A/N: This took a little longer to write than I'd hoped, but unfortunatly I've just had a death in the family and my head's not quite in the right place. This first half of this chapter isn't quite what I'd hoped for, but I thought I'd best post it as I don't know how quickly I'll be writing for the next few weeks. So, try to enjoy, and drop us a review if you don't hate it! Plot starts soon. I promise!

Disclaimer: Not mine. Stephenie Meyer owns it. I'd really like to not be sued.

This chapter brought to you by Billy Talent - Cut the Curtains and Strongbow. Hell yes.

Human Nature
Chapter Two: Gremlins

How hard it is to hide the sparks of nature!
William Shakespeare - Cymbeline Act 3 Scene 3

Monday morning dawned in a whirl of last-minute hunting for my family, and enforced humanity lessons for me. Everybody said their piece, from my grandmother's lessons in table manners to Emmett's lectures on the dangers of teenage hormones, and by the time I found my way to the kitchen on the first day of school my head was so full of useless human trivia that I worried I might fail out.

I was a little later to breakfast than I'd hoped – I was beginning to consider laying a trail of breadcrumbs to find my way about – and found my family lined up as if there were being briefed for a military operation. Mom thrust a bowl of cereal at me as Dad paced back and forth, reminding us of the roles we were expected to play.

"So as Bella, Alice and I are playing younger Rosalie will have to drive the Volvo, and Jasper, you and Emmett can fight it out between you as to who takes another car…"

"I call the Porsche!" cried Jasper. Alice beamed at him; Emmett scowled.

"Whichever, whatever. So. Nessie will be my sister. Jasper and Rose, you're Esme's tragically orphaned wards, and the rest of us are flotsam and jetsam Carlisle's picked up over the years."

Carlisle rolled his eyes for my benefit. I waved to him with my spoon.

"We know, Edward. It's not like we haven't done this before."

Rosalie was more interested in her nails than my dad's speech.

"Bella and Nessie haven't," he shot back, "and this is important."

"Everything's going to be fine," insisted Alice, "I've seen it."

"You can't see Nessie," grumbled Dad.

"No, but I've seen enough. Look, Edward, you're panicking her."

I hadn't realised how much my spoon was shaking until my mom pulled me close and kissed my hair.

"You'll do brilliantly, honey."

I shrugged.

I wish Jacob were here.

Dad sighed. "It's now or never. Are you ready?"

I swallowed my last Cheerio and nodded, Esme reached for the camera.

"A photo of your first day of school!"

I covered my face with my bowl, but Rosalie – always first in line for a photo op – tugged my hands down. I managed a weak smile.

"It'll have to do," said Dad as Esme examined the screen, "we need to go."

For the first time since I was three months old, Mom had to do my coat buttons up for me. My fingers didn't feel properly attached to my body, and my head felt woolly and weird. Alice and Jasper sped off in the Porsche, and I slipped into the Volvo's back seat with my parents, as Rosalie drove and Emmett took shotgun.

"Maybe it's time to trade this old girl in, bro. You need an SUV with a 'Baby on Board' sticker."

Emmett seemed to be revelling in my Dad's relegation to passenger.

Rosalie guided the car smoothly down the long driveway, and took the turn onto the main road at a steady, human, pace. My dad's face was twisted with frustration – if his pale skin could have darkened, it would have been puce.

"We'd like to arrive today, please Rose. If that's at all possible."

Rosalie hissed something that sounded like 'back seat driver'.

Mom patted Dad's knee in understanding, but I was willing the journey to last forever.

It ended, though; as such things must, in an expansive parking lot bordered by some sad looking shrubs. Alice and Jasper had already arrived, and were leaning against the bonnet of the Porsche eyeing the school building with critical disdain.

"We've been to prettier places," sighed Alice, pushing herself away from her car and coming to join us, "but I guess it serves the purpose."

She was right, of course, the school building was long, low and beige; hardly an architectural feat, but practical enough. The windows were set high in the walls except for the eastern end of the building, where one wall was made almost entirely of glass, revealing the school cafeteria inside.

"Where to?" Emmett asked Dad.

Dad gestured towards the entrance, "The gym for schedules. Should be easy enough to find, the whole school's in there."

Jasper took an unnecessarily deep breath before stepping forward.

"You alright?" asked Mom, her eyes flicking from me to Jasper.

"Fine," I said.

"Never better," agreed Jasper.

And then we were there.

Dad led the way towards the sounds of hundreds of excitable voices with a face on him like a man marching off to save the world. Alice danced along behind him, dragging uncomfortable looking Jasper by the hand. Rosalie and Emmett didn't seem in the least bit bothered, and I had to remind myself for the hundredth time that this was something they'd done more times than I could comprehend. Mom walked beside me and squeezed my hand.

