With my mother on board for this move to Lincoln High, I knew I had to lay low for awhile or she'd figure something out. She wasn't a dim person, just distracted, and sometimes when I'd least expect it, she'd pick up on a tone or expression and figure me out. I couldn't let that happen. Not when I had just two weeks left until the first day of school.

I'd managed to get past Sheila, who didn't bat an eyelash at the school I'd chosen to attend. She'd echoed my mother's pep talk about a chance for a fresh start and then launched into an infomercial about the positive benefits of behavior modifying medicine. I don't remember much after that. I tuned out.

But when my mother and I had taken our road trip to Lincoln High to enroll me for the fall, I'd definitely been fully alert and aware for that visit. There'd been a few students milling around the campus and, I have to admit, I wasn't that impressed. The school was small with a lot of mismatched outbuildings and I had to chant the name Edward Cullen about five times to myself before I could drum up enough enthusiasm to remind myself that this had been my idea.

"Ooh, Bella," my mother was browsing the course list. "They have a Physics class. You've always been really good in science."

I almost laughed when the registrar behind the counter tried to take an inconspicuous glance at the most recent report card my mother had just given her.

Yeah, I'd gotten a 'D' in Chemistry the first semester and had dropped it to take an art class that I rarely attended; still managed to get a 'B+' though. Go figure.

"Well…you can always test into that class," the registrar hinted. "Once your guidance counselor has your scores he or she will be able to move you into different classes."

My mother seemed pleased with that information. I was too busy trying to sneak a look at the student schedules that the registrar had just set on the counter. The long box was crammed full of the little four-by-six inch cards, but from where I stood, I could tell they were in alphabetical order.

Cullen would be closer to the D's…

The registrar caught me eyeing the schedules and shifted the box slightly as she came to stand in front of me. "You won't have one of these until we get your cumulative record from Forks. You can just check in with me on the first day of school and we'll get you where you need to go."

I nodded and looked over at my mother, trying to silently will her to do that thing where she'd show off her intelligence by asking a question that required people to go look up the answer.

Good ole Mom. It didn't take long before she came through for me. And they weren't necessarily intelligent questions – they were just never ending. I think the poor lady had to go to the back just to give her tongue a rest since it didn't look like my mother had any interest in resting hers.

"I wonder what kind of classes the other seniors are taking…" I nonchalantly wondered out loud as I began fingering through the index cards. Cullen was easy enough to find, and it was nice to have the confirmation that he really was returning to Lincoln for his senior year.

I had to do a double-take at the classes I saw listed on Edward's schedule: Calculus. Huh. Cullen had struck me as more of an auto shop, weightlifting kind of guy, not this nerd world that I was seeing listed before me. I mean, for goodness sake, the guy was taking Latin. Latin! What the hell is this?

"They teach Latin here?" I mumbled when the registrar ambled back toward the counter.

"We do offer Latin as part of a collegiate preparatory track to advanced science studies."

Advanced science studies? What the hell does that even mean?

"Bella, that sounds like something you'd be interested in," my mother said, grinning like a loan shark on payday.

Yes, Mom. Because clearly the near-failing grade in Chemistry was not enough of a tipoff as to how gifted I am in the field of science.

I left Lincoln High feeling a little concerned about this Cullen kid, who was not shaping up to be like anything I'd expected. I spent the entire ride home concocting scenarios that meshed who I thought he was with who he appeared to be on paper. Maybe he was so good in the sack that he had all these nerdy girls sucking his dick and writing his essays on the side. Yeah. That had to be it.

Well I wasn't about to be a side dish, so he was going to have to find another way to stay on his college prep track if we ever hooked up. I mean, when. When we hooked up. Because Latin or no Latin, that was one fine specimen of man meat - one I'd even overlook the Calculus over.

