Disclaimer: I Fiction 101 do not own the stories Twilight, New Moon, Eclipse or Breaking Dawn or the characters within them. Each book is a works of art in its own way and I appreciate them, but I have no ownership rights to them. Clackamas High School is in fact a real school however, my portrayal of said school is in no way an accurate reflection I am simply borrowing the name, I don't own it. Clackamas is also real, and it is also being changed for the purpose of this story. I don't own Pope's Essay on Man either.

Just so you know:

- This story is set in the year 2016, 10 years after Renesmee's birth in Breaking Dawn. (Making Seth 25 years old).

- Pictures of how I imagine Seth and Colby are on my profile.

- High-fives and ass-slaps to Lucas McDrake for being a fantabulous beta and Krum Cake for being the queen of Seth-fiction! You guys ROCK!

Shuffle, Ball, Change

HER TURN

Chapter One: First Position

My mouth was dry. My heart was pounding. My hands were sweating. What the hell had I gotten myself into? I wasn't a stranger to the principal's office; its off-white walls and deep burgundy carpeted floor were almost as recognizable to me as my own bedroom. I was seated in my usual seat with my adoptive parents on either side of me where the residential Crazy Lady—Alberta McQueen, the principal of Clackamas High School—was badmouthing me for my "shenanigans". It would have been just another Friday if it weren't for the police sirens and the boys in blue. I was officially in the most trouble that I had ever been in in my entire life—all seventeen years of it.

Imagine my parents surprise when they received a phone call from the oh-so-charming principal, and found out that their darling daughter had to be escorted back onto campus by the police for fleeing the scene of a crime. Mild misdemeanour; I think not.

"Well, Miss Cohen, let's have it. What do you have to say for yourself?" Crazy Lady asked once she had finished telling her detailed version of what had happened—which was funny because I knew that she wasn't anywhere near the scene of the crime, she'd been in the teacher's lounge ogling Man Candy—Bruce, her young, French assistant—which is where she spent every lunch hour.

I cleared my throat. "It was an accident."

"An accident. Really Miss Cohen?" Crazy Lady looked down the bridge of her crocked nose, appraising me as she spoke. "You're usually much more imaginative than that."

She was right, I usually was. I'm a liar—a damn good one at that, she knew it, I knew it, my parents knew it and in the past when I'd been busted I would spin a pretty convincing tale. However, this was one of the rare occasions where I got to tell the truth.

"Yes, an accident." I could feel Officer Smith's—the police officer who had apprehended me—eyes boring holes into the back of my head from where he stood by the door, making this situation that much more nerve-wracking.

"So, Miss Cohen, you're telling us," Crazy Lady used one of her age spotted hands to make a sweeping gesture around the room, "that your getting into your car, putting the keys into the ignition, starting said car, and leaving the scene of the crime, were all involuntary actions—all 'accidents'." Crazy Lady was a woman with many annoying qualities but the one that irked me the most was her frequent use of air-quotes.

"The keys were already in the ignition when I got back in my car." I couldn't resist pointing it out; my inner smartass would have hated me if I didn't. As expected, no one other than me seemed amused so I quickly continued, "No, leaving wasn't an accident, but the other part was."

"And by 'the other part' you are referring to hitting someone's car—a car that belongs to the school's newest teacher. Is that what you mean?"

I bit my lip. I didn't know that I'd hit a teacher's car. "Yes."

"If it was an accident, then why did you flee, Miss Cohen?" With the amount of time I spent in Crazy Lady's office you'd think we'd be on a first name basis by now.

"I don't know, I guess I panicked. I hit the car and freaked out. Bolting was sort of…instinctual."

"Well, Miss Cohen, your instincts lead you to commit a felony."

"What happens now?" My adoptive mother, Natasha, asked before I could retort with a surly remark that wouldn't have helped my circumstances.

Crazy Lady folded her hands and rested her chin on top of them, "Officer Smith, do you have the answer to that one?"

"It all depends on whether or not the victim decides to press charges. Usually license suspension and/or imprisonment are consequences for a hit-and-run." He paused briefly to look down at my parents before continuing, "However, due to the fact that Colby-Lyn is underage community service or a few months in a juvenile detention centre are both possibilities."

