Sorry it took so long to post new chapter

Had to seriously plan ! With every-obsession

This chapter was written by her, and is in EPOV

Yellow.

It was the only color I could see right now.

Yellow.

I brought my hands up to my eyelids and wiped away the paint. I carefully opened my eyes to see an empty hallway. Was this some kind of joke? Some kind of Art College joke; instead of opening the door and having a bucket of ranch drop on you, you get yellow paint splattered all over your clothes. Delightful, fucking delightful.

And best of all? The culprit, whoever the son of a bitch was, decides it's alright to run away from the crime scene. Isn't that like, another felony or something? Did you even get charged for felony in France?

"Ow," squeaked something.

I looked down, the weight of paint pulling my hair with gravity twice as hard and sticking to my forehead. She was small, her frame I could quiet make out for she was scrunched up on floor like a potato bug. Her long, red-brown locks of hair went all the way to her middle back lightly, curled and the end. Her skin was porcelain pale, like a vampires and dotted freckles were on her hand. Her face was completely hidden in her knees, her legs completely hiding her torso and face. She was practically in feeble position. She squeaked again, like a mouse.

"You," I growled under my breath.

Her head snapped up. "It was you, wasn't it?" I said a little louder.

Her dark-chocolate brown eyes were wide with shock, fear, and panic. Her button nose twitched ever so slightly. The full but small baby pink lips that made up her mouth her in a straight line that curved downwards at the end. I still couldn't see her torso.

"Are you okay?" She asked, and as she spoke she brought her hand back up to her nose for a minute as she spoke. She tested something and wave a relief passed through her face. Then her anxious look returned tenfold.

"Fuck man, this was a new shirt!" I grabbed the hem of it and held it out to examine.

"I'm so sorry!" She bounced to her feet, her newly shown breasts bouncing with her underneath the maroon sweater she had on. The sweater looked like some foreign designer label.

"AGH!" The first day of a prestigious art academy was supposed to be, oh I dunno, amazing?! "FUCK!" I yelled again, turning my back on her.

"I'm sooo, sooo sorry!" She raced around me to face me again. I glared at her for a second and then tried to wipe the fresh paint off with my hand. It only spread it around.

"I look like a fucking mustard man! Mustard man! A. FUCKING. MUSTARD. MAN." I stared at my shirt. In my irritation, I went to run my hand through my hair out of habit. My hand clashed with a glob of yellow paint, and like my moose, spread it evenly through my hair.

"Oh my god! Let me help you!" She reached up to the collar of my shirt but I pushed her hands away and shoved passed her.

"Fuck off," I mumbled.

I was power walking down the hall, reminding myself of my mother when she had her Workout Videos obsession when I was seven. That was hell and so was this. Only without the spandex and legwarmers.

I heard the bang of a tin just then and then a crash and then SPLAAAT. I turned around to the back of my jeans. Some more yellow. Whoever this girl was, she had halted in mid walk and stared with her jaw slack at me. Her lips formed an 'o'. She had kicked the fallen paint tin at me. "Sorry," she squeaked.

"FUCK!" I looked from my jeans to her a few times. "Close your mouth, BJ!"

She snapped her mouth shut. I heard a quiet clack of teeth and she sped after me as I walked away. "Let me help you!"

"No."

She stayed at me heels though. Her long legs had to practically run to keep up with me. Her legs were probably the longest part of her body, for she was fairly short. Maybe five feet, five inches? It didn't really matter to me.

"Let me–"

I spun around to face her. I leaned in real close to her, our foreheads almost touching. She stared at me, wide-eyed, her breathing pace sent into overdrive. I didn't care if she passed out from hyperventilation right then and there. Thank God if she did!

"Listen lady, this shirt," –I pulled at the hem of it for her to get a better look–"it used to be green. That's right, green. So unless you got some fucking blue paint to kick at me, you can't help me."

She looked me straight in the eye. She opened her small mouth to say something, but only a squeak came out. I huffed angrily. "Go home."

She still followed me though as I practically ran down the hallway. I reminded myself to thank the Lord that no one saw the incident. That was a relief. I didn't want to be known as Mustard Man around here.

