It seemed that some things never changed.

High school or mole people palace, Bella was always going to be on the outside looking in. Though, of course, high school had been slightly less ridiculous, almost to be expected. This, this was just embarrassing.

Bella was now two days into her sojourn among the mole people.

Two days in and Bella had reached an undeniable truth: she was unpopular.

There were only two tables in what Aro, her ever so helpful tour guide with the alarming habit of appearing out of nowhere, had named 'the grand hall'. Oaken, of course, ornately carved, with actual silver for silverware and china plates rimmed in gold to match.

It was the ritziest place Bella had ever seen in her life, had ever even imagined, even in films of old European aristocracy.

That wasn't the point though.

The point was that there were only two tables.

At those two tables there was only a total of seven people—aliens—things in shockingly convincing human costumes. Both tables looked like they could seat forty, easy.

Yet, somehow, despite there being huge tables and so few people she could count them all on her fingers, by that first breakfast they had already formed what Bella liked to call the groupening.

No matter where you went, no matter how old you were, the groupening would happen. People would flock together based on some unspoken instinct, not necessarily whether you were pretty or whether or not you smelled bad, but something integral to the very soul, and Bella—would stand there with her lunch tray like a complete dumbass.

That first day, she'd thought she imagined it. This—couldn't actually be happening. She'd told herself there were only five of them (they'd gained two members this morning), and that while the groupening was inevitable, it couldn't possibly happen between only five people.

So, she'd quickly scarfed down her breakfast then made her way to the library (good thing, too, given how quickly she'd gotten lost). Lunch—had been the same though. So had dinner.

Now, breakfast again, even with two new and exciting members, and it was just the same.

The twins from orientation, Jane and Alec, who said they were fifteen but looked like they were eleven, sat with the fashionista woman that had been with Aro at the bus stop. Just like the day before, the two seemed in intense competition to throw their food into the trash as artistically as possible.

Bella had to hand it to them, they had mad skills. Michael Jordan would be feeling the heat if he saw them in action.

The woman, for her part, looked like she wanted to sink into her seat and die of embarrassment.

The other table featured—Bella didn't even know what to call them.

None of them looked alike, well, not beyond how all these people looked alike. Marble skin, freakishly and intimidatingly beautiful, shadows under the eyes—the usual.

There was a blonde who had to be the most intimidatingly beautiful woman Bella had ever seen. It was like someone had taken a jug labeled "essence of hot cheerleader" and poured the whole damn thing into one body while also adding a healthy dose of "goddess".

There was a man who had to be the size of a small house. He and the blonde appeared to already, somehow, have started dating judging by how closely they were sitting together. Bella told herself they must have known each other beforehand. Well, they probably did, the mole people had to come from somewhere after all. More though, if they didn't know each other and blondie had picked up a boyfriend that fast, then Bella's love life was even sadder than usual.

Then there was a woman with light brown hair and heart shaped face who looked a little older than the other two, probably at the end of her university career. She, too, was intimidatingly good looking.

From day one, the three had sat together and—made it very clear there wasn't a seat for Bella. This was made even worse when, upon walking in this morning, Bella found that they'd picked up a fourth member, a stupidly tall, stupidly good looking, blonde man.

It wasn't that there wasn't a seat for anybody, just not one for Bella.

And that if she tried to throw food into the trashcan with the other two, she'd just miss and just embarrass herself. Even if they were now joined by embarrassed fashionista bus stop Audrey Hepburn.

So, just like yesterday, Bella sat by herself on the other end of the table from Jane and Alec. She offered them a small waive. They, at least, waived back cheerfully before resuming throwing their bagels into the trash.

Bella began pouring herself orange juice.

At least the food was spectacular.

At least she was still alive to eat food, that was certainly a plus.

That boy from yesterday—Edward, Marcus had called him.

Bella had known this place was dangerous, she'd realized that she might die here, but she hadn't really felt it until that moment her eyes had met Edward's. Nothing had driven home just how inhuman these people, these things, were until her eyes had met his.

It wasn't that there was nothing in them, no, they had been—so filled with hatred. More hatred than Bella thought could ever be directed towards anyone and anything. A hatred fueled by something far beyond rational thought and explanation…

For a brief second, even though he hadn't moved an inch or said a word, she had thought she was going to die.

Then he'd disappeared in the blink of an eye, Marcus with him, and—while Marcus had come back, Edward had not.

Not for lunch, not for dinner, and not this morning either.

Marcus had said Edward wouldn't be coming back. She believed him, Marcus didn't lie and so far he'd always lived up to his word, but she found herself looking for him all the same.

