Disclaimer: As much as we'd like to claim these characters, nothing Twilight-related belongs to us.

A/N: First chapter! :) Excited? We are! So let's get on with it. More info, etc. at the end. The only thing I have to say is a short warning: this story is NOTHING like WHWHW. It merely follows the same plot line. There is very little sad in this story. It's much more light-hearted, if you ask me. :) It's much more my (Allie's) style of writing than the last one was, so hopefully you get to see my forte. :)

Other important info: TLiF (that's Typing Love in French, our other story, for those of you who didn't already know) will start being posted again in two weeks' time. Also; this story will be a once a week thing. With TLiF, we'll be posting once a week as well, though, so you'll really be getting two chapters a week. And, unfortunately, I'll warn you now that there will probably be times where we'll post late—with my (Allie's) work schedule and homework and Ben's insane classes/homework, things may not work out. But we'll do what we can.

There will probably be times where we take a week or so off, as well. We have lives, believe it or not, outside of FF. Haha. :) Anyway, here yah go.

Turning Eighteen
By cALLIEfornia BENches

Chapter 1: Tallying up the Score

"I'm sorry madam, but our system automatically seated you, your husband, and your son in separate aisles on the plane. There's nothing we can do," chimed the stewardess. Her painted red nails and glossy blonde hair spoke volumes, but to me, it all equated to one word: fake.

I could easily tell she wasn't sorry about the inconvenience about our seats; her tone, her body language all said something different than the words spilling out of her mouth. She was as fake as shiny plastic was artificial. I didn't need to be a mind reader to know that.

"But there has to be some mistake," my mother whined, "you see, I specifically bought the tickets from your airline because of your generous customer service history." Oh mother. "I guess I was wrong then," my mother sighed, laying upon a surplus amount of guilt upon the stewardess as we made our way into the cabin of the plane. I didn't even bother being embarrassed anymore. Nor did I bother telling my mom I could handle myself on a plane for a few hours; I simply just didn't care.

I was moving. And I didn't like it.

I would miss California. I would miss the sunny skies, the warm rays on my back, my friends, the girls, the atmosphere. And for what? Because now I was moving to some bleak, tree-loving state with as much green as one could imagine? I would just about trade anything right about now to remove each and every one of my things, and go back home. Which was in no way, and never would be Seattle.

I didn't care that I sounded snotty and bratty. This year was supposed to the greatest year of my life. I was a senior now. This was the year where I could finally apply to colleges, all while safely enjoying the view of easy public school. I was intending on slacking, on staying in California for the rest of my life, comfortably.

Well, I guess that'll never happen.

I sighed. The only reason all hell chose not to break lose from my mental bounds was quite simple compared to the complicated battle between myself and moving: my parents.

I was still their son. I was still a gentleman. I wasn't going to whine like a small child while my father finally received a job of a lifetime up there in the desolate city. It was not in my place to begin rebelling. I was much more of a better child than that; at least, that's what I told myself. It was time I started acting like a grown up, one who stopped harassing his parents, and one who held compromise.

But the more and more time went on to my journey up to the state of boring, the less and less my spirit to be a man became. We weren't even up in the air, and the move was already a horrible one; I could not shake the feeling of dread as we began to file into the cramped aisles finding our seats.

I can't believe I agreed to this.

But a part of me still wanted to enjoy a new adventure. I guess I was getting a little tired of the sun; the non-stop flow of slut and whores who threw themselves mercilessly upon me was starting to get old. And besides surfing and hanging with friends, I didn't have much else. Yes, a part of me wanted change. And perhaps Seattle was cold and wet enough to have the sluts and whores cover up a little more unruly skin.

My mother's whispered complaints of "such horrible airline service" jolted me out of my thoughts.

"...so mine and your father's seats are down at 24 A and 30 C, Masen. If you need anything, just come over and ask." My mother began to rummage through her purse, frantically searching for something. Her frazzled appearance and messy golden hair told me she was stressed about moving, and about the seats. "Ridiculous," she murmured, "How can an airline be so ridiculous?!"

"Mom! Calm down! It's just a three hour plane ride. I'll be fine. If you need me, I'll be in my seat." I quickly walked away from my parents to find my seat. Glancing nonchalantly at my ticket, I noticed it read "14 A."

Good, I thought. A ways from the parentals. Maybe the trip wouldn't be so bad.

