Okay, still keeping good on my promise (I'm SERIOUSLY proud of myself no joke, 'cause me and due dates have SERIOUS issues... I'll never survive highschool....) ANYWAY! I hope u enjoy!

Also, reviews keep this baby alive (I beg of you, don't be a murderer. It's bad for your soul.) haha that reminds me next time someone tells you that you have "a heart of stone" the best reply is "that's a lie! I have the soul of a small innocent child... in a jar on desk." lol, just some food for thought :)

But seriously enjoy and review PLEASE!!!!! :)

A good start to a bad week (day 3)

Another night was spent at Seth's. Not sleeping though- wait. I didn't it mean it like that. I meant that I didn't sleep. To many things going on in my head. Seth slept. He slept perfectly as a matter of fact. You know he talks in his sleep? Evidently he wanted to ask me to the 8th grade formal, but thought it be to weird. God! That reminds me, ugh, I have to go to school today. This should be interesting. Monday was a teacher work day, but today we have school. Great.

"I've been sitting here staring at the clock on the wall." My phone rings, signaling a text.

"Argh! God! School, eww. You still need a ride today? I can be at your house in like… five minutes." I read the text. Gosh, I almost forgot I had asked Sammie for a ride. I don't have a car. I'm supposed to get one soon though. Well at the end of the year.

"Uh, no. I'm going to ride with Seth, if that's cool with you." I send back.

"Seth? Are you to FINALLY going out?!?!"

I stare at my phone for a minute. "No, I don't do relationships. Remember?"

"To bad. He's a cutie."

We'd had this talk to many times. "I thought you liked Embry?"

"Oh! I do! He's even cuter then Seth… no offense."

"Why would that offend me?"

"Well because you to are like- never mind."

"We. Are. Not. A. Couple."

"What ever you say, chick'a."

"Shut up now- or I'm telling Embry."

"You wouldn't!"

"You really want to find out?"

"Shutting up."

At that my heart turned to butterflies. Seth says that whenever Jake ask him to shut up. I smile to myself. "Ya, well, I'm going to go take a shower to ttyl? I'll see you at school."

"See ya, girlie : )"

"Hmm…" Seth rolls over and his arms find my torso and pull me back into his arms. I laugh at him. He's so cute in his sleep. He looks so, so peaceful. Not stressed out like he was looking yesterday. His biceps flex around me and I find comfort in his strength, as if it could push away all my fears. I turn to look at his face.

His long eyelashes fall over high cheek bones and his blonde bangs fall over seemingly perfectly sculpted eyebrows. One tiny white line runs from his scalp to his temple on the left side of his face from when he first learned to ride his bike. I find it odd, how I've known Seth my entire life, know every scare, every inch of him, and only now do I see the beauty in it. Sure I have thought of him as cute before, sure I have watched him mowing the yard without his shirt on before, but only since the start of this year have I actually felt… romantic feelings toward him. Not love. No, I couldn't possibly love someone. The thought is just absurd. But still, it's different.

I study his sleeping body once more. The way his chest, hard and smooth, rises and falls in the same rhythm as my own. How his lips lay slightly open, whispering something unintelligible every few minutes. How his fingers twitch every so often. His whole body engulfed in his dream. I watch how his abs, not even flexed, are defined and solid. Something he developed as he fell into maturity.

I nuzzle my head under his neck, drinking in his scent. So raw, so wild, just like a wolf. His grip tightens slightly around my torso and pulls me closer to him. I should wake him, it's almost time for school, I think. But that growing part of me that longs for his touch lies motionless. We've still got forty-five minutes before we have to be there. Yes, and it takes only ten minutes to get there. My subconscious decides. But, you've got to shower, and dress. The shrinking, reasonable, part of me thinks.

"Fine." I mutter and remove his arms from my middle. "Seth." I nudge him with my hand. "Wake up."

"Five more minutes, mom." He mumbles.

"Seth. I'm not your mother." I try not to laugh at him.

"Leah?" His voice sounds raw and dry with sleep.

"No, it's not Leah." I tell him.

"Kait?"

"Ya Seth. Now you've got to get up. We've got school." I nudge him.

His eyes open but close again fighting sleep. "Do we have to go?" He whines.

I stifle a laugh, "Ya Seth. We do. As much as I don't want to."

"Why? Can't we just sleep all day? We need our rest if we're going to fight those-" He yawns, "Those… what are we fighting again?"

"Le- Vampires. We're fighting vampires."

"Oh, okay." He yawns again. "Then we should defiantly rest. Rest is good." He yawns once more.

"I wish we could Seth, but there are laws against kids not going to school. And what will we tell Mrs. Godbolt? 'I'm sorry, but we were out defending the village from evil blood thirsty vampires that want to kill you all.'?"

"Ya. Let's go with that." He buries his head in the pillow.

"Okay then… Since your asleep I guess I'll just have to take a shower all alone…" I try to coax him into waking up.

