Hey there. Sorry for the week long delay but I have fallen sick. Like, really sick, sore throat, running nose, high fever, massive headaches. Well, this probably doesn't concern you too much but it's true and I was busy trying to stay alive, plus the internet went down and I'm posting this from a starbucks. You get the picture. It's like the gods are against me doing this.

Also, my motivation with writing this is down the toilet these days. I am very grateful to those who review, please keep it up, and those who don't review, please tell me if this sucks too bad SO I CAN MOVE ON to (hopefully) bigger and better things because if it's only good in my head, maybe it should stay in there. Just please give me some feedback.

Okay, thanks to storytellerslie, marvar, kcerena and the angel that is Belle Dean, who's story, Winter of love, you should all be reading.

SM owns, blah, blah, blah...

Isabella Marie Swann

I get out of the car and take two of the shopping bags with me, telling Laszlo to handle the rest. Jasper has called ten times, and I forwarded all of them to my voicemail. I'm not sure I can handle him at the moment. He really is a piece of work. And it's only the beginning of the year. What will happen in a month? Will he get me a collar and order me around like a dog in front of his friends? I'm sure they'd love that too. Boys. No wonder I haven't slept with him yet. If only he could be a little nicer…

As we walk in, mother's entertainment from last night is ambling down the stairs with his shirt mostly undone and a swagger that makes it seem like he owns this place. My stomach coils with disgust, even though I didn't have that much to eat. I hate that she brings this escort trash here. It's so embarrassing that instead of trying to find a guy her age who could hold a conversation or who has a car to his name, at the very least, she is using these high end dildos. The most pathetic thing is that she probably believes that they'd be seeing her for free, but these sex toys come with baggage: they all seem to need money for college, have some gravely ill relative or something equally heartbreaking and bogus. At times like this, I can totally understand why Grandpa Finn chose to leave her out of the inheritance, as shitty of a situation as that puts me in. I only have to wait until twenty-five to get mine, but at times like this, it seems like an eternity.

The guy reaches the end of the steps and has the audacity to smile at me. I barely glanced at him, and I don't stop to look or acknowledge him in any way; I just walk on towards the kitchen. Then he stands in front of me and offers his right hand with a wide smile. "Hi, I'm Thomas.-"

"Don't talk to me," I say without looking at him.

"How was brunch, Bella?" Matilda asks, looking up from whatever she's doing on that cutting board. She glances at my shopping bags and glances up at the ceiling in what I'm sure is a thinly disguised eye roll.

"It was fine. I told Laszlo to bring the rest in."

"Oh, dear… Jasper called. He said he needed to talk to you," she says, taking my bags from me.

"I'm sure he did," I mutter.

"Please, Bella. Cut the poor boy some slack. He's an addled adolescent with a lot of sexual frustration." I raise one eyebrow at her. How exactly does she know about Jasper's level of sexual frustration? "You spent the summer apart, sweetheart."

"Exactly. Shouldn't he be super nice now?" I ask with confusion as I don't really have anyone to discuss this problem with.

"It takes some time to ease back into things, doesn't it?"

"Hmm." I'm frustrated too – sometimes. And Jasper doesn't always help. Last time I told him I had PMS cramps he passed me his bong and told me to take a hit, because apparently weed is some kind of miraculous natural panacea. I just hope he'll never be into all this hocus-pocus natural medicine voodoo and get to the point where he'll perform impromptu autopsies on household animals to try and cure me of my ills.

"How's Tanya?" Oh god. Not her too. It's not like Tanya's my Siamese twin.

"She's… fine, I guess."

"So she won't be over anytime soon," Matilda says, passing me a mug of mint tea.

"No." I'll have the minions over soon though. Angela said she'd bring a new girl she met over the summer. She said she was nice and whatever. I wasn't sure I wanted to have her over, but I relented. Angela never asks for anything and always gets things done, so it's the least I can do. Speaking of which, I wonder if she uploaded my pictures and stuff onto Facebook already. I hate dealing with that, so I just leave it to her; I really can't be bothered, but I know it's an important tool in socializing so I can't be left out.

I'm sipping my tea while Matilda is munching on some muffins and reading US Weekly or some other sub-par publication. I get bored and go upstairs to my room, bypassing the human dildo in the foyer. I know thinking about why he's still here would only give me me headache, so I try to push it out of my mind.

This thing with Tanya is like a little bug that has taken up residence in the back of my brain and just. Won't. Go. Away. I don't really know what to do about it, how to sniff out what the situation is like without calling her. Then I think of just the thing. I don't think Tanya could be unpleasant to the owner of her favorite penis; in fact I'm sure she would tell him just about anything, so Edward it is. Jesus, do I even have his number?

Okay, I do. It would've been awkward to call Jasper now just to ask for his number. But then again, Tyler probably has it too.

