Author's Note: The characters and settings of Twilight belong to Stephenie Meyer. The original content, ideas, and plot lines of this story belong to the author. The events in this story are fictional and any similarities to actual persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. No copyright infringement is intended.

Additionally, this story contains subject matter not suitable for minors. Underage drinking, drug use, consensual sex, strong language, abuse, and other adult content may be present in this story. Again, all sex in this story is consensual. If you are under 18 and/or uncomfortable with any of these subjects, please be advised that this story may not be for you.

Leading Lady

Chapter 4 – Such Stuff as Dreams Were Made On

BELLA.

I puke my guts up for the majority of Saturday evening. The thought of my father going back to Phoenix turns my stomach. I want to be able to protect this man I hardly know from my own mother, and that makes me feel sicker.

As Saturday night becomes Sunday morning, and morning becomes afternoon, I give up my struggle against my own conscience. The control I had so carefully exacted over my thought patterns begins to loosen and slip away from me. I refuse to allow myself to dwell on Phoenix, and in the quiet void left in the absence of those painful thoughts, Mr. Sexy creeps into my mind.

I'm not able to resist my thoughts once they begin to wander to him. I close my eyes and conjure up his image. I can see him perfectly. His copper hair tousled and unruly. His green eyes blinking at me. His strong arms wrapped around me...

And as the sun rises higher in the sky, wrapped warmly in thoughts of him, I can finally sleep.

I spend most of Sunday in bed, trying not to think about my father's upcoming trip. Even though I never even leave the house, I feel totally drained.

I lay on my back all day with my stomach in knots. My insides churn at the thought of my mother and my father being in the same state, much less the same room. The thought of the two of them breathing the same air has me nearly paralyzed.

I get out of bed around 6 PM when I hear Charlie get up. I can hear him banging around in the laundry room and I know my assistance is needed. I find him throwing piles of clothes into the washing machine.

"Hey, Dad," I say, as I lean against the doorframe. My voice is thick with sleep and my eyelids still feel heavy.

"Hey, kid. You just getting up?"

"Yeah, I think I have a stomach bug or something," I lie. "Couldn't sleep."

He continues tossing clothes in the washer. I shove myself off the wall and gently push him aside with the tips of my fingers. I robotically go through the washer, sorting lights and darks, and remove his uniform and set it aside to be taken to the dry cleaners.

The air is heavy with unspoken and unanswerable questions. Charlie goes downstairs to microwave some leftovers for deckfast and I sit on the dryer until the cycle is complete. I take his clean laundry to his bedroom and put it all in a bag. I carry the bag downstairs and leave it near the front door. I can't bear to think about where he's going or what he's planning to wear there, so I think of my neighbor instead.

He is quickly becoming a beautiful escape from a painful reality.

Charlie leaves for the airport after we eat dinner. He pats my head, hands me a couple bucks, tells me to be safe, and leaves. And then I'm alone in the house.

I look out the window towards Mr. Sexy's house until my exhaustion takes hold of me again and I fall back into bed.

It's Monday morning. I'm blotting my face dry over the sink and looking forward to finals when I hear my phone ring.

"Hello?"

"Bella, it's me, Angela."

"Hey, you nervous about the calc final or something?"

"A little. But that's not why I'm calling. Um, I have gossip."

"That doesn't sound like you."

"I know. But this time it's important."

"Let's have it."

"Okay, so you know how Mr. Wilcox bailed?" I wait. "I met his replacement." I wait more. "He's really hot."

Now I'm interested. "Go on, " I say.

"Okay, I was working at the diner and the Whitlocks came in. You know, the librarian and the French teacher?"

"Yes, I know who the Whitlocks are. Talk faster. I don't want to be late."

"Okay, I'll get right to it. Mrs. Whitlock's hot and sexy brother is going to be teaching AP English and Drama Lit next semester! Isn't that amazing?" She uncharacteristically screams into the phone. This guy must be majorly sexilicious, I think.

Interesting. I am in the market for a new AP English teacher - Mrs. Cope's class is quickly becoming the most boring and depressing way to spend an hour in the history of all mankind. If this new teacher dude is into theatre as well, I figure his English class couldn't be that boring. "What does he look like? Describe," I demand.

"He's basically just a super cute, green-eyed hottie with red hair. You'll die." Um, hello? This has to be the same guy. Shit, she's describing Mr. Sexy.

