lift, much less use against him.
As I look around once more, a single persistent thought keeps invading my mind: Is this a school or a prison?
With a flip of a lever and a sweep of his arm, the guard finally grants us admittance onto the school grounds. The wide-swinging gate gives me an ominous sense of foreboding, and a sickening chill runs up my spine. Charlie eases his Civic Hybrid under the arch and drives up the path, up to the front of the admission building. Charlie has a thing about hybrids; he loves the advanced technology and ecological benefits of a car that doesn't fully rely on fossil fuels. I just wish I could drive myself to-and-from school, so that I may bring less attention to myself.
As we step out of the car, I instinctively lower my head, both using my hair as a shield and making sure to avoid eye contact with any of the people milling about in front of the main office. We approach the door, Charlie grabbing the handle, swinging the door open, and gesturing to me to enter before him.
"Are you excited, Bells?"
"Sure, Dad."
"I know you're nervous. Don't worry; I'm sure there are a good group of kids you'll make fast friends with."
Fast friends, right. Is he forgetting that I don't make friends at all, much less fast friends? Does the fact that, in the past twelve years that I have gone to school, I have always been the child playing blocks by myself in the corner, swinging alone on the swing set at recess, or sitting at a lunch table occupied by no one else, escape his mind?
I am, in no way, shape, or form, a social person. I have never been one. Anti-socialism is ingrained into my every cell. Charlie says I'm like this because I'm shy, but I know better. I don't want friends because I don't want to feel my heart rip to shreds, creating a pain so terrible that it leaves me breathless. I know it will happen when a friend has to move away, or tells me that we can no longer be friends because they don't like me anymore. As I refuse to feel that pain once more, I shelter myself from others.
It's much easier to keep my distance and make friends with the characters in the stories I read. They will never leave me; the will never tell me I'm no longer good enough. The characters stay with me forever, always found within the books, eternally awaiting my return. They are always welcoming to me, every time I open the cover and let the words flow through my mind, through my heart.
We approach the front desk, and the kind-faced receptionist greets us with a warm smile.
"Welcome to Eckhart Preparatory Academy. My name is Mrs. Cope. You must be Isabella Swan."
"Bella," I murmur.
"I'm sorry, dear, I didn't catch that. Could you repeat it, please?"
I clear my throat, simultaneously summoning whatever courage I have. "I prefer Bella."
"Bella, of course. Such a pretty name. Here is your schedule, map of the school grounds, student handbook, and list of books and supplies, which you will need to retrieve from the student store. You can locate the store on the map I just gave you. I suggest reading though the handbook as soon as you get the chance, so as to avoid any accidental rule breaking. If you will just step through here, we can get your photo taken for your student ID." She stands, walking towards the left hallway that leads away from the door we entered.
"Mr. Swan, if there is nothing else I can do for you, you are free to leave." Mrs. Cope gestures towards the front door.
Charlie sighs. "Bye Bells, I'll pick you up at four o'clock sharp. I'll have a surprise waiting for you at home." He grins, tips his head towards me, and exits the building. Charlie doesn't have to start his job until tomorrow, so he gets to sit at home watching television while I sweat out eight hours of torture. I mean, school.
I turn to follow Mrs. Cope down the hallway, stopping behind her as she turns towards the door on our right.
"Right through here is Mitch, our main photographer. He will take your picture, and then you may head towards the auditorium, located on your map. Monday assembly starts in ten minutes, so I suggest you hurry down there and get a good seat. Mr. Bowman will give the announcements, and then the first class of the day will commence. Good luck." She passes by me to head towards her desk, and I enter the room to get my photograph taken.
As I pass through the doorway, I immediately identify the thin man dressed completely in black, an impatient expression on his face and an expensive camera on his lap. Once he acknowledges my presence, he unfolds his tall frame from the chair in the corner and comes to stand before me.
"Alright, stand on the 'X' and face me," he says, boredom dripping from every word he utters.
I do as he asks, managing to trip only twice on my journey to the 'X'.
"Now, smile."
I do, slightly tilting the corner of my lips up.
"What is that? You call that a smile? You look constipated. Smile like you mean it."
I try harder, stretching my lips until my teeth are exposed. His impatience is written plainly on his face, and I make my third and last attempt to give him what he wants.
"Much better! Now you actually look happy. One, two, three."
As he snaps the picture, the flash blinds me, and I take a step backwards. That is a big mistake, as my lack of sight joins with my inherent lack of balance, causing me to end up falling flat on my back.
Mitch walks towards my motionless form, clucking his tongue as he peers down at me.
