A/N: Thank you for all the love so far! A few questions about if we'll have an EPOV - the answer is...not in this story, but if it's something you'd want, I may write this from E's perspective, let me know!

Day two…Bella's on a mission ;)

Against School Policy

It's almost the end of the week, and I still haven't made any progress.

I dragged Tanya and Irina shopping with me last night, Rose was babysitting her brothers. I've convinced them the newer, slightly sluttier wardrobe is because I'm trying to get in Liam's pants. He's our resident bad boy, equipped with a cheeky grin, hazel eyes, and an attitude that makes girls squirm. Truthfully, I've already been in Liam's pants, ages and ages ago, I just didn't tell anyone, and luckily neither did he.

By now, the whole school probably thinks I'm trying to fuck him; Irina's lips are looser than the opening of a stuffed turkey.

I warned Liam yesterday, and told him it was a load of shit and that I didn't want to fuck him at all. He didn't give a fuck either way, he doesn't give a fuck about much in general.

I run my palms down my denim skirt. It's short as hell, but long enough to cover my ass, as long as I don't bend over anyway - which I'll only be doing in Mr. Cullen's class. I picked up several little skirts, and I've never been more grateful that the end of the school year coincides with spring.

Mr. Cullen is wearing his gray slacks today, a crisp white shirt tucked into them. Neither articles of clothing are tight, but you can see how cut he is underneath, the way the shirt hangs off his chest, the way the slacks cling to his thighs just a little. The sight of him makes me breathless.

I pause at his desk, my new ritual. "Good Afternoon, sir." I say throatily.

He glances up at me and then back down to his book, not bothering to acknowledge me. That's his ritual.

I turn to head to the back of the room and start walking away when I swear, I hear him inhale sharply. I glance back, but to my disappointment, he's still looking at his book.

Throwing my bag on the floor I sit down, watching the students trickle through the door.

I love this classroom. It's built on the south side of the school, and because it's on the second level, the back of the room narrows to a point. Some fancy architect wanted the art room to be a triangle, and as we're neighbouring, the English room is also a triangle. Ironically, trig, the only class that would actually suit a triangular shape, is downstairs, and shaped like a square.

My elbows rest on the wooden desk, everyone muttering around me. None of my friends are in this class with me, but I'm not bothered about that. This way I can sit at the back, right in the point of the triangle, with no one beside me, and stare at Mr. Cullen all lesson - no distractions in sight, except for him, and I'll admit I do lose focus more often than not.

I'm not actually doing all that well in English Lit, which is totally his fault.

The lesson starts, and we're told to read silently. We've almost finished our critical analysis of 1984. Even though we read it months ago, Mr. Cullen is threading through each chapter with a fine-tooth comb, dragging out every single morsel from its contents.

He clearly likes the book because his cheekbones flush a little when he's talking about it, one of my favorite things ever. In his job application here, he said that books unlock the imagination, shape understanding and nourish the mind. I think about that statement a lot, think about him a lot. My attraction to him stretches past the physical, I'm fascinated by every part of him.

Does his stern facade every break? Does he ever smile? I can't even imagine what it would look like, he's always so sullen and pouty.

I let my pen roll off the desk, and twist myself, bending over to grab it, flashing my ass to the front of the room. As I'm bent over, I feel a rush of heat go down my spine, like I can feel his eyes on me, but when I get up again, he's staring out the window.

My sigh fills the room, lost amongst the usual classroom ruckus, the rustle of pages, heavy breaths, coughs, the shifting of clothes, creaking of chairs. The noise is broken by the screech of a pen on the whiteboard, causing several people to look up.

I don't need to; my eyes never leave him. He's standing there, writing something in his elegant scrawl. It's an art in itself, being able to shape the letters so neatly when you're writing vertically; my attempts always go skeweth, the letters getting smaller or larger as I go, tilting up diagonally in a messy scribble.

He's drawn a speech bubble, and inside it is one word; themes. He stares out at us, "would anyone like to volunt—"

My hand is up straight away, and I jut my chest out. His eyes flick to me. "I haven't finished, Miss Swan, don't you know what you'd like to be volunteering for?"

I shrug, smirking at him. "Not particularly."

He stares at me, visibly unafffected. "Come to the whiteboard then."

I slide out of my chair, making sure I flash him my underwear as I stand up and walk to the front of the room, stopping in front of him. My head tilts back to look into his eyes, and even though I'm far back enough from him that it doesn't look inappropriate, I feel a rush go through my body, goosebumps rising along my arms.

"I said, come to the whiteboard, Miss Swan, not come to me."

"I'd rather come on you." I say under my breath.

"What was that?" Mr Cullen asks me sharply, his green eyes penetrating mine.

I give him an innocent expression, "I didn't say anything, sir."

As I move past him, I flick my hair over my shoulder, letting the strands hit him lightly. He doesn't react. Of course he wouldn't.

He never reacts.