"It's going to be fine, you'll see. It's a bit nerve-wracking at first though."

"Yeah," I managed, but anything more in reply stuck in my throat.

Immediately in front of me were the double doors leading to the gym, and beyond them the sound of voices – laughing and shouting – was smothered by the sound of hundreds of heartbeats; the sloshing of all that warm, wet blood, and the smell…

No.

Mom held my hand a little tighter, and I opened my eyes (when had I closed them?) to see Jasper and Dad watching me with grave concern and absolute terror.

"Alright?" asked Mom.

I nodded; not quite trusting myself to speak. Jasper sent a wave of calm my way, and I sent him a grateful smile. I could do this. I'd never slipped, not once, and I wasn't about to start now. Dad beamed at me.

"Breathe, Nessie. Are you ready?"

"No?"

Rosalie huffed then, and turned to me with a hand held out. "Come on. Learn from the master."

"Rose," warned my dad, obviously aware of whatever she was planning, but he didn't try to stop her so I took her hand.

"Oh please, Edward. You know it's my favourite part."

"I wonder why?" he sighed, and I thought that he sounded a little snide, but I didn't have chance to really wonder why because Rosalie had slammed open the double doors and dragged me into the room.

Generally speaking, I tried not to think of humans like animals – like prey – it was a side-effect of Vampirism that didn't sit well with any of us, but at that moment, in that room, I could only think of flocks of sheep.

Around the edges of the gym were teachers at desks, some sitting with papers in their hands, others standing on chairs and yelling grade numbers and names at the tops of their lungs, and in the centre of the room five hundred teenagers had divided into smaller, louder, groups. Bleachers ran across the right-hand side and above them were huge orange banners luridly declaring Go Gremlins. It was absolute chaos.

Rosalie began to march towards a desk at the far end.

We followed behind her; Mom and me with some hesitation, everybody else with expressions of amused resignation; and it wasn't the crowded, noisy struggle I was expecting.

The sea of bodies parted before Rosalie, their chatter silenced as their mouths dropped open in shock, and I understood why this was her favourite part. Right now she ruled the school, and she hadn't even had to open her mouth. I could see Alice trying to hold in her giggles, and Mom's absolute mortification, as the entire student population turned and watched our progress. I could have sworn I heard somebody groan.

Rosalie reached her target – a gob-smacked middle-aged man with a stack of papers flapping limply from his hand – and gave him what, to me, appeared to be an intentionally seductive smile.

"Hale. Rosalie Hale. Eleventh grade."

He made a sound that might have been guh and dropped his papers. Rosalie rolled her eyes and held her hand out as he began to ruffle feverishly through them. Emmett sidled up beside her and slipped an arm round her waist, flashing the man a toothy grin as he did so.

"Emmett Cullen. That's two T's. Eleventh."

The man took one look at Emmett's glistening teeth and shot three foot backwards in his chair, his papers scattering to the floor around him. Mom sighed. Somebody in the captivated crowd behind us let out a tsk of irritation, and the spell was broken.

The teacher at the desk in front of us recovered his papers and his poise and handed our class schedules to us as we asked him to, and the students returned to their loud discussions; except now they had a new subject to gossip about. I studied my schedule without really taking any of it in, and found myself being herded off by a loud nasal woman who was calling all the freshmen together. My parents waved encouragingly as we were separated; Alice blew me a kiss; and I found myself suddenly alone in a crowd of people pushing and shoving their way towards our first classes.

In some respects, that first morning wasn't as bad as I'd feared.

I spent most of English getting used to the smells and sounds of a class of teenagers, but the work was so minimal and my lessons with Jasper so through, that I didn't miss anything of great importance or humiliate myself within the first ten minutes. I was also happily surprised that nobody appeared to be repelled by my presence. The others weren't going out of their way to be friendly as such, and I was on the receiving end of more than a few sideways glances and shared whispers, but most of the other kids smiled when I made eye contact with them and I was by no means the only person sat at a desk on their own.

In other ways, the whole thing was dreadful.

It took until physical education for me to realise why so many of the others had already formed friendships and cliques, but their conversations in the changing rooms about their summers and town gossip clued me in pretty swiftly that in a town this small these kids had all grown up together, and that for them the move to High school was little more than a trip across a corridor. Dad's master plan of slipping me in as a freshman to put me on the same footing as everybody else had blown up spectacularly. It didn't help that the entire school body seemed to have Phys. Ed. At more or less the same time, and my parents saw my humiliation at being paired up with the teacher. Mom dawdled around the door to the changing room, her face twisted in concern, and I gave her what I hoped was a cheery smile before she went in, but I knew they'd all be nearly unbearable with concern when I saw them at lunch. History was spent giving myself a pep talk in the hopes I could throw them off the scent of misery I was pretty sure had to be coming off me in waves.