I was speechless. Yeah, sure, I was a self-proclaimed badass but never in my wildest dreams had I ever imagined that any of my antics would land me in juvie, let alone the one that had been completely unintentional. I sat in silence alongside my parents as the words juvenile detention hung in the air.

"Expulsion is also an option," Crazy Lady added after a minute.

Her words, however, had the opposite effect. "Expulsion?"

"Yes, Miss Cohen, expulsion."

"What the hell, McQueen, you can't do that!" Clackamas High School –also known as the school without the middle class—was the best high school in the United States not to mention the only high school in Clackamas. It was designed for the crème de la crème; you had to be either rich, or a genius to attend. Being expelled could only mean one thing—being blacklisted. No other school would want me and I could certainly kiss whatever chance I had at getting into Julliard—or any college for that matter—goodbye.

"You've forced my hand, with your poor attendance, constant acts of delinquency and now a criminal record. I'm sorry, but what choice do I have?" She didn't sound sorry at all.

"I don't believe this McQueen; you'd really expel me for denting that crappy thing! I hit a ninety-seven Ford Thunderbird, not the freaking Batmobile! Honestly, I think I did the teacher a favor. In fact, the dude should be kissing my—"

"Colby!" my father, Archibald hissed, "Enough."

"But Dad—"

"Enough," he repeated more gently this time as he turned to face Crazy Lady. "Alberta, with all due respect I'd appreciate it if you'd stop goading my daughter." Crazy Lady opened her mouth as if she were about to respond but Archie quickly cut her off, "And correct me if I'm wrong but I believe the police officer said it was the victims decision on whether or not charges would be pressed, not yours."

"You are correct, it's not my decision it's the victims. Mr. Clearwater?" Her pale green eyes shifted from our direction to the left.

I followed her gaze and my jaw nearly dropped. It's hard to believe that I didn't noticed that there was someone seated in the corner of Crazy Lady's office, especially someone who looked the way this guy did—I seriously doubted that he had ever gone unnoticed one day in his life. The man was unquestionably gorgeous; the definition of tall, dark and handsome. Judging by the length of his legs and torso he was at least six-three maybe even six-four, he was definitely younger than most teachers at Clackamas High, mid-twenties at most and of Native American decent with jet black hair styled into a faux hawk, and dark brown eyes. Hello McDreamy, hello McSteamy have you met McBabe?

McBabe met my stare head on. Dark brown eyes on hazel. His gaze wasn't appraising like mine had been, it was different—trance-like. The only word that I could come up with to describe the look he was giving me was intense.

"Mr. Clearwater," the sound of Crazy Lady's voice seemed to have drawn him out of whatever stupor he was in. He blinked a few times then turned to face her and I followed suit. "Will you be pressing charges against Miss Cohen?"

Our eyes locked again and I couldn't help but wonder what he saw, a pathetic frightened child looking at him with pleading puppy-dog eyes, or, just another spoiled rich kid who'd gotten herself into trouble one too many times? I quickly looked away but my eyes were back on him just as fast once he spoke.

"No," McBabe had a rich, husky voice, which was to be expected for someone of his stature.

I raised an eyebrow. "No?" For some reason—perhaps it was the bump on my head the size of Russia (the only injury that I had received from the incident)—my brain was having great difficulty grasping what the combination of those two letters meant.

McBabe's answering smile was huge, revealing a set of perfect white teeth that contrasted beautifully with his skin. "No."

"Well," Crazy Lady began smugly, "there's your answer Miss Cohen. No." It took her a minute to grasp what McBabe's answer actually meant. "N-no? Are you sure Mr. Clearwater?"

"Yeah, I was a teenager once too."

"Yes, that is true Mr. Clearwater, but your car must have suffered at least twelve hundred dollars worth of damage. Right, Officer Smith?"

There was not a doubt in my mind that it would cost a pretty penny to fix the SUV shaped dent that I had made in McBabe's car.

The police officer briefly consulted one of the many pieces of paper on his clipboard before answering. "Yes, that's about right, but please keep in mind that that number is only an estimate, it could cost more."

