Disclaimer- Yes, I've actually turned into Stephanie Meyer over night. Dreams do come true.

A/N- Warning- this chapter is totally random and plotless but I just like to start off my stories getting to know the character. Bare with me.

Chapter One: Thou shalt not weigh more than thy refrigerator.

"One good reason to only maintain a small circle of friends is that three out of four murders are committed by people who know the victim."-- George Carlin

"Ow."

"Oh, suck it up."

"Ow."

"Just three more."

"I SAID OW, DAMN IT!!!"

Sara threw her hands up in the manner of exasperated best friends everywhere before shooting me an extremely annoyed look. The nerve of her! Like I had shoved her leg into some sort of medieval torture device. Needless to say I thought this was a little unfair so I told her so.

"It's not a torture device, Kim. It's a workout machine and I would really appreciate it if you would stop giving me hell over every repetition and just stick those freakishly long legs of yours into place and push up the fucking weights!"

As any sane, self respecting woman would I took offense to that. My legs are not freakishly long. They are however perfectly normal for someone of my abnormal height of five foot eleven. At least that's what I think my height is. I've been avoiding measuring myself for fear of having finally passed the dreaded six foot mark but I have a sneaking suspicion that another inch or two might have snuck past me during a late in life growth spurt.

Sara continued to glare at me all while ignoring the confused glances that the gym frequenters were shooting our way. It goes with out saying that people like Sara and I don't belong here but when Sara had shown up at my door in full work out gear, headbands and wrist bands included, I didn't have the heart to say no. It was going to take at least a week for her to get this out of her system which means that I can look forward to several more afternoons like this.

This is just one of the many times that I've wanted to kill Amy Fink.

Sara and I were sitting at our usual spot in the cafeteria when the fearsome foursome decided that we would be the perfect choice for their next victim.

Let me back track and do a little explaining first. The fearsome foursome consists of Amy Fink, Shandra Adams, Sean Adams (In case you didn't figure it out for yourselves Shandra and Sean are brother and sister, Shandra was a junior and Sean was a senior. I know: Shandra and Sean. They didn't have the most creative of parents) and Jared Thail. They've earned their title by generally making the lives of us 'lesser' people miserable since elementary school. In the first grade they threw dog food at Cathy McNeil during recess and to this day still call her iams. In the fifth grade they pretended to be friends with Chelsea Diamond before dumping her on her ass at the end of school dance. In the ninth grade they took pictures of some of the chubbier girls in class while they were changing for Gym and posted them through out the school. To make a long story short they were your basic garden variety of evil.

Taking all of this into account I wasn't exactly shocked to hear Amy's grating high pitch voice ringing across the Cafeteria towards Sara during lunch.

"Jesus, Sally, I really don't think you of all people need to be eating that!" Amy and Shandra both looked at the sandwich Sara had in front of her with looks of equal disgust while Jared and Sean stood behind them looking bored.

Sara had looked down at her plate and had mumbled something about her name not being Sally. When it came to people she didn't know very well Sara had always had a hard time standing up for herself. Luckily I have no such qualms.

"You're right, Amanda, it really should be you eating that sandwich but seeing as your diet consists mainly of diet soda and laxatives I don't think that'll happen." I watched in amusement as Amy went red in the face and behind her Jared snorted but tried to turn it into a cough when Shandra turned to glare at him.

The exchange went on from there but to make a long story short I'll just tell you that Amy called Sara fat and I dumped my milk all over Amy's new Betty Johnson skirt that she had been bragging about in homeroom. Good times good times.

And that, my friends, is why we are here now. Here being La' Push's sorry-ass excuse for a gym. There are like twelve machines, I'm not even kidding. Anyway Sara believed Amy when she called her fat even though she swears up and down that nothing that bitch says can effect her. And the thing is Sara isn't even fat. Not really. She's just a little chubbier, a fact that was accentuated by her five foot one height.

I opened my mouth to defend the length of my legs to Sara but before I could get the words out Tiffany collapsed on to the work out bench next to me. If by collapsed I meant threw herself onto dramatically . And if by workout bench I meant medieval torture device number two.