I planned to busy myself with shopping for clothes and school supplies during the two weeks before school started, but my mother stepped in and fogged up my brain with something else entirely. She started complaining about the amount of money I'd be spending in gas driving my car back and forth from Port Angeles each day. I reminded her that we lived halfway between her job in Forks and Port Angeles, but unfortunately I didn't think my argument all the way through and she reminded me that she earns a paycheck and I do not.

"You're the one who wanted me to switch schools!" I yelled. No way was she turning this back around on me.

"You didn't have to pick one so far away," my mother quipped. Something about the way she was debating with me was odd. She knew she was pushing my buttons, but she wasn't fully engaged – like she was trying to get me to argue myself into her line of thinking.

Something was very fishy here. And it wasn't me.

"So, what? You want me to pick another school then? Or go back to Forks?" I bluffed.

"Well, no." Mom sat up straight and turned her back to me as she pretended to get something out of a file cabinet behind her. I knew she was pretending because her fingers just kept brushing over the tops of the folders; she wasn't actually looking at any of them. "But your allowance isn't going to get you very far if you have to pay for gas, too."

"So then give me gas money," I told her. This isn't rocket science. She gives me lunch money outside of my allowance.

"See, this is what I don't like," she turned and pointed her finger at me. "This attitude of entitlement. You think money just grows on trees."

"Mom, where's this coming from?" I tried to get her to level with me. "Are we out of money or something?"

"No, we aren't out of money. As far as I know you haven't done anything to contribute to this household monetarily at all."

I narrowed my eyes at my mother like I was trying to see into her brain. Because seriously, I totally could use a mindreading cap at the moment. This bitch was whacked!

She'd always told me that it was my job to go to school and that work would be there when I finished. So why now, is she complaining to me about not contributing to the household?

"You want me to get a job?" I asked her point blank.

"I want you to be responsible, Bella."

"And how, exactly, am I supposed to take all those hard science classes, see Sheila, stay caught up in all my other classes and do the sixty-bajillion sports and activities you've signed me up for while holding down a job?"

Finally, my mother turned to face me and I could see that I was walking straight into her evil little plan.

"You can't," she said simply.

"So you want me to track down Dad and ask him for seventeen years worth of back child support?"

My mother actually snorted at that statement.

"No," she paused. "I want you to realize the investment I make in this situation as well. Obviously, you can't ride the bus, so you'll have to drive. And the more you drive, the more miles you put on the car, the more wear and tear – the less valuable the car is in the event that I have to sell it."

"And why would you need to sell my car?"

"If you prove that you're not responsible enough to maintain it then I'll be forced to get rid of it. What use do I have for another car?"

"Mom, can we just get to the point here? I'm getting a headache."

"Fine." She whipped a form out of her desk drawer, and damn if it didn't look like an official contract. "You and I are going to set a few rules."

"Ooh, my favorite! Rules!" I sat down with an overenthusiastic flourish. Mom didn't like that too much, but she only gave me a stern stare instead of a word or two.

"I want you to do better this year, Bella. I want you to try harder. I want you to consider an occupation after high school – preferably one that requires a college degree – and I want you to keep that in mind as you study this year. I love that you picked a high school with a college prep program."

"Mom, I can't go to college right after high school. My grades aren't good enough."

"You can go to a two-year college and then transfer to a university, Bella. And if you buckle down and take the courses I know you're capable of taking, you won't have to bother paying to take them at a junior college."

I gestured toward the contract. I knew that thing had to fit in somewhere, and I just wanted to hear what it was before I shot this down quicker than a hit of Malibu rum.

"Is that what this is about? We're bargaining for grades or something?" Bella asked.

"This," Mom pointed to the sheet of paper, "is more about what I expect from you and what you can expect from me…"

Ah, this sounded more like the manipulative bullshit she came home from work with…

"…I will pay for your gas to and from school, Bella, as long as you maintain a 2.9 grade point average each quarter."

"Two point nine?" I almost choked. "That's high!"

"It's not high, and I'm being conservative. I know you can do even better than that, but this is about you succeeding, so I'm giving you a goal you should have no problem attaining if you put forth a bit of effort."