Finally she began to blubber again, "Listen, just let me take the clothes to wash them for you."

"No."

"Can I at least buy you knew clothes?"

"No."

"Can I–"

"No."

"Can–"

"No."

"C–"

"For the love of God women, NO!" I shoved my key into the key hole and mindlessly jiggled it around until the door flew open.

I could feel parts of my shirt beginning to stick to me as I hurried into my room. Parts of my hair were hardening too. I violently unzipped my luggage, and began to pull the organized piles of clothes apart. Boxers, shirts, pants flew across the room, hooking over the dresser, the flat screen TV hanging on the wall. Piles of clothes began to build on the floor.

I found a black pullover and some darkwash jeans to do me good. Maybe I would live after all. In a hurry, I pulled off my shirt. I could feel the paint peel off the skin of my chest as I pulled it off. I threw it into the corner of the room and quickly began to fumble with my belt.

I pulled it off noisily and tossed to were the shirt was. I yanked down my jeans without even bothering to unzip or unbutton them for the matter. They went to same paint-stained pile with everything else.

I picked up my fresh pair of clothes and barged into the bathroom. I grabbed the sample shampoo and conditioner off the granite countertop and violently turned the knobs on the sink. I didn't have time to wait for a shower to heat up.

I poured a huge glob of shampoo into my hand and pushed my head under the running water and began scrubbing my scalp vigorously. Jesus Christ.

The bathrooms were amazing. They were like another bedroom. They had walk in shower and a tub? A Jacuzzi tub for that matter! White candles had been placed strategically around the room, like they expected people to want to get the mood set in here so they could get it on in the tub.

The tiles were new and polished; morning sunlight bounced off them. I looked away from the bathroom and down at the sink. The water was a strong yellow. I looked up at the mirror, through the yellow bubbles my hair seemed to becoming bronze again. I smiled the first real smile today.

I washed out the shampoo and quickly glided the conditioner through my hair. It went through easily, a sign that most of the paint was gone. After I washed that out, I pulled on my clothes.

I looked in the mirror. My green eyes were wide in panic, my once tousled bronze hair flat on my head. I grabbed a towel and rubbed it against my hair. It began drying at once under the friction and sticking up like it did whenever it dried.

I opened the bathroom door and lazily walked into my room. I was still a tad irritated on how this morning and the fact that I had gotten my room messy for it. I picked up a pile of clothes off the floor and shoved them in the dresser underneath the TV. I pulled few things off the TV and dresser itself and put them.

I turned, about to return to my first mission of the day: The Cafeteria. But something was blocking my door. The girl, the culprit, the one who ruined my jeans and shirts and hair was sitting on the floor, criss-cross-apple-sauce style. I stared at her for a moment, trying to remember if she had come in with me or she broke in. Either way, it was still creepy she was still here.

She looked up at me. She looked like she was getting over shock or something. "I'm sorry."

Like we haven't heard that one before. "It's fine." I shuffled awkwardly. I could really leave and it'd be bit pointless for me to turn around and walk back in to my room.

"No, really it's not," she stood up and looked me straight in the eye. Her eyes were wide like she wasn't believing something.

"Are you alright? You look like you saw a ghost," I chuckled; maybe karma sent her a ghost to haunt her.

"No, ghosts aren't that good looking," she mumbled, looking down at her feet.

I wasn't sure if I heard her right. What was she even talking about? Then it hit me. I had just stood in front of her, and took of almost all of my clothes. I was almost naked. Well then.

"Hey, to say I'm sorry, I'll buy you something at the bakery down to road?" She made it sound like a question, like she wasn't sure if I was completely over my temper tantrum.

That's what sucked about my temper tantrum. It can scar the eye of the beholder. Or the brain. Over the years I realized my flaws like the temper tantrum did to people and has heard as I tried to hold them in, they would always lash out. There were days were I was ruled completely by emotions, or completely by logic. There was no in between for me.

"Sure," I smiled as warmly as I could at her. She smiled back, cheerfully with relief plain in her eyes. It looked like relief to me at least. She was so hard to read right now.

