Sophomore Year

Bella

Whoever invented miniskirts must have been high out of their mind. Not only were they uncomfortable but they just gave another way to be sexualized by hormonal teenage boys. The fabric clung to my body, showing off my long legs and it barely reached below my butt.

"Come on, Bella," Angela whined. "I want to see!"

We were currently in the changing room at the mall. I had promised myself this summer, that there would be a change. New clothing. New attitude. New look. New me. I had finally decided to cut my dreadfully long knotted hair. It was now wavy and cut to my armpits and the auburn highlights really stood out. I didn't wear a lot of makeup except for lip gloss, mascara, and occasionally some blush. I wanted to look pretty. Not like a slutty schoolgirl.

Angela had taken this opportunity to donate, against my will, all of my clothes to charity. No more oversized sweatshirts, grandma sweaters or ugly t-shirts. Everything was crop tops, designer jeans, miniskirts, and cocktail dresses for all of the parties she imagined we'd be going to. To say that this was a bit much would be an understatement. We lived in Forks for crying out loud! If I wanted to dress this way, I'd move to California where it was always warm.

"Ang, I don't know," I said from the other side of the door. "It's kinda revealing."

"That's the point of the outfit!"

I tugged at the bottom of the skirt, trying to pull it down. I pouted my lips, trying to imagine myself actually wearing this. The Burgundy halter top matched perfectly with the skirt and I couldn't help but admit that I looked kinda pretty. I looked like a normal teenage girl. A girl who wasn't leaving in constant agony. A girl who didn't have constant weird obsessions and compulsions that consumed most of her life. I looked like a girl who was about to start her sophomore year.

The only indication that I was different was the long jagged scar that ran down my right leg. I couldn't look away. This scar is constantly there to remind me of what happened; of my stupid decisions.

The police found me four hours after I ran away from Carlisle and Esme last year. It was stupid of me to think I could find my way out of the woods. It was pitch black, the terrain was steep, and it had just rained so the ground was slippery. I thought that if I just hid out in the woods for a while, Carlisle and Esme would forget about me and then I could walk home. But I quickly got lost, eventually falling down a hill, breaking and cutting my thigh. It took thirty stitches to stop the bleeding and then a few months of physical therapy and crutches to be able to walk on it again. I have a permanent scar now and despite what the doctors said, it's very visible.

"I don't know…" I whispered.

"C' mon!" Angela exclaimed. "Who am I to judge?" I knew Angela wouldn't judge. She was the least judgy person there was. I could trust her.

I open the door and step out into the empty room. Angela is squealing and squirming around in her shoes. If Angela were a balloon, she'd be about to pop. She had that much excitement.

"OMG," She gasped. "You could totally be a model!"

I roll my eyes. Yeah, I could be a model. Only if I lose another one hundred pounds. I've lost over fifty in the past year. My daily diet consisted of raw vegetables in the morning and nibbling on a slice of bread throughout the day. Anything bigger than that and I throw up.

"Don't believe what others say about you," she sighed. "You are pretty no matter what. After this makeover, no guys are going to be able to stay away from you!"

I groan in frustration. How many times did I have to tell her? I'm done with boys! They are crude, sexist, horny creatures that disgust me. This year is all about me and I won't let some silly crush get in the way of that.

"Have you forgotten?" I quirk my eyebrow. "I'm the psycho! Nobody wants to date the psycho."

"Correction!" Angela exclaims. "Before, you were the psycho! Now you are the crazy hot girl!"

"With a fucked up leg. Trust me on this, no guy wants a messed up girl. They'll go running for the hills."

After the accident, I wore jeans for the rest of the year. Nobody questioned why I was on crutches. I was the biggest klutz known to man so my inability to walk didn't really surprise anybody.

"Don't think of your scar like that," she sighed. "Imagine… imagine it's a battle scar! You fought the most treacherous of wars and lived to tell the story! You are a warrior!"

I can't help but crack a smile. Angela was always so full of imagination. She could make me feel better any day no matter what the situation.

"I guess that I could always wear tights. That's still fashionable, right?"

"Totally!" Angela makes a face, saying the opposite.

I shake my head, laughing, and change back into my other clothes. We walk out of the store with ten new bags hanging from our arms. This was my new start. I wasn't going to screw it up this time.

Angela and I got a ride home with Ben whom she had started seeing so much more this summer. He was leaving this week to go to college in Seattle so they spent as much time as they could together. Angela finally got her parents to relax when they realized that they wouldn't be able to keep them apart. Her happiness was all that mattered.

"I'll see you tomorrow!" Angela yelled from the car as I stood in my driveway. "Don't forget to wear your Birkenstocks! It goes really well with the outfit!"

"Alright!" I yell back. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

They drive off and I haul the bags through the front door up to my bedroom. I set out my outfit for tomorrow and put away the rest of the clothes. I'm not little Bella Swan anymore. I can make my own decisions. I'm in control of my life now.

