Chapter Two, peeps. Enjoy!

{--Inky--}

Chapter Two: Piece of Work.

I sighed, and stared out at the throngs of teenagers moving across the parking lot and hanging by the grass. Just another day in another stupid, no doubt clique-infested school, trying to pretend like I actually care. Beside me, my sister Rosalie was perfecting her hair in the car's mirror, and I couldn't help but wonder why she got all the outspokenness and confidence, and why I was left with the inability to interact with society like a normal teenager.

It just isn't fair.

I realize that I am pretty. People tell me that all the time, even when I get hardly any sleep and I have huge bags under my eyes and my hair is a mess and I couldn't be bothered to put anything but sweats on that morning. They still tell me I look beautiful, and then they naturally assume that because I'm pretty, I'm a popular person. But I'm not. I'm socially awkward, and I'm sarcastic, and I actually care about things that matter, like the children starving in Africa and not who dumped who last week.

It's then that people start thinking of me as a bitch because I just don't care.

They allow me to retreat back into my bubble and whisper about me behind my back, and I pretend not to hear them. But I do hear them. I hear them until I put my headphones in and block out everything around me and sink into the familiar beats and chords of my music.

This leads me back to my justified hate of high school, which should really be called purgatory, if you think about it. Rosalie smacked her lips together, and looked over to smile at me. I just stared back.

"Oh, come on Bella. Don't look so depressed. It's not a jail sentence," she scolded, and I scowled at her.

"That's what you think," I muttered under my breath, not intending for her to hear but I think she did anyway. She rolled her eyes at me and got out of her car. I followed, somewhat reluctantly, and slung my bag over my shoulder. Rosalie linked her arm through mine and tugged me across the quad. Heads turned as we passed and jaws dropped.

It wasn't that much of a surprise though.

There was Rosalie, in her high-heeled, mini-skirted, tube-topped, even though it was like -10 out, blond perfection, and there was me, in my ripped jeans, Billabong hoodie, lime green Converse, and mahogany mess of hair, walking along beside her.

We were total opposites, yet we were the same, in a way. We both (now) resented our mother, Renée, for dumping us and running off. We both thought that no guy was worth splitting our sisterly faith over.

We both hated it when the goddamn humidity of this horrid place ruined our hair.

And, apparently, we were both beautiful enough to turn almost every head, male or female, as we made our way across the campus to the main office. I could feel myself ducking my head, waiting for that ability to disappear that I didn't have to kick in.

Rosalie took pity on me and sped up, getting us to the office quicker. The secretary wordlessly handed me my schedule and turned back to her computer, where she was probably playing solitaire or writing a sex novel. I pretended to tip over her day calendar and leaned over to set it back up, catching a glance at her computer screen.

Sex novel.

There was a group of guys leaning against the wall outside, trying to look natural when it was obvious they were waiting for us to come out. Rosalie tossed her hair, smiled, dazzling a large portion of the guys, and proceeded to flirt shamelessly. She took centre stage, demanding attention from everyone around her, and for once I was grateful of that.

It allowed me to slip away unnoticed.

I pulled out the sheets I had stuffed into my bag in the office and tried vainly to locate my locker. After wandering into the third unfamiliar hallway, I groaned, frustrated. I slid down the wall, wondering why on earth I had walked away from Rosalie. Sure, I would have been subjected to being fawned over and hit on, but at least I wouldn't have been lost.

"Need some help?" a voice asked from above me, and I looked up, meeting a pair of sparkling brown eyes. They weren't as dark as my own, but they had a mischievous twinkle in them that made them that much better than mine.

I shot to my feet, my hands automatically going to my hips defiantly. I appraised the guy standing before me; tall, muscular to the point where you wonder whether he's on steroids, curly black hair, and dimples that softened the hard edge to his jaw, making him seem more like a child.

"I'm Emmett McCarty. You're Rosalie's sister," he stated, not even bothering to turn it into a question. He stuck out his hand for me to shake, and I took it. His hands dwarfed my delicate palms, but I got the feeling that all of him dwarfed me.