He chuckled, "I don't think that will be a problem. I know a guy. He works for peanuts."

Crazy Lady leaned forward dropping her voice, "Seth, if you are worried about your popularity amongst the student body I can assure you that pressing charges will not cost you any 'cool points'. In fact, it will do just the opposite generating an equilibrium of respect and apprehension. Don't you want that?" Desperation oozed off of every word, and I'm not going to lie, I enjoyed every moment.

McBabe mimicked her, leaning forward and lowering his voice, "Miss McQueen, I'm not worried about the opinions of high school students—well, most high school students." The last part was so muted that I almost didn't catch it.

Defeated, Crazy Lady leaned back in her seat and sighed, "Thank you for your time Officer Smith, but it does not look as if we'll be in need of your services today. You may also leave Mr. Clearwater." She turned to briefly stare out the window next to her, which both McBabe and Officer Smith took as their cue to leave, but not before the latter gave me a stern glance. Through the barely cracked blinds of the frost coated window I could see that there was a fresh blanket of snow covering the campus, one more reminder that we were in early January. Crazy Lady heaved another sigh before turning to face me again, "Miss Cohen, am I correct in assuming that it isn't necessary for me to tell you how fortunate you are that Mr. Clearwater has decided not to press charges?"

"Yes."

"Good, I'm glad that we're finally on the same page. Now, as punishment—"

Son-of-a—"McQueen, I don't think we're reading the same book. Punishment?"

"Yes, Miss Cohen, punishment. You did not expect to go unpunished, did you?"

In all honesty, I did. "But he said he isn't going to press charges."

"I am aware of what Mr. Clearwater has decided," she snapped, "I am also aware of the fact that leaving school grounds during class without the permission of a parent or guardian to engage in acts of hooliganism is grounds for punishment."

Well, that was new, being busted twice in one day. A new record. I held in my very cliché "grasping for straws" remark and let the bitter bitch continue.


I didn't think my day could get any worse until I entered the AP English classroom and saw who was standing at the blackboard. Legs for days, tanned skin, unbelievably attractive. Miss Landers'—who had to take a leave of absence due to her unwed pregnancy— replacement was McBabe. Normally, having a super hot teacher is a good thing but these were not normal circumstances; I hit his car, he marks my work. The odds were not in my favor.

As soon as I crossed the threshold all eyes were on me—including McBabe's. A slow welcoming grin spread across his face. "Hey, there."

My stomach did a little somersault, "Hey."

McBabe studied me for a moment longer before giving his head a shake and returning to the blackboard. "Please take your uh…"

"Seat?" I supplied.

"Yeah, seat."

There were only two sounds in the room, the heels of my boots clicking against the floor as I made my way towards the back of the classroom and the chalk grazing the board from McBabe's frantic and seemingly distracted scribbles.

"There she is: 'America's Most Wanted,'" Liam Ashford—my on-again, off-again boyfriend—whispered once I was seated. "I heard about the fender-bender."

Of course he had, along with three quarters of the student body. The commonality between gossip and a wild fire is that they both spread—freaking fast. Small town plus gossip was a no-brainer. Whenever something happened, everyone knew.

"So, what was the verdict this time CC?"

My punishment—suspension from the school dance team; The Cavalettes until further notice, and two weeks of detention to be served to McBabe—seemed like a slap on the wrist compared to juvie. "Nothing I can't handle." I paused briefly when I saw his infamous pervy smirk. "Don't."

"That's what she said," Liam boomed.

"God, Liam," I groaned, "with the wit of a prepubescent teen—"

"That's what she said jokes. Dude, seriously?" McBabe interrupted. He had finished writing on the board and was leaning against his desk, arms crossed over his chest with an amused expression on his face. "Are we back in oh-eight?" This earned him a few laughs. "Well, since you're so interested in the past, why don't you be my volunteer. Pope. An Essay on Man. Epistle I." He gestured to the board where he had written:

Hope springs eternal in the human breast; Man never Is, but always to be blest: the soul, uneasy and confin'd from home, rests and expatiates in a life to come.

"What do you think Alexander Pope meant by that?"