I made my way to my window seat and finally sat down with a huff. All this drama was too much to handle at—I checked my watch—2:40 in the morning! I groaned as I realized I would be going straight to my new school after the flight, ruining any chance I had to regroup myself to be at least presentable to others.

Seattle 0, California 1.

I looked around tiredly and cringed with fear; an extremely heavy-set man, with balding hair and little crumbs strewn across his navy blue shirt, began to make his way across the aisle, toward the directions of my empty seats beside me.

Please not next to me; please not next to me...

But as luck would have it, the man stopped abruptly next to my seats and eyes each one carefully, as if deliberating if he could somehow manage to squeeze in between the armrests. I highly doubted it, but planned to keep quiet. I couldn't help but notice that ever so slightly, and with each second he tried to put himself in the seats, my body seemed to involuntarily cringe away from where he was headed; this was not going to end well.

Seattle 0, California 2.

The man, after much thought out concentration, and the assistance of the crew, made his way into the seats, taking up both chairs.

Seattle was going to lose, I could tell.

We finally began to take off around 3:00 AM. Out of courtesy for Mr. Blob, I decided to shut him and everyone else out of my mind, and drifted off to sleep. I was tired of the situation, tired of my mom's incessant whining, tired of my dad's new job, tired of the man next to me, and simply just plain tired.

It didn't take long for me to fall into a deep slumber.

I wish I could say I liked to sleep. But after having the same dream for over a year, the routine was beginning to feel like a chore. Even on the flight, it was no different. I was always hiding behind a wall, always looking for someone, and always running really fast.

But none of it made sense to me.

The only thing I could ever picture clearly was her voice. The voice of an angel, I presumed. She was always in my dream, always pleading me to help her. But as in every dream, I never was able to finish my task, and I would sometimes wake up in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat and panting loudly.

I didn't get very far today, and I was quite disappointed. I was jolted awake by a pair of giggles reverberating in the seats next to me.

Was the fat man giggling like a schoolgirl?

I clenched my fists in disgust and slowly opened my eyes only a fraction of a slit. I was surprised to see that the large man was no longer there. But in his place stood two tan girls, each eying me with predatory-like bedroom eyes.

"You're so damn cute when you sleep," noted the blonde girl on the right. Beside her sat an equally skimpy-clothed redhead, who nodded earnestly at her friend's statement. I opened my eyes wider and sat frozen, cursing that the two had managed to block any chance of escape.

"So, handsome, where are you from?"

"Umm... California."

"Like, oh my god, we were just vacationing there!" smacked the blonde. Her nasal voice added to her lack of appearance, making her that much less attractive.

Seattle 0, California 3.

"Do you have a name?" Bimbo 1 asked.

"Masen," I said. Maybe if I kept giving them short answers they'd go away.

"It suits you," Bimbo 2 said as she leaned closer to me, giving me an ample view of her cleavage. Cleavage that, in fact, I was not interested in seeing. I glanced away from them and toward the window as the land passed by below us.

"I'm Bethany," Bimbo 1 identified herself. "And that's Brittany," she said, pointing to Bimbo 2.

"That's nice," I said, not tearing my eyes away from the window.

Bethany cleared her throat, in an attempt to get my attention, I think. I ignored it. She was annoying, and I didn't have the patience for annoying right now. I kind of wished I had Isabella with me to calm me down. She always knew how to make me feel better. But now, she was crammed in a cage with all the rest of the luggage.

"...and then I was like, 'Oh my god, I cannot believe he said that!' and she goes 'I know, right?'" Both girls laughed hysterically. I didn't get it, and doubted I would find it funny even if I had.

"So, Masen," Brittany started, "Tell us about yourself."

"No," I replied shortly.

They both pouted, as if they were dolls and someone had simultaneously pressed the button on their back that made their eyes glass up and their lip protrude. Ugly dolls, for that matter.

"I'm Masen, and I'll be eighteen in June...," I paused. "I don't know. What else is there to say?"

"You're only eighteen?" asked Bethany, a shocked look plastered on her face.

"Well, technically I'm seventeen." I answered.

"I never would have guessed," Brittany said. "You look, like, way older than that. Like you could probably pass for twenty-one, if you wanted. If that were the case, I would, like, totally get beer from you. Beth and I are only twenty. Just a year off. But it was so great, like to you remember that one time—"

Bethany cut her off. "With the liquor store, the basket, and the acne-ridden guy—"

The two finished the story together, as if they had told it more times than they could count. "And then we both had to kiss him in order to get our groceries for free!"