I left the classroom last, and walked to lunch on my own.

I couldn't help but cringe as I entered the cafeteria; the long orange tables, harsh lighting, and distinctly unappetising food made my stomach twist uncomfortably. I scanned the room for my family as quickly and surreptitiously as I could, and was unsurprised to see them gathered at the darkest end of the longest table, being very careful not to meet anyone's eyes.

They seemed to be trying to blend in to their surroundings, but the harder they tried the more they stood out. Rosalie tossed her hair back over her shoulder and the boy in front of me fell over. Distant sounds of smashing crockery suggested that he wasn't the only one finding the beautiful new students distracting. I sighed, a little louder than my mom would usually ignore, and turned my back on them to receive my lunch.

What the hell is this?

I heard my father's snort from the other end of the room, but couldn't tear my eyes away from the gelatinous mass that had been slapped onto my lunch tray. I poked it experimentally with the tip of my knife.

It twitched.

A muffled guffaw emanated from the darkest end of the room.

"Is anything wrong, dear?" growled the woman behind the lunch counter, and I swiftly closed my gaping mouth before she could use her ladle to do it herself.

"No?" I asked, hopeful that she'd realise she'd accidentally served me Whiskas, and that this was all just a terrible misunderstanding. Instead, she just waved her ladle threateningly.

"Move along then!"

I took two steps further along the line and was met with another ladle wielding lunch-lady, though this one seemed slightly less frightening and much less self-aware. She spooned a mushy green mess onto my tray, followed by something in irradiated orange, all whilst staring at a spot about six inches over my head. Somebody behind me was trying not to choke on their own laughter; I scowled at the contents of my tray and as if I could will them out of existence.

"Luckily, not every day is casserole day."

I grunted something noncommittal in reply. The lunch wobbled threateningly.

I am in touch with my roots. I have embraced my human side. Now please, Daddy, please let me go home. It's congealed.

My mother tutted lowly and hissed my name; they were ganging up on me again.

If you think I'm going to sit and eat this in front of you so that you can lord it over me forever you're sadly mistaken.

Somebody, probably Emmett, had begun a very irritating fake cough. Attempting to tune my family and their betrayal out I shuffled moodily towards a fairly empty section of table, letting my superior senses guide me through the lunchroom so I could keep my eyes fixed on the tray. I was just sliding onto a cripplingly uncomfortable plastic seat when the voice from the lunch queue piped up again.

"I know it doesn't seem like it now, but the longer you look at it the worse it gets. You'd be better off just eating it and then repressing the memory."

I risked a glance away from the gently undulating mass, still hopeful that when I looked back it would have crawled off my tray of its own volition. Hovering awkwardly by my left shoulder was an enormous grey hooded sweater, holding a tray to match my own. I blinked twice before I realised the sweater contained a boy. It reached to his knees and hung over the ends of his hands, looking like the sort of thing boy scouts might camp in; he was drowning in it. As I looked at him he raised a piece of neon carrot to his mouth and chewed with a grimace. I pushed my tray away slightly and twisted round to get a better look at him.

"Do you find," I asked, "that you have to repress a lot of meals here?"

He cast a nervous glance back over his shoulder towards the terrifying lunch attendants and shrugged noncommittally.

"It's usually not too bad. The vegetables are the worst mainly; they cook them in microwaves older than I am, and I'm pretty sure they'll cause a few tumours," he leant forward and added in a conspiratorial tone, "just never touch the custard."

I was about to ask why not when two thoughts struck simultaneously. My first was that if my parents were to have their own way I'd be stuck here for the next four years, and I probably didn't want to spend the majority of that time fretting over foreign objects in the dessert sauces, and, secondly, that the boy was still standing up, shuffling from foot-to-foot, and clutching his tray like a drowning man with a piece of driftwood. His blue eyes watched me nervously from under a mop of red-brown hair, and my stomach clenched.

I'd always fitted in better than the rest of my family; there was less of the predator visible in my brown eyes, and my bloodlust was better disguised under my veneer of humanity. That was one of the reasons they'd dragged me to this place, to interact like the human they thought I could be, but they'd underestimated teenage humans. For them the need to fit in was tantamount to a survival skill, and I had a sudden sickening feeling that I was just different enough to become a pariah.

I'd had to leave my Jacob for this.

The boy's eyes widened imperceptibly, and I tried to arrange my features into my best neutral expression as I looked back to the table. There was a momentary silence followed by a sharp intake of breath, and another tray appeared beside mine.

