AN: Hello, all. Here's that chapter many of you have been biting at my ankles for.

Oh, and sorry to the dude whom I told that this chapter would be up by Thanksgiving. I was completely earnest in my intentions, but I hadn't realized how close Thanksgiving was when I replied to you, nor did I actually have the amount of free time I was expecting because I got roped into extra work at the last minute.

Also: I don't know if any of you have noticed, but in this story, Bellamy arrives in Forks a month or two before book-canon (since it didn't tell us a specific day). This was for no other reason than because I wanted Bellamy to spend Christmas with his daddy.

P.S. It's been a damn long time since I posted the first two chapters, so you might want to refresh your memory of them before continuing with this one. Keep in mind that it had to be pretty damn good if you chose to follow it even though the story only had two measly chapters and no promise of continuation. C:

It was unsurprising that Bellamy's father was not at all pleased when he heard what had happened on Bellamy's first day of school.

"Didn't I tell you to not to get yourself in trouble?" the older man grumbled. Despite his grizzling though, he didn't actually seemed too upset with Bellamy. He sighed. "Well, I can't say I wasn't expecting something to happen. Suppose I should be happy it was only a pen; it could've been a scalpel."

Bellamy grimaced at the thought.

"If the school ever gives us actual knives in Biology, I'll personally stage a sit-in," said Bellamy. "Not only because it would make me more of a danger to myself and others, but because I don't want any involvement in anything that would require me to use a knife. Besides, I think I've already proven that that the pen is indeed mightier than the sword."

Despite how he was trying to play it off, Bellamy really did feel terrible about the stabbing. Edward Cullen might have been a serial killer in the making, but he hadn't actually done anything beyond giving Bellamy Medusa-eyes; he had done nothing to deserve a shanking. Of course, Bellamy hadn't meant to hurt him, but that didn't change the fact that the thigh-stabbing had resulted because of the glaring.

Charlie was more perceptive than one would've thought and took pity on Bellamy.

"Well, you managed most of the day," he mused, glancing over at his wallowing son. They were in the cruiser again since Charlie didn't want Bellamy exerting himself anymore that day so had picked him up from school. "Considering I was expecting worse, I suppose you can still get that bike you wanted."

Bellamy perked up at that.

"Really?" the boy squeaked, stars in his eyes. Then he deflated a bit. "Ah, but . . . That would be rewarding me, wouldn't it? I dunno if I'd feel right getting a present after hurting someone. Kinda callous, y'know?"

Charlie sighed through his nose. They turned a corner and he nodded politely at a little old lady that was waving at him.

"Look, Beau, I'm not getting you a bike because you stabbed that Edward kid. There's no question about it that you didn't mean to, and God knows you'll beat yourself up about it more than anymore else could. You're getting the bike because I think you've earned it. You haven't had formal schooling in years, and I don't doubt being inside all day's been driving you crazy; you're too much your mother's child for it not to get to you. Honestly, I was expecting a call before the morning was over that you had some sort of panic attack or something and had to go to the nurse."

"You worry too much," Bellamy admonished, nudging his father's shoulder. "I'm not some wild animal, y'know. Yeah, I was starting to crawl the walls, but it's not like I was going to freak out about it. I'm pretty sure I've never had a panic attack before either."

"Doesn't mean I can't worry about it," said Charlie. "The point is that you did better that I'd've thought. And if that isn't good enough for you, I really do think you need something better than a skateboard to get around on."

Bellamy spent the rest of the afternoon and evening in a state of distraction as he went through the motions of doing homework, fixing dinner, and emailing his mother. His attention was divided between thinking about all the things he could do with Angie; feeling guilty about Cullen; wondering what kind of bikes the nearest sporting goods store would have; feeling guilty about Cullen; wondering if Forks High had a school orchestra; and feeling so guilty about Cullen that he decided to bake something as an apology.

Maybe he could bake a pie? Small-town folks liked pie, right? But maybe that would be patronizing, implying that they would like pie just because they were small-town folks. Patronization would not be the way to go if his objective was to apologize, they would likely become more offended if that were to happen. Maybe cake then. Ugh, why did dessert-deciding have to so difficult all of a sudden?

"Dad!" Bellamy called down from the top of the stairs. "What baked good best says, 'I'm sorry for maiming you; please, don't sue'?"

"Marshmallow and peanut-butter fudge cake," Charlie answered without missing a beat or even looking up from the TV.

Bellamy perked up. He trotted down the stairs into the kitchen and got a handful of bills from the jar of food money Charlie kept on the counter.

"I'm off to the store!" he called as he toed on his shoes and picked up his skateboard. "Hope you don't mind cake for breakfast tomorrow."

Bellamy woke up early the next morning to have time to bake the cake he had prepped for the night before. It wasn't anything that you'd see on the cooking channel, but it had two layers, was generously iced with homemade frosting, and wasn't burnt in the least bit. It was hardly a masterpiece — it was made by a teenage boy after all — but if Charlie was to be believed, it made up for its lack of finesse by the fact that it was a marshmallow and peanut-butter fudge cake.

"How are you going to carry all that to school with you?" asked Charlie, eying the teetering Bellamy with a wary eye. He was standing at the door of his police cruiser with his arms crossed.

The boy in question had his cake — in a cardboard cake-box — in hand as he guided his skateboard down the drive-way. His messenger bag was on the trunk of the cruiser and his cello — that had been moved from its obscenely bright red hard-shell case to a black-cloth one that had it resembling a guitar — was waiting on the ground at his feet.

He grinned at his father and gave a thumbs up. He said, "Like this."

Bellamy put the cake on the trunk and hung his bag across his shoulders to rest against one hip. He then picked up his cello and slung it across his back before tightening the strap so the instrument rested securely against him. Finally, he picked up the cake again in one hand and sauntered back to his skateboard, nonchalant as could be.

Charlie snorted.

"You look like a traffic accident waiting to happen."

Despite Charlie's doubts, Bellamy actually made it safely to school. He met up with Angie and her friends at the outside lunch benches where he passed the time before first period. In between his conversation with his best friend about Forks' non-existent orchestra and the bikes at Newton's Sporting Goods, he bragged about the cake he had labored away at to bake that morning.

If Cullen didn't forgive him after receiving a muther-effin' marshmallow and peanut-butter fudge cake, Bellamy would stop feeling guilty immediately, because that would mean Cullen had no soul and was not a real person.

"I'm not trying to be all unsupportive or anything," Bellamy grouched, eyeballing the gaping Eric Yorkie, "but I've got a real problem with dudes starin' at me when I'm getting naked. If you want to come out and embrace the rainbow, you're going to have to find another guy; you're not my type."

Eric turned the color of a slapped ass and turned around so fast that he nearly fell over. Pulling on a fresh shirt, Bellamy watched Eric in askance as the fluster boy babbled apologies.

What a weirdo.

The rest of the week after the stabbing thing was uneventful. With Angie at his side as well as a buttload of new friends, Bellamy quickly got used to the routine of his classes. By Friday, he was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the students at school, not that that was a huge achievement with how small the school was. In gym class, he had managed to keep from actually participating because of a doctor's note his father had sent along with him. Instead of potentially killing everyone through a creative use of his feet and floor polish, Bellamy got to yoga it up in a safe corner away from the rest of the class.

The only irksome detail was the fact that Edward Cullen had yet to come back to school.

Seriously, was such a long absence even allowed? Who misses over a week of school willy-nilly? Was he dying in a hospital somewhere from tetanus despite the fact that the pen didn't actually injure him? Had he decided a school with Bellamy in it wasn't worth attending?

It was pretty arrogant to assume that the Cullen boy was missing school because of Bellamy, but Bellamy couldn't help that the thought lingered in the back of his mind. Mike Newton (Jessica's one twue wuv) had mentioned that he had never seen the other boy so harsh looking before, so it must have had something to do with Bellamy; people didn't just up and disappear for no reason.

Every day since his failure to avoid injury to himself and others, Bellamy had watched the cafeteria doors covertly until the rest of the Cullens came in for lunch, wondering if it would be the day that Tall, Pale, and Broody returned so that Bellamy could apologize. And every day Bellamy was thwarted. Oh, sure, he had given his apology cake to the dark-haired Cullen girl when his victim didn't arrive the first time, but it wasn't the same. Such things needed to be done one-on-one and in person.

Following the disappointed realization, Bellamy would then join in on the lunchtime conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in three weeks that Mike was putting together. It was originally going to happen in January, but Mike and his boys decided that it would be a good way to end the term before Christmas vacation. Bellamy had been invited of course, but he was leery of how much fun a wet and cold beach-front would be. He had been embracing the fashion of the Eskimos since he had arrived because of the on-an-off snow, but he couldn't imagine being able to enjoy the water when it was cold enough to ice-over a wooly mammoth.

Bellamy had anticipated more of the same that day, being the second Monday since he had started school.

He had been greeted in the parking that morning by more or less everyone he passed. He didn't know all of them personally, but he waved back and smiled at everyone all the same. It was a lot colder that morning, but thankfully it hadn't started raining — He had left his umbrella at home that morning and had been wary of getting flash-flooded on since he had realized it. Of course, that didn't stop him from fretting over his school bag getting soaked when it inevitably happened that the sky decided to take a piss on him. Maybe he should invest in water-proof book covers?

When he had walked out of his third class, Mike and Tyler in tow, the air was full of swirling bits of white. All around, he hear people shouting excitedly to each other. It took a moment for Bellamy to realize why as he got hit in the face with a strong gust of chilly wind.

"Whoa!" Mike had exclaimed, bounding forward. "It's snowing!"

No shit, Bellamy thought as little cotton fluffs were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past his face. It was beautiful, but he had never biked in the snow before and he couldn't help but worry that he'd be in for a hard time getting home later.

Any further contemplation on his potential transportation troubles was disrupted by what felt like ten snow-cones of nip-hardening, junk-shrinking COLD being dumped down the back of his shirt.

The high-pitched shriek Bellamy emitted was later confirmed to have been heard three blocks away.

"You mother-hugger!" He squeaked furiously at Tyler, doing the equivalent of an Irish jig crossed with a striptease in his attempt to remove the snow from his person.

Mike was bent in half, guffawing into his knees, a hand held up blindly in Tyler's direction for a high-five. Unfortunately for Mike, any commemorative bro-ing out was prevented by a big, squishy ball of dripping snow smacking Tyler right in the kisser at the same time that Mike himself got one to the back of his head.

As Tyler sputtered about snow in his mouth and nose, Mike and Bellamy turned to see where the second snowball had come from. Bellamy was no genius but even he had his suspicions about 'Hi, I'm Eric!' Yorkie, who was conveniently walking away, his back towards them — in the wrong direction for his next class if Bellamy remembered correctly.

Mike was apparently at the same level of not-a-genius-but-no-fool. He bent over and began scraping together a monster of a pile of the white mush.

"Well, that's not suspicious at all," Bellamy said flatly, squatting down for his own mound of snow.

The resulting snowball fight ended with what looked like half the school engaged in modern warfare in the parking lot, a broken window courtesy of a football somehow being added to the mix, and the original instigators of the battle with three days of detention each — minus Bellamy who evaded punishment by effectively donning his Police-Chief's-kid innocent face.

Throughout the rest of the morning, everyone had chattered excitedly about the snow; apparently it was the first snowfall of the season, something that had been greatly delayed this year. Bellamy walked alertly to the cafeteria with Jessica after Spanish, snowballs still flying everywhere. He kept a thick binder in his hands, ready to use it as a shield or even a weapon if necessary; he wasn't about to get caught off guard with another bout of snow down his shirt. Jessica thought it was hilarious, but something in his wide-eyed expression — and likely the fact that he actually had smacked a snowball back into someone's tits with aforementioned binder earlier — kept her from lobbing a snowball at him herself.

Mike caught up to them as they walked through the front doors, ice melting the spikes in his hair as he laughed and caught the two by their arms and swung them around. On his tail were Lauren and Katie, drunkenly leaning on each other as they snickered, snow dotting them as well. The five of them ended up talking animatedly about the snowball fight as they got in line for food.

Bellamy glanced toward the corner table out of habit.

And then he gaped openly where he stood.

Unbelievably, there were five people. Five people at the table. Not four. Not even four and some idiot trying their luck like that last time Bellamy had so cruelly had his hopes risen!

Sullen Cullen had returned!

Jessica then pulled on his arm, yanking from where he had been holding the line up.

"Hello? Bell?" she said, pointing at the food available. "What do you want?"

"Justice," Bellamy breathed, still cow-eyed.

Jessica snorted and flicked his nose.

"They don't serve that on the lunch menu. How about a taco salad?"

"Ooh, they have extra guac too if you want it, Bellamy!" Katie chimed in, holding up a serving of the avocado sauce.

Bellamy was then distracted by guacamole.

He only returned to his original train of thought halfway through his burrito when Angela arrived and he caught sight of the Cullen crew behind her as he glanced up at her.

Oh! Right! Heartfelt penitence and all that!

"What are you doing?" Angela hissed, alarmed by the determined look on Bellamy's face as he got to his feet. "What have I told you about making a scene?"

"Christ, I'm not gonna re-enact a soap opera or anything," he griped, pouting down at the hand she had latched onto his forearm.

"You might as well!" she retorted, sliding her hand down to his wrist and tugging more insistently.

"Wha's duh deaw?" Mike asked in confusion around a mouthful of taco. "Yuh go' be'f wi' duh Cu'ens?"

"Why does everyone think that?" Bellamy sighed. "Of course I don't! I've never even talked to them properly! I just want to apologize is all, is that too much to ask?"

"Didn't you give them that cake already?" asked Ben as he crossed his arms. "I thought you said that if he wasn't cool after receiving that cake then you were going to stop being sorry because that meant he was as soulless as his ginger hair branded him."

If there was spluttered choke from the direction of the Cullen table, none among Bellamy's crowd heard it.

"Well, yes," Bellamy agreed, "but it wasn't my unintentional victim that actually received the cake, was it?"

"Oh, my God, Beau, just let it go!" Angela implored, chancing a glance at the victim in question. "I don't think Edward's the type to hold a grudge over an accident, and if nothing else his family must have already told him that you said sorry. Please don't go over there; I'll be morally obliged as a friend to go with you, and I don't think I'll be able to survive the mortification of being center stage with you as you shamelessly display your lack of brain-to-mouth filter."

"Oh, fine," Bellamy finally conceded, plopping back down and returning to his burrito. "I'll wait until Biology then."

It should have gone without saying that Biology didn't go anywhere near the way Bellamy had wanted it to.

Upon first entering the classroom and noting that the table he sat at was as empty as ever, Bellamy felt the most irritating cross of relief and resentment. He was in the middle of brooding over how much a person had to hate him to actually skip a class to avoid him when Cullen actually did show up, all pretty voice and unruffled nonchalance, as if he hadn't all but threatened Bellamy with a dissection blade the last time they had sat next to each other.

This blatant ignoring of their past interaction put any thought of apologizing right out of Bellamy's mind and reintroduced the conviction that he would die that day.

It was freakishly opposite of how the Cullen boy was before, and any pleasant atmosphere he might have been trying to create was ruined by the fact that Bellamy watched enough horror/slasher films to know where such a story-line usually went. In fact, the way that Cullen was obviously trying to lull him into a state of calm made Bellamy think that Cullen was eventually going to go full Silence of the Lambs on Bellamy's cute little ass, whether Buffalo Bill style or Hannibal the Cannibal not yet decided.

Once again, Mr. Banner was of no help. Seriously, did the West Coast teach on a slower-paced curriculum or something? Bellamy had done this lab last year as a part of the online Biology course he took as a part of home-schooling.

"Ladies first, partner?" Cullen then asked.

Bellamy looked up to see the other boy smiling a crooked smile so beautiful that Bellamy could only stare at him like an idiot.

God damn, mother huggin' . . .

"Or I could start, if you wish." The smile faded, Cullen obviously wondering if Bellamy was mentally competent.

"No, I-it's cool," Bellamy said, flushing with embarrassment and helpless irritation. "I'll go ahead, but, um, y'know . . . I'm a dude actually . . ."

Cullen's didn't say anything or show any expression in response, but Bellamy knew that air of 'WTF? Srsly?' well enough that he knew the other boy was speechless with . . . well, speechlessness.

Fuck Cullen. Fuck the whole fuckin' world.

Well, at the very least Cullen would likely be dissuaded from trying to make a female skin suit out of Bellamy now that he knew Bellamy was a guy. Or . . . Actually, did genitalia even matter when trying to make a woman-looking skin suit? Was crotch included in such a thing? And if it was . . . did that mean Bellamy's potential skinner would wear Bellamy's shaft on top of his own shaft? Did Buffalo Bill have his wang sticking out of his girl-suit's girl parts when he wore it?! Did that count as necrophilia?!

In the middle of Biology with his potential murderer was an odd time to be thinking of sexual deviation that included the desecration of a corpse. Bellamy really needed to stop binging on horror movies.

Cullen then laughed a soft, enchanting laugh. Bellamy wouldn't have been surprised of a cherub was birthed into existence because of it. Or maybe a demon imp. That was a more likely thing since Cullen was ticking all Bellamy's devil-in-disguise checklist.

"Sorry," Cullen said, the picture of contrite, as if he hadn't just not so openly gaped in disbelief. " 'Bellamy' is usually a girl's name, so I had just assumed."

Oh, he was good. He was very good. As if it wouldn't have been obvious with anyone else what their physical sex was based purely on appearance. Bellamy decided to concede gracefully to keep face.

The two of them worked in silence for the most part after that, only muttering their answers for the lab so the other could write it down as well. For all that Cullen obviously was up to something with his bizarro 180º in personality, he wasn't pushy about it. The class would have ended more or less peacefully if it hadn't been for a last minute fiasco.

As students were cleaning up their stations, Mike — who was seated at the table next to Bellamy — knocked his glass slides from the table, leading to them shattering on the floor. The noise startled Bellamy badly, making him jump and tumble from his stool towards the glass.

Bellamy had a split second to accept that he was going to be scratched up at the very least when quick hands caught him before he could make contact with the broken glass.

Unfortunately — and most embarrassingly — because of the disparity of height, those hands that should have latched onto his middle had caught him around his chest, resulting in the unfortunate double-handed groping of what would have been his boobs — y'know, if he had boobs.

There was a beat of pause in which everyone present collected themselves and then —

"Eeeeeeek!" Bellamy shrieked. (He shrieked thankyouverymuch! Not squealed!) He then shoved Cullen off — because who else could it have been? — and darted towards Mike, seeking safety between him and Angela. Bellamy then all but climbed into Angela's lap and clung to her as he gaped wide-eyed at his molester.

There was then quite a bit of sputtering and awkward hand motions. Bellamy had the impression that that was the most ruffled and embarrassed anyone had ever seen Edward Cullen if they had ever seen him anything less than perfectly composed before. Bellamy might have felt more sympathy if he hadn't just been felt up by Cullen's ice-cold hands, resulting in the second time his nipples had been unconsensually hardened that day.

Which was why Bellamy was now snapping at the over-eager Eric Yorkie for yet again eyeballing him without invitation.

Bellamy closed his gym locker with a louder than usual snap, glowering at the other guys who were still hanging around that had been snickering over Eric's less than subtle observation. Or it could have been the fact this was the first time that Eric had seen him change before or after gym and he had actually appeared shocked that Bellamy was indeed as tit-less as the rest of them.

Fuck Eric Yorkie. Fuck the whole fuckin' world too!

AN: I feel like this is a bit shorter than the previous two chapters were, but I honestly didn't think the chapter could have been drawn out anymore than it was. There was story progression! There were LOLs! (At least I think there were . . .) Anyways, yeah, hopefully this story will be getting more attention from me. I honestly do like and it's fun to write a fic just for lulz and fluff as opposed to my more serious stuff.