I spent the rest of the day, planning for tomorrow. My bag was all packed and coordinated just how I liked it. Binders were in the big pocket, notebooks were in the second pocket, and my pencil pouch was in the last pocket, split into several sections. Markers, pencils, and pens each had their own place. They couldn't mix together or else I'd have to start over again. I had to organize each, fifteen times. Fifteen times and then it would be perfect. After all, fifteen was my lucky number. Everything had to be coordinated.

"Bella?" Emmett touches my shoulder. I flinch away and swing my head around. He is standing behind me. I am still on the ground going through the pencil pouch. It is dark outside now.

"You messed me up," I grumble.

I take out each writing utensil, starting over, putting them into groups. The markers come first. The pens come second. The pencils come third. That is the pattern.

"Bella," Emmett says again. He sits down in front of me, grabbing everything away from me.

No no no no. I frantically shake my head back and forth. What did he do? What was Emmett doing? The pens, pencils, and markers, are in a big jumbled mess.

"They are all mixed together!" I cry. "Emmett!"

"You've been doing this for the past three hours! How many times do you need to organize them?"

"Everything is messed up now! I'm going to fail all of my tests; all of my quizzes. They have certain places for a reason! If everything is disorganized then I won't be prepared for class!" I ignore him. A feeling of sinking dread entered my stomach. I needed to fix it. Emmett screwed everything up.

"Relax!" He grabbed my hands, trying to get my attention. "It's alright. You're just worried about tomorrow. Everything is going to be fine."

I shake my head. The blue marker and red pen were touching. The mechanical pencil and blue sharpie were not supposed to be together.

"Have you been out of your room at all since this afternoon?"

"No," I mumble. I don't move my eyes away from the pens.

"Have you taken your medicine?"

I shake my head back and forth. I was starting to feel the aching pain in my leg. I had to take anti-inflammatory medicine so my leg wouldn't become inflamed. I forgot to take it this morning.

"I'll be right back," he muttered. Emmett pushes himself off the ground and runs out of the room.

I start organizing the markers, pens, and pencils again. There are three red markers, four blue markers, and one black. There are six mechanical pencils and two black pens and two red. That is how it has to be.

I am wearing a strapless navy blue mini dress. It goes down to my knees, covering the scar. My hair is pulled halfway up in a bun, the other part hanging down. I'm wearing a little lip gloss and mascara. It feels strange. Everybody is staring at me as I stand on the schools' steps. People aren't making fun of me or ridiculing me. It is almost as if they don't recognize me. I am a regular person.

A girl walking past smiles at me and I smile back. She even says "hey" before going into the school. A warm feeling spread throughout my body. The warning bell rings and I walk to class, practically skipping. I stay out of people's way and they stay out of mine. It is quiet this morning. We are given the regular forms to sign and repetitive speech about what a great year this was going to be. I can't care less. All I hope is to make it through the year sane. I don't want a repeat of last year.

After homeroom, it is Chemistry which makes me want to pull my hair out already. Then after chem, it's Honors Algebra. I walk in and the first person I see is Felix Hunter. He makes my blood boil like nobody else and if it was possible, I'd set him on fire and watch him die a slow agonizing death.

I sit at the front of the room and I can feel him staring at me. Nothing about him changed. He still looks just like a pig. I know that he wants to walk over. I can feel him silently calling out to me. The last thing I need at the moment is Felix. He can go and die in a hole for all I care.

When the teacher announces we're already starting a project, I quickly turn to the girl next to me. I smile as if to show her: I'm friendly, I'm normal, I can be a great partner! She smiles back and we talk, confirming our partnership. The bell rings and I bolt out of the room because I know Felix is looking for me.

I run to my new study hall making it right before the bell. There's a buzz of quiet chatter around the room putting me at ease. I make my way to the back looking for an empty seat but I can't find any. I start to panic as I notice more people taking notice of me. I'm afraid that they could see that this is all fake. My perfectly painted nails and hair and smile and body were all fake. I was an imposter and a liar. I was not normal or okay but a scared girl afraid of everything and everyone.

I'm ready to run to the bathroom when I hear a voice behind me say: "You can sit here."

I turned around to stare at the boy, moving his bag off of the seat. He looks up at me gesturing next to him. I'm surprised. He is one of the guys who laughed when I was called a slut in the parking lot last year. He's in Edward's group. His jock friends sit around him and they all have their football jackets on. He is number 15. My lucky number.

Seeing, that he obviously didn't recognize me, I slowly walk toward him, half wondering if this some sick joke to embarrass me in front of the entire class. I sit down and nothing has happened. He's still smiling at me. It's a kind of smile like a friend gives a friend. I pull out my laptop and open it up to today's agenda.

"Hey." The boy whispers.