Edward is just as much of a pain as usual when I call him, but he does owe me. It would've looked bad for him if it came out that Tanya was getting some on the side, not that anyone would've been surprised. So now I was forced to learn from Rosalie, of all people, that she Waldorf. According to Laura, she was with some weirdo rock band. Well, at least I know what became of that spiritual cleansing trip to Bali she was so adamant about going on. I think it was just a shitty cover story anyway. If she told people she wanted to move to a nunnery, weave baskets, and forget there was ever such a thing as bikini wax, it would've made for a more convincing story. But she's not that creative.

My phone rings again, and I'm about to send it straight to voicemail when I see it's Tyler.

"What?" I pick up.

"Well, hello, Bella." How does his voice make everything sound like he's talking about something dirty?

"What do you want, Tyler?" I'm not in the mood for his little games today; I know he takes special pleasure in aggravating me but this time he really has taken it too far.

"That's no way to greet an old friend, is it Bella? I still can't believe you're pissed about what happened in London." Asshole. I can hear the smirk in his voice. Of course I'm still pissed about it. Who does that?

"Well, I am."

"I guess I've earned being called a motherfucker." He does not sound apologetic at all; more like roguish. This isn't funny.

"If you don't give me an excellent reason for this phone call, I'm going to hang up on you in five seconds."

"We need to talk."

"Okay, talk."

"Not over the phone."

"Why not? Is the FBI listening in?" I ask annoyed.

"We need to talk, Bella, in person, today," he says like I'm a willful idiot and there is no debate to be had with him.

"Well, I don't have time for you; sorry, Tyler. Maybe some other time. Until then, go and have fun with your walking, talking skeleton girlfriends who think Anna Karenina makes the best leggings since Lindsey Lohan."

"You should be nicer, Bella," he says with a smile lurking underneath his voice. "Now that you and Tanya broke your BFF status, you'll need someone you actually like to hang out with."

"Ha, and who would that be? You?" Okay, I do like hanging out with him, but admitting that is not going to help my case now, plus I don't think I can forgive him this easily. I'm still angry at him. "Tanya will always hate you like five day old stinky manure, Tyler. Well, at least until she actually wants to make it in the porn industry, I don't think she'll talk to you."

Tanya said some unsavory… okay, I guess down right nasty, albeit true things about Tyler to Tom Madison, who's a member of the Knickerbockers' club, a club founded by those who thought the Union's entry standards were too low. Unfortunately, Tom is the son of Richard Madison, their main patron. Tyler is dying to get accepted, not that he'd ever get in under eighteen, but everyone knows he will be admitted anyway, since he's legacy.

Tyler got really mad when he found out and told Tanya to take it back but she wouldn't, firstly because she didn't even know the guy that well and second, she had already told him he had a small dick and was shit in bed, being honest on all accounts. So Tyler released a video of Tanya on the internet. It was pretty popular on YouPorn, apparently. I never watched it because… well, you just don't want to see your best friend giving head. But that wasn't the nasty part; he left Tanya's contact info up there – her cell and home phone number. The profile said she was looking for people to produce her movies with.

It wasn't Tyler that Tanya was blowing in the video, so nothing could be proved, but most people suspected it was him behind it. I mean, I'm 99% sure. It was a really shitty move, and obviously he won't admit to it publicly. Understandably, they haven't been on the best of terms since then. Tanya's dad threatened the site with a lawsuit, so they removed it, but copies are still floating round in cyberspace. It was absolutely scandalous, but luckily, it never took off outside of school, although the Denali household did get a few lewd calls.

"Yeah, you're probably right. Just for the record though, it could've been anyone; most guys have some kind of self made media material of Tanya."

"Okay, can you say double standard?And that's an exaggeration. Don't make it seem like she slept with all the guys at school; she's not a slut, Tyler." Well, I mean, maybe a little. But Tyler is delusional if he thinks he of all people – who has his own place reserved at every sex addicts anonymous meeting within the state – can throw stones from his gigantic glass house.

"I don't want to shatter your beautiful Barbie princess world with all those rainbows and unicorns and fair trade chai lattes, so let's not discuss this now. But I need to talk to you in person. I'll come over at six."

"Don't. I told you I'm busy. You'll have to wait. I doubt it's that important."

"See you at six." And the bastard hangs up. I'm not going to let him in. He can go eff himself up the rear end. Oh wait, that's already taken, because it's where he keeps his head most of the time, very far up in fact. And I don't even like chai lattes.

Gah, sometimes I wonder why I hang out with him so much. Granted, we do have a little history, but thankfully it is little rather than big, as it was shaping up to be at the time.