She's telling me that my neighbor is a teacher. A fucking hot teacher. A teacher and potentially my teacher. For many hours, every day. Fuck.

I refuse to believe that I should be so lucky as to bask in the presence of this man's hotness for so much of my day. I need more information. I decide to reserve excitement until Angela's story can somehow be corroborated.

I take a deep breath. "I can't wait to meet him," I say cooly. I cannot let on that I am pretty much stalking him, or that he is my neighbor. No one can know about what a weird freak I am, or that I am being a weird freak in such close proximity to Mr. Sexy.

"What did you say his name is?" I ask, as calmly as possible. I'm about to put a name to the face... and the body.

"I didn't. His name is Edward. Edward Cullen," she whispers in a deviant way.

Edward. I like it. A lot.

I leave me counselor's office and walk down the hallway toward Edward's office. I had started calling him that in my head on the drive to school.

Edward, Edward, Edward, Edward.

Though I've never met him, I feel strangely familiar with him.

Other teachers are meeting with other students in their respective offices. I can see them through their open doors. My classmates and acquaintances sit opposite their instructors in the harsh morning sunlight, leaning over papers and tests from the past few weeks. I squint.

What I'm doing is nothing out of the usual. It's perfectly normal to approach a staff member before first period.

And yet my heart races so fast that I'm sure if Edward were to look close enough, he'd be able to see it beat right through my blouse.

"Hey. Mister Cullen?" I knock on the doorframe of his office, careful to use his proper, teacherly name. He looks up and I almost trip as I take a step toward him. I've never seen him this close before. I've imagined it, yes, but nothing could have prepared me for the way the corner of his mouth curls up, or how his hair looks in the morning light. Closer is so much better.

I run my hands through my hair, swallow nervously, and try to monitor my heart rate. It's very difficult to walk, speak, and keep control of all my bodily functions at once now that I'm this close to him. I think I might scream or explode.

Instead, I stand quietly and try to breathe.

"Yeah." He closes his book. "Can I help you?"

"Um, yeah. I guess I just wanted to let you know that I'm transferring into your first period class next semester."

His features twist, as though I've just been rude. "Would you like to rephrase that?" His tone is sharp. My heart stops. What have I done wrong? I feel myself flush. What am I supposed to say to that?

"I'm sorry. It's just that I had a conflict with my schedule and I have to leave Mrs. Cope's class and switch to yours next semester...?" I roughly unfold my class schedule and point out his name next to the first slot on my schedule: period 1.

He takes the dirty, creased page from me and examines it. He turns a bit red and clears his throat. "Oh. I see. Not your fault. Your counselor is supposed to have you come ask me if that's all right before she makes any changes in my class size."

"Sorry," I say. "I didn't know that." I feel so stupid. I should have known that I needed to ask him if I could be in his class, rather than inform him that I'm going to be there next semester and expect that he'll teach me.

The quiet moment passes like an hour and I briefly consider just running for it. But I'm already here. I have to be in his class - I need to be on so many levels - and I have no choice but to endure this embarrassment and move forward.

"Don't apologize. It's not your fault." He smiles and hands me my paper. "What's your name?" He retrieves a red folder from between a copy of Hamlet and a Billy Collins book. I watch his hands as he pulls out a stack of papers and selects one of them. His long fingers nimbly smooth the sheet out on his desk.

I nearly forget his question.

"My name is Bella," I say slowly.

"Isabella. Swan." He says, running his finger down a list of names, uttering all the syllables so perfectly I almost think to applaud him. My name sounds so good in his mouth. I prefer Bella, but this man could call me Fuckface and I wouldn't mind. "Yep. You're right. First period Advanced English in room 214. I'll see you after the break."

"Okay. Thanks," is all I can think to say.

I turn to leave. I want to stay forever, just to look at him, but I'm also so desperate to get out of his sight. I can't have him see me like this - so red. This whole interaction has been totally mortifying.

"I'm sorry," he whisper-shouts after me. I turn to him again.

"For what?"

"If I was rude before. I'm kind of protective of my class sizes. I'm new to this. Don't want to have my hands too full. I want to be able to give you guys as much attention as I can." All I hear him say is 'protective'. I like that.

"That's okay. Not your fault," I echo, and give him a small smile.

And, just like that, I walk out of his office. I'm so giddy I could scream. I have successfully landed a spot in his class without majorly humiliating myself in the end.