He shots upright, "What were you saying?" He wears a crooked grin.

"Get dressed Romeo, I'm going to take a shower." I throw a shirt at him.

"Ugh, I hate school." He groans. "I hate wearing a shirt!"

"I hate that you guys have to wear shirts too." I sigh stealing one last glance at his incredible eight pack.

"What do you mean 'You guys'?" Seth ask confused.

"What? I'm I not aloud to admire Jake, Collin, or even Embry's abs? Only yours?" I joke.

There's no humor in his eyes, "You, you look at them…?"

"I'm joking Seth! Gezz, your worse then Annabel you oversensitive foul." I smile at him. He finally smiles back and puts the shirt on. "Now I seriously have to take a shower now if we're ever going to be on time." I tell him as I grab a towel and walk into his bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

A folded piece of paper lands on my desk. I unfold it to find the words: God, I hate history! Scribbled on the inside. Seth. I pick up my pencil and write: Your going to get caught passing this note and I'm going to laugh. I refold it then grope blindly behind me for the desk that sits there and place it on top what must be Seth's text book.

I hear him pick up his pencil and the paper being folded again. He places it in my hand which is laying palm up behind me. Would you rather me text you?

I stifle a laugh. No, I wouldn't. So what's the reason we are passing notes? It must be important. You always get caught. You'd only risk your status as teacher's pet for something important. I fold the paper and hand it back to him.

A moment later I have the paper back and read: You're a good enough reason to get in trouble. Huh, I wonder what Mrs. Godbolt would think if she read this… maybe we should speak in code. Peanut butter is the leading cause of death in Siberian's migrational birds.

WTC, is that supposed to mean? I give him back the note.

What is WTC supposed to mean?

What the creepier. Amani and me made it up. It's a rather confusing "had to be there" story. But ya, I wonder what she'd think of your secret code that not even I understand.

She'd think I was the most amazing student in the world. I can make up my own language. That's a pretty big advance in teenage American history. I can almost see him smiling as he wrote this.

You are soooo weird Seth. I pass the note back.

Seth begins to speak as he writes, "Me weird? Says the-"

Mrs. Godbolt snatches the note away from Seth and glares at both of us. "What do we have here?" She ask.

"A note, a short written message or informal letter." Seth replies.

"This isn't English Mr. Clearwater." She tells him in a stern voice.

"Ms. Murray-"

"Murrauy." I mumble under my breath.

"Fine. Ms. Murrauy, do you care to explain to me what this note is about, or shall I read it to the class."

A couple "Oooohhhh" echo through the classroom before I quickly reply. "Not at all. Feel free to read." I give her a warm, yet sarcastic smile.

"Okay then," She clears her throat then starts from the middle, "I wonder what Mrs. Godbolt would think if she read this. Maybe we should speak in… code? Uh, Peanut butter is the… leading cause of… death in… Siberian's migrational… birds?" She stops and looks at both of us with a confused glare before regaining composer and asking me, "What does that mean?"

"Honestly? I have no idea. Apparently he used to chew on his crib." I remember a joke Leah had made about Seth.

"Lead paint?" She ask.

"That's what we all think." I tell her.

She sighs, defeated, and walks back to the front of the room, handing me back the paper.

Sixth period is my favorite. And no, not because it's the last class of the day. I love sixth period because one: English is something I actually understand, two: Mrs. Goldman is the best teacher ever, and thee: Seth's in this class as well.

"We're righting poetry today." She sits on the front table looking at each of us. "This particular poem is about a memory. You've all read the example to… think about it then get to it." She claps her heads together signaling for us to start.

I turn to Seth who sits two desk down from me. He's staring blankly at me before something flickers inside his head and his pencil starts to dance across his page. I look down at my notebook. Empty. The page is blank. I rake my brain for a memory. Poetry's not that hard for me, I used to write it all the time in middle school… but it's always been dark. I try to write about something happy, but usually that thing ends up dead by the end of the last stanza. I sigh.

I look at my pencil and begin to write the only memory that remains clear as glass to me.

I remember, I remember,

A tall house on a mountain,

The trees casting shadows upon it's walls.

A beautiful home.

And innocent were you and I.

The house'd seen no violence,

No pain… nor had I,

Up till that evening,

The whole town seemed to cry.

I remember, I remember,

Coming home from church that night,

Something was wrong:

Our house bore no light.

We walked in the house,

So silent it scared.

We turned on the lights and called out his name.

I remember, I remember,

The panicked look that you wore,

As you called out again, his name once more.

We made out way to the porch,

As if some force pulled us to.

As the light hit his face,

In a shrill cry to cried for me to go to my room.

But alas, it was too late,

For I'd already seen the blank look on his face.

I remember, I remember,

Not much after that,

A horrid night mare,

One I long to forget.

But alas, what's known is not easily forgotten,

And what seen I can no rid.

