Hey! I apologize for not posting that quick! Oh, but, what's that (looks down), is that a chapter I see? And yet, the longest chapter for this story yet? Oh golly gee, it is! Really, I was writing this story with a wall in my way and suddenly I was washed over with this desire to keep writing. The words came out so naturally and I really feel like I brought the characters (more so Clare) to life here. I have a question guys:

Do you guys like the way I add sarcasm and humor to this story?

The reason I do this is because I don't want to just show Clare as "the girl who gets beat". I mean, she still is a person, and she still is a teenage girl. I kind of want to make you love her, make you care about her, and the way I make her likable is through her quick-witted attitude. And sure, she may not always show it to others, but she does express it in her own mind. This story won't be some sappy story about a girl who gets hit (sometimes it will) It really will have parts that make you laugh and make you smile. This chapter has a lot of that. Oh, and ia that Adam speaking? OMG, it is Adam! I love that guy, who's actually a girl, but I see him as a guy, even though he really is a girl.

Oh, and writersblock777, I still love you :)

I am currently sitting in my English classroom. Students invade my vision and I have a temptation to take a towel and wipe them all away from my sight. Brown hair, blonde hair, tall, short, skinny, there's all so much to digest in a matter of moments.

Mrs. Dawes, a quick witted, sensible teacher with short brown hair that looks as if it hadn't been watched in five years is standing at the front of the classroom, unknowingly covering up the notes on the board that thirty percent of the students will actually copy down. She's discussing a partner project we're all going to be launching today. Oh joy, another few days of my life spent choking out lines of fake encouragement that secretly mean "Hurry up before I take this pen and shove it down your throat" to some drug addict who can't even read a word that contains more than four letters.

"And so," she continues on, knocking her pencil against the corner of some kid's desk, "You and your partner will be working together to write a one thousand word story on a quote of your choice. Please, don't do some silly Sponge Bob saying, as humorous as that may be. Make it personal, I want to be able to identify who you are," Right, like anyone could be identified in one thousand words, "And the quote has to be school appropriate. Damn and hell are the only cuss words I will accept, got it?"

She starts pairing up random students together, and I shut my brain off until the hearing of my name clicks it back on. I didn't hear who she partnered me up with, so I stupidly look around the classroom as if I just woke up to find myself in some else's bed.

I feel a light poke at my shoulder. "Hey partner." I look up to see a boy, who has skin almost as pale as mine, and soft brown eyes, smiling at me. His nose is a little oddly shaped and his lips are kind of thin, but who am I too judge? He's not the one with the painful "paint-job" on his stomach.

I attempt to mumble a quiet hi, but his unusually high voice cuts me off.

"So I'm guessing you're Clare?"

I nod my head and squint my eyes at him. There's something…something about him. "And you are…"

"Adam," he fills in, stretching out his hand, a strange gesture, and I hesitantly return it. His hand is soft and warm and almost the same size as mine.

The door of the classroom slams shut and everyone throws their heads to face it. Olive Eyed Guy is standing there, with his black trouser on and matching backpack thrown over his shoulder. He looks at Adam and his gaze turns kinder, friendlier, but ices back when he notices me. I don't take it personally, though. It seems like he gives everyone that death glare.

Mrs. Dawes straightens her position and crosses her arms. She begins tapping her foot up and down the way only adults can, the way that means, in words of Michelle Tanner, "You're in big trouble, mister." I doubt that even a pose that serious could shaken the famous (or not so famous. Most people look as if they just saw an alien) Olive Eyed Guy.

"Mr. Goldsworthy," her voice is taunting, daring, and it reminds me all too much of- I close my eyes and count to five. "I'm glad you've finally taken the time to actually come to class. Please, share with us, your reason for being late."

