"In France, a chemist named Pilatre de Rozier tested the flammability of hydrogen by gulping a mouthful and blowing across an open flame, proving at a stroke that hydrogen is indeed explosively combustible and that eyebrows are not necessarily a permanent feature of one's face." ― Bill Bryson, A Short History of Nearly Everything

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"So, two years of Drama with me and not once did you care to mention you could've easily played any of those times we needed someone on the piano."

"It never really came up, you know?"

"Huh. I guess you can play tomorrow."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Nope. None whatsoever. Let's speak later, though. Go back in before John gets all worked up."

Quietly, we return to our seats.

"Why'd you have to tell him I played the piano?" I whisper. "He'll never let it go now."

"You never mentioned it was this big secret of yours."

"It isn't."

"Then why is it a big deal?"

"It's—"

Why is it a big deal? I don't know. It's just—when I was little, it was such a burden to learn the piano. I hated it. I hated it with passion. Or, more specifically, I hated what my teacher implied. For seven years, I had to play five days a week, an hour and a half in a row. I tried my best, I really did. I practiced a lot and did everything to please my teacher. But she never really liked me. She always emphasized you couldn't learn to play well with mere diligence (which she admitted I had), but you had to have talent (which she thought I lacked entirely). Do you know how much it hurts for a little girl to hear that you can't become the best no matter how hard you work? That you have to have talent?

It hurt a lot. Especially to hear it for so many years.

I wasn't a cute little girl. I wasn't particularly clever or beautiful. The only thing I had going for me was humor. I made my friends laugh. I did it a lot.

And I really wanted to be good at something. Because everyone does, you know? So I wanted to be a fantastic piano player. But you can only have your dreams squished so many times before you start to believe it can't be done without talent.

I would've probably never become a piano player, but the emotion is still there. I'm not fond of playing the piano.

You know, I do not believe in all of that "she was born to do it" and "is a complete natural at that"—if you have interest (or your parents chose something for you) at an early enough age, you have a bigger chance of being successful in it. It's as simple as that. Like, for example, if my mother had wanted to make me a brilliant ballet dancer, and put me under the wing of a genius at the age of two—and I succeeded and became a fabulous dancer—I'm pretty sure everyone would've gushed on and on about how I was born to dance.

That's bullshit. It all comes down to interest and spending enough time doing it so you can make your mistakes privately and show the talent publicly. After all, practice makes perfect. Or that's what I thought before one teacher convinced me I lacked talent and you can't make it without it.

Diligence makes practice, but you're scum without talent. That's what my piano teacher would've said.

Oh, well.

But it's not like a big childhood trauma or anything. I didn't even give it much thought after mom moved away. I just stopped playing. After I hadn't played for several years, I didn't find interest in it anymore.

So I didn't offer Edward much of an answer.

My day, however, continued to be weird and unorthodox. I had a lot of contact—not like that, where's your mind, Emmett?—with the teachers. One break, when I pass my gym teacher in the corridor, I swear he looks at me with almost… respect. Like, really. Alright, I admit, I feel good. I like respect.

More than that, I like to earn respect. And the fact that my simple jog in the morning made my gym teacher look at me differently—like, I wasn't this useless no-good whiny brat who isn't good at sports, I was doing something about it—made my resolve to jog every morning even greater.

I pledge to make an effort in PE. I might not be good at much, but I will not give up easily. I won't.

I get used to the whispering and curiosity my newfound celeb—cough, slut, cough—status is offering me. Edward and I agreed to meet at the lockers before lunch, because while I don't mind facing the school alone, facing the mess together will be easier. You know.

Edward curses next to me as he discovers he left his lunch box at home, and I spill the contents of my own as I search for mine from my back bag.

Great. Just what my day needed.

But Edward, gentleman that he is, helps me pick it up.

"Here."

"You can have that. I hate those. I guess I mixed them up with Emmett's."

"You hate chocolate chip cookies? Are you kidding me? You're the only person since—well, ever."

"No, I'm serious. I like my cookies crisp and no-nonsense."

Edward opens the package, plops one in his mouth and moans. Like, a full eyes-closed-I-am-in-love moan.

"There are children on this flight. I repeat, children on this flight."

He nearly chokes. I pat his back in the hopes that he won't choke to death. More than a few eyes land on us. Oh, well. No different from the morning (and probably the evening).

"You can't do that when I'm eating."

"I'm sorry, but when you eat a cookie like a porn-star, you can't expect me to ignore the opportunity."

"Duly noted."

We step in the cafeteria, and when Edward sees that they offer fish today, he sits at a table with a few friends of mine at the back of the room. Apparently, he doesn't like fish much. But I love fish, and with my new promise to myself, I'm determined to eat properly. I can give my sandwiches to Edward if he wants.

What I fail to notice is Michael Newton with his two friends, Shawn and Jared, standing in line in front of me. I haven't had trouble from them for so long, it just—fails my notice. Unfortunately, it seems that with yesterday's adventures, some parts of the old world are back. Newton notices my presence and does not ignore it.

And from experience, I know I'm in trouble.

But I'm not scared of him. Not anymore. Not only do I have a bunch of friends and acquaintances in Drama and in my class, I'm also not the same person I was a few years ago. So anything he does, it won't be unnoticed. Any despiteful comment will no longer hurt me.

Okay, let me rewind. The time when Emmett beat up some guy who'd given me more trouble than anyone else? Guess who that was.

Yup. The Michael Newton himself.

And let me tell you more about the Michael Newton. He's not a cruel bully. Oh, I am an expert on bullies, trust me. There are cruel bullies, and there are peer pressure bullies. And Michael Newton, as much as he would disagree with his qualification (because he's the history teacher's little pet and he is just such a good guy and would never qualify as a bully), he's the perfect example of a peer pressure bully. You know, ask anyone what Michael Newton is like, and they will give you two so entirely different descriptions you'd think they were talking about two different people. Or that he has a personality disorder. (He doesn't. I checked.)

The difference between cruel bullies and peer pressure bullies is that while cruel bullies act alone—with no-one around to witness their success in harming a little girl or a boy—the peer pressure bullies torment only when their friends are around, because then they can show how superior they are.

Oh, trust me, superiority is an important part of bullying. It's never only about whether or not the weak one has anything different about them that would justify—in their eyes—the torment, it's about the strong/funny/superior bully noticing it.

Attention. That's what it comes down to. Good or bad, they want attention. I'll come back to this topic because I have too much to say. Honestly, if my acting career fails, I'll create a support group for the bullied and teach them how to (b)eat your way through it. This shit has got to stop.

Actually, even if I have a successful career as an actress, I'll still create that support group.

Huh. Who would've thought Michael Newton gave my live meaning.

Michael Newton sneers at me. "Even a girl like you can get a pity fuck, huh."

I pale, but barely.

Two years ago, I would've dropped my platter and ran, or said something I would've deemed witty that failed to either hurt or shock them. I would've failed in offense as well as defense. But I know better now. I'm not going to ignore him, oh no. I'm not going to stand with my tail failing to waggle. My tail will waggle, and I only hope Edward plays along.

If attention is what they want, attention they will get.

Raising my voice so that Edward—and everyone else—could hear on the other side of the cafeteria, I yell, "Hey Edward! How was it?"

And, God bless him, it takes a mere second for him to shout, "Best I ever had!"

My Drama peers start to either snicker or laugh because they know me well enough to know that this—Edward and I—couldn't have happened. One teacher, Mr. Banner, stands up to come over and chasten me, but my gym teacher, Mr. Black, puts a hand on his arm and shakes his head. (Not once have I used foul language, you see, so even if they think they know what we're referring to, they have nothing to hold on to.) And my classmates? They either gape or smile. Emmett beams at Edward, and so do I.

"You know, it sounds to me like Edward rather enjoyed himself."

"Fuck me," one of Newton's friends, Jared, mutters, clearly in shock as to how well I could engage an audience. Call me cocky, but if there's anything I can do well, it's Drama. Drama is all about communicating with an audience.