"Water!" Tiffany gasped while sucking in huge lungfullls of breath.

"What the hell happened to you?" I asked, ignoring Sara when she huffed in annoyance at being distracted from our 'workout' *coughtorturesessioncough*.

Tiff didn't answer me but instead just shut her eyes and shook her head as if the answer to my question was simply to painful to say aloud and continued to draw in uneven breaths.

"Treadmill." Ally said wisely while coming up from behind me to hand Tiffany a bottle of water.

Tiffany jerked the bottle of water out of Ally's hand, spraying us all in the process, before gulping down her first sip…before spitting it all out onto the floor next to her.

"What the hell is this?" she looked disgusted and started to try to wipe the flavor off of her tongue using the back of her hand.

"That's water, you idiot." Ally looked down on the new puddle of water Tiff had made on the floor and looked back up at Tiffany, unimpressed.

Tiffany looked aghast, "You know I don't drink that stuff! Where is my coke?"

Sara shifted her weight impatiently from foot to foot, "They don't sell soda at the gym." she said blandly.

I winced and started to distant my self from the rant that was about to follow and tried to look like I wasn't with them.

"They don't sell soda," Tiffany spoke slowly as if she was only repeating it to try and have it make sense. "What kind of place have you taken me to!? I've walked for the last thirty minutes only to get nowhere and now you're telling me there's nothing to drink?!"

Our fellow Gym patrons started to shoot our small group concerned glances and I heard one woman in a hot pink track suit murmur something to her companion about calling security. I turned to pick up a hand weight stationed on the rack sitting behind me hoping that if I looked busy I could distract myself from the unwanted attention we were receiving. I curled my fingers around the first weight my hand hit while keeping one eye of the argument ensuing in front of me. When I went to pull the weight out of it's notch my hand suddenly zoomed to the ground along with the extremely heavy weight it still held and landed directly on my big toe. I shrieked as my poor unsuspecting toe was crushed under the weight of what I now knew to be a fifty pound barbell.

Needless to say this did nothing to rid myself of the attention of La' Push's more fit residents. Neither did hoping around on one foot screaming 'my toe, my poor abused toe' apparently. Go figure.

Sara and Tiffany didn't so much as glance my way, "What do you mean 'there's nothing to drink'?! There's water!"

Tiff scoffed at Sara's logic, "Be serous! I can't drink that stuff!"

Sara then proceeded to lay into Tiffany about her soda addiction and how it was such a waste of calories while I all but writhed around on the ground in pain.

Ally rolled her eyes before dragging me away to sit down on a slanted bench for sit-ups and peeling off my shoe and sock. She had always been the most nurturing and motherly of us.

I squeezed my eyes shut and turned my face away from the sight that I was sure would be riddled with blood and guts, "How bad is it?"

"It's not bad at all." she assured me.

"Oh, god they're going to have to amputate it, aren't they?" Damn it! Why do these things always have to happen to me? The big toe is by far my favorite of all the toes! It's like the king toe! I can't walk around for the rest of my life missing the king toe!

I heard Ally sigh from somewhere in front of me. I'm not sure where though because I still hadn't opened my eyes yet. What right did she have to be sighing? I'm about to loose a limb (Oh alright, not a limb but the best toe!) and she was sighing at me?

"You know it isn't at all polite to sigh at your soon-to-be-nine-toed friend." I informed her while squinting open one eye to glare at her with.

"Why are you going to have only nine toes?" Tiffany asked having apparently finished her argument with Sara who had gone over to a different machine to work on and ignore us at.

"Isn't it obvious?" I said in a pained voice and used one hand to gesture at my injured foot.

"There's five toes on that foot, Kim." Tiff spoke slowly as if talking to a mentally disturbed person.

"Yeah, there are five now."

"Why wouldn't there be five?"

"They're going to have to amputate one."

"Who's going to amputate one and why?"

I sighed and decided to face the music and open my eyes to survey the damage. I took a deep breath and braced myself to see my toes hanging off the rest of my foot by a few thin pieces of flesh and skin. Instead I saw my big toe looking more or less the same as always except for a small pink mark about half an inch wide.