I plop down on my chaise lounge, and I try to calm my nerves by looking over the catalogue of the 19th century European art auction to be held next month. Not that I'll bid on anything; I couldn't afford it. The cover has a William Bouguereau painting on it; I'm not a fan, but no matter, this will sell high even in these uncertain times. Honestly, the antiques market hasn't taken this economic hit as bad as they'd expected. Which is good, I guess. Plus art pieces this monumental are serious investments; one of the most famous Van Goghs is owned by a Japanese investment company.

This is what I want to do, this is my future, and I need to be well informed on these things and know people, so it goes without saying that I'll go. I'm crazy obsessed with art of all forms; I could spend days antique hunting if I had the time – and the money. I can't wait for the day when I'll be working: inspecting, authenticating and selling these actual, living pieces of history. That day, these petty high school shenanigans and people talking about my virginity behind my back and on shady internet blogs will be long past me.

I remember how Philippe, my step dad, used to take me to his office on weekends sometimes. The first thing that resonated with me is that I could have as much coffee cream from those little plastic cups as I wanted. When he had to consult people about stuff, I wouldn't stay alone in his office, so he took me with him. We would walk through these dingy corridors with no windows in this old building, so it was kind of scary, but I was still in awe. We went from various inventory rooms to restoration rooms; from one where a lady was putting diamonds into a tiara, to another, huge and full of furniture pieces that were just like what's in a story book. It was like an enchanted castle; a new wonder revealed behind each door. To this day, it is the closest thing to magic I have experienced. So that day, I decided that because of the magic and the free flowing coffee cream, I would do the same job as Philippe. I told him that on the way home, but he just laughed. It's twelve years later, but my goal still hasn't changed.

I know I may be going overboard sometimes, but I figure it's better to do more than less; at least that's my philosophy.

I look around realizing that someone has brought my shopping bags upstairs and that they are by the door. I didn't buy too much, just a few notable items that I wanted to get anyway. I also found a really nice orange Stella McCartney strapless corset dress that is just divine and has some weird but intriguing tailoring. It looked like it could be casual but formal too; I love those. The neckline is kind of low, but my boobs are not that big, so I can show a plunging décolletage and still look elegant. At least that's what I keep telling myself about my relatively small boobs, because according to Tanya that's why they are better. Not that she would know first-hand, of course. Sometimes I wish I could have boobs like hers the kind that can suck IQ points out of guys' heads and send them back to the stone age when they look at them for too long.

I take the dress out of the bag and decide to try it on, but when I put it in front of myself in the mirror, the color seems different than it did in the dressing room. Great. I hate it when I get conned into buying a dress and it turns out to be a different color than how it looked in the shop.

Orange is such a risky color, because there's barely half a shade between the energetic chic tangerine of Hermes' sunshine and Paris Hilton's DUI atonement uniform. I know I can take it back, but still.I don't even like shopping that much, but I can't afford a stylist or a personal shopper, as embarrassing as that is.

I walk up to the window to try and determine exactly how awful the shade of orange is on a one to ten scale. Looking at this feels like having a staring match with a baboon's backside. I'm never buying orange again, even when it isn't garnish, the color kind of sucks anyway.

Just when I'm about to have a fit because of the dress, someone knocks on my door. It must be the minions.

"Come in," I call.

It's them alright. Vic, wearing something overly coordinated, Angela something barely so and my best gay, Eric, prim and proper as ever. He's doing his usually sweet talking about how hot I look, and I know he does that to everyone but I think when it comes to me he means it. He could be daydreaming about rock hard abs and even harder peens right this second, but he knows how to charm the ladies. And he has this uncanny ability to identify clothing items by brand and season. I think it's a gift and a very useful one at that.

Then there is the new girl. I've already read the file that Angela made on her and honestly… she's nothing special. She has a skinny upper torso and she's flatter than me, but her legs are kind of strong, and her thighs a bit too thick to match her body. Her dress is outdated and does not fit her properly; she should've worn a smaller one. Her hair is dark and just laissez faire, but not in a good way, plus if someone's skin tone is uneven, like hers, they should use foundation, which she hasn't. She has orange cracked varnish on her nails and it's just… well, she certainly has a long way to go if she wants to hang out with me. I'm not sure she should come out with us tonight. I don't think she understands the significance of that, yet.

But at the same time she could be an asset. Who knows? Angela is one of the most trustworthy people I know; I mean I let her handle my Facebook account after all. That's like nuclear codes level of importance in a girl's life. And I didn't even get her through the traditional meanie recruiting procedure, so I guess I can trust this Alice girl too. We'll see.

She seems a bit intimidated, but definitely intrigued. I'm not sure if she is worth the effort, but I decide to give her the traditional potential minion treatment, prompting respect with just an ounce of intimidation. Not enough to instill fear or dislike, but a hint of showing off my bitchiness potential.