Seattle 1, California 4.

"Shh," I said to them. "We're on a plane. Don't you girls have any respect for everyone else around you? It's not that hard. Just shut yourselves up, sit back, and watch the movie that's going to be on in like five minutes."

A nervous glance around the airplane had me wondering where Mr. Blob had gone. I would much prefer his large self as to these two anorexic twits. But apparently he wasn't coming back. The girls sat next to me the whole time, chattering and talking to me, not even taking the hint when I pulled out my iPod and put in both earphones.

I could not have gotten out of that plane any faster. I had managed to shake Brittany and Bethany both off me while I attempted to flee the premises. Had I been in that seat a while longer, my IQ would have most likely dropped too low to recover.

I was never so happy to be in Seattle.

Seattle 1, California 5.

I waited for my parents impatiently to walk off the plane, cautiously looking warily across the crowd to make sure the two girls hadn't spotted me. Finally, I found my parents, and we gladly walked down to grab any luggage we had in the baggage claim. Luckily, Dad had been clever and ordered most of our stuff be sent to our house by a moving van. All I had to carry were my valuables, including my full iPod, backpack filled with things like books and more music, and, of course, Isabella, who cheerfully wagged her tail after being removed from the cramped cage.

"Honey, we better hurry," exclaimed my mother, "The plane was late, so we've just barely got enough time for you to grab your things, and go straight there." I groaned. My parents, after receiving generous salaries in their new jobs here in Seattle, decided my education would be so much more "acceptable to higher academic schools" by enrolling into private schools.

Ugh.

I was going to a rich school, with snobby kids with rich moms and dads. I was going to conform by wearing a uniform and by paying large sums of money to be tortured by professors.

Seattle 1, California 6.

I decided not to budge any further on the issue, seeing no other possible option that could be conceived from such a moronic plan. I quickly picked up my bags, and together with my parents, set off toward the dealership to find a temporary car to use.

But the minute we set foot outside the doors, I was hit full force by a penetrating scent that not even the beautiful state of California could boast. The air was incredibly clear and pristine in this state, and with each intake of breath, I relished in the feel of pure oxygen, free of smog and pollution I usually smelled while in the sunshine state. California never had this clean of air. I guess it was because of the gargantuan amounts of trees that resided all over the place.

Before I could even simply enjoy the sensation, my parents hurriedly picked a car, and we set off in haste to my school.

I was soon rushed into changing in the backseat of the new car. I hated my uniforms. There was a scratchy blue blazer, with a gray dress shirt, and actual khaki pants to match. But I really couldn't afford to protest, as we quickly found our way to school.

The sign read Seattle Preparatory School, but I could tell right away it meant hell. Crowds of kids strolled along the beautifully manicured campus, each wearing the same dreadful and dull attire as I was.

Rich.

Snobby.

Brats.

Seattle 1, California 7.

"Do I have to go, Mom?" I pleaded. There had to be a way to get out of this horrible mess. "Is there anyway I can simply go tomorrow? I'm really tired." I yawned carelessly for effect.

"It's your first day. Besides, you'll be able to make new friends while the house is still getting ready."

I groaned internally, and eyed the door handle hesitantly, placing my palm atop the bar. Slowly, as if delaying the pain of leaving the comfort of the car, I lurched the door forward, and stepped out into the morning air, only pleased that the air I loved back at the airport was present here as well.

Not off to a completely horrible start.

Seattle 2, California 7.

With each step I took away from the vehicle, the more apprehensive I became. In desperation, I managed to peek one last time at the car leaving the parking lot. A frown involuntarily set across my face, and I turned around to trudge back on into the abyss.

It didn't take long for my worst fears to be reacquainted. It seemed that being the new guy was... well, new. Each and every person I passed by stared blankly, gawking at me—girls more than any of the passing guys, andeven some teachers. I tried desperately to tune out the awed faces and looked at the map of the school my parents had given me.

Let's see: English. Room 914.

I looked around, but just the sheer size of the front of the school seemed much too intimidating to even comprehend where the hell Room 914 could possibly be. I finally realized that I could only do one thing: I needed to ask around for help.