Though I feel pretty dumb that I didn't know about asking permission to switch to his class, I'm utterly relieved that I didn't trip and land with my face in his lap or something.

I shudder to think of it.

I try to keep my cool as I walk to my class. A huge smile begins to spread across my face and I don't want anyone to know how gleeful I am to get to be in his class next semester. That, too, could be embarrassing.

It's amazing how the fates work sometimes. There really is a conflict in my schedule. I have to get out of 3rd period English because next semester I need to be in 3rd period Drama. Luckily, my 1st period Economics class is only one semester long and has just ended. I have an opening. A perfect little opening that can be filled by only one Advanced English class. And it's taught by Mister Edward Cullen.

I walk across campus towards my car, hunched over in my blue plaid coat. The final dismissal bell has just rung and I'm desperate to get home and scream into my pillow.

My father will be coming back from Phoenix in a few days. I need a few hours to scream and flail my arms about in excitement over the days' events before Rosalie comes over to help me set up for the party she insists I throw in honor of his absence.

Charlie flew out to Arizona to finish up some custody paperwork with my mother. Since the domestic dispute between Renee and her boyfriend, Phil, I'd been a ward of the state until my Dad came to claim me. I've been living with him here in Forks since the end of last summer, but Charlie's been so caught up with his work at the police station that several forms were overlooked and unsigned.

It's now mid-December, and with the new year coming, the timing is cut so close that he has to settle things with Renee in person.

He doesn't want me to miss any of my classes, so he agreed to let me stay in Forks. It seems that now that he has custody of my sorry ass, he's going to fully make up for 17 years of absence by parenting me to the extreme. I am more than happy to be left out of the custody battle. Staying alone in an empty house for a few days is nothing new to me, and I would rather not see Renee or Phil at the moment. Besides, with Charlie working the night shifts at the station, I never see him much anyway.

It looks like it might rain and the threat of moisture has me shaking in my boots. Literally. I still haven't quite warmed up to the idea of wet and rainy year round, but climate is a small price to pay to be able to leave Phoenix and the bleak memories behind.

I pass the front office and allow myself one little half-smile at the memory of what transpired that morning.

I'm so enchanted by my own giddiness that I feel like I might leap out of my skin.

"Swan!" I hear a voice bark in my direction.

I jump. Maybe I'll leap out of my skin after all.

I stop and turtle my head out of the collar of my coat. There, sticking his head out of the doorway of his office - catching me in my stupor - he stands. I swallow hard. I thought we'd resolved everything, so what's going on? I don't want to have to deal with this anymore. Just let me be in your class, Mr. C. Does it have to be so hard?

For a second I think I might actually cry with frustration. I also think about ducking back into my coat and continuing on as though I haven't heard him. But it's too late. He saw me smile giddily when I passed his office. And he witnessed my features fall when he called my name. It's my turn to say something.

"Hi," is all I can manage.

"Get over here." Shit, I'm in trouble. I've already apologized for making the mistake I didn't even know I was making.

"Okay." I shuffle my way to the door, which he holds open. He ushers me in like a gentleman. I can smell his cologne as I pass by. His scent coupled with this unexpected chivalry both confuses and excites me. He urges me down the hall to his office. I walk in front of him and wonder what part of me he's looking at, or if he's even looking at me at all.

Don't blush, Bella, I think. "I'm sorry if I caused you any trouble this morning. I didn't mean to bother you... I just thought it'd be polite to introduce myself before -"

"Oh, stop that," he teases, waving one hand in my direction. I mash my lips together in an effort to show him that I'm ready to shut up. "Come on." He shows me over to his desk.

Jesus, what the fuck is this about?

"So, guess what?" he asks. I gave him a sarcastic shrug as I drop my book bag as if to say, how the hell should I know?

He eyes me sideways. "You and I will be spending a lot of time together this semester."

This guy can be dense. "Hmm?" I hum. I want him to elaborate.

"I took a look at your course schedule after you left this morning. I didn't realize that your third period conflict was that you were taking Drama Lit." He pauses and waits for me to respond. I furrow my brow. "Dramatic Literature? Yeah, I'm teaching that class."

I cough.

"I'm taking Jim's spot while he's on sabbatical this year."

Whoa. This is huge. Angela was right. That girl simply can't lie.

I start to process this information...