And everyone else, for that matter.

"Isabella," I replied, refusing to give him my nickname. Only people close to me got to call me Bella. It was a right, and a person had to earn it.

I had officially removed Renée off of the list of people close to me the moment she handed me my plane ticket to here.

"Do you need some help?"Emmett asked me again and then smiled, and I decided then and there that I liked Emmett. He hadn't hit on me yet, and he seemed okay with my distant manner.

"Yeah, I do, actually. Tell me where the Jefferson Wing is?" I held my papers out to him, and he read them over.

"Come on." He turned his broad back to me and took off down the hall, each one of his strides equalling three of my own. We didn't speak until he stood on front of a bank of lockers and was looking down at me. I had made sure to memorize every turn on our way here, so that I could get back later today.

"Thanks," I told him, then turned my back on him to fiddle with my lock code, an obvious dismissal. He didn't leave. I finally got the right combination and I was pulling books out for my first classes and he just stood there, staring at me.

I refused to acknowledge him. I realized that I wasn't exactly displaying my impeccable manners, but I couldn't bring myself to try and be kind to him. I preferred to wallow in my own misery by myself.

Not that I'm particularly miserable. Just pissed at my mother, and disgusted at how shallow our society's standards are. Nothing much, really.

"You're a piece of work," Emmett muttered in his deep voice, and I took the opportunity to turn around, making sure to give him my sweetest smile.

"I know. It's my mission in life. Guess I win, huh?" And I left him there, staring at me with his mouth hanging open. I sauntered down the hallway, never looking back once, and wondered what it was that had made me so bitter and bitchy to the nicest of people.

I blame Renée.

But that's nothing new. I've been doing that all my life.

**************************

My first class was English, and I sat through a badly written lecture on Shakespeare's play Macbeth and barely refrained from covering my ears. This guy had it all wrong.

Macbeth didn't want to kill Duncan, but his wife convinced him to do it. Not the other way around.

Sometimes I wonder if teachers are ever really evaluated before they are given a job. Some teachers are dumber than a fourth-grade dropout. No offense to fourth-grade dropouts.

Second period was boring as hell, and third was horrifying; I had Algebra. Rosalie was going to have to coach me in that class. I couldn't add to save my life. I was more of a literature girl, and numbers had never sat well with me.

In Kindergarten, I threw my math book at the teacher's head because I didn't want to do it. I was a bit of a terror in elementary school. My mother was constantly apologizing to teachers for my behaviour.

The crowds in the halls were dense, but they seemed to thin out a little as I passed, and I knew without a doubt that Emmett had begun spreading the fact that I was a nutcase around.

I dug deep into myself and put on an indifferent mask, refusing to allow these people get to me.

I'm strong enough to ignore them.

I am.

I think.

"You know, it's really disconcerting when you do that," Rosalie quipped, appearing at my side. I looked over at her and purposely crossed my eyes. She laughed heartily, throwing her head back. I couldn't help but chuckle with her; her laugh was infectious and hard to ignore.

Looking ahead, I noticed that there was an abnormally large figure standing facing us, leaning casually against the lockers with their head turned in our direction. Emmett, no doubt.

Rosalie waved to someone on our right as we passed, and I found myself wishing for Jasper, or at the very least Jacob. Those two could always make me smile, even when I wanted to punch something. Jasper was supposed to be going to school here, but I hadn't seen him all day. I began wondering if I had finally gone crazy and had started hallucinating friends since I couldn't seem to make any real ones. Emmett met my eyes and smiled and for some reason I stopped in front of him.

He full-out grinned at me then, and Rosalie was staring at me like I had totally lost my mind.

Maybe I had. I really didn't know.

"What's up Crazy Girl?" Emmett asked, slinging an arm around my shoulders and continuing down the hall, me going with him because his arm was freaking heavy.