I warily tried to ask someone who somehow hadn't noticed me. But each face I looked to was staring at me, unblinking. It was creepy, almost. I should have been used to it by now, since it always happened to me in California. I was always the one girls hit on, the one everyone talked about because I looked "unique." I didn't have blonde, black, or brown hair. I didn't have the dull colored eyes. And I wasn't scrawny. My looks attracted others. And that wasn't always a good thing.

"Umm... Hi. Do you know where I can find Room 914?" I asked a nearby girl, who didn't seem to notice me. I hoped dearly that she wasn't like the rest, most of whom stood frozen as I began to speak with a fellow student. What was their problem?

But the girl never spoke. She looked at me with wide, glazed over eyes, blushed, simply ducked her head beneath the books she carried, giggled, and walked away in a sort of giddy stance.

My frustration boiled over as I impatiently stomped my feet on the entrance floor. "Damn it! Where the hell can I find Room 914?" I hissed, unable to control the flow of irritation simply emanating from me.

"I think I can help you with that," replied an extremely nasal voice, even more so than the Bimbo twins earlier. The sound, I could only describe as nails scratching walls, and I cringed slightly. Giving up all hope, I slowly turned around and was met face to face with caked on make-up.

The girl before me could have been beautiful, had she not doused herself with an overbearing amount of perfume, which smelled awful, and placed on her at least 2 inches worth of blush and eye-liner. The effect she had made of herself took me aback, and I quickly tried to mask my disgust; I simply needed help.

"Do you know where Room 914 is?" I asked tentatively, hoping the girl before me could understand what I was saying through the thick, straw-like hair of hers. She flipped her brown locks over her shoulder in a dramatic gesture, and ever so slightly, leaned down to give me a nice view of her breasts. I gulped as I tried hard not to think about how such a large chest could have been put to better use with a better face.

"Why, yes, I do," she exclaimed.

I waited a few seconds for her to tell me, eying her as she simply stared, gawking with a grin plastered onto her powdered cheeks.

My impatience got the best of me. "Well, do you know where it is?"

She seemed to be jolted out of her hypnotic trance, and finally began to resume what little conversation she managed to keep up. "If you keep going straight, you'll see the cafeteria. Turn a right, then a left, and you should be in the wing it's in. My names Mindy by the way, and, you're like, really hot." Her abrupt change of subject surprised me and her blunt honesty had me frozen in my place.

"Thanks?" I questioned. Immediately, I began to formulate various escape routes to deter myself from Mindy, but she chose to speak up at that moment.

"You're welcome," she replied happily, "I'd be glad to show you around sometime, you know, as your escort. I'm, like, pretty influential here, and I can tell you where to go... and places you'll enjoy the most."

I stopped myself from gagging as I took in her insinuations. Never had I been confronted on such a blatant level, and immediately hit on with no intention of a secret manner. Well, actually, that wasn't true. But this time was pretty bad.

Seattle 2, California 8

"Maybe later, Mindy. I really have to get to class." I hurriedly spat out my words, intent on escaping from her grip. I half-ran towards English, looking over my shoulder every so often in case she decided to get me to enjoy places today. I shuddered easily at the thought.

Halfway in my search for the room, I realized that Mindy had NO sense of direction. By the time I had passed the cafeteria and turned a right, I was met with a dead end. I had tried to back up and turn a measly left, but there was no such turn. I came to the conclusion that she really wasn't listening to me, and fortunately found a nearby teacher to ask.

I finally found my class and reluctantly opened the door. I was late. I wasn't very surprised to see that I had once again garnered the attention of the entire class, and a light murmuring of "that gorgeous boy" or the "new cute kid" floated around between the various girls in the classroom. I took my seat, and tried to pay attention.

The rest of my day was rather uneventful, save for the constant looks and glazing over of eyes from the girls. I really wanted to feel proud and confident in being such a player, but I abhorred easy girls. Don't get me wrong: I've had my fair share of women, but they were all respectable (in public) and beautiful without being a slut. And just like California, Washington seemed to be full of them. Ladies all over the school who were watching me wore either too much make up or too little clothes. It didn't seem to matter to the surrounding guys, who all slumped around school drooling over each and every piece of flesh that met their eyes; they obviously hadn't been outside the city.