It felt so… unresolved.

Like this couldn't possibly be over.

It probably was over though, Bella mused to herself.

Whatever this was, whatever reason Bella was actually here for, she was pretty sure Edward had failed 'Interacting with Humans 101'. Spectacularly at that, he'd failed in the first five seconds without even opening his mouth, Bella was almost impressed. She didn't know what failing exactly meant here, what they were even trying to do other than—pretend to be in a summer program, but it did seem that the consequences for blowing it were instant removal.

And Edward had blown it, no doubt about that.

Didn't mean she hadn't had the world's most surreal nightmare about him though.

"Good morning."

Bella choked on her orange juice and immediately started hacking all over the table.

She looked up to find the new one, the blonde man, staring at her in concern. Clinging to his arm, looking as if she was fearing for her life, was the caramel haired woman.

"Ah, I'm so sorry," he said, looking extremely embarrassed, "I didn't realize you were so lost in thought—"

"It's cool," Bella rasped, trying to regain her voice while wheezing, "It's all cool, I'm cool."

Bella was not cool, for the record, she never had been.

"Bella Swan," Bella said, reaching out with a hand to shake his, 'resident human' went unspoken.

The man smiled, looking a little more at ease, before nodding towards the woman holding his arm in a death grip, "Carlisle Cullen, and this is my—friend, Esme Platt."

The death grip, of course, prevented one Carlisle Cullen from taking Bella's hand. Even when this became apparent, she didn't let go.

Esme flinched, looking like she'd just been hit with an unexpected anvil. Before Bella could ask the woman gave an awkward, forced, laugh, "Hello, lovely to meet you."

Right.

Well, so far, A+ for Scotty McScotsman and C for Esme. Still better then the F Edward had pulled out of his hat the day before.

"Mind if we sit with you?" Cullen asked, nodding towards the two very empty seats across from her.

"Sure," Bella said, her tone sounding anything but sure. Regardless, Carlisle took his seat. After a very longing look back at the other table and her fast friends, Esme took the one next to him.

She still hadn't let go of his arm.

Bella decided she'd let these people go first.

Cullen didn't disappoint, after a second of awkward silence, he asked, "So, what program are you in? I'm in the history program."

"I'm retaking an art course that I failed last semester," Bella confessed easily.

He took it surprisingly well, by which Bella meant his reaction was very human. He blinked at her, looked very confused, and then looked like he didn't want to ask at all. Yes, A+ for Mr. Carlisle Cullen.

Bella kept drinking her orange juice.

"Well, I hope it goes well this time," Carlisle finally said.

"Me too," Bella said, then after a beat added, "I mean, I suppose it's all uphill from here."

"What do you mean?" Esme asked, looking very confused, and still holding onto Cullen's arm like it was her only lifeline.

Carlisle though—he did not look confused. No, for a second there, his face was filled with wariness and dread. As if he knew exactly what Bella was talking about.

It dawned on Bella, then, that for all the pretense of being students, these people weren't students. They hadn't come from all over the world or even all over the United States. No, they probably all knew each other very well, had known each other for years, and it was only Bella who didn't get a peek behind the curtain.

This man, everyone here, probably knew Edward.

What was it Marcus had said? "I know his father."

Bella felt an old, familiar, unquenchable curiosity bubbling inside of her. It was an instinct that had always gotten her into trouble (had brought her to this place, even) but that didn't mean that there was any denying it either.

Bella decided that perhaps it was time to throw a little caution to the wind.

She motioned to Carlisle and Esme, then the other table (where the blonde was now glaring daggers at Bella), "You guys all seem to know each other."

Carlisle opened his mouth, closed it, and finally admitted with very clear mortification, "Ah, yes, we met each other before you arrived. You should meet everyone too, maybe at lunch. Rosalie and Emmett are wonderful—"

Well, seemed they really weren't supposed to have known each other beforehand. They'd clearly bungled that up.

Still, not Bella's point, "You met Edward then?"

The man's face didn't change color. He didn't pale, nor did he flush, and his marble skin was—it wasn't expressive the same way a human's face would be. Bella could read the fear and dread in it just the same.

Yeah, the resident alien Scotsman definitely knew Edward.

"Briefly," he admitted quietly.

To Bella's surprise, it was Esme who spoke next, "Oh, Edward is lovely, so sensitive and kind. Truly the best and brightest of all of us—I mean—that is, of everyone I've met here—so far. I'm sure you're lovely too, Bella."