Goldsworthy Olive Eyed Guy rolls his eyes, and he does it in a way that even I feel offended on a personal level. "I dunno," he has a low, deep voice, that's kind of rough and yet smooth all at the same time. It fits with his appearance all too well. I almost laugh out loud at the idea of a guy like him containing a voice like Adam's. "Just thought I'd put on a show and arrive 'fashionably late'." He puts air quotes around fashionably late and strides over towards the desk in front of me. He plops down in the chair as if not every person in the classroom is gawking at him and, on top of it all, proceeds to color his nails with black sharpie.

Mrs. Dawe's looks as if she's about to puke out fury and it only gets worse when he raises his head to meet her eyes, "Please," he says, gesturing towards the entire class, "Don't stop on my watch."

I glance beside me towards Adam, the only acceptance of this guy's deadly glower, and his eyes are sparkling with delight and a smile is blooming onto his not so manly features.

Mrs. Dawes puts one hand on her hip and uses the other one to wipe away non-existing sweat on her forehead. I can practically feel the vehemence coming off that fake sweat. "You are so lucky it's early in the year and I'm assigning an important project today," Is the only thing she's able to choke out between gritted teeth.

She closes her eyes the way I always do and I decide to do the counting for her.

One

Two

Three

Fo-

I guess she doesn't need as much time as I do to calm herself down.

"Well," she says, as if the whole emo-boy-barging –in-with-major-attitude thing didn't just happen, "It seems we have an odd number of students. I guess you'll be working with," her finger gains a life of it's own and waves its away along the sea of fishes- crap- students, until they land on…

Me?

"Adam and Clare," she decides, rushing over her desk and grabbing a piece of paper to jot this information down, "Do you two mind working with Eli?"

Adam says no the same time I say yes. Eli-glad I finally have a name for him- turns around to give me a cocky smirk. Adam opens his mouth to say something, and much to my discomfort, Mrs. Dawes hears me and speaks instead.

"What was that Clare?"

Everyone is looking at me. What if one of them has x-ray vision and can see through my clothes? They'd be looking directly at my bruises. And if anyone did, I guarantee it would be Eli. That would make sense considering what a weirdo he is. Or maybe it would be Adam. I mean, he was awfully nice to me considering I couldn't make out a full sentence without him interrupting. Maybe he was giving me sympathy and I was just too stupid to realize it. I clutch my arms over my stomach the same way I did when I was with Alli and try my best not to cry.

"Nothing," I choke out, looking down at my jeans. I count how many sparkles I can find on my belt and reach six before Mrs. Dawes dismisses the conversation and continues on speaking.

With thirty-seven seconds left on the clock before class comes to a close, the teacher does her best to sum up all the information she forgot to mention earlier on. "You will begin working on this assignment tomorrow. I suggest-more so demand- that each and every one of you look up and print out quotes of your choice," she pauses to let out an unnecessary breath of exhaustion, "Mr. Goldsworthy, please meet me up at my desk so we can talk."

I drop my pen during my rush to get out of class as fast as I can. I'm about to pick it up when a black leather arm swoops in front of me and grasps it instead. Eli meets my height, or a little bit higher, and looks at me with those intense, sad, olive eyes.

"Thanks," I whisper so quietly I don't think he hears me.

Apparently he does hear me because he answers, "No problem. Glad to know you're okay with me working on this project with you."

I blush the color of a stop sign.

I'm walking out the door when Eli bumps shoulders with me and pushes past me, rounding the corner of the hallway and fading out of my sight.

I guess Mrs. Dawes isn't getting that talk.

I am back in the groove! I will admit, just ask writersblock777, that I do have stages where I just, don't want to write. But right now, that is not the case. And I admit, I am growing to love my characters. I really do love Clare so much right now and I have no idea now. I think thats good because it means I understand her. Or is that just retarted? And it kind of bothers me where Eli and Clare in most stories fall in love and think there meant to be the second their eyes meet, so I kind of spiced it up again.

Speaking of spicy, look at that review button! Man, someone's got it going on. Go ahead, hit (on) it, I dare you.