Why couldn't there be a beautiful girl who could capture my attention and still be able to be self-respecting. Someone like the angel in my dreams, that even her voice was able to capture me. A part of me doubted any of that though; I never had any highly intimate feelings for anyone. They were simply a couple dates and a nice bang or two. I never made booty calls.

Mindy had managed to snag each and every passing time, making small, and nasal-like, conversation with me. And after each and every meeting, she would somehow manage to rub on me or create some full-fledged invitation to screw her right then and there. At times, she simply looked smug, taunting passing girls, and glaring at those who still chose to smile at me. By the time lunch came, I told myself I would need a healthy shower when I got home to rid myself of her infectious perfume that managed to percolate upon my own clothes.

I walked slowly to lunch, trying to not steal anymore attention than I had seemed to already gain. Girls from every direction greeted me, already knowing my name; it seemed like I had some tracking device on me which all the women at school seemed to have access to. Guys had already begun to catch on and were trying to become "best friends" with the new kid in town.

I really hated school.

The rest of the walk was a mindless march toward the common area. I didn't bother truly listening to the greetings or invitations to sleep with girls anymore; I wanted to go home and sleep.

But suddenly, all my senses seemed to hype up as I took in the sweetest smell I had ever encountered; my mouth was watering like an open fountain. I quickly glanced around, trying to trace the Eden-like air, catching the taste with my nose.

Then I saw her. Or the backside that belonged to what could have been the greatest smell ever to exist. I curiously got closer, and would have almost melted upon the floor in a pile of goo, had it not been for my sudden control of myself.

She had the most beautiful ass I had ever seen. Her entire butt was blanketed in a pair of jeans; perhaps the first pair I had seen on any of the girls here, who had a more liberal choice of uniform than the men. Each cheek was nestled in a gentle curve, like small hills I would gladly like to spend my day upon. Her hips gave a roundness only given to women, and my mouth simply fell open at the sight of her long, slim legs. She had curves that I wanted to run my long hands over and over upon.

As I stared her over even longer, the more I reveled in the sight of her. Her back, which was facing toward me, was arched in such a perfect manner, the architect of the greatest building would have been jealous of such structure. How I wanted to push myself up against her, dig my hands into her back pockets, and breathe in the scent belonging to heaven. I could make out from behind the general curving of her ample breasts, which were just the right size.

Just thinking about it was giving me a noticeable erection. I tried unsuccessfully to resituate myself, but was met with soft whistling and wondrous gasps from female passersby.

My eyes refused to leave her. They raked over each crevice, each angular shaped that she took. I swooned over her slight shoulders and wavy brown hair that made its way to the middle of her back. Her ass was only a factor in her beauty; she was perfect.

I managed to dumbly follow her a few paces behind the whole time, only staring at the details she bore. When she managed to turn her head and smile, I never felt so happy and nervous to be alive; her eyes were chocolate. Sweet and addicting. She was by far, the best thing to ever happen to me.

Seattle 8, California 8, I thought. She was definitely worth more than the one point I was giving everyone else. She deserved an infinite amount.

But what was her name?

I watched her ass, transfixed as if I were a moth and it was a flame. I had never seen anything more perfect in my life. I followed her up the stairs toward the common area.

Then, suddenly, as if an invisible force had grabbed her leg, she started to fall forward. Out of reflex, my arms shot out to grab her and keep her from hitting the rough ground. But my plan backfired, and I ended up more or less laying on top of her in the middle of the stairs. If we were both naked right now, I thought absently, we would most definitely be going at it doggy-style.

I wasn't sure if I groaned aloud or not, but I do know that at that very moment, Mini Masen decided to pop all the way up and say hello.

Praying she didn't feel anything—which was highly unlikely, considering the position we had been in put her in the perfect place to feel just about everything—I pushed myself off her and gathered my books and hers, which were now splayed up and down the steps. I placed my own books conveniently in front of me and handed her what I knew wasn't mine.

Seattle 8, California 9.

"Sorry," I said gruffly, reaching a hand out to help her up but not daring to meet her eyes. The second she was steady on her feet again, I was gone. I rushed up the stairs and into the nearest boy's bathroom, throwing my books down and grasping the edge of the sink so tightly I was sure it would break.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! I scolded myself.

I glared up at myself in the mirror and thought of the tamest things I could think of to calm myself down.

Grandma's cookies. Waves against the shore. Mom's old rocking chair. My pride and joy, Isabella.