I ignore him and focus on the screen.

"Hey." He says a bit louder. "Hello!" I look up at him, wondering why he couldn't take a hint. His chair is spun around towards me and he's grinning like a maniac. What is his problem?

"Hi," I don't know what else to say. "Do you need something?"

"What?" he asks confused. "No."

"Okay?" I start to go back to my computer.

"I mean, I just wanted to say hi," he whispers.

I look back at him starting to get annoyed. What is this kid playing at? He leans forward slightly and I can't help but notice the little red tints he has to his blonde hair. His eyes are hazel with flecks of green. Even though I have sworn off all boys, I can't help but think, this guy is cute.

"Oh." I pause. "Hi?" I say it more as a question.

A deep throaty laugh sounds from him earning a lot of annoyed looks. I click random keys wondering what to do. Smile! My mind hisses. I look at him, giving him my best grin I could muster up. He moves his chair closer to me. I tense waiting for the nagging fear to come but it doesn't. I allow myself to relax, watching his hand move next to mine on the table.

"What's your name?" He whispers. "I haven't seen you around before."

I raise my eyebrows. Is he actually serious? Do I look that different?

"I'm Demitri," he smiled. "Demetri Callas."

"B- Isabella." I almost say Bella but I stop myself. I'm turning over a new leaf. I'm a new me.

"Just Isabella?" He laughs.

"Just Isabella." I repeat.

"Well, just Isabella," he says in a suave voice. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

He lifts my hand, lightly placing a kiss against my knuckles. I can't help but smile. He really did know how to charm a lady. The next hour is spent in a deep conversation, learning everything we can about each other. For example, Demetri is a Greek name. He was named after his great-grandfather, who came from Athens, Greece. Demetri's favorite food is calzones and he is on the football team- hence his favorite sport. He has two younger sisters in middle school and a dog named, Snow, after his favorite TV show character, Jon Snow, from Game of Thrones.

The small random facts, that don't make any sense when you become this close to somebody, are what captivates me. Like their strange pet peeves and favorite movies. The way a boy stares at you the way Demetri is staring at me. With complete and utter adoration. It seems weird to think that a guy like him could like a girl like me. His skin is warm and soft, just like his voice, shimmering eyes, and his laugh. He's been touching my hand for longer than appropriate but I don't move. I just smile and laugh and wish that life could always feel this great.

I'm sitting in the parking lot, doodling with the blue marker in my notebook, waiting for Angela to come out. We are going to her house to hang out. We never really did that anymore except for the summer. I want us to be closer again. We've drifted apart.

My fingers twitch as I pick up a red marker. I want to use it's rolled over to the blue markers. It could mess up the drawing. Maybe… maybe if I just reorganized them, it'll all be fine. I take each marker individually out of the case, separating them by color on the pavement, counting each one fifteen times. "One, two, three," I mumble.

There are three red markers. I have to count again just to make sure. "One, two, three." I spread each red marker out in a line. I have to do it fifteen times to be sure. Fifteen times and then I can move onto the blue markers.

"One, two-" I pause. A red marker has rolled away.

Damn it! I clench my jaw, trying not to cry. It's just a damn marker. But if one marker rolled away that means any other marker can roll away, and then I'll lose my concentration and mess everything up. That is why I have to start over again and count fifteen times just make sure everything is perfect.

"One, two, three," I count the red markers. "One, two, three."

I'm about to count again but there is a person standing in front of me. I look up to see a very sweaty Demetri. He sits down beside me, grinning like a man who has seen the sun for the first time. "Fancy seeing you here."

I smile, not a real smile, but a polite smile. I've got to finish counting. I can't just end on two and that just messes up the order of everything and now I have to start over again. But I can't let Demetri see. He'll laugh at me. He'll tell everyone about my weird habits and won't ever talk to me again.

Just leave. I need to count.

"What are you doing?" He looks at all the markers. Demetri is about to pick up the blue marker.

No no no no.

"Don't touch that!" I raise my voice. My heart beats against my chest. Don't touch anything. Don't touch anything.

He freezes, putting his hand down. "I guess you don't like people touching your stuff," he awkwardly laughs. "It's alright. I get it."

I look at the markers, everything was out of place. I had to start over but he wouldn't leave. Relax, Isabella. He'll go soon. Yes. Demetri will leave soon.

"I'm sorry," I mutter. "I-I'm just trying to organize the markers. They got messed up."

"But they look organized to me," he said confused. "All of the reds are together. All of the blues are together and the black is there."

"Yeah," I said slowly. "B-but, I like them a certain way."

I don't want to give too much away. My fingers tap against the ground. The red marker was out of place. I had to fix it.

"Well, explain to me how you like it." He smiled.

I look at him. Was he serious? No, no he couldn't be serious. Demetri smiles a lopsided grin and gestures, go ahead.

"W-well, they all have to be in a certain order," I gulp. "The three red markers come first. The four blue markers come second and the one black marker is last."

"Then what happens?" He leans forward.

"T-they have to be straight, all next to each other. Then I need to count them fifteen times to make sure all of the markers are there. I have this weird thing with the number fifteen."

"So fifteen is like your lucky number?" He smiles.

"Y-yeah, I guess." I stammer.

"You know my jersey number is fifteen." Demetri laughs. "Maybe we're meant to be."

My mouth drops open. How do I respond to that? He laughs at my reaction, motioning back to the markers. "What if all of the markers aren't there? Or you mess up counting?"

I look down at the ground, fiddling with my fingers. "I have to start over counting. I have to start over until I've counted each marker all the way through and they are all in the right place."

Demetri is silent. Did I scare him away with my weird habits? Why can't I ever be silent?

"So I must have messed you up," he whispered. "What happens if you don't fix them?"

I sigh, looking up at him. "I get this feeling, where I'm going to fail everything I do. I'm going to fail all of my tests. I'm going to fail all of my quizzes. I'm going to mess up this terrible drawing." I motion towards the paper.

Demetri looks at me. There are tears in his eyes. What did I do to make him cry?

"My sister, Maria, feels that she is going to die from illness if she doesn't wash her hands at least three times before every meal. She knows that it's crazy to think that but she can't help it." He says in a low voice.

"What does she do to control it?" I quietly say.

"Maria takes Fluvoxamine. It's a type of antidepressant that helps treat her compulsions and anxiety. She also talks to a therapist and does Exposure Response Prevention Therapy."

"What is that?"

My eyes flicker to the markers. Would he care if I fixed them as we were speaking? I dig my nails into my leg, stopping myself.

"You are put into a situation where you're gradually exposed to your obsession and you can't act on your compulsion. That means that my sister might have to wash her hands once before a meal and then eat dinner instead of doing it three times."

"Oh." I'm not sure what else to say.

"How long have you had OCD?" Demetri asks suddenly.

I shrug my shoulders. "I- I haven't been diagnosed but during the summer I first started having this fear that Ja- someone was going to come into my room and hurt me in the middle of the night." I catch myself on his name. "I wake up every hour, checking to make sure the door handle is locked. I turn the handle, fifteen times before I go back to sleep. If it's locked then I'm safe."

"When did this new obsession start?" He whispers.

"About a month ago," I sigh. "I started to have the urge to keep my writing utensils organized and color coordinated. I had to count them all fifteen times each before I was satisfied. If everything is organized then I won't have a chance to mess up and I'll be prepared for everything."

"Do your parents know?"

I shake my head. They don't care about me.

"Ma-" he pauses when some guys call his name. We turn our heads to see three guys standing at a truck.

"Come on!" They yell. "We're going to Benny's house!"

He looks back at me with a guilty expression. "I'm sorry."

"Go ahead," I smile. "I'm meeting my friend in a little bit."

I pick up the red marker. It feels heavy in my hand. I need to put it down.

"I'll see you tomorrow," he says. Demetri pushes himself off the ground and grabs his bag. He looks at the markers and me but says nothing else.

I sigh, placing the marker back in its place and start all over. "One, two, three…"

Author's Note:

Hey everyone! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter! Bella is now a sophomore and she's trying her hardest to move on from Jacob and feels that forgetting about him is the best way to go, which may not be the healthiest way. By reinventing herself, she's trying to forget her past and only focus on her future but it won't save her from many more of the challenges she's facing. As you may have noticed, Bella has tendencies that are parallel with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD).

OCD is a type of anxiety disorder. There are obsessions (recurring thoughts) such as having the fear of germs or in Bella's case having the fear of being hurt and the fear of failure. The compulsions (behaviors) are what you repeatedly do to stop the obsessions. Such as if you have the fear of germs, you might constantly wash your hands. In Bella's case, the compulsions are, repeatedly counting and organizing her writing utensils to the number fifteen and checking every hour of the night to make sure her door is locked because she is terrified of being hurt again. OCD is not a laughing matter. It's a serious disorder that can cause a lot of distress to a person through their day, every day. I don't believe that it's ever appropriate to use OCD as an adjective. Just because a person always has to be super organized or is a germaphobe, does not mean that they have OCD. It is a mental illness that people struggle with every day and it's a huge insult if you are just joking about OCD and throwing around the term so casually. Most people are diagnosed by the age of 19. They aren't known causes of OCD but risk factors are:

Genetics: If a close relative (parent, sibling, grandparent) has OCD then you are at a higher risk of developing OCD as a teen or child.

Environment: If you've had a traumatic event in your childhood, and have a family history of genetics, it may lead to the intrusive thoughts.

Mental Health Disorders: OCD can be related to other mental health disorders, such as anxiety disorders, substance abuse, depression, etc.