"Right, call out themes, Miss Swan has volunteered to write them on the board for you. I'll let her decide if it's correct or not."

I spin around to face the classroom and tap Mr. Cullen on the shoulder. It's the first time I've ever touched him, and he tenses immediately.

"I need the pen sir." I say sweetly.

He turns and walks to his desk, sitting down, placing the pen in front of him. I don't know why he didn't just give it to me, but I grab it, hearing a light gasp from the class behind me.

I stand up straight immediately, my cheeks flushing as I realized I just flashed my class, and Mr. Cullen's eyes narrow the tiniest bit before they relax again.

Turning to face the room, I see a mixture of expressions, desire, curiosity, disgust, amusement.

"Well…" I say, flashing them a smile, "What themes do we have everyone?"

"I must have missed the part where I told you to teach the class, Miss Swan." Mr Cullen says dryly behind me.

I turn my head and wink at him. For a second, I swear I see something flicker in his eyes, but it's gone immediately.

"I'll go first, if it helps." I say to the class who are all still staring at me. I've never been one to showboat, but I'm at the end of my tether with Mr. Cullen, I need a reaction.

I walk to the whiteboard and write out the word sex, a titter of laughter going through the class. "What else?" I ask, cocking my head.

"Love." Angela says.

"Raise your hands, please." Mr. Cullen says sternly.

I glance at him with an arched eyebrow, "I thought I was teaching the class. I don't mind them calling out."

The class gasps at my blatant insolence and his hands on the table go white for a moment. I wait for him to tell me to sit down, but to my surprise he doesn't, his eyebrows drawing together the tiniest amount. "They will raise their hands," he orders sharply. "I'll remind you to remember who's in charge here Miss Swan, speak out of turn again, and I'll give you detention."

"Apologies sir," I say bashfully, sticking my bottom lip out and blinking quickly, doing my best impression of someone who feels thoroughly chided.

Mr Cullen looks extremely unimpressed and his jaw jumps. "Miss Weber, raise your hand."

I turn my head to face the class again and Angela obeys him, raising her hand.

"Yes, Angela," I say politely.

"Love," she repeats.

I write it on the board and when I turn, Noah's hand is up, as well as Mike's. I fill the board with their suggestions, however much I disagree with some. I'm not here to play teacher's pet, I don't care if they're right or not.

When Angela raises her hand for the 10th time, I realise with horror that I've run out of space on the bottom of the board, and the next answer will have to be at the top, meaning I'm going to flash everyone.

"The state." Angela says. I nod at her.

"Write it down, Miss Swan." Mr. Cullen says in a clipped voice.

I turn to face the board and grimace to myself as I start to reach up with the pen.

Just as my elbow starts to straighten, and I can feel my skirt lifting up the backs of my thighs, I feel a sudden rush of heat behind me and freeze, my heart pounding in my chest. He's not touching me, he's too far back for that, but I can feel his breath on my hair, the space between us crackling with energy. The pen is plucked from my hand delicately.

"Move," he orders. "You're taking far too long."

I duck out from under him, trying not to tremble, fire burning through me, scorching everything and leaving me breathless. He writes 'the State', then turns his head slightly, those startling green eyes meeting mine.

"Sit down, Miss Swan," he says sharply. I do as he says, breathing out in relief when I sink into my seat. He stays facing the board for a while, just glancing back at us, but slowly he turns to face the room again.

Just before the end of class he approaches my desk, staring down at me with an indifferent expression. "Your skirt is a violation of the school policy, don't wear it again or I'll be forced to give you detention."

Some of the class burst into laughter at my expense, but I just stare up at him, sinking my teeth into my bottom lip for a second and then letting it go. "How exactly is it against school policy, sir?"

His jaw tightens minutely. "Don't ask ridiculous questions, you know perfectly well how. I don't want to see it again."

I lower my voice so only he can hear me. "I have another one you might prefer, sir."

He acts like I didn't speak a word, turning around and striding to the front of the room, sitting down in his chair and looking at us with a bored expression. "You may go."

I make sure I'm the last to leave, and on my way out, I let my pen fall from my fingertips. I bend over to grab it, keeping my legs straight, knowing he's getting a full eyeful of my white, lacy thong, and my ass, that is, if he's even looking. I scrabble at the floor, letting my bag land next to me with a thump. That ought to get his attention. I finally grab the pen and whirl around, hoping to catch him looking at me, but he's turned the opposite way to me, staring out the window.

Thoroughly disheartened I leave the room and spend the next hour whining to Rose about it. She pats me on the head and then drags me out for pizza with Alice and Jasper.

After we've eaten and our friends are molesting each other in the booth opposite us, Rose fishes out a pack of gum and offers me one. My eyes light up.

I know exactly what to do next.

A/N Until tomorrow! Let me know what you're thinking in the reviews - and don't forget to join Creaatingmadness on FB for tomorrow's teaser!