For the death of my father I'll never forget.

For once I am glade she didn't make us read out to the class. I'd share it later- maybe. Perhaps I'd just show her what I've done. A quick glance is all she'll need. It's not that I am ashamed of my father. It's just that I hate the pity filled looks I'd get. I'd hate the silent judging I'd face. People thinking I'm an emo, troubled, suicidal prone, teen. 'Sides. Mom made me go to counseling when I was in elementary school. She thought I was "emotionally unsound". Bunch of bull if you ask me.

"Are you done Katie?" Mrs. Goldman looks over my shoulder with curious eyes.

"Ya, but if you don't mind, I'd rather not share…" I plead with my eyes.

"Might I read this?" She holds my gaze.

"Yes. But please don't share it with the class."

"As you wish my dear." She holds my notebook in both hands and reads each line with knowing eyes. "I like the ending line on the first stanza," She thinks aloud. "Might I at least read the first stanza aloud? It doesn't seem as personal as the rest." I nod.

"You guys that are struggling, listen. Here's a way to start it off." She clears her throat. "I remember, I remember," She looks pointedly at two kids goofing off. "A tall house on a mountain. The trees casting shadows upon it's walls…A beautiful home… And innocent were you and I- The house'd seen no violence, No pain, nor had I. Up till that evening…The whole town seemed to cry."

"Who wrote that? Frost?" Someone pipes from the back.

"No, any other guesses?" Mrs. Goldman looks at Seth.

"Poe?" Someone calls from my left.

"No, I'm afraid not."

"A student of yours." It isn't a question.

"Correct Mr. Clearwater." Mrs. Goldman pats his head.

"Who?" Rebecca, our head cheerleader, calls out.

"What does it matter?" Seth shoots back.

"Exactly." Mrs. Goldman agrees. "What does it matter who wrote it? Why is that so important? What difference does knowing the writer make?"

"We could ask them what that means." Another student pipes.

"But that's the beauty of poetry. To decipher. Everyone has their own idea of what the line could mean. Some people might insinuate that the house was abused. That that was the violence the author speaks of. Or someone else might think it was the author who saw violence inside the house. Perhaps domestic violence. While other's might think that what the house witnessed was something different." Mrs. Goldman explained.

"Can you read the rest?" A normally quite girl asks.

"Yes. Please." I will myself to utter the words. As long as you don't tell them who it is by…

"Well then. Perhaps I shall. Where was I?"

"The whole town seemed to cry." One of the boys goofing off earlier offers.

"Thank you Braxton." She clears he throat again. "I remember, I remember,

Coming home from church that night,

Something was wrong:

Our house bore no light.

We walked in the house,

So silent it scared.

We turned on the lights and called out his name.

I remember, I remember,

The panicked look that you wore,

As you called out again, his name once more.

We made out way to the porch,

As if some force pulled us to.

As the light hit his face,

In a shrill cry to cried for me to go to my room.

But alas, it was too late,

For I'd already seen the blank look on his face.

I remember, I remember,

Not much after that,

A horrid night mare,

One I long to forget.

But alas, what's known is not easily forgotten,

And what seen I can no rid.

For the death of my father I'll never forget."

Mrs. Goldman finishes the poem. The whole room is quite.

Finally the quite girl speaks again. "So… his father died in the end. The memory is him finding his dad dead on the families porch?"

"What makes you so certain it is a he?" Mrs. Goldman counters.

"Well, isn't it? I mean the girls in this class- you've read their poetry. I doubt half of them could even think of something this dark." A guy from the back says.

"Either way, gender doesn't matter. The point is the truth, no matter how hard to stomach, makes for great poetry."

"You mean someone's pain makes for great entertainment?" I ask.

"No. I mean to say that it is a good release of emotions and speaks to people. It connects people." I ponder this for a moment. Connection. Something I don't want. The last thing I want. I look at Seth. Or maybe not. "I'll leave this posted to the board incase any of you want to take a closer look later."

I feel a great rush of relief fall over me as I remember I had written this poem from my subconscious and not really my brain. So the hand writing was slanted and curvy, so unlike my normal hand writing. I sit back in my seat as the day comes to an end.

The past few hours have been spent going over battle strategies over Carrabba's carry out. As the day comes to an end I let out a long yawn and climb the stair to Seth's room. Eventually I'll have to go back home. Seth's mom and Billy will be back in a week from their vacation to see an old friend, and I don't really want to explain why her "little boy" is sleeping in the same bed with me. The girl who'd had sex with some guy I barely knew. Although she doesn't ever bring it up, or judge me really for that matter. Either way, it'd still be awkward.

I hear Seth's footsteps on the stairs behind me as he follows me into his room for another half sleep, half lying awake wondering what to do with my life, night.

Guess what?! There are... 4 more parts left to this chapter thingy... so review if you wish to "make my day" :)