"Well what happens if I can't do it?"

"Then you'll need to pay for your own gas to and from school. I mean it, Bella. You need to understand the hardship there is on me to pull you in and out of school all the time. I need some assurances that you're vested here."

"So I have to use my allowance to pay for gas? Gas is expensive!"

"Then failing your classes and getting anything less than a 2.9 isn't an option, is it?"

Okay, now she was starting to scare me. Was she actually serious?

"Mom, I'm not like you, okay? I'm not that person who argues with the teacher and makes him turn my A- into an A. I'm the person who asks the teacher to turn my F into a D-."

"Well you can't be that person anymore, can you?" and then she walked out.

My mother likes to make these grand exits, like some reality show camera team is filming her at all times and someday someone is going to watch this moment and applaud her wit and tactics.

Maybe that'll be the day she realizes I flipped her off behind her back.

With both hands.

Apparently, my silently telling my mother to fuck off, and her threatening to make me pay my own way was enough to satisfy us both on the issue, because it didn't come up again for the rest of the summer. And neither did talk of me taking medication. Sheila seemed as optimistic as my mother that Lincoln High school would be my turning point. Either that, or they were just hoping and praying that I could make it through ten months without fucking the entire water polo team.

Psssh. Lincoln didn't even have a water polo team. And anyway, I wasn't focused on that – not when I had Edward Cullen to look forward to. He was getting better looking with each and every thought. Those piercing blue eyes; curly, finger-tangled locks; and those lips…

Experience had taught me that I couldn't just walk on the campus and start inquiring about Edward. A guy that hot most likely had a hoard, if not legion, of admirers. And I wasn't deluded enough not to consider the fact that he probably also had a girlfriend. I'd have to make sure to lay low long enough to assess the situation.

So that is exactly what I did.

The first day of school was confusing enough to occupy my thoughts. I went to the office and got my schedule, just like I'd been instructed to. I was horrified to see that my list of status quo classes had been replaced by Algebra II and…

"Physics?" I asked as I tapped the counter. "I think there's been some mistake. I can't take Physics."

The school secretary didn't even bother to address me. She just pointed behind her toward the counseling office. I grabbed my backpack and my now wrinkled class schedule and headed toward the first person I saw.

"I've been put into the wrong class," I stated demandingly. Somebody needed to fix this shit, and soon. My car and gas depended upon it.

"Bella Swan." There was a tall, gangly man with glasses standing next to a large wooden shelf of cubby holes. He looked over at me as if he were introducing me to myself. "Is this about Physics?"

"Uh, yeah." Good. He'd obviously seen my records and knew I didn't belong in that class.

At least that's what I thought. But then he walked up to me and stuck his hand out like he actually expected me to touch him. "I'm your guidance counselor, Brian Rinker. The school requires you to call me Mr. Rinker." He smiled. I think he was trying to make a joke. "Over the summer, I had the opportunity to speak with your counselor at your last school…"

I interrupted him with a groan. Mrs. Jacobs, or Mrs. Jackoff, as everyone lovingly referred to her, had had it in for me from the very first time she'd walked in on me and Mike making out in the Teacher's Lounge. I mean, who knew that teachers actually used that room during class time. Weren't they supposed to be teaching?

"She actually had some very nice things to say about you," Mr. Rinker said, mistaking my groan for actually giving a damn about what that old hag thought of me. All I cared about was that it appeared that she still was making an effort to make my life a living hell, even though I'd switched schools and districts.

"After speaking with her, and looking at your test scores, I'm inclined to agree that you were not being challenged in your previous courses, and therefore you underperformed. I've placed you in Physics on a probationary status just to test this theory. If after one quarter you can't keep up, we'll move you to a lower science. And since it's your first class of the day, we can easily shift you into something else without upsetting the rest of your schedule."

But not before ruining my GPA and rendering me to the land of the blue-collared workforce. Thanks a lot Mr. Wanker.

