BPOV

The rest of that day passed my eyes so slowly.

I was looking forward to art. It would keep me busy, let me take out my frustrations and worries. I smiled as I made my way down the corridor to the art room, which was creatively splattered with paint to make it look like an art room. I turned the handle on the door, not paying attention to the fact that there may be someone on the other side. I opened in it, only to realise someone was already opening it—from inside. The door smacked into my face.

I yelled. "Fuck!" Then I realised with sickening certainty that everyone was now staring at me.

A smug faced Tyler had his hand on the door, the other only partially stretched out to help me. The pain in my nose wasn't that bad. The wood had only slightly hit it, not enough force to cause a break, at least not a bad one. I stumbled backward, holding my hand to my nose.

I carefully pinched the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. It was a little tender but not too bad. I sighed, checking to see if I was bleeding. A little. I reached into my pocket for one, bringing it to my nose then shoving past Tyler as I walked in. What a crap hole of a day. All the students in the room were blatantly staring at me, clamping their mouths shut to keep from laughing—either at my bloody nose or the fact I screamed the f-word at the top of my lungs.

I scowled, throwing my bag down onto the ground beside my desk and sitting at the tall stool I used every lesson. I had started a painting a few weeks ago, the canvas was only covered in a thin base coat of paint. I had started drafting the shapes on the background. They were people. I hadn't really planned out much of this piece like I usually do. With this one, I had just let my imagination flow through my paint brush, taking the painting wherever my mind took me. My nose had eventually stopped bleeding when I looked up, scoping the room for anymore staring asses. My eyes met a pair of green ones. I quickly looked away, blushing.

I turned to grab my canvas—it was heavy. The trolley of paint was next to my desk, so I didn't have to go far to get my stuff. I like using the good stuff, not the crappy, two-dollar paint the teachers bought from Wal-Mart. There was also stuff they ordered in—it was the best stuff.

Proper, good-quality paint. None of the other students seemed to notice the difference, but I certainly did. I went to grab the cobalt blue when a pale, white, long hand reached in front of mine, our hands brushing. I gasped a little. It was like he had zapped me. I looked up at him, the boy from the cafeteria. "Sorry," he mumbled, looking down. "You can have it." He moved his hand to another pot of paint—scarlet. "Thanks," I smiled. He just walked back to his seat, always looking down, like he was afraid to be noticed. Believe me, I knew what that felt like. Attention was so overrated. I glanced over at Lauren, who was eyeing the new guy hungrily.

I felt a pang of irritation and disgust. I would do my hardest to make sure she didn't get her ugly claws into him.

It seemed too much of a waste to let Lauren Mallory take advantage of that poor guy. And it would probably be easy for her as well, seeing as he's so vulnerable, being new and all. I remembered what it felt like, I still feel like it sometimes and I know Lauren is a lot like a male version of Mike. Mike, trying to use the fact that I was new to his advantage. Though I made it clear that I only liked him as a friend—hardly. But I was just being polite. Even after that, the line seemed to blur with him.

I sighed, Lauren looked in my direction and glowered. I raised an eyebrow, rolled my eyes and grabbed my stuff, making my way to the far corner of the room.

Hardly anybody came down this way. All the supplies were further up the front of the classroom. Like this morning, I was lost in my thoughts, except now they revolved around that boy. The boy with no name, I had just realised. I didn't even know his name, yet somehow I was pining stupidly over him—something Lauren or Jessica would do.

I made a quiet, disgusted noise in the back of my throat then tried to occupy my thoughts with my painting, every now and then, sparing a glance at him. By the end of class, I had hardly made any progress on my piece. Instead, I realised I had been drawing sets of green eyes across my art diary. My eyes widened.

I shut the book quickly before anyone saw, shook my head at myself and made to put all my art stuff away. The teacher looked at me quizzically then fled the room, desperate for a coffee I presumed. I was too, come to think of it. Not exactly coffee per say, just caffeine.

I dropped my brushes in the trolley, turned away and smacked into someone.

I fell back, they caught my arm to steady me. I knew who it would be, even before I looked.

I laughed nervously. "Thanks, sorry." I murmured, my cheeks flaring pink. He just shrugged and reached past me to drop his brushes on the same trolley. His arm came so close to me, I felt my breathing hitch. Retard. My thoughts shouted at me. I shouldn't be reacting this way. I mentally cursed myself. "So, what's your name?" I asked, quietly.

He looked down at me with a puzzled expression and then frowned. "What's it to you?" he asked, I don't think it was meant to come out coldly, just merely curious. I shrugged this time. "You're new, right? I came here just three months ago. So I kinda know what it's like being the new thing to stare at." I scowled at his shoulder.

His face stayed mostly blank, but the ghost of a smile flashed across his face before disappearing.

Then, he turned around, grabbed his books and started to storm out. He paused at the doorway, hand on the knob. I stared at his back, wondering why he was so aloof. "Edward. My name's Edward." I smiled, even though he didn't see. "I'm Bella." I told him, feeling proud that I was the first person he seemed to talk to. "Bella." He repeated, nodding. I cocked my head, curiously. Before I could say anything else, he walked out the door. "Bye." I said to the empty room.

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