"I see we are going to have some trouble with you this year. Who ever heard of a girl tripping on air?" he says, sneering as he makes fun of my clumsiness. "Here's your ID." He drops the ID card, which lands next to my left shoulder. I snatch it up, placing it in my blazer pocket.
My cheeks flush a deep crimson, and I mentally chide myself for my annoying habits of falling and profusely blushing. As I return to a standing position, I dust off my green, gold, black, and white tartan skirt, another requirement for the Monday uniform. I straighten my white knee-high socks, smooth out my black blazer and white oxford shirt, and quickly exit the photography room with as much dignity as I am able to cling to.
As I leave the admissions building, I pull out the map Mrs. Cope had given me and locate the assembly building. It seems they have a building for everything. There is a science building, a music building, a math building. It's like the segregation of the subjects around here.
I spot the assembly building, located just beyond the dining hall. As I make my way towards it, I start to notice some of the people heading in the same direction. I really hope I don't make a fool of myself in front of all of them. It would be just my luck that on my first day here I make some big mistake and everyone coins me as 'Spaghetti Girl' or something equally mortifying. I lower my head once again and concentrate on the map in front of me. Naturally, my lack of focus paired with my innate ability to walk into anything within a five-mile radius of me is called upon once again as I literally crash into the girl walking in front of me.
We tumble to the ground, pain searing through my back and head. I wonder about the extent of my victim's injuries, as she's the one who ended up soaring through the air before finally collapsing into the grass. Immediately I run over to her, my injuries forgotten, to make sure ambulances are not needed. It won't be the first time.
"Hey, are you alright? I'm so sorry about that." I blush, a natural and inevitable reaction, and hope that my human wrecking ball abilities didn't cause any permanent damage.
She shifts herself into a sitting position and looks herself over, not noticing the smear of dirt located on her left cheekbone.
"I'm okay, I think. Nothing hurts too badly. Are you okay? You went down hard, too." She does look okay, and I'm surprised she's asking if I'm alright instead of verbally ripping my head off.
"I'm fine. It's not my first time. Um, by the way, you have dirt on your cheek from the fall."
She wipes the dirt away with the sleeve of her blazer and stands up, finishing her inspection. Then she holds her hand out to me for a handshake. I take her hand, shake it, and she says, "Now that we've had our first encounter, allow me to introduce myself. I'm Angela Webber. I'm a senior."
"I'm Bella," I counter, blushing once again. "I'm new here, and I'm a senior as well. Again, I am so sorry about that. I'm terribly clumsy."
"Don't worry about it. No blood, no foul. Come on; if we don't hurry, we'll be late for assembly."
We continue towards the assembly building in companionable silence. I still can't believe I barreled into her like that. Well, I can, but knowing how I am, I should have been watching where I was going. One thing I really like about Angela is that I don't have to fill the silence with useless chatter. We're both content with keeping inside our own minds.
We reach the doors of the assembly building and my hands begin to shake. I feel clammy, dizzy, and all-around nauseous. Right behind those doors is a very large group of people I don't know; a group of people who probably won't like me, will find me to be weird, and may even tease me or call me names. It's an entire building full of people I am completely terrified of.
Angela notices my anxiety and a concerned expression flashes across her features.
"Hey, are you okay? You've gone pale."
Were the situation any less horrifying I might have laughed. Of course I'm pale. I'm practically albino, save for my mud-colored hair.
"Um, do we have to go to these things? I'd rather not. Maybe I could just wait outside."
Sympathy appears on her face. "I'm sorry to say that these are mandatory. Don't worry; the kids here don't bite. You'll be fine. I'm on student council, so I have to sit in the front row. But if it helps, I'm sure we can find you a seat near the back, that way you can make a quick escape once it's over. Meet me by the doors and we can get better acquainted before our first class. Are you ready?"
Huh. Angela should be in marketing, too. I do feel a tad bit better. The dizziness and nausea are gone, at least. Well, for the most part, anyways. We enter through the doors into an auditorium-style room, complete with a podium situated in the middle of the stage.
"Here, I think this section is open. You can sit at the aisle seat right here, and once the assembly is over, you're free to dash out as soon as humanly possible." She gestures toward the highest row of seats, far away from the rest of the crowd, and then makes her way towards the stage, to the lowest row of seats. I sit in the chair next to the aisle, feeling slightly more confident about our listen and dash plan.
As I prepare to listen to Mr. Bowman's beginning-of-term speech, a shadow descends upon me in the form of an army of blondes. Funny, I thought I had escaped moments like this by leaving Phoenix. I guess some things never change.