AN: Okay, I'm glad all of you liked it. Today, right now, it's September 8, 2009. Tomorrow's school, so I want to write as much as I can, tonight. Onward.

Edward's Point of View

I was panting, sweat rolling down my brow. I swiped the back of my hand across it. The score was 17 to 18. I had seventeen, she obviously had eighteen. I've been playing since I was ten. That's almost eight years, and she's beating me.

"Giving up, Cullen?" Her voice pulled me out of my thoughts.

"You wish," I told her, smirking. I dribbled the ball, looking around for an opening.

"Come on Edward! Don't get beat by a scarred up freak!"

"Yeah!" was heard around the Gym.

I looked at Bella, and saw her hands clench into fists. She leaped into action, just as I did. She went for the ball that was in my right hand, but I switched hands and ran to the basket. I jumped and landed on the ground just as the ball hit the back board, and swished.

Justin through the ball at Bella, and she caught it with one hand, looking up at the bleachers. She dribbled that ball, and ran towards me, but I swept the ball away from her, dribbled it a bit and she ran if front of me just as I was about to jump. She raised her arms as I threw the ball. I didn't quite do it right, but it went in the basket, no problem. I was about to ask her why she let me win. Her arms dropped, and she backed away as I was crowded by the students who were sitting at the bleachers. I got congratulated, but I tried to tell them that I didn't win fairly. They didn't listen, but scattered when the bell rang. I went and showered. I don't mind changing, or showering. Nothing against gays – er, homosexuals, but it makes me uncomfortable when they… watch me. I try to finish as quickly as possible.

I walked out of the changing room, and saw Bella talking on a cell phone.

"Listen, Clara, of course I want you to come visit. I miss you too, but my dad doesn't know yet. I'm not sure how he'll take it." She paused. "You think that'll work? Alright, I'll ask him, and put more minutes on my phone tonight. I'll call you and tell you what he said, okay?" She smiled. "I love you too, bye…"

She closed the phone and turned around. Her eyes widened. "Were you listening in on my conversation?"

I stuttered and stammered, guilty.

Her fists clenched, and her eyes flared. "How much did you hear?"

"Umm, you were talking to a Clara, and you love her?" I asked.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. When she opened them, her eyes were on fire. A drop of blood fell from her clenched fist. Her knuckles turned white, and another blood drop escaped. They started coming sooner and soon. With every drop, her hand squeezed tighter.

On impulse, I picked up her hand and pried her nails out of her skin. A pleasant shock ran through me, and she jumped and pulled her hand away.

She looked at me in wonder.

I looked into her eyes, and whispered, "Why did you let me win?"

She shook her head. "What?"

"You let me win. When you jumped for the ball, you didn't raise your arms all the way, you could have stopped the ball. You could have won."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Excuse me, but I'm going to be late for class."

She started to walk off, and I jogged up to her. "What's your next class?"

"Trigonometry," she said reluctantly.

"Okay, see you at lunch then."

I waved and walked away. I turned around to see if she was watching me, but she was gone.

She's so… mysterious…

The bell pulled me out of my thoughts.

"Shit…" I muttered as I sprinted to my class. I opened the door and everyone looked at me.

"Nice of you to join us, Mr. Cullen, perhaps you would join me for detention after school?"

"No thanks. I'm busy," I said. The class laughed, but I paid no mind.

"Oh, I insist."

"I have football practice after school, and I need to give someone a ride home," I told him and went to my seat, slapping my friend's hand on my way down the aisle.

AN: It's a high five; he wasn't just randomly slapping his friend's hand. Just thought I'd clear that up. Onward.

He sighed, and I laughed. Coach wouldn't let me miss practice once. Once, at a game my shoulder popped out of its socket, and coach popped it back in, and pushed me back on the field.

"Mr. Cullen! Can you answer the question?"

I look on my desk, and see a paper. I look over and see Megan, smiling, but looking at the board. The note said, "There is no answer, or question. Call me, my numbers in your locker.

I smiled. That means I would have to break up with Lauren. No problem, we've only been going out a couple days.

"Sir, what question? I don't think you asked one," I told him, trying not to smirk.

"Humph," he grunted, and turned back to the lesson.

I placed my pen on the paper Megan gave me, and wrote; Forget the number, you wanna go on a date tonight? I just need to end things with Lauren.

I slid the paper to her when Mr. What's-his-face, was turned away.

She beamed, and I noticed her teeth. They weren't bad, just slightly crooked, and off white. Not bad, really, just… odd. But I smiled all the same. He body was good, from what I could see, and by her note, she was smart enough to decide what to say, before she said like in every sentence.

Class drowned on, and when the bell rang, I walked out of the room, one more class before lunch. Art. I'm absolutely terrible at art. I can't draw, paint, of anything. It's the only class I'm not getting an A or a B. I had a D, soon to be F, if I didn't pass this next project. And if I fail, I'll get kicked out of basketball.

While I was in a daze, I had walked into the art class, and sat in my seat. In most of my classes, I sat alone, because of assigned seats. If anyone sat with me, we'd end up talking instead of listening to what the teacher had to say.

Just as I got my supplies out, the bell rang. The teacher was organizing things, so was everyone else, so when the door slammed open, the whole class jumped. I looked up and saw Bella; she was blushing, but with her scars… It looked… hideous. Her scars stayed the bleach white, while her creamy skin turned pink.

"I'm sorry, I got lost. This is Art with Mrs. Demettrian, right?" she asked, her face becoming creamy again.

"Yes, but next time your late, you'll stay after class," Mrs. Demettrian said. Mrs. Demettrian isn't insanely strict. She's reasonable.

"Of course. I wouldn't expect less," she told her, and looked around the class for an empty seat. There was one next to me, and one next to Eric Yorkie. She looked torn. I was appalled; she was seriously considering him, over me. This girl is strange. She finally started to walk over to me.

AN: Okay people, I might post next Saturday, no idea yet. But tell me if you like Edward's Point of View better than Bella's. I just right in his Point of View cause I think we got enough Bella in the series; we need some Edward mentality.