So far, I was calming down nicely. My embarrassment levels, however, were through the roof. And I wasn't sure they'd be able to go down anytime soon. No doubt, the fact that I had just sported a rather large erection in public was going to spread like wildfire at this school. I sighed and buried my head in my hands. There was no way I was going to be able to live this down. My erection was only slightly leveling itself off, but it was still painful tented in my jeans.

Unfortunately, passing time was running out. And I still had no idea where my history class was.

I trudged back out the door, desperate, yet again, for someone to show me where I was supposed to be. Anyone normal. Anyone but—

"Hi!" a preppy voice squeaked. Mindy. "So what class do you have next?" She looked me down, noticed the large bulge in my pants, and smiled, thinking she had caused this transformation. Her smug expression looked up at me, and, as seductively as possible, licked her lips. I immediately lost my erection.

She stood there waiting, like I had something to say. Oh. I remembered her question.

Oh, what the hell. Why not.

"History," I said. "Room 736?"

"Oh, you've got Mr. Lucas," she said, giggling. "He's, like, such a nice guy. I had him last year, and he was just the sweetest thing. Like this one time, I had to go in after school because I left a folder in his class, and I was all, 'Hey, Mr. Lucas!' And he goes—"

"Mindy," I cut her off. "I'm sure this is a fascinating story, but I need to find my next class. I really don't want to be late."

She smiled in a way that only made her seem even more ditzy, and started walking toward a hallway. I followed her, not sure where else I needed to be.

"And this," she said as she stopped in front of a room, "is your history class." She giggled, but I wasn't sure what was funny. "I'll see you after, okay?" Her shoulder touched mine on her way out, and her slight fingers lightly...grazed my crotch. I let out a hiss, shocked that she had actually had the guts to do that. I had gained my erection back, but only because my biological make-up was aroused, not me. At least the boner died much faster than the previous one.

I nodded gruffly, opening the door and heading straight to the teacher's desk. He was a relatively young guy, in jeans and a long-sleeved button up and dark blonde hair. If he hadn't been sitting behind the desk, chances are I would have mistaken him for a student. As I got closer to his desk, he smiled at me. I couldn't help but feel welcome.

"You must be Masen," he said.

"Yeah," I said, furrowing my brows. "How'd you know?"

He laughed lightly, shaking his head as he took my paper from me and signed where it told him to. "I can't even begin to tell you how many times I've heard about 'the new kid with bronze hair and stunning green eyes,'" he mimicked in a high pitched voice. "None of the girls in my classes have been able to focus today, thanks to you." He followed it up with a laugh so I knew he was kidding. "Some of the teachers, even. And not all of them are women." He chuckled.

I cleared my throat, slightly nervous. "Sorry, sir."

Shaking his head, he handed back my paper. "It's not anything you can help." He stole a glance behind me at the desks, which were now nearly full, and then down at a paper that looked like a seating chart. "It looks like the only empty seat is over there by Ms. Swanson." He pointed at a desk in the back left corner of the room where a beautiful girl was setting down her books and pulling her earphones out of her ears.

Oh, no, I thought. It was her. I couldn't do it. How could I sit next to a girl who had not only seen but felt my hard-on not ten minutes ago? I couldn't, that's how.

Frustrated, I brushed a hand through my hair and looked back at the teacher. "Is there any other place I could sit?" I asked.

He raised one eyebrow. "Is there a problem with your spot now?"

"Not exactly. I just...," I drifted off. "Never mind. Forget I asked."

Nodding once, he looked back down at the paper he was in the middle of grading.

I sat there, watching her for who-knows-how-long. I couldn't just walk over there and start talking to her. She would probably think I was some disgusting pig and that I had planned to fall on top of her. How would I ever be able to apologize, beg for her forgiveness, convince her I wasn't a douche, and introduce myself, all at the same time?

I pictured our conversation.

"Hi, my name is Masen Edwards, you know, the one that introduces himself to you by knocking you on the floor and taking you right there through his clothes?" I would most likely say. Her eyes would make it impossible to lie to her.

"Oh, ummm, Hi." She would say. "That was quite a show downstairs, jerk. Way to embarrass me. And you're the new kid, aren't you?"

Somehow, my imagination got the best of me.

"Why yes," I would hiss out. "I was the one who almost managed to do you on the stairs."

"Thats so... hot."

I gasped at my imagination while standing stupidly at the front of the class, and shook myself out of my trance.