I watched from the corner of my eye as the boy seemed to undergo some brief internal struggle, before pushing his too long sleeves up to his elbows, turning his body to face me, and thrusting his right hand under my nose. I gazed at it blankly for a minute before tuning to meet his suddenly intense look. The nervousness in his face had transformed into pure terror. He looked like he might be sick.

"Jack," he said, swallowing heavily, "Jack Cafferty."

I gave him what I hoped was a reassuringly human smile.

"Nessie Cullen."

His hand still hovered irresolutely in front of me, so I shook it as gently as I could. Jack looked like a firm handshake might be enough to tip him over the edge and send him screaming from the room.

I'm not even hungry, I thought, but there was no answering chuckle, or sigh, or feeling of comfort. Whatever my dad was concentrating on, it wasn't me. I tried not to scowl for Jack's sake.

"You're in my English class, right?" Jack asked, and, to his credit, he managed to keep his voice both level and interested.

I cast my mind back over the morning's faces, hunting through my memories for a flash of red hair and a huge sweater. I drew a blank.

Focusing as hard as I was on Jack's reactions, and irritated by my family's apparent indifference, I didn't notice the group of older students until they were already leering at us over the Formica. Jack immediately looked down, seemingly cringing even smaller into his grey cotton armour. I, on the other hand, looked up to meet the gaze of the leader.

I'd spent enough time over my very nearly five years with Jacob and the La Push wolves to know pack mentality when I saw it, and this group, with their shifty eyes and territorial body language, weren't exactly difficult to read. Their leader was a tall, dark-haired boy with sharp features and a letterman jacket who reminded me strongly of a weasel. He tossed a football casually from hand to hand and watched me appraisingly. For the first time in my life I knew what it felt like to loathe someone on sight.

"Hello, newbie," he said, and the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I didn't answer him, but he hardly seemed to expect me to; his attention had already turned to Jack.

"Hey! Cafferty!" said the weasel, his voice a mockery of friendliness, "Are you still here? I heard they'd dropped you back to kindergarten, or was that a bit too advanced?"

Jack spoke through clenched teeth, "Very funny Morris."

Another member of the group, a girl with too much make-up and too little skirt, patted the weasel – Morris – on the shoulder, and giggled insipiently.

"Don't be cruel, Sugar," she cooed, "We wouldn't want him to hitch up his trailer and run away, would we?"

Jack scowled, but didn't look up.

"Don't you ever get any new lines?"

The girl tittered again, but the boy narrowed his eyes, leaning forward so that his face was just inches from Jack's.

"Cafferty," he hissed, his voice dripping with bile, "how's your mother?"

It was so quick that even I barely knew what was happening. A cacophony of noise – an outraged hiss, a murderous growl – the shaking of the table as the football slammed into it – the slow-motion arcing of mine and Jack's trays as they left the table and deposited our lunches in our laps, and then there was the soothing presence of Dad and Alice behind me, and the scurrying sound of my mom's human-paced rush to join them.

Morris took an involuntary step back, but his voice was still cocky.

"Be more careful with your lunch dates Newbie."

And they were gone.

"Of all the –,"Alice was ranting angrily in the background as she followed Morris's gang's exit with her eyes. I felt a small comforting hand on my shoulder.

"I'll rip him to shreds," Mom assured me, but I shook my head quickly. She lowered her head to my level and I reached for her cheek.

That won't help the genuine High School experience, Mom.

She huffed irritably. Dad was worryingly silent, and when he did speak his voice was so low even I struggled to hear him.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine D- Edward," I brushed ineffectually at my casserole sodden skirt, "just a little… stained."

I turned and gave him my best 'I'm alright Dad' smile. His face was unreadable, but he nodded tightly.

"Come on, Nessie," sighed Alice, tugging on my elbow, "I've got some more clothes in my locker for you."

I rolled my eyes; she had half of Macy's in her locker. I was about to get up and follow her when I realised Jack hadn't moved.

He stared unseeingly at the table, with his tray still in his lap and casserole dripping from his sweater. A piece of carrot clung to his violently purple cheek, and his fists were clenched so tightly at his sides that I could see his blood pulsing under the skin. To my horror, it looked like he was about to burst into tears.

"Are you okay, Jack," I asked, even though the answer was blindingly obvious, "do you need to borrow some pants or –"

"No!" he bit out, before his face crumpled further and his voice cracked, "No thanks. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have – I shouldn't have sat with you. I'm sorry."

"But you haven't…" but before I had time to reassure him, or forgive him, or even properly acknowledge that he'd spoken he stormed away from the table and out of the room.