She said it so—earnestly. Nervously, of course, but more than that was the sheer earnestness. As if, by simply having dropped Edward's name, Esme had to gush about how amazing he was. Like he was her precious dog or son and she had hundreds of thousands of photos of him in a binder.

"Pretty sure I murdered his puppy in a past life," Bella said slowly, the words just falling out of her lips.

Carlisle didn't look surprised, Esme looked shocked and appalled.

"What?" Esme said, "Oh, no, you must be wrong, Bella. Edward's always so kind and generous, he'd never think poorly of anyone!"

"Hm," was all Bella could say to that, but it seemed that wasn't good enough.

"I'm sure this is all a grave misunderstanding," Esme insisted, her one free hand now gesturing wildly, "If you give him a chance, I know you'll see the wonderful boy I do, who always puts everyone above himself and—"

"Ah, Esme," Carlisle hastily interjected, "I believe I overheard the director saying that—Edward had to go home. Family emergency."

The woman looked, once again, like she'd been hit by an anvil. Only, this anvil was the size of the Titanic.

"But—" Esme started only to stop, "Not for the whole summer, right? He can't be gone for the whole summer, he simply can't."

Carlisle kept staring at her, looking as if he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, "Esme, you know—it sounded bad, Esme, I believe it very well might be the whole summer."

"But that's terrible," Esme said, "To be separated from fam—friends—"

"Esme, he'll be alright," Carlisle insisted, now placing a hand on her shoulder, seeming to have forgotten that Bella was here at all.

Esme, however, was inconsolable, "No, he won't be alright! Oh, Carlisle, he must be so devastated! So utterly heartbroken!"

"He has friends and family at home," Carlisle said, "He'll be alright."

Esme just shook her head, looking as if she was going to burst into tears any second now. Bella—was starting to feel a little bad, she'd just wanted to find out what Edward's deal was. She hadn't expected this emotional fallout.

Bella kept drinking her orange juice.

"Oh, Carlisle," Esme said, looking at Carlisle in despair, "There must be something we can do, something we can say—"

And Carlisle—Carlisle looked as if he had been desperately hoping she would not ask that, "Esme, there is nothing we can do. This—this is beyond all our control, especially Edward's, he can't stay. We've talked about this—"

"But—" Esme finally let go of his arms in order to wring her hands, "If it's about—control can be learned, Carlisle. Perhaps, if he stays and just adjusts to the—"

"Esme!" Carlisle said, his expression one of utter terror as he stared at her. Bella couldn't help but note that he pointedly was not looking at Bella herself.

Bella wasn't sure what all that was about, but she was pretty sure that Esme had just let a lot of crucial details slip.

Regardless, it seemed to be too much for Esme. She shook her head, shoved herself away from the table, and fled dramatically in despair. And when Bella said fled, she meant that woman was moving at Usain Bolt speeds, Bella barely caught her leaving.

Not a few seconds later, the other table stood in unison, and the very angry blonde and her humble giant followed Esme out of the room. The woman made sure to glare daggers at Carlisle until she was out of sight.

Which just left Bella and Carlisle.

And the ghost called Edward.

"Sorry," Bella said after a beat of silence.

He looked, for a moment, as if he'd say something along the lines of 'that's quite alright' but caught himself at the last minute, "What for?"

"It seems—ah—Edward's a touchy subject," Bella summarized.

"No, it's—" Carlisle paused, likely trying to think of some explanation for why Esme would care so much if she just met this Edward chap, "Esme worries about Edward, that's all."

It seemed he'd given up.

Probably for the best.

"I'm sure he's—" Bella paused.

She'd wanted to say 'nice' or 'pleasant', or something positive to make it seem like this wasn't all super awkward. Trouble was, she didn't think he was.

Oh, she didn't know him at all, he just glared at her scarily this one time then teleported. As far as gaining insight into a person's character, Bella would easily admit that she had no idea who Edward was or what he was even about.

But Marcus didn't like him either.

Marcus had said—that Edward hated him. That he hated him with an intensity that couldn't be put into words.

And Bella couldn't help but wonder just what kind of person would loathe Marcus, a man who was so… Marcus that he couldn't possibly cause any harm to anyone or anything.

"I heard what happened," Carlisle finally confessed, though 'what happened' was left for Bella to imagine. She had a feeling that whatever had really happened, had really been going on, went far beyond Edward looking a little scary for a second there, "That wasn't—it wasn't representative, I haven't known him long but, he's not usually like that."

"Hm," Bella responded as she bit into a piece of toast.