"Oh…well, alright then." I scooped my sock and shoe up off the floor and shoved them back on before going to check on Sara.

Ow. I hate Sara. And I'm definitely going to have to Kill Amy. Maybe I can come up with some way to make her accidentally gain five pounds. Then she would surely kill herself.

I was mumbling all of this under my breath while I entered my house through the front door and bent down to rip off my shoes much to the protest of my aching muscles. Ally had dropped me off in front of my drive way. Although I'm not really sure if what we do actually counts as dropping off seeing as she lives right next door to me and I do mean right next door. I could through something from my bedroom window into hers if I wanted to. Not that I want to but if I did I could.

But she's not the only one. We all live right next door to one another: me, Ally, Sara, and Tiffany. It's how we met. When you're a kid you're friends with whoever is on the block and in our case the friendship just stuck past the kid years and into the teenage years. A basically unheard of feet. I'm not even sure why it stuck. We mostly just argue with each other whenever we're together, which is pretty much every waking moment.

"Kimmy! Is that you?" my mothers voice floated out of the kitchen and reached my ears where I was standing in the entrance hall.

"No, mother! It's just you average everyday burglar, pay me no mind." I called back before dragging my tired and sore ass into the kitchen where i found a sight I didn't like at all. "Oh, my god. Mom! What are you doing?!"

"I'm cooking, honey." she said with an air of somebody who was speaking to a slightly slow person who was threatening to have a fit.

"Put down the pan and step away from the stove." I stepped forward with slow measured steps to take the spatula out of my mother's hands .

My mother stood there, now empty handed, and watched me with a partly amused and partly confused look on her face. "Why?"

"You remember what happened last time, don't you?"

"That was a fluke and besides, we needed new cabinets anyway." she said with a sniff before turning back to the pan.

I snorted and scooted behind her to reach into the fridge to grab a soda. She's gonna be the one to pay for it if she ends up burning down half the kitchen…again.

"Where were you?"

"The gym." I said this already anticipating her reaction. I wasn't disappointed.

"Gym?," my mother turned away from the frying pan to stare at me skeptically.

"Sara made me go." I defended before she could spit out any sly accusations.

My mother has always been one of those moms who were unnaturally obsessed with her kids social lives. Seeing as I'm an only child this means that she's unnaturally obsessed with my social life. If you could call it that. I've been hanging out with the same four girls since I was two. I've never dated although a couple of guys around town have shown interest. I'm not a cheerleader or an athlete. They'd sooner elect Freddy Kruger for prom queen than me. And unless detention counts as an extracurricular activity I'm not heavily involved at school.

You can imagine my mother's disappointment.

Taking all this into account you can understand my hesitance to tell my mother of my previous whereabouts. She'd think it was some sort of code for a wild and hot party I didn't want to tell her about. Which would be odd considering it's not even six at night on a Tuesday, but it's best that I don't even try logic with my mother. She never did know the meaning of the word.

She turned back to her food (fajitas it looked like…or maybe fajitas long-distance retarded cousin), "Sara? Since when does she go to the gym?"

"Since Amy Fink called her fat in front of half the school."

I know it probably seems weird to most to be talking to my mother this we but we were strangely close. Well, maybe not so strangely. We don't like sleep in the same bed or share a toothbrush. Nothing weird like that. But there's still a certain level of closeness that is to be expected. It had been just us for almost five years now.

My mother went into some random tangent about having self-confidence and not letting what other people say effect you. I tuned her out. She does this a lot.

"I agree completely, mom." I interrupted. "I'll tell Sara next time I see her. Well, I'm off to do my homework now. See you."

I scrammed out of the room before she could go off on some feminist tirade about feeling beautiful no matter what and not trying to confirm to the societal ideology of beauty. I'm a feminist too, but sometimes my mother just doesn't know when to stop talking…well, most of the time she doesn't.

A/N- Ok, I really have no idea where I'm going with this story. I'm just so sick of all these stories where Kim is some lovesick pushover and I thought a change of pace might be nice. Let me know if you agree. I promise, there will be more Jared in the next chapter.

Reviews make me happy. When I'm happy I write. Thus review and I'll update.