Chapter 2

Mother We Just Can't Get Enough

DISCLAIMER: Stephenie Meyer owns everything. I'm just borrowing her characters until I can come up with my own.

Soundtrack: Mother We Just Can't Get Enough – New Radicals, She Never Even Told Me Her Name – Air Traffic, You Know I'm No Good – Amy Winehouse.

***

Bella's POV

High school.

Once I (finally) get out the car, I can already feel the hormone and testosterone charged air. It's stifling. I don't relate too well to people my age.

I let my eyes wander over the sea of faces, knowing my own gaze is hidden behind my shades, and recognize the various different emotions playing across each one – some leering, some jealous, some excited, and all of them openly curious. They're all emotions I've seen before, and this makes me sigh. I always secretly hope there'll be someone different, someone who'll surprise me.

By lunchtime, I still haven't met that someone. And it's probably a good thing anyway, considering I've taken a vow of isolation.

I'm pleased to say that I've managed to keep up my reputation. I've already heard the whispers. And I've got a new nickname, a variation on the last one – 'Ice Bitch'. Apparently the title of 'Ice Queen' has already gone to another girl in my year. I'm interested to see her.

The lunch room is noisy, and boisterous. I slip in my earphones, hopefully sending out a no-no signal to anyone who thinks of approaching me, and to avoid any unfortunate incidents such as the one that occurred this morning.

There's always the one. The douchebag. He's usually always a quarterback, and this quarterback didn't fail to live up to his reputation.

'Hey gorgeous, I'm Mike Newton, and you look a lot like my next girlfriend. Or maybe I should say, my next date, because one date with me, and I've usually achieved all I need.'

I stared at him blankly, whist packing my bag. My lack of facial and verbal response obviously must have bothered him after a while, and he started to fidget uncomfortably under my hard gaze.

I smiled inwardly. I love making people uncomfortable.

'So, er, yeah, basically, what do you say?' he mumbled finally.

I sighed. Our classmates seemed to be taking an unusually long time to get to their next class. It wasn't my intention to embarrass Mike publicly, but it looked like I'd have to.

So, I zipped up my bag, turned to him, kneed him in the groin, said those priceless words 'fuck off', and walked to my next lesson, leaving Mike rolling around on the floor, and half a dozen students frozen in shock.

Another thing I love. Making an impact.

Which brings me back to my earphones. One would think that the story of Mike and his likely inability to produce any offspring due to my scruples would deter anyone from coming near me, but just in case there happens to be someone who doesn't value their balls, the earphones are an extra safety measure.

After paying for my soda, I cross the room, smirking slightly when the crowds part for me, and make my way out the back door. The sun is making what will probably be a maximum of ten minutes appearance, and I am determined to make the most of it.

I head past the wooden benches and chairs, and around to the back of the buildings. The toilet stalls are here, and there are a couple of windows looking into the gym, so I seat myself on of the ledges, and pull out a pack of Marlboros. I'm not addicted – I've quit many times before with no problem, but I suppose it's just an easy out. A slow way of killing myself.

I started when I was fifteen. My mom had been dating the first decent guy in ages. He played minor league baseball, and his name was Phil Dwyer. He was actually pretty cool, completely different from the usual douches my mom would bring home. He'd take us out to see a movie, and buy ice cream, and go see the penguins at the zoo. And my mom was clean for the first time in years. And happy. I'd never seen her so happy.

And then one day, I came home, and my mom was high as a kite. And Phil's stuff had gone. Renee screamed at me, swearing that I was ruining her life, and promptly threw a vase at my head.

I woke up a couple of hours later, and Renee was out cold. I cleaned up in a daze. I knew my mom had problems, but they never involved me physically.

I smoked a whole pack that day, and have pretty much been having a pack a day ever since – apart from the few months I quit obviously.

The bell rings, shaking me out of my daze. Some girls round the corner and shuffle past me, staring openly at my cigarette in shock and disgust.

I discard the burning cigarette butt, and squash the remains with my heel.

***

I pride myself in being an extremely observant person. It's what happens when you have no friends – you find alternative entertainment. Sometimes I think I'm such a good observer, I would make a great spy. The movie Spy Game inspired that particular thought. There's a scene where Robert Redford's character tell Brad Pitt 'Every scene is a photograph. You gotta see it, assess it, and dismiss most of it, without thinking, like breathing'. You've got to be observant to be a spy. And that's what I do: I observe. I see people, assess them, and categorize them. There are various different categories: the jocks, the cheerleaders, the nerds, and the populars. The populars usually contains members from the other three categories who need their own category to distinguish them from the rest. And then there are sub-divisions. There are the nice jocks and the douche jocks, the nice cheerleaders and the bitch cheerleaders, the nice nerds, and the 'got-their-head-up-their-own-ass' nerds. Sometimes you get people who straddle several categories. The popular-nice-jock. The nice-cheerleader-nerd. The popular-bitch-cheerleader. And then, probably my favourite: the popular-nice-jock-nerd. And by nerd I don't mean geeky – I mean smart, whether because they work hard or just have a natural flair for academic subjects. I call him the PNJN for short. He's every girl's high school dream – the sweet, gorgeous, buff, popular, smart guy who's going to be Prom King.