I trudged off to my first class and took the first empty seat I saw since the class had already started and I didn't want to prolong my ungraceful entry any longer than necessary. Unfortunately, that empty seat was right at the front of the class. I made sure not to make eye contact with the teacher so that he wouldn't call on me. I don't know how I've made it to my senior year, without having yet learned the lesson that trying to avoid looking at a teacher almost guarantees that they're going to call on you.

"Isabella? Swan?"

"Bella," I nodded. First one's a freebie. Call me Isabella again and I'll act like you're calling to a Fred in the back row.

The teacher looked at me like he couldn't care less what my name was. According to the dry erase board at the front of the room, his name was Mr. Hearn. According to the expression on his face, that was all that mattered.

While everyone was settling in, I stole a glance around the classroom. I didn't see The Beautiful, aka Edward. In fact, I didn't see any good looking guys. There were a few girls that looked like they were competing in the Miss Dowdy America contest, and a few guys that could tote that sash as well. A couple of the guys looked like they belonged in the middle school down the road, and there was a lump of black hair and clothing slouched down in the far right corner. Judging by the long legs capped off by a pair of worn-in Doc Martens, it was a guy.

There was no way I was going to make it an entire quarter in this class.

The rest of the day – scratch that – the rest of the week was about the same. I'd made it through all of my classes to find that if Edward Cullen even did exist, he was either on an extended vacation, was the most unpopular boy at school, or had all remedial classes in the outbuildings that lined the campus. I didn't see him once and I didn't hear even a whisper of his name.

I did, however, see the waif, or Alice, as she likes to be called. She's actually in one of my classes. She looked like she recognized me immediately, but before I could smile or raise my hand in a friendly gesture, she looked away and didn't search me out again. So her stance on the idea of becoming friends was obviously clear. When I saw her again near the lockers, I didn't bother heading in her direction.

Not that I could. There was a wall of hair and synthetic fiber blocking my path.

"Um…hi!" This girl's greeting was punctuated by giggles from a minion of fem-bots that stood behind her. "I'm Jessica and these are my friends," she waved toward the girls behind her.

I raised my eyebrow to her introduction, as if the girls didn't even warrant their own title. Who was this Jessica, and why did it mean anything to be her friend?

"So, you're new here, right?" Jessica was still rambling. "Isabell?"

"Bella," I nodded, not sure if I wanted to converse with this crowd. But judging from their appearance, they were probably Lincoln High elite – not that that's saying much.

"See?" Jessica turned toward one of the girls in an I-told-you-so fashion. "I could totally tell you didn't go here last year."

"What gave me away: The desperate way I'm clutching the map of the school or the tight-knit party of one at lunch?" I asked sarcastically.

Jessica looked confused for a minute as she tried to decipher what I'd said. "Actually, it's your clothes."

I looked down immediately. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Nothing! Nothing!" Jessica jumped in immediately. "They're totally cute. I just meant that if you'd gone here last year, and you dressed this cute, we totally would have known you then. I have a total weakness for fashion and I would have been pestering you about where you got your top, or your jeans…"

Was this girl seriously still talking? It was impossible that she didn't know how idiotic she sounded. But at any rate, like I mentioned before, they did look like they belonged to the A-crowd, so if anyone had any information on Edward Cullen, it would probably be one of them. And I wasn't getting anywhere on my own, so…

"Does anyone have history with Vorna next?"

"I do!" a short girl with overly bouncy blonde hair piped up. But even though she was the only one who said anything, then entire crowd followed us toward the class.

"So…" I began, trying to sound as casual as possible. "Where are the cute guys hiding around this place?"

"Tell me about it!" Jessica rolled her eyes so hard I thought she was going to strain an optical nerve. "There are no cute guys here at all! They all keep moving away!"

"Hey! Chad is so cute!" A girl with two French braids and a huge overbite said.

"Oh, sorry Bex," then Jessica explained to me. "Chad is Bex's boyfriend. They've been together since fourth grade or some crazy shit like that."

"So there are no cute single guys here?" I rephrased my question.