Great. Another erection. And this time, in front of the class.

Seattle 8, California 10.

Taking a deep breath, I started towards the table. With every step, I felt like my shoes were slapping harder than necessary against the floor. Every breath I took was too loud. And the twisting nervousness in my stomach had to be making about as much noise as my rapid heart. Everything was amplified. The girls around me waved both to my face and to my jeans, which no doubt still sported my gladiator. Good thing she had her eyes intent on reading the novel before her and chose not to participate in the show. I could already tell she was incredibly smart. And easily, beautiful.

No, gorgeous. No. Heavenly.

Seattle 9, California 10.

As soon as she noticed someone walking toward her table, she looked up. She had been smiling, but as soon as she saw me her face fell and she rolled her eyes, sitting down in her seat and folding her arms across her chest, and returned to her book. Apparently, she had remembered me. She peered over her novel, saw me in all my boasting pride, blushed the most beautiful shade of ruby red, set on a frown, and ignored me.

I cast my gaze toward the floor, ashamed.

As timidly as I could, I set my books down onto the table and sat in the seat next to her. She deliberately looked away.

I opened my mouth to say something to her, though I wasn't sure what that was, when a girl walked up to the desk. Her uniform skirt was pulled up so high, I'm sure if I had been looking hard enough, I could have seen her panties, and her blouse was almost halfway unbuttoned, adding an exclamation mark to her already pronounced cleavage as she leaned forward on my desk in front of me. I cringed.

"I'm Sharon," she said in a voice that sounded like she swallowed a frog. Was that supposed to be sexy?

"Uhm, hi," I said. "I'm Masen."

"Oh, I know who you are," she said, moving forward a bit more so I could nearly see her entire breast. The girl next to me choked on her laughter and Sharon shot a glare at her. "What's your problem, Swanson?"

"What's my problem?" she asked, "My problem is that your overpriced cleavage is hanging in my face and, though I know your daddy paid a lot of money for them, it doesn't mean everyone wants to see them."

Sharon scoffed and stood up straight before storming away. She managed to wink in my direction before clicking her heels back to her seat. I looked at "goddess," as only I could describe without her name, and dropped my mouth at how amazing she was; my guardian angel from the whores.

"Sorry," I mumbled, getting all the books out that I needed.

She shook her head and scooted her chair to the farthest side of the table, away from me. I ran another hand through my hair and looked over at her so I could start again.

"Listen, about this morning—"

"Alright, class, listen up," the teacher interrupted. I shot her a pleading look, hoping she would recognize it and let me speak later. She didn't even look my way.

I sat through the class, wanting nothing more than to yell at the top of my lungs at her, and I wasn't sure why. Part of me wanted to scream at her for being so damn stubborn, but the other part of me wanted to yell at her to listen to me and to tell her how sorry I am.

But I stayed quiet, balling my hands into fists on top of the desk throughout the entire period.

And as it ended, she was the first out the door. I couldn't help but feel like I had to chase after her, although I held back. Something about that girl... I was addicted to the chase, now. And I didn't even know her name. She looked so familiar, so vibrant in my mind.

As for the final tally, Seattle's turning out to be a worthy opponent.

Seattle 10, California 10.

A/N: As you can see, much, much different. Don't fret—we promise to have a few tear-jerking chapters. (It's what we're known for, after all). It'll just take a bit. (BEN): Sooo...how did you like it?! This is a very well written chapter in my opinion, and it's nice to be back on the writing track routine! Yes: this is from Edward's POV and YES this does somehow relate back to WHWHW!! Just give it some time; it takes a while before the plot can truly thicken and be ready. Remember: REVIEW IF YOU LOVE US AND DON'T JUST READ IT! WE'LL EVEN GIVE YOU A SMALL PREVIEW OF THE NEXT CHAPTER IF YOU REVIEW!!

Oh, and to those who don't like them being other characters, just wait it out. They WILL go back to Bella and Edward—it's all part of the plot. Give it time. Hah.

Last but not least: sorry this is so late! We meant to have it out late Thursday night, but I was pretty sleep deprived and ended up falling asleep at 11:30, and then since it was Friday, I was out until midnight tonight. But as soon as I got home, I started writing. And here we are, 2:16 in the morning. Haha.

I think that's all.

Much latah gatahssss.

-cALLIEfornia BENches