Unfortunately, PNJNs are extremely rare. I still haven't come across one.

Through my categorizing, I've managed to pretty much assess and dismiss most of the people in my school as insipid and shallow.

Sitting alone in my Physics AP class, I'm hoping I'll find someone new to categorize.

And I do.

It's funny. You wait all day for someone interesting to come along, and then, not only do they prop up towards the close of the day, but you get four at once.

I notice them immediately. It's hard not to.

There's a bronze haired fit guy, who's staring at a tiny pixie-like girl, who's staring at a massive muscled guy, who's staring at a blonde bomb-shell, who's texting on her blackberry. The former, has his arms around the blonde bomb shell.

It's easy to categorize the first two. Blonde bomb shell can't be anything but a cheerleader, and by the icy stare on her face, she's definitely a bitch cheerleader. This must be the Ice Queen. Massive muscled guy is without a doubt a jock, and by the cute smile on his face and his easy going manner, he's probably a nice jock.

But the other two... I'm not sure.

All four of them are obviously part of the populars. Actually, I'm considering removing all my previous popular candidates and simply have these four in that particular category.

But aside from popular, it's hard to assess the bronze haired boy and the pixie girl.

The bronze haired boy is probably the most beautiful man I've ever seen in my life. And he's definitely all man – no boy. He's probably a jock given his tall, toned body.

The tiny pixie-like girl can't be more that 5'1. She has short, spiky hair with purple highlights, and a soft, pretty face.

These two are a mystery.

I'm captivated. They're probably the most interesting people I've ever come across. The relationship between the nice jock and the bitch cheerleader is obvious. He looks absolutely devoted, which probably just makes up for her completely flippant treatment of him.

As for the relationship between bronzy and pixie, I'm, again, unsure. They're too dissimilar to be siblings. Cousins, maybe? I wouldn't rule out a romantic relationship, although the way they act suggests not. His over-protectiveness poses an interesting conundrum. Is he over-protective because he is jealous of the pixie's love for the nice jock? Or is he over-protective because he is simply looking out for her, especially considering nice-jock already has a girlfriend?

Ah, drama, drama, drama...

***

Edward's POV

I keep a close eye on her for the rest of the day. But it becomes obvious that there's no need for my concern. She engages no one, and apart from a brief incident with Mike Newton, she doesn't show any signs of hostility towards anyone in particular.

Her icy exterior has me fascinated.

She earns the nickname 'Ice Bitch' by third period.

'My cousin's sister's best friend's boyfriend's mother's sister was like, her shrink, back in Phoenix, and apparently, she drove her mom insane, and like, her mom's in a mental institute now.'

Emmett does his best impression of Jessica Stanley, the initiator of this particular piece of gossip, at lunch.

Rosalie cracks a smile at his high pitched voice, and gay hand gestures, letting out a quiet giggle. Seeing this, Emmett smiles widely, and wraps her in a passionate embrace.

Emmett's so completely besotted.

At first, I was rather wary of their relationship. Rosalie's Ice Queen reputation suggested she was going use him and dump him, but their relationship has stood the test of time. And the rare times she lets her guard drop show her true happiness with Emmett.

I roll my eyes at their public display, and make a big movement of gagging.

They come apart with a loud squelch, and I grimace.

'Sorry man,' Emmett apologizes with a goofy grin on his face.

I roll my eyes again, and gesture for him to continue his story.

'Right, so that's what Stanley said. If you believe it,' he adds. It's no secret Jessica's the biggest gossip bitch in town, and prone to over exaggerate things. Had I not already heard from dad that the new girl had a history of family problems, I probably wouldn't believe Jessica's story.

I ponder her as I munch on my burger.

My eyes wander away from the couple in front of me, to Alice by my side. As usual, her head is buried in her notebook. A book I gave her as a gift for her birthday last year, and that she's carried around ever since.

Sometimes, she leaves it on my desk, an open invitation for me to read it. It's mostly drawings, and bits of writing here and there. She loves that we have such an open relationship, and having no girlfriends of her own, tells me everything instead.