Bouncy blonde girl spoke up. "It depends on what you like. If you're looking for the Justin Timberlake's or Zac Efron's then, no, there are no cute guys here. But if you like…say…Michael Cera…"

"Jason Tate, right?" Jessica interjected with a squeal. "He totally looks like Michael Cera!"

"I think he is so cute," bouncy blonde admitted.

And then they all started to do that thing where they, friendly but firmly, let me know whom they were interested in so that I could read between the lines of the imaginary girl code and know to stay away. Whatever. No one mentioned Edward Cullen.

"So, I met this guy over the summer that said he went here. He was beyond good looking." Cute just didn't apply. "He was kind of a jock; blonde hair, blue eyes, huge dimples…got any of those?"

The crowd of girls stopped walking and looked over at one another, puzzled.

"He said he went here?" Jessica asked. "And he didn't tell you his name?"

"I thought he said his name was Edward Cullen," I answered. I carefully looked at each girl to gauge her reaction. There wasn't much of any. Huh.

"That name sounds familiar…" one finally said slowly.

Another girl nodded in agreement.

But then Jessica started snorting in laughter. "Okay, that is so not the description of Edward Cullen."

"You know him?" I couldn't help it, I sounded eager. I had been thinking about this guy all summer. And finally…

"I don't know him, but I know who he is. Anyway, he doesn't at all fit your description. He's not a jock, he doesn't have blonde hair and he most definitely is not cute," Jessica said.

"Maybe he changed over the summer? Got a new look?" bouncy blonde suggested optimistically. She looked over at me with a smile.

"He's in my English class," Jessica said, dashing all hopes to pieces. "He still looks the same. He wears all black, his hair is black and if I had to guess, I'd say –"

"Oooh! I know who you're talking about!" An African American girl with really shiny black hair spoke up. "Yeah…he's not cute…At least I don't think he is…I've never actually seen his face. He has all that hair in his face all the time."

"Is that him?"

The entire crowd turned to look at a lone figure schlepping along the backside of the library.

"That's Edward Cullen?" I asked, dumbfounded.

He was very tall and lean, and he seemed to hunch forward like he was trying to exist only in the shadow of his form. Aside from the thin sliver of his jaw and hands, he was black from head to toe. Artificially darkened hair hung down like a dripping halo around his head, obscuring his eyes.

"Didn't you have Chem 1A with him last year, Debbie?" Jessica turned to one of the friends.

"Yeah," Debbie shivered as if she were scared. "He never really said anything, but he used to mumble shit all the time. I'm pretty sure he worships the devil and drinks blood and stuff."

"I've heard that, too," another friend corroborated.

"And he's really mean," Jessica added. "Like, don't ever ask to borrow a pen or paper in class," she huffed. "He'll make you feel really stupid for asking and then he doesn't give it to you," she said as if she was speaking from personal experience.

The group of friends saw someone else across the campus wearing palazzo pants that were "so three years ago" and they moved on to taunting and teasing while I continued to stare at my collapsing fantasy and obliterated hope. It was the wrong Edward!

Wrong Edward had turned and changed course unexpectedly, and in a matter of footsteps, our paths would cross.

Suddenly, I was angry. I was angry at the effort I'd expended. I was angry at how stupid I looked asking after this freak. I was angry that I was not stuck at this backwards place for my last year of high school without a prospect in sight. But mostly I was angry at the fact that all of the plotting and planning and yearning for the Edward Cullen of my dreams had somehow distracted me and I hadn't had sex in almost three months!

As if he could feel the intense hatred rolling off me, Wrong Edward looked over at me fleetingly as he passed. When he saw my looking, he turned his head quickly and shook the curtain of hair back into place.

"He looks like he stinks," I muttered.

Jessica & Co. had moved on, confident in the fact that I hadn't arrived to infringe on their little po-dunk crushes.

And so there I stood, at the conclusion of my first week at Lincoln High, in much the same condition I'd arrived in: lost, looking and lonely.