"Are you spreading rumours about me?" The question slipped out before I could stop it, and I inwardly hoped Emmett wouldn't take too much offense because he looked like he could do some damage if he wanted too. He just chuckled at my lack of verbal filter.

"You're feisty, aren't you? No, I'm not spreading rumours about you. You're kind of a novelty for our little town of Forks, Swan," he told me good-naturedly, and I smiled inside. Emmett was a cool guy, and he could handle my quips a lot easier than a lot of people I've met.

"Good," I replied, only a hint of teasing in my voice.

"And how do you know my name, McCarty?" I asked, because I was curious.

"I know everything," he replied vaguely, and Rosalie rolled her eyes at him.

Rosalie. I had forgotten about her. She was still keeping pace with us, but she had moved as far away from Emmett as she could, her fingers furiously texting someone. Her forehead was puckered, as if she was upset about something. I wondered what that was about, but when a small halo of inky black spikes shoved through the crowd and hurtled past me.

"I hate you!" it screeched, and I had to blink.

"Ali, what's wrong?" Rosalie rushed over and gathered the girl, Ali, in her arms. She didn't answer, instead let loose a small sniffle and tugging Rose down the hall. People were gathering around, whispering about the scene.

Rosalie turned around, glaring, and snapped out a," What are you looking at?" Several freshmen on either side of her cowered into the lockers. She turned and led Ali down the hallway.

Before they turned the corner, a tall blond girl emerged from the doorway, fanning her face with one hand. A smaller girl with curly dark hair hovered t her elbow, clutching the strap of her tiny purse and wobbling slightly on her heels. They both looked extremely worried and it wasn't hard to infer that they had some hand in whatever had upset Ali. The crowds of curious teenagers parted for them as they passed.

I mumbled an incoherent excuse to Emmett and ducked under his arm. I weaved through the crowds until I stood in front of my locker. I pulled my books out, checking my bag to make sure I had my iPod with me. I did, thank God.

The room was almost full when I showed up, with one lab table open, and an empty seat next to a blond guy dressed in khakis and a polo shirt. He was eyeing me up and down, obviously checking me out. I was sure that if I did sit next to him, he would have his hand on my ass within ten minutes.

Sounds like fun.

Not.

A chorus of "Hey Alice!" sounded out, directed at the tiny, pixie-ish girl who had entered the room after me. I recognized her as the girl from the hall, the screamer. She had been crying, I could see, because her eyes were red and slightly puffy and her eyeliner was smudged, as though she had been wiping at her eyes. Even so, she was still stunning, especially when she smiled brightly at the room. She took the seat next to Khaki-Boy, so I drifted, almost unnoticed, over to the empty desk, internally grateful. I slouched down, closing my eyes and imagined I was at home, doing anything but Biology.

The teacher, who resembled a toad almost perfectly, started his lesson and proceeded to write out definitions on the whiteboard at the front of the room. I watched him do it and mentally put exact page numbers to every sentence he wrote. I had already read the textbook out of sheer boredom and took the liberty of memorizing everything. I was no less than an expert on this.

I slipped my earphones in, allowing my long hair to cover them, and turned the volume up until Three Days Grace was assaulting my ears. My pale fingers tapped out a quiet rhythm with the drums and I closed my eyes.

No matter what anyone said, this was bliss.

A hand stopped my fingers, flattening them against the cool tabletop. I glanced up to see Mr. Banner glaring down at me, his incredibly thin comb over dangerously close to falling off his head, his eyes bugging out even more than usual. I reached up and pulled one ear bud out, sliding my other hand out from under his and into my pocket, where I paused the music.

"Can I help you?" I asked, trying to keep the usual insolence out of my voice.

"Would you mind getting to work on the assignment, Miss Swan?" he asked, pointing a rather large, stubby finger at the board where he had scrawled out a list of pages from the textbook for us to read.

"I've read the text, sir," I replied smoothly. The 'sir' was a bit of an exaggerated touch, but I really didn't care.