I smile at her. Sensing my gaze, she looks up at me, and smiles lightly, only to swallow visibly when she sees Emmett practically swallowing Rosalie whole. The smile turns sad, and she turns back to her book, the pen digging into the page.

I sigh heavily.

It's not healthy, her crush. Ever since Emmett saved her life two years ago, she's been like this. And it hurts me to see her so crushed.

I shake the thought from my head, deciding to have a talk with her about it later, and peruse the different faces in the lunch room.

There's an automatic change in the atmosphere when she arrives. Almost every head turns to look at her, and hushed whispers ensue. She looks...bored. Slipping some headphones in, she bops her foot to the beat, waiting for the queue to move forward. When she reaches the till, all she purchases is a soda.

The crowds of people automatically move in order to let her pass, as she walks straight past every table in the lunch room, and heads for the door leading outside. She disappears around the back of the building, out of sight, and suddenly the loud chatter is back, as everyone talks excitedly.

Emmett once again pulls away from his girlfriend with a puzzled expression on his face.

'What was with the dramatic silence?' he asks.

I shrug.

'New girl.'

He goes back to Rosalie, and I keep my face impassive, as I think to myself 'Boy... I hope she's in physics...'

***

By the time lunch is over, there's a new rumour going around.

'I saw her smoking by the toilets behind the gym...'

This new piece of information doesn't surprise me. She seems like the type. As for why she is slowly killing herself... my curiosity is once again piqued.

I momentarily forget my preoccupations with the new girl, when Alice suddenly emits a low gasp.

I turn towards her rapidly, and ask her quietly what's wrong.

She doesn't reply, but her gaze is fixed on something in front of us.

Her lack of response worries me more, and I shake her gently. Her face crumples.

'Alice. Tell. Me. What's. Wrong.' I mutter under my breath, gripping her upper arm.

She shakes her head.

'I'll tell you later.'

Her answer satisfies me. She hates public scenes. And I know she'll tell me whatever is bothering her in the car.

Our little interlude distracts me, and it takes me a while to recall my previous line of thought.

It doesn't take long for me to remember, as my eyes land on the girl.

She's staring at me, and her gaze meets mine head on. She doesn't flinch, or avert her eyes, but stares openly. It's impossible to tell what she is thinking of, and no emotions play across her face to hint at her feelings.

I make my decision quickly.

I direct Alice gently away from Rosalie and Emmett, and toward the three seater bench where the girl is sitting. Alice gives me a brief confused look, before she realizes, and lets herself be led in the right direction.

I pull out Alice's seat for her, before seating myself next to the girl. She's no longer staring at me, instead focusing on something out the window.

I stare at her unabashedly, and probably feeling my gaze, she turns towards me.

Her eyes are brown. A deep, unfathomable, chocolate brown.

We stare at each other for a while.

I feel as if time has stopped. There is nothing else in the world, except me, and this beautiful mystery before me.

I throw a prayer to the wind, and hope that she limits herself to one act of violence a day, and stick out my hand.

'Hello. My name's Edward Cullen.'

Still no emotions.

And no hand shakes mine.

But she hasn't slapped me, or kneed me in the groin, so I decide to take it a step further.

I gently let my hand encircle her wrist, and bring it up to meet my hand, shaking it.

'We shake hands here,' I tell her, smiling gently.

A flicker in her eyes.

It's enough. It's something.

The teacher walks in then, and she still hasn't told me her name.

But the flicker was enough. I'm encouraged. I'm determined to crack this beautiful mystery, and to unravel her.

When the teacher calls out her name, I want to say it out loud, it's so perfect.

Isabella Swan...

***

Bella's POV

His touch was... indescribable. I felt the warmth from his hand spread across my entire body. I wanted to melt into him.

It made me realize how long it had been since I'd been hugged. Properly hugged.

I didn't utter a single word to him the entire time. But my lack of response didn't seem to bother him in the slightest, nor make him uncomfortable. He seemed perfectly at ease.

The way he introduced himself floored me. Because he properly introduced himself. Like an adult. And shook my hand.

His self assurance threw me. He was neither cocky, nor over confident, he was merely... comfortable in his own skin.

It threw me because I'm, just, not comfortable in my own skin.

I have never been so grateful to my unbelievable icy skills. None of the emotions he instigated in me reflected in my face. Thankfully.

Driving home, away from the physics lab and away from him, allowed me time to clear my head.

It made me aware of several things.

One, I needed to maintain my reputation, and I reminded myself of the reasons I had my icy exterior in place.

Two, I need to double my efforts in distancing myself from my fellow classmates, if I was to protect myself to the threat that is:

Three, Edward Cullen. He was extremely, extremely dangerous, and I needed, above all things, to stay away.

***

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