ANGELA

When I smiled up at Ben, a cloud of white trailed from my lips and nostrils. I pulled my shrug tighter still and took Ben's hand.

My heel hit the slick gravel. He steadied me, I took his arm, sheathed in a charcoal gray jacket. It looked good over the pale blue shirt beneath--perfectly matching my rippled and gathered gown. I could see his teeth chatter, but he still put his jacket over my nearly bare shoulders.

We made our way to the school entrance, wobbling on uneven and deathly slick terrain. Snow was on the ground, and I was in a dress. Lovely.

The night went well. No toe stepping, no drink spilling, no unintended dress matches. Ben and I were sitting now, engulfed in the chatter of our fellow classmates sitting with us. My eyes were simply wandering through the crowd--and a head popped up. A whole torso, actually. Tiny, too. Alice's jet black hair fell around her face as her dance partner lifted and twirled her. Looking closer now, I saw some shimmering golden hair; Rosalie. I knew Edward didn't go to dances.

A few people moved from my line of vision so I could see them fully; waltzing up a storm. Almost instantly I turned away--in both slight jealousy and the feeling of intrusion. The two couples seemed in their own worlds.

Alice spun on Jasper's raised hand for perhaps minutes, like a young girl's ballerina set to spin every time its jewelry box is opened. Then, so swiftly that I though someone kicked her dainty feet form under her, Jasper dipped her in that classic style. He leaned down, his usually expressionless lips curling in the moment of love. I felt lucky to have seen it--something so rare and private. In one move, his lips met her forehead and she was put back on her dancing feet. They were like a couple from an old black and white film. Thy seemed so in love--not like most self-centered high-schoolers that believed love was retrieved in a single kiss. This was deeper, as if they'd known each other longer than they'd been alive. I felt embarrassed for becoming so absorbed in their private dance.

Rosalie and Emmett were chest to chest, hands tangled in snowy white bundles. Rosalie's smug eye caught the light, as if to laugh at all of us who didn't have such a glorious man. Yet, Emmett studied her like he was seeing her for the first time--like some lost lover in a Shakespeare play. His somehow delicate and huge hand cupped behind her head, erasing that smugness.

"Would you like to dance?" I didn't--couldn't would be better--look away from them.

"No." I answered my date. "I'm too thirsty." I hinted heavily. I sucked on my lower lip, feeling bad already. I heard him go off to fetch me a refreshment. Me--out with the Cullens--? No way. Those mere-mortal dancers out there now were the bravest people I'd ever seen.

Now and upbeat swing song was playing. I couldn't resist. I looked over. My jaw dropped.

It was like a perfectly choreographed movie--of four stars. Holding hands, Jasper flung Alice up, caught her, cradled her, spun her--same goes for Emmett and Rosalie. She was only a blur of blue satin and golden-spun hair.

I turned completely around to accept the drink being thrust in my face, the red juice sloshing over the Dixie cup side.

MIKE

I decided to just pretend the Cullens didn't exist. And, surprisingly, others followed suit. Less people murmured hello to them; less girls swooned over the guys--they were a lost cause. Some people even went to the level of insulting them. That surprised me greatly.

I saw Alice, Jasper and Edward out the corner of my eye one day after school. I saw a hulky jock and his posse walking quickly behind. I pulled my gloves on and didn't move for my car door just yet.

The lead jock slipped a silver phone from Alice's knapsack, and she instantly whirled around, a flash of moon white skin, ebony hair and blue parka. Jasper and Edward turned at the same moment. A split second of fearful unease crossed the jock's face, then was smug again. Surely if Emmett was there, that expression would linger much longer.

"Give me my phone back, please." I could barely hear Alice's calm voice. The jock grinned.

"If you want it, you're gonna have to jump for it, princess!" He held the phone over her tiny head. My eyes were locked on this jock, and he was suddenly very surprised.

My eyes flashed to see why.

Jasper had been there in an instant, and had pried the phone from the unexpected hand with force. It looked as easy as taking a toy from a toddler while he struggled, wailing to keep his plastic play thing. Alice took it from him, glaring at the jocks.

Jasper was maybe two inches taller than this jock, and leaner. The jock looked muscular beneath that letterman's jacket, but I knew it was rolls of firmed fat. I knew Jasper was well-built, even if he only wore long-sleeved shirts. Even in summer…

So now the jock looks overweight and foolish, cowering up at Jasper's hardened face and tense body. Emmett was the first most muscular Cullen, but no doubt Jasper came in close second with his intimidating aura and strength. Holding the jocks terrified eyes still, his white hand whisked over the bully's bag strap. For a moment I was bewildered--was touching a bag strap supposed to be threatening? Nothing happened, and then, suddenly, the strap ripped.

The jock cried out as the books hit the slushy pavement; his loose leaf pages blotted with gray water. His friends didn't rush to help, they only stared. The strap fell, limp and lifeless to the ground, the frayed strings fluttering. It had to have been already ripping and he simply tugged it, right?

Through this silent commotion, I heard a low angry voice ominously state, "If you want it, you are going to have to bend down in the slush to get it." The jock hadn't yet moved, he still gaped at Jasper. Alice was with her brother, her pale lips slightly open. Jasper's blonde hair was pulled by the growing icy wind, and he left the jock. He went to Alice as she shook her head in teasing disapproval. She linked onto her brother, then her boyfriend. Or lover. Or fiancé. Whatever.

I got in the car, finally, hoping no one caught me watching this like some kind of movie. I looked out the frosted window to see the jock in the slush, his jeans darkening in the gray snow for his ruined papers.