Just go away, Mr. Toad. Leave me be.

"You have?" he looked shocked. I slowly nodded. Across the aisle, little Alice was trying desperately not to laugh, her hand pressed up against her mouth, holding in her giggles. All around me people were either staring incredulously or admiringly at me.

"Well, I...um, that is you... carry on," Banner stuttered and then moved on to another table to torment another student. I put my ear bud back in and spent the remaining portion of class slumped down in my chair, ignoring everything and everyone around me.

***************************

Jasper caught up to me on my way to the cafeteria for lunch. I had my nose buried in my tattered copy of Pride and Prejudiceby Jane Austen, and I wasn't exactly being kind to the people getting in my way in the halls. I sort of just pushed through, completely ignoring their protests when I smacked into their shoulders. Jasper grasped my arm and pulled me over to one side, leading me through the crowds with much more tact than I had been showing. We went through the line silently, me making faces at the disgusting-looking cafeteria food and him laughing at me. Seriously, how can people actually eat that stuff? Settling at an empty table in the far corner, I pulled my feet up and rested them on the edge of the table and chomped on the apple I had snagged from the dining room table this morning. Jasper chewed on the food he had taken thoughtfully, occasionally quirking a blond eyebrow at me, making me giggle at him. When he pulled out his History text, I knew that he was gone.

Jasper is obsessed with the Civil War. I've learned that there is no distracting him when he starts reading about it, and the only conversation you'll get from him would be about the Civil War. To me, that's weird and annoying. But I have my own little quirks that drive him up the wall too, so I try not to mention it.

I pulled out my book again and started reading, pausing only once when Emmett waved at me from across the cafeteria. People looked at him like he had just screamed that he was actually a girl who had gotten a sex change. I tried not to let it get to me. It still did. I waved back to him, and I wasn't even sure he saw it because I was trying to be inconspicuous. Invisible. Just like always.

When Jasper decided to come back to the real world, I drug him outside to the many picnic tables out in the quad. I was feeling a little claustrophobic, with all the people staring at us, the two loners in the corner. The strange kids who aren't hip and cool because they don't dress like everyone else and they listen to different music.

High schoolers don't look down kindly on different.

Learned that the hard way, freshman year.

Perched on a bench in the crisp Washington air, with my best friend who just gets me, listening to his latest playlist with him felt a hell of a lot better than picking up my ass and dragging it to gym. Jasper had a free period next, and he claimed that libraries creeped him out too much, so he wasn`t going there. Boys.

The warning bell rang, shrill and demanding. I ignored it completely and flicked to a new song.

A nudge in my side told me that Jasper hadn't ignored the bell, and I ignored that too. He plucked his Touch out of my hands gently, and gave me a look that said, `Don't you dare skip on your first day or I'll smack you.` I sighed and unfolded myself from the wooden planks of the bench, obliging with the unspoken threat. Remind me later to get him back for that.

Bag over my shoulder, I trudged to the stadium. Most of the class was already changed and out in the lush green grass, probably so chemical it might as well be fake. The coach was calling roll call, ticking off names on his clipboard. Girls were gathered in packs on the edge of the field, gossiping and standing strategically so that the guys got good looks at their legs. There was no way the school shorts were actually that short. They were verging on underwear.

Gross.

I refused to get dressed in the god awful yellow uniforms they gave out, and after a serious argument with the coach, which I used my delicate soccer physique and my coach's obvious need to keep me in shape for the team as leverage, I was finally permitted to stay on the bleachers. I set my bag on the space next to me and pulled out my book. I was only a few chapters in when a soccer ball hit me, knocking my book to the ground and pissing me off extremely. I looked up and saw a tall guy with the typical, perfectly gelled honey blond hair of a popular, model type smirking at me.

It was a tiny bit obvious he was the one who had kicked a soccer ball at my head.

Just as I was about to stand up and tell him to fuck off, Emmett started bellowing obscenities at him. He jogged over and pushed the guy, just like they do in the movies before they actually start swinging fists. The rest of the class stood there, watching Emmett verbally beat the hell out of this guy, none of them making a move to get involved. The coach ran over, blowing on his whistle to get their attention, and Emmett was sent to the principal's office.

On his way by, he winked at me and I reached out my fist for him to bump. No words were spoken, but that was okay.

Emmett had said quite enough out on the field.

I pondered on what I was going to do about this. I wasn't about to let that douche get away for drilling me in the head with a soccer ball, and I wasn't going to let Emmett spend his after school in detention. I hatched a plan with Rosalie in Art class, and she informed me that the douche's name was Royce King, and he thought he was God's gift to women.

Phish. Yeah right.

David Beckham and Gaspard Ulliel are God's gift to women. And Taylor Lautner.

But I digress.

Rosalie and I came from opposite ends of the hall, stopping facing each other in front of the door that leads to the office. I looked at her, raising one dark eyebrow. She nodded and we both entered, her staying just in front of me.

"Mrs. Cope?" she started, and the secretary looked up, a smile lighting her face instantly when she saw Rosalie.

"Yes dear?" Her smile dimmed a little when she noticed me, but I tried not to take offense.

"Do you think we could talk to Principal Patterson? It'll only take a moment," Rosalie pleaded, and the secretary quickly agreed, buzzing us in. I followed silently, more like a shadow than a true person. It was up to Rosalie to distract, and she knew it too.

"Please sit down," the principal gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. Rosalie took a seat, adjusting her skirt around her legs so she didn't flash him. I slumped down into the other chair, crossing my arms over my chest and trying to look as small and insignificant as possible.

"What can I do for you ladies today?" he asked, eyeing me with a look that clearly stated his distaste of having someone with a record like mine sitting in his chair, in his office. I barely stopped myself from snorting at him.

That wouldn't be good for the plan.

Think small and insignificant, Bella. Small and insignificant.

"Well," Rosalie started, leaning forward just enough to give him a look down her shirt, and batted her eyelashes.

*******************

I dangled the keys from my slim fingers, smirking at how easy it was to lift them. I snuck down the hall, pausing in front of the door and stuck the silver key inside, jiggling with the lock. The supervisor had been called to the office for mysterious reasons, and I only had around ten minutes to get in, out, and the hell away before he came back. The lock finally clicked, and I twisted the doorknob, letting myself in.

Every head in the room swivelled to look at me, standing in the doorway, probably looking like some kind of black-clad goddess of salvation. I wasn't though, not for most of them. I noticed one kid was staring at me like he knew me, his hood pulled up to cover his hair. He looked, for the entire world, like he was trying to pick apart my molecular make-up with his extremely green eyes.

Oh, god. Molecular make-up? I was talking like a biology textbook.

"Crazy Girl?" Emmett sounded shocked, and I smirked at him.

"Come on, McCarty. I'm springing you," I ordered, and he stood up like a good little boy and grabbed his bag. He brushed past me on the way out. I followed, closing and locking the door behind me.

We didn't speak until we had turned the corner, crawled out a window, and were walking across the soft grass towards the shop on the other side of the quad.

"How in the hell did you manage that?" Emmett swung around to face me and started walking backwards, a complete look of adoration on his face. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the key ring, swinging it in front of his face like a pendulum.

"And how did you come by those?"

"The principal and I are well acquainted." He cocked an eyebrow at me but let it go. He faced forwards again, not looking at me.

"And Patterson is exceptionally unobservant when Rosalie is wiggling her junk in his face," I tacked on, a full-blown smile spreading across my face when he laughed.

"That is nice, Swan. Real diabolical."

"I try."

And I do.


Ah, Bella. God, I love this new Bella I've created. SHe's so much cooler than the last one.

Agree? Think I'm totally crazy and should be sent to St. Mungo's? (for all you non-Harry Potter people, that's pretty much the crazy institute)

Completely nuetral party?

Lemme know. Preferably in a review.