"Come on!" she grinned this time, showing me a set of white teeth. I couldn't help but smile too.

I followed her through the halls, looking around. The dorms were unusually quiet. I had heard of those crazy parties that happened in college dorms, and I wondered if it was the same for these kinds of dorms. Or maybe art kids were introverts and stayed in their rooms all day drawing death and writing about death. I looked up at ceiling. Someone had begun to paint the night sky on it.

"So, I think it'd be essential to know your name," I said, looking back down at her.

She was already looking at me. "Isabella Marie Swan, but I prefer Bella."

"What? Isabella too old fashioned for you?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure. I just, never liked it," she smiled, halfhearted at me.

"Edward pretty old fashioned too, I guess." I laughed dryly.

"Edward?" She looked at me disbelieving.

"Edward Cullen." I confirmed.

"I always wondered if they still named people that in this world." She mused, trying to stop herself from smiling.

"Well, they do. But my mom didn't name it or my dad." I looked at her, and again she was already looking at me.

"What? Like, your uncle broke into the hospital and changed your name on their records?"

I laughed loudly. "No, I'm adopted. Whatever happened to my real parents, I don't know. I'm pretty sure I would have been told by now from my adoptive parents, Carlisle and Esme, but I don't think they know either. I've never asked."

"Is it bothering you?" she asked quietly, looking at me with pity.

I hated that pity look. I turned away. "No," I lied.

"Oh. Do you have any siblings?" She was still talking quietly. She was watching her feet as we walked.

"One. My older adoptive brother, Emmett. He's… different." I laughed, remembering the time with Emmett I had when I was younger. "If you ever get a chance to meet him, you'll be able to see what I mean."

"Different in a good way?" She cocked her head to the side, biting her lip.

"Yes and no."

"Oh." Awkward waves rolled off her, her cheeks a vibrant red.

"So, now that we play this game of twenty questions," I pushed open the doors of the academy open for her, letting her walk out first. I nodded at Lauren goodbye. She smiled a bright smile and waved. "It's my turn."

"Shoot." She smiled, still blushing.

"Your parents?"

"Well, I lived in Florida all my life – that I can remember. My mom divorced my real dad a year after I was born after she fell in love with the baseball player, Phil Dywer."

"Wow." I had heard of him, thousands of time on ESPN.

She shook her head. "I grew up believing he was my true father, but turned out, during a second grade family tree assignment, that my real dad lives in Forks, Washington."

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "Really? I used to live there! Then I moved to New York city." I cringed at the thought of Tanya. I never wanted to return to New York city again.

"Small world," she laughed, watching the few cars drive by. Today was rather calm.

"What was your dad name?"

"Charlie Swan, I think? I grew up with his last name, but I never questioned why it was different then Phil or my mom's."

I smiled thoughtfully. I felt like I knew this girl her entire life for some reason. Even though I could read her actions at all. She kept a curtain of hair in between us, and her cheeks were still aglow. She was so shy. Which was weird that I even wanted to talk to her. Usually I never liked the introverted type, I was more of an extrovert myself, so I tended to forget about the quiet ones. She intrigued me though. I wanted to get inside her head.

"Yeah, he was the police chief there."

Her head snapped up to look at me. "Really? That's so… awkward." She looked at me in disbelief. "My mom told me he was… uh, plump."

I laughed as she turned as towards the bakery. It was fairly desolate. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." I shrugged. "You people gossip to much in Florida."

"What?!" she jumped up, surprised by my jab. "No, we don't! That was a fact."

"That's a fact all right," I laughed.

"Shut up," she mumbled.

Bella reached for the door, about to pull it open. I placed my hand on it to she couldn't pull it open. She looked up, a question look on her face by the way her delicate eyebrows were raised.

"We didn't get to one question."

She didn't say anything; she only let her eyes wonder over my face and down my body and back up. Her breathing went weird again. I was beginning to wonder if she had asthma.

I smiled at her, one side of my mouth pulling up. "Friends?"

Next chapter will be written by me ! In BPOV

It will be her thoughts on this chapter, and a continuation of it