"You know, thanks for the offer, but I'm not fond of STDs, you know?"

One guy who was sitting next to a nearby table nearly gaggled of laughter, and so did his friends.

If I ever had my "moment" in high school, feeling like I'd done something that was well-deserved and well-received, this is it. Because as I walk through the cafeteria, I get a quick, enthusiastic applause, followed by some whooping. Emmett whistles. I turn around to bow and sit next to Edward. The applause loudens.

Mr. Banner quickly orders everyone to behave.

"So you like my cookies, huh?"

"You were talking about cookies?" Tanya gapes.

"Yeah, what did you think I was talking about?" Edward asks, all innocence and naiveté and battling eyelashes.

The entire table crouches in a fit of laughter, once again, drawing attention from others. But my table-mates' hyperventilating prevent them from noticing.

"You know what? Edward, if by the time we've both finished our Master's Degrees you're still single, I think we should get married."

"Sounds like a deal."

"Like, for real. If by some miracle you're still single, I'll just have to snatch you up—" and make you realize that aesthetics doesn't matter. Or buy you a tie and cover your eyes for the rest of your life so you wouldn't bear witness to it. "And if we drift apart or whatever after high school, and we don't talk for six years, I will still make that call to remind you it's time to marry."

"I'll just go and buy the rings. Gold or silver?"

"White gold. No big fancy diamonds. You?"

"No particular preference."

I think Ben is having a heart attack from all that laughing, and when he comes up for air and hears our conversation, he loses it again. I pull a leg under myself. Squeezing Edward's forearm, I make sure I have his attention.

"Thank you," I mutter, grateful beyond his comprehension. He couldn't have known how much trouble I'd had with Michael Newton in the past. "No sarcasm—thank you."

"Not worth mentioning," he replies. "You know, when we were playing corona the other day, I asked your brother and Jasper what the crowd is like in this school, and they mentioned him. Neither of them particularly likes him."

No wonder. He's a nasty, flexible piece of work. When I said there are two types of bullies—the cruel ones and the peer pressure ones—I might've made it sound like the cruel ones are worse. They're not. They're way rarer, that's true; the cruel ones are so rare they usually end up in news. But the peer pressure bullies, they're all high school is about. Peer pressure. Someone doing something to (and with) someone else to feel accepted. Acceptance, not only attention, is what drives them.

Jesus, I should write a separate book about this or something.

"So—you two, you didn't actually do it, did you?" Tanya asks.

"Do you think we'd act like this if we had?"

"Would you?"

I battle my eyelashes at Edward before my laughter get the best of me. Edward smiles.

"If Edward saw me naked he'd be up for a lifetime of therapy, and you don't see him lining up for that."

Good-natured guy that he is, Edward frowns.

"What do you mean?"

Oh, just, you know, my gorgeous gasp-worthy body would not only ruin his eyesight, but his desire to be with a woman. Ever. He'd probably turn gay.

"It would be traumatising, all right. My skills in bed are just too elaborate and complex."

Happy with the answer, Tanya chuckles. She's sincerely good-natured, you see, and she probably hasn't even thought negatively of my appearance. Not because it isn't clear to the blind that I am about as appealing as a one-legged giraffe, but because she's… sincerely amiable. Hard as it is to believe, she doesn't think badly about people. If I asked her if she thinks I look ugly, she'd probably say I'm nice and unique and interesting. And that doesn't bother me, because she's genuinely like that.

She's not trying to be nice, she really is.

Now, the tables in our cafeteria are not as exclusive and specific as they are in a cliché American teen-movie. Over there, it seems like you might get shot if you accidentally sit around a wrong table. Not to say that we don't have cliques or anything in our school, but it's not so bad. The quickest one gets the table, and the friends join. It's that simple. Just like anybody else, I sit next to different people every day.

Usually, that is a mixture of Tanya, Laurent (don't know what's up with that, don't ask me), Lauren (Jessica's best friend and probably the most stylish friend I've ever had), Jessica (an extremely talkative girl who is our newspaper's editor), Tyler (a jock), and Angela and Ben—these two deserve a separate chapter entirely. And, of course, Edward, our newest addition.

See? It's not so bad. Only three of the eight…ish people I usually eat with are in my Drama class. Sometimes I sit with Emmett, too, but not too often.

Okay, so, Angela and Ben. They're best friends, you see, and ones that are clearly—I mean, really, especially when a naïve girl like me noticed—infatuated with one another. And the thing is, neither of them denies it (individually). They act like a couple. But they're both scared shitless of rejection and so, on a daily basis, I have to suppress the urge to throw them into a closet for seven minutes. Because one day, the sexual tension is going to kill me for sure.

They're entirely different, though. Ben, who I went to kindergarten with, is—for a lack of a better world—affluent. Like, oh-my-God-I-didn't-know-people-this-rich-existed kind of affluent. I think his dad owns an empire in twenty or so states. An insurance company or something. His dad is also kind of a womanizer, or so I've heard. Well, anyway, Ben used to be in the football team and he volunteers in the soup kitchen. He likes parties (I've never heard of him getting drunk, though) and is quite popular with girls, even if he only has eyes for one. He's an only child.

Angela, in return, is—much like me—raised by a single dad. A priest. She's got four younger brothers. Like, if I thought I had it bad with dad, Emmett and occasionally Jasper, I can't imagine the amount of testosterone she must be having at home. They're struggling financially and Angela hates parties more than I do.

They're kind of an odd pair, but dear God, you should feel the sexual tension. We tease them, of course, but despite how much we want to smack them in the head, their relationship is their business. And if I'm ever in a similar situation, I hope people extend the same courtesy. Not that I ever would be—hahaha—but, you know. Just in case.

Then again, I have a brother about as tactful as a rock in the sand, so maybe not.

I long to eat that fish the others are so eagerly—and some not as eagerly—eating, but I am not about to go back in line after what I did. It would ruin the moment, you know? Just let me have my fifteen minutes of awesomeness, imagined or not.

I take out my lunch box, open it, and give Edward my second sandwich. He's reluctant to take it, but I'm pretty convincing when I want to be, so he takes it.

"Are you two on a diet or something?" Angela asks, watching us share the meal. The boys start their own conversation the moment the word 'diet' is said. Like, really.

"Yes. It's called: eat as much as you can—and then some. I'm so determined to gain weight I might have to start drinking olive oil."

"And even then you'd probably get as fat as a straw," Lauren says. "When I first moved here, I thought you were an anorexic for sure, Bella. But then I saw you eat, and you eat more than I do. Do you know how careful I am with carbs? And then you stroll in and stuff more carbs into your mouth than should be legal. So unfair." She pauses. "Want to have my bread?"

I accept her bread, and others give me some as well, so pretty soon all the bread is in a pile in front of me. It's kind of funny. So Edward and I watch the others eat properly while gorging ourselves with carbs. He doesn't seem to care what goes in his mouth in which amounts, and while I care, I know that exaggerating with bread will only help me reach my goal. If only I could exaggerate with bread every meal. (Unfortunately, I get sick easily if I engorge too much.)

Nope, eating often and properly is the solution for me. Well, you know, almost properly.

"Edward—you thinking of joining the football team this season?" Tyler asks. "I know the coach wants you to try out for the team."

"Just as long as I'm willing to bulk up a bit."

"I heard you were a quarterback back in Chicago," Ben continues. "It'd be pretty sweet to make Newton anxious about his position for once."

Edward is a jock? Well, shit. I can already hear the sound of the whole keeping him grounded plan going down the drain.

Okay, sorry. I'm not being fair to him. I promise to try and not be prejudiced. Even though, to a certain amount, we all are.

"Hey—then you and Bella can try to get fat together," Jessica says, and it is so unexpected that half of the table laughs. I guess it's just one of those days when everything is just funnier, no matter the context. It's really random, and I like it. I'm happy.