Drama Lit is a block class. 3rd and 4th period run into each other... This man will be teaching me for an hour in the morning for AP English and then... for two more hours in the afternoon.

"Cool." I almost can't think about it. In a matter of few hours, I went from admiring this man from afar to being forced to remain in his presence for three hours a day. This is about to be the best semester of my life.

"Yep. I'm no Mr. Wilcox, but I'll do my best." He sounds like he's trying to impress me.

Ah, James Wilcox. Jim. The man who nearly ruined my senior year by choosing to knock up his Italian wife, Victoria, and ditch all of us theatre kids for a villa in the countryside. His absence has left us all deeply bitter.

Wilks, as we affectionately called him, was a total drama god. Not only was he a brilliant teacher and director, but he managed to make every student feel special and accepted, too. The hours I - and countless others - spent poring over scripts and set designs in his 30-year career were considered precious and formative.

But here I am. Sitting across from Mr. C. Is he trying to get to know me? I know he'll never, ever measure up to the legacy that Wilks left behind, but he can try. A little eye candy never hurt anyone.

"I'm sure you'll do just fine," I say, as if I'm placating a child. He laughs.

"Any advice?" he asks sincerely. He actually looks worried, or nervous.

"Nothing springs to mind," I say, jutting out my bottom lip.

"Okay, thanks." He pokes out his bottom lip too. I have to look away before it drives me insane. "Now don't keep Rosalie waiting." He's right; Rose is no doubt leaning against my car at this moment, cursing the impending clouds and my tardiness. But how does he know that?

"Oh. Yeah, okay. See you after the break!" I blurt overexcitedly.

"Have a good time and be safe."

"Right," I mutter under my breath.

"I'm serious," he says earnestly, as I stand and make my way to the door.

Rosalie stands next to my truck, her AP Calculus textbook held over her head. I hasten my walk and unlock the truck as fast as I can. Rose sighs happily and hops into the car.

I open the driver's side door, get in, and throw my bag on the floor at Rose's feet. I press my lips together in an effort not to smile in front of her. She'll know immediately that my giddiness is about a boy and she won't stop prying until she has all the details. She's annoying that way. I don't want to have to explain that it's about a man.

"Did you get the beer yet?"

"Hmm?" I'm contemplating the full meaning of 'man.'

"The beer. For tonight? It's still on, right?" She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at me.

"Oh yeah. Totally. Um, Emmett's getting it. I have to swing by his place. Do you wanna go?"

"Um, Okay. Sure." She blushes.

"I was thinking that we should get a bottle of vodka and enough beer for a few rounds of beer pong. Do you think that's enough?"

"Yeah. Tell people to bring their own mixer, though."

"Right." I turn the key and the song that we were blasting this morning picks up right where it left off. We abruptly begin singing along at the top of our lungs as we make our way over to Emmett's house.

When we pull up in front of Emmett's house, we spot him smoking a cigarette out front. I watch as Rosalie smoothes her hair down and sneaks a peek at herself in the side-view mirror. I know this girl well enough not to confront her about her obvious crush on this guy. She'll tell me when she's good and ready.

"Hey, Bella. Hey, Rose," Emmett nods at us when we got out of the truck.

Rose blushes. "How's it going, Emmett?"

"So the party really is happening then, huh?" He drops his cigarette in a puddle and walks out to the sidewalk to meet us.

"Yeah, yup. Uh-huh. My dad's out of town, so..."

"So who cares if it's finals week? Let's get trashed, right?" Rosalie finishes my sentence.

"Yeah, man. I mean, that sounds great." They're connecting on such a deep level. "So, what do you need?"

I hand him the cash. "Like, a bottle of vodka - whatever's cheap - and a case of beer."

"Or two," Rose chimes in.

"Alright, ladies. You got it. I'll bring it by, say, 8?"

"Totally." Rose giggles.

"That's sounds good, Emmett. Thanks," I say, and pull Rosalie by the wrist back to the truck. We get inside and I wave a grateful goodbye to Emmett.

"Emmett's so nice to do this for you. Don't you think?" She asks without looking at me.

"Yeah, um, he's cool. A good guy." I gun the engine and drive around the block to Rosalie's place.

"Okay, I'm just going to shower and get ready. I'll come by around 6, okay?"

"Okay, Rosalie. I'll see you then." She smiles back at me and slides out of my truck. For the first time since leaving Edward's presence, I find myself alone. I burst out laughing. I can't control it.

I'm sincerely not looking forward to hosting a party at my father's house tonight, but Rosalie insists that she'll help me clean up afterwards and that it will actually be a good time. What I can't understand is why people even want to come party at my place in the middle of finals week. I have gotten my scariest final out of the way, and am fine with sipping a beer and watching music videos on Charlie's flat screen for an evening. But I know that several of Rosalie's invites will be doing much more than that. Jessica Stanley mentioned something about jello shots earlier.

When I get home, I go straight to my room and flop facedown on my bed. I let an excited moan escape into my pillow before I start laughing again. I'm fucking giddy. It's stupid.

I decide to follow Rosalie's lead and shower myself. I strip down on my way to the bathroom and leave a trail of clothes. I feel free to make a bit of a mess now that I have the house to myself.

I turn on the shower water.

I end up standing in front of the bathroom mirror just looking at my naked body while the water warms up. I wonder if I'm attractive. Can anyone be interested in me? I'm skinny and clumsy, and usually covered in bruises. My chest is okay, but embarrassingly small compared to Rosalie's. I'm pretty enough, but again, next to other girls, I'm plain. I wonder if anyone like Edward will ever be interested in someone like me.

The tub is beginning to get full.

I scrap the shower idea and slip into the bathwater. I lay in the warm water and just think about Edward. There's no point in resisting it anymore. I imagine myself lying against his bare chest in a tub just like this. I think of his arms wrapping around me from behind. His hands running up and down my arms, my chest, my stomach. His lips kissing my neck, whispering in my ear.

I feel my insides tense as I touch myself.

He's holding me, stroking me, kissing me.

I contract around my fingers.

I'm still in my towel when Rosalie arrives.

"Thank god you're not dressed yet. I swear to god, if you were thinking about wearing a v-neck tee, just don't even tell me. I brought you something." She's wearing a pair of jeans that leave very little to the imagination and a silvery tank top. A matching pair of heels explain why she seems about a thousand feet tall.

"Okay, I'm just gonna throw on some sweats to wear while we set up, then you can play dress up with me all you want."

"Good deal."

Rosalie and I spend a good hour moving furniture and locking up anything fragile. When the kitchen table is properly set up for beer pong and all the photos are removed from the mantle, Rose and I go up to my room to get dressed.

"You can wear jeans. I mean, I am, so, yeah. But put this on." She throws something blue and filmy at me.

"Fine, but I'm wearing sneakers."

"If you're going to wear sneakers, you have to wear a thong." She's chastising me.

"And just who do you think wants to see my pale ass in a thong?"

"Do you want me to write down the list, Bella? To start, Jacob is coming."

"Oh god, Rose. No. He's not going to see my... He's just not."

"Maybe not tonight," she wiggles her eyebrows at me. "But he will."

"Whatever, Rosalie. Okay."

The doorbell rings. Rosalie bites her lip and looks at me. I nod and she runs down the stairs to get the booze from Emmett. I get dressed. I wear a thong, not because I want Jacob - or anyone at the party - to see it, but because I know Rose will be up my ass (no pun intended) all night if she finds out I go against her wishes. I put on my favorite pair of blue jeans, and pull the shirt Rosalie gave me over my head. I can't wear a bra with the thing, which is fine. I don't have much boobage to jiggle around anyway.

I run my hands through my hair and walk down the stairs.

"Damn, Bella! You clean up good," Emmett says, and cracks a can of beer open. Rosalie shoots him a look he doesn't quite catch, and then looks at me. Her lips are pursed.

"Bella, you need mascara. And don't come back down until you've put it on."

I leave the two of them alone in the kitchen to... whatever, and just do as Rose tells me. The guests will be arriving soon and I'm not really looking forward to greeting people at the door all night.

I put on a little makeup and then sit on my bed for a few minutes, just to steel myself for a night of inevitable torture. This house will soon be full of loud, awkward, and messy teenagers. All I really want to do is think about Edward. Tonight is sure to get uncomfortable.

I can hear more and more voices downstairs and I begin to worry that if I don't make an appearance soon, people will forget that this is even my house. I take a deep breath and walk out of my room.

"Bella!" about a thousand people boom at me as soon as I hit the first floor. I walk straight through the crowed towards the beer.

I'm definitely going to need a drink.