Carlisle looked like he really wanted to argue but somehow couldn't find the words.

She was starting to feel bad for the guy. He was really trying, and he was good too, considering. The others at his original table were even worse at playing human than Marcus: none of them ate any food, they didn't even talk or look at one another, they just stared into space and silently moved their lips for several hours at a time.

Carlisle Cullen had them beat by miles and—he was actually kind of nice. He'd come to sit with her, talk to her, and had been the first one to make that gesture. Beyond Jessica Stanley in Forks, no one had ever been nice enough to do that for her.

Sure, he was probably doing it to get his required practice hours in or something, but it didn't mean it didn't count.

"So, how's your history class?" Bella asked, and with a sigh of relief and a genuinely delighted smile, Carlisle launched into his history class which seemed to consist of him just reading his way through Volturi's massive library.

He really was good at this.

Very personable, extremely charismatic, full of passion for his subject, and very knowledgeable. Carlisle Cullen was the guy you couldn't help but be drawn to, that you wanted to just be around for how much he made everything around him glow.

Of all the mole people Bella had met thus far, he was far and away the best at—not at seeming human, per se—but at being so effortlessly charming.

Sitting here, Bella couldn't help but want to be his friend. Bella, whose last friendship had ended in such fiery disaster she'd sworn to herself that she would never try again.

At the very least, she hoped he'd sit with her at lunch too.

In return, Bella would never bring up Edward again. No, if she wanted to get to the bottom of that little secret—she'd have to get her information from somewhere else.

As a result, by the time Bella made it to class, she was cautiously optimistic.

Which, of course, was why it all went terribly wrong in a matter of seconds. She had assumed, wrongly, that with Edward thrown out of class it'd be just her and Marcus. Now, it wasn't much for credibility, but neither was only having one other student in her class and only a handful of students hosted here period.

If they wanted realism, they should have made it at least thirty or forty in the whole program, at a minimum.

Apparently, though, there must have been some kind of a waiting list.

Since Edward had botched his chance to share a class with the resident human, it appeared someone was going to get to take his place. That lucky someone was none other than the blonde girl who, yes, looked just as beautiful up close and personal as well as the bus stop woman who, yes, also looked intimidatingly beautiful up close and personal.

There was nothing quite like the feeling of walking into a room and knowing you were the ugliest, least fashionable, and probably dumbest person in there.

"Slob" might as well be written in sharpie on Bella's forehead.

The tiny dark-haired one, Renata if Bella was remembering right, offered Bella a polite nod and smile. It was friendly enough but mostly just screamed professionalism and the greeting of a stranger. The blonde, Rosalie Carlisle had called her, looked like Bella was the piece of gum she was scraping off her shoe.

Marcus—looked as if he was barely even registering the pair's presence. He was standing at the front of the room, staring at nothing, looking like there wasn't a single thought running through his head.

The usual, in other words.

Well, maybe that was a good sign. When Bella had walked in yesterday, he and Edward had been in some kind of staring competition. If Marcus wasn't paying any attention—Bella probably wasn't about to be eaten, right?

It probably meant that neither woman was Edward 2.0.

"Morning," Bella said with a cheery waive as she made her way to the empty seat between the two of them.

Golden goddess' eyebrow raised a fraction, very clearly not impressed.

Right.

As she sat Bella realized, with some trepidation, that this meant she probably was going to have to draw something. For all that she was retaking the class—Bella had kind of liked that they'd progressed from Bella trying and failing to draw naked men to drawing nothing at all. Sure, Marcus still stripped and pretended that Bella might, somehow, be productive instead of watching movies for the full class time, but he didn't put up a fuss when she didn't produce anything either.

If there were other students here, even pretend students… That probably meant they were not going to be watching the movie Bella had brought with her.

Shit.

Bella looked between Renata, Rosalie, and Marcus. No one was moving, no one was doing anything at all.

Bella cleared her throat, awkwardly, "Ah, Professor de Volterra?"

Marcus glanced at her and—did he just raise his eyebrow a fraction? Bella genuinely couldn't tell, sometimes she felt her brain just projected expressions onto Marcus' alien face. Still, she had the distinct feeling that he was asking her what the hell she was doing.

"Is class starting?" Bella squeaked.

"Yes," Marcus said, as if there had been no question that class would start, and made his way to the board. There, Bella felt a severe sense of déjà vu as he wrote the course's title on the black board and began, "In this class we will be primarily studying the anatomy of the human body. Translating our understanding into drawing and painting. Our studies will consist primarily of figure drawings, replications of famous pieces, and—"

And then the weirdest thing happened.