Then I demonstrate my generosity by trying to find a way to resolve the dire situation on top of her head. She has a nice face and really big eyes; kind of kid-like features that would look great with short hair. Plus it seems that taking care of her hair is not one of her talents. We deliberate on it for a while, but my hair wizard, Massimo, is out of town now, so not much can be done this weekend.

I also have more important things to attend to than her. Like my wardrobe for school, which is the reason for this little gathering in the first place. There is so little freedom left, I have to make the most of what we have because it's what matters the most. It's the space left to create meaning.

Handbags, first and foremost. I have been hunting for the perfect one over the summer, but I'm still undecided about it. I wish I could just go with some kind of pedestrian backpack and be done with it. But it would mean I'm unimaginative, boring, average, just-don't-give-a-hack and, worst of all, that I have the fashion sense of a weak-s-sighted, latently lesbian English teacher.

Alice seems to have good taste; she likes the Nappa Tote that I've chosen. It is classical without being boring, and has a hint of freshness with the new design. She agrees that it's the one I should take to school, but as it turns out she doesn't even have her own Prada bag. I find that hard to believe, but I'm good at reading people; she doesn't seem to be lying.

Then I decide to give the masses something to talk about and make the start of the school year just that more interesting. I give her one of my very own Prada bags from the new season's line. I didn't really like it all that much to begin with - it was a gift my father sent, the biological one, not Philippe - but she doesn't need to know that.

This gesture will definitely get tongues wagging and put her in a special position with the other potential minions; they'll be super nice to her face as she seems to be my favorite, but super bitchy behind her back, trying to tear her down. I guess it should test her future potential. I just made the race a teeny bit more interesting. I bet Victoria is already tweeting about it. Alice seems kind of guarded like she is suspicious, which is so weird coming from a girl like her, though I can't blame her for watching her back. Maybe she is smart. I wonder what she's heard about me.

I check my phone for the umpteenth time; Jasper keeps calling and Lauren wants to know if I can lend her that birdcage-shaped clutch. Ehm, how about no? I don't want her doing the ho-stroll with my pretty little clutch. Jasper even left a message, but I won't listen to it with all these people around.

I just want some peace because I still haven't decided what to do about the Jasper issue. I mean, it's not that I'm afraid of losing my virginity. I know it will hurt, it's not that… it's just… I know I was kind of okay with him experimenting with others a little over the summer but… what if he's that much better now and has like, expectations?

I mean, I was kind of relieved when Tanya had sex with him in summer camp because I didn't want to lose it at fourteen like she did. Or more like thirteen and three quarters. And Jasper wanted to do it too, so I kind of cut her some slack… but… now it's so scary because everyone is doing it. Rosalie and Lauren are already doing crotch exercises while sitting down in restaurants because that will make their orgasms and walls stronger or whatever.

So now the fact that I'm a virgin kind of makes me like special and extraordinary, but what if after sleeping with Jasper I just become k known as the bad and lousy, i inexperienced lay? I don't think he will dump me… but he wouldn't tell me if he was disappointed either.

I'd be like that actress, Sandy, in Grease who wouldn't act like a slut because of morals or what the hell ever then realized sex sells, but it was too late to catch up. I mean, I saw that Physical video she did as the top unsexiest video of all time on VH1, and it made her look like a weirdo because she was not supposed to act sexy; she was the good girl. So it looked all kinds of bad when she closed herself into a steam room with three sweaty guys… I mean… what can you do with three guys? I know women are better at multitasking, but this seems like way too much work to be fun.

I will have sex with him though, eventually. I just want reassurance that I won't be a disappointment, and he can't give me that beforehand, so this is a tricky situation. It's not something you can actually practice for so you can do well, like French kissing.

God, I'd never live it down if that ever came out that I'd been so nervous about kissing with my tongue in the equation. Kate, Tanya's older sister, said she got dumped by her first boyfriend because she was a lousy kisser, so I asked Tanya to help me practice so Jasper wouldn't dump me. I know guys would probably think it was sexy, but I was really so nervous about losing Jasper it was kind of sad how I desperate I was. It was really vicious on Kate's part, to say the very least. I didn't feel sexy, I felt fraught.

And what if that thing they say, about guys only being able to fall in love if they have sex, is true? I mean, girls usually want to feel like they are in love before they have sex, so that would mean guys are forced to lie to keep up the human race. Which can't be true, right?

I mean, I don't think he lied about loving me, but will things change after…

I wish I could discuss this with Tanya. She's not big on relationships, but she knows all there is to know about sex. I wonder how Edward is faring with her. I bet she already succumbed to the lure of her favorite peen. Anyway, I have to decide on which shirt to wear with the uniform. The standard school one must have been tailored by a blind guy channeling a 13th century puritan monk who thought he was designing straightjackets. I swear to God, they want to make us look bad.

A/N: Please leave me some luurve. I really need it to keep going.