Liam leaned back in his chair so it was standing on its back legs and laced his hands together behind his head. "No clue Sir." Every class has that one bright, shiny, promising student that seems like the eighth wonder of the world. He's not ours. Liam's family—like many of the wealthier families with children that attend Clackamas High School—are generous contributors to the school's bank account. A new library here, a new swimming pool there, can go a long way. Don't be fooled, people who say that they can't be bought are liars; everyone has a price. You just have to figure out what their going rate is.

"Okay, how about your friend?" McBabe motioned towards me.

"Me?" I asked. I wouldn't classify Liam and me as friends. Things had never actually been friendly between us; we were either at each other's throats or we had our tongues shoved down them. The major source of strain on our relationship status was that we couldn't see things the same way: the ladies loved Liam and he didn't see the problem with loving them back. I on the other hand had.

McBabe tossed a piece of chalk into the air and caught it. "Yeah, what do you suppose Pope meant?"

"Mankind always hopes for the best no matter what the circumstances are. But, he implies that life's a bitch until the day you die."

"That's a cynical way of seeing it."

I shrugged, slumping back into my seat. Icepack on head, head on forearm, and forearm on desk. I guess I'm a bit of a cynic.

"Okay." He smiled; sort of sadly for a minute then returned to addressing the class. "That's the beauty of literature guys, it's up for interpretation." McBabe walked up and down the aisles of desks as he spoke. His movements were very fluid, especially for such a big guy. "Pope's a brilliant writer, right? Some even regard him as the best poet of the eighteenth century, yet here we are still trying to figure out what the hell he was trying to tell us—I mean really tell us! Wild, right?" By this time he was seated at his own desk, looking as if he could use a cigarette.

I had never seen someone get so passionate over English before. He made me listen not because I had to but because I wanted to. A quick eye sweep of the room told me that I wasn't the only one who was taken in by the gorgeousness that is McBabe; every girl in the room seemed to be attempting to have eye-sex with him. Attempting and failing, miserably.

In no time at all the bell rang signalling the end of the day. I remained seated as the other people in my class filed out of the room, murmuring quick 'goodbye's and 'great job sir's on their way to begin their weekends. Bastards! I glared at their backs as they shuffled out. I only stopped when I felt someone's eyes on me.

"Hey."

"Hey." Surprisingly, my voice was just as airy as his.

Dark brown met hazel for the umpteenth time. One minute passed, then two, then three.

McBabe was the first to look away, picking up his 'May The Force Be With You' coffee mug and gingerly taking a sip from it. "Did you have um, a question... about Pope?"

I cleared my throat. "No. Crazy Lady—er I mean Principle McQueen says I have to serve two weeks of detention under your supervision."

He took another sip from his mug. "Oh. I see."

"Yeah."

Silence.

"You know what?" he said while rearranging all of the loose papers on his desk into a single pile. "Let's start that on Monday."

"Seriously?" Apparently this teacher was not only smart and hot as hell; he had a heart of gold as well. High-fives and ass-slaps to him.

"Yeah." He grinned his huge grin again revealing practically all thirty-two of his ivory teeth.

I couldn't help but beam back. "Cool, thanks." I tugged on my black wool coat as I made my way to the door.

"Oh, Colby-Lyn—"

Here we go; he was going to chew me out for hitting his car. I spun around to face him, only to end up staring down at his leather boots, "Look, I'm really sorry, okay. It was a total accident. My dad will pay for the repairs—"

"Colby—"

"—You won't have to come up with a dime."

"Colby—"

Even though we had just met I didn't like the idea of him harbouring any feelings of negativity towards me. "Fine, if you're going to yell at me, let's get it over with—"

"Colby—"

"—because I have better things to do with my time."

It wasn't until I looked up that I noticed he was holding my keys in his hand and was patiently waiting for me to stop rambling. "You uh were about to leave without these."

My face became an inferno. "Oh."

He took a few steps forward letting my keys dangle by the keychain before dropping them into my palm with another award winning smile plastered on his face. "Have a good weekend. TGIF, right?"

"Yeah…thanks."

High-fives and ass-slaps to me for being a complete idiot. TGI-freaking-F.


AN: So that was the first chapter. Hopefully it was to everyone's liking.