He stopped in the middle of his sentence. He frowned, or maybe Bella was just imagining expressions again, but she swore she saw the slightest frown on his face.

He then pointed at Rosalie, "You, what are your abilities?"

Rosalie blinked, straightened, and looked incredibly flustered. It was not a look that suited her. "Sorry, what, uh, Sir?" she asked.

"Your artistic abilities," he repeated, "Where are you starting?"

She tried and failed to smile politely, looking like she was only just holding in her temper, "Well, I've taken a few art courses here and there over the years—"

"What is your goal in taking this course?" he asked without letting her finish.

"Excuse me?" Rosalie asked, her words dripping with derision and the unspoken sentiment that she couldn't believe he'd just asked her that.

The man nodded towards Renata, "I imagine Renata's here because she was told to be here."

Renata spluttered, held up her hands in defense, "No, I'm—um—a student, Mas—Senor de Volterra. I'm afraid I just missed the first day of class, that's all—"

Marcus didn't seem to care what Renata said or about her cover story, instead he turned his focus back to Rosalie, "Why are you here? Are you here to take this course or because Carlisle Cullen told you to be here?"

Carlisle? Bella thought to herself with some surprise. Why would he have any say in it? She'd guessed they all knew each other but—was Carlisle in some sort of position of authority? Maybe that's why he'd been so good at talking to Bella earlier compared to the rest.

Rosalie frowned and seemed to decide to hell with it, she let out a long sigh, "You got me, I'm here because I was told to be here, because option one—Doesn't matter, point is, yeah, that's why I'm here. And I'm not exactly thrilled about it either, Senor."

"Then I'll presume neither of you care about the course material," Marcus concluded.

Renata and Rosalie exchanged a glance, one where you could practically read their thoughts. Apparently, Marcus was on point, neither of them cared about the course material and both had probably been told to be here.

Marcus then looked back at Bella, "We're starting where you left off, figure drawing."

"Oh, good, figure drawing," Bella said with a smile.

A pity she wasn't any good at figure drawing. Well, maybe if she practiced a little more instead of watching movies, but Bella was past the point of caring about her grade and artistic abilities.

Though it was still a little embarrassing that she'd received an F.

Without further ado, Marcus stripped and Bella got her drawing pad ready. Blondie and Renata, however, did not.

Renata let out a shriek that was really more of a squeak and averted her eyes to the nearest wall. She also covered her face, as if that, somehow, could stop her from seeing sights that couldn't be unseen.

Rosalie—well, she didn't fall out of her seat. No, she flipped backwards, like a goddamn gymnast, and landed several feet back into a crouched position like a frightened cat. This was not much of a metaphor, either, as the woman actually hissed. Like a cat.

Despite the impressive acrobatics and regression into feline behavior, Rosalie recovered first, "What the hell?!"

"He's the model," Bella said slowly, motioning to Marcus in his sculpted nude glory, "We're doing figure drawing. You always do figure drawing without clothes."

"That's—" the blonde woman spluttered, tried to look anywhere but at Marcus, "That's—Are you serious?!"

"Yeah," Bella said slowly, "It's a thing."

Then, as an afterthought, she added, "We ain't here to draw fig leaves."

Renata let out the smallest of wails, the sound of ultimate despair and mortification. She sunk lower into the seat, as if by shrinking down far enough the floor might swallow her and dump her across the world.

Marcus, for the record, was just standing there as usual.

(Pity, Bella had thought that joke was really funny.)

"No," Blonde said, more to herself than to Bella (but judging by her expression, she was really judging Bella right about now), "No, I—I did not sign up for this. No one told me I was signing up for this!"

She stood from her crouched position, not even sparing the rest of them a glance, and started walking out of the room "I'm sorry, but no, just no. I'm dropping the course, send in somebody else because I—no."

Bella watched the empty space she'd left behind and felt—

Oddly good about herself.

Bella might not ever be as pretty, ever as graceful or athletic, but Bella suddenly felt a million times more sophisticated and artistic. Bella appreciated her fine arts, the male aesthetic, and could treat a completely naked man with decorum and professionalism.

Rosalie was fleeing the library while Renata was now crouched beneath the table in despair.

Bella, however, was an artiste.

She looked back at Marcus who looked dully back at her.

"I draw and you check my progress in thirty minutes?" Bella asked, he gave a small nod in confirmation.

Right then, it really seemed they were back where they started.

Author's Note: Bella's sophisticated, y'all.

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Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight