Hello friends. Yeah. So, new story. This is actually the first story that I've put a lot of planning and thought into. It's kind of my baby right now. I honestly don't remember what I was watching that made me think of this, but I know I was watching something, because that's how I come up with all my story ideas. If I think of it, I'll let you know.

Anyway, I really hope you guys enjoy this one. It's something I've been working on while I'm having a terrible case of writer's block on ACH. It's on hiatus for now, so apologies for that. I will try my hardest to come back to it. But this story was a plot bunny that I had to work on, because it just wouldn't shut up. It's a little angsty and definitely a story about hurt and growing up and finding your way in life. Romance will come later, I promise.

Okay, enough rambling. I'll see you lovelies at the bottom!

Disclaimer: I am not Stephanie Meyer, obvi. I don't own Twilight, the characters, or any other publicly recognizable entities. All I really own is several thousand dollars in student loans. Go college!

Chapter One

MOST OF THE TIME

I'm clear focused all around
Most of the time
I can keep both feet on the ground
I can follow the path
I can read the sign
Stay right with it when the road unwinds
I can handle whatever
I stumble upon
I don't even notice she's gone
Most of the time.

-Bob Dylan

It's a Monday morning. I can just feel it. I've been on vacation for the last week, spending the last of the summer home with my favorite person, but I've got to go back to work this morning. The urge to reach over and hit the snooze button on my alarm clock is strong, and I'm just about to reach my arm over to shut off the damned beeping, when my door creaks open and little feet pad across the wood flooring of my bedroom. There will be no snoozing this wake up call, so I steel myself for the morning that's about to officially begin.

My eyes are still closed and I'm trying to keep my last remnants of sleep when a fifty pound body crawls its way on top of me and presses its soft little face into mine.

"Mommy. You need to wake up. I have school today."

I can't help but chuckle at the urgency and seriousness in his little voice. I obviously know he has school today, since my alarm is going off much earlier than need be if I just had to get to work. His school starts about half an hour earlier than I have to be in the office, though, so that means I have to wake up about an hour and a half earlier. Six year old boys are hard to wrangle into eating, brushing their hair and teeth, getting dressed, and into the car in anything less than an hour and a half. Not to mention the stop at our local coffee shop that has become a bad habit. I'm obviously not feeding my six year old a latte, but he enjoys hot chocolate and non-caffeinated drinks. I've created a monster; I know it.

"I'm awake, baby, I promise," I tell him, even though my voice is still thick with sleep. I am awake, though. I have to be with him being the morning person that he is. I blame his father for that trait.

My heart clenches at that the reminder of his father, but I push it away before it can escalate into anything more than an errant, passing thought. I roll over and grab my son in an embrace and pant a kiss on his head. He giggles and the pain in my heart leaves, replaced by a feeling of unending joy. This little boy makes me incredibly happy.

"Go hop in the shower while I make breakfast, okay?" My suggestion that's more of an order gets me a little whine and a huff of indignation, but he gets up and does as I say. When do boys get to the age when they start actually like taking showers again? Because he loved baths until about three, and he's hated bathing ever since. It's a fight to get him into the shower some days. Luckily, he's too excited about school today to do more than huff and complain.

As soon as I hear the shower going, and get myself out of my bed, which is already calling for me to come back and lie in it. I ignore it as best as I can, and stretch instead, trying to wake myself up before heading into the kitchen to make breakfast. I make four slices of frozen waffles and spread butter on them while they're still warm. I set our plates on the table, along with the bottle of syrup. I then set to work slicing up some of the strawberries I just bought at the store a few days ago. I try not to be one of those mothers that only feeds her kid over processed, sugary foods in the mornings, so I figure fresh fruit might help to balance out the Eggos.

My little boy comes into the kitchen, dressed only in his little boxers, just as I'm pouring two glasses of orange juice. I can't help but laugh at his attire, knowing he only does it because he still isn't quite sure to pick out matching clothes, and he doesn't want to get dressed after a shower just for me to put him in a new outfit after breakfast.

I place a kiss on his still damp hair before settling into the seat beside him. I reach out to help him cut his waffles, but he shoos me away, insisting that he's going to figure it our for himself before Halloween. I just smile and let him hack away at his waffles with a butter knife. He eventually gets them into pieces, but it pretty much looks like a waffle massacre on his plate. He's obviously proud of himself, though, and beams at me, two of his teeth missing on the bottom, when he tells me that he did it.

"Good job, baby," I tell him, smiling. "You're only going to get better at it." I pour syrup over his little rippy-bits, since I still don't trust him to not drown the waffles if he pours himself. It's happened before. Never again.

We eat as he tells me all about how excited he is for the new year and getting to see who's in his class. He knows his best friends from the last year, Benjamin and Alyssa, are going to be in his class again, but Seattle is a big city, and we both know that people can come and go. Even though we live in a small suburb just outside of the city, his elementary school is right in the heart of it, just a ten minute drive from my work.

"You know first grade is going to be different from kindergarten, right?" I ask as I'm cleaning up our dishes. He's just finishing up his glass of orange juice as he contemplates my question, his eyes turning pensive for a moment.

So much like his father.

"Yeah, I know, Mommy. I'm a big kid, now." He says it so matter-of-factly that I can't help but smile. I'm always laughing and smiling around this kid, and I'm so thankful for him.

"Okay, baby. Go to your room; I'll meet you there in a second."

He scurries off, and almost immediately I hear him rustling around in something. When I enter his room after putting the dishes in the washer, I see him going through the contents of his Spider-Man backpack. Again. This is about the tenth time—that I know about—that he's done this since we got him all his supplies last Thursday. He's very excited about having big kid supplies. I went a little crazy with the pencils and crayons and folders and things, but I couldn't help it. He was so excited about all this stuff and getting back to school, I had to be excited about it, too.

I pick out clothes for him to wear while he rummages through his things. I lay out a pair of jeans, a plaid button-up shirt, a pair of black socks, his new pair of black Vans, and a light sweater, just in case. It's reaching the end of summer, and the temperature is starting to cool off here in Washington. I don't want him to get cold and have no way of warming up. I'm sure he'll be a sweaty mess by the end of recess, but you never know.

"Hon, it's time to get dressed," I tell him. He zips up his backpack and hops over to me. The only help he really needs anymore is pulling up his pants, because his balance isn't the best, and that trait is definitely all me.

Sorry, kid.

Once I've gotten his pants buttoned, I let him run off to watch TV while I get ready for work. Boomerang has all the classics on at this time in the morning, and I'm thankful he likes to watch those instead of the God awful shows they try to pass off to kids nowadays.

Nowadays. Like I'm fifty or something.

Being a parent definitely ages you well beyond your years.

I quickly brush my teeth and wash my face before changing out of my pajamas, because there are no guarantees that I won't get toothpaste and water everywhere. Looking at the mess my hair has become from sleeping on it, I huff and throw it up in a bun, since there's no way I'm going to be able to tame it into anything presentable if I leave it down. And while I'm not face-to-face with clients for a majority of the day, it's still a professional setting.

I slap on just enough makeup to look like I haven't been living off coffee and cat naps for the last six years, even though I totally have. Concealer and blush usually does a good enough job at hiding my dark circles and pasty complexion, though.

When I exit the bathroom I share with my son, I can hear him laughing at whatever he's watching on TV, and a content smile stretches across my face. Even though it's meant living off coffee and about four hours of sleep a lot of nights, raising and providing for my son is the most rewarding thing I've ever done. Much more so than graduating high school or earning my degree. Nothing compares to being a mom to that little boy.

Slipping into my bedroom, I quickly dress in the outfit I had the foresight to set out the night before. A black pencil skirt, white blouse, and jade green cardigan are the choice of the day, and I'm glad I was able to invest in some appropriate work attire after graduation. My dad definitely helped on that one, but he had insisted it was the least he could do since he hadn't had to pay for a cent of the last four years of my education, thanks to scholarships and grants I had gotten through the school. I was given enough to pay for my tuition and family housing just off-campus. The only reason I even had to get a job was to pay for daycare for my son and food. College had been less stressful than I had been anticipating, thank God.

After I dress, I go back into the little bathroom and call him into it. He stands on his stool in front of the sink, since he's not quite tall enough to reach yet, and assumes the position. I hand him his toothbrush, already equipped with toothpaste, and he obediently starts scrubbing. While he's doing that, I wet his hair with a spray bottle and work gel into it, styling it to the side and trying my damnedest to work with the cowlicks on his head instead of against them. Again, another trait that came straight from his dad.

Fuck. Stop thinking about that, Bella.

But I can't really help it. My little boy looks so much like it father, it physically pains me to look at him sometimes. His hair, his eyes, the looks he gives me, his smile, even his damn chin is his father's. Sometimes it seems like the only thing he got from me is his clumsiness and his love to read. I'd say his smarts, but I know for a fact his dad is at medical school right now, on his way to becoming a surgeon. I'll concede to him getting that from the both of us.

I've just finished styling his hair as he finishes brushing his teeth. I leave him be while he spits and rinses, putting away the things that I used on his hair. He hops down from his stool and is about to take of from the room when I stop him.

"Ah, ah, ah," I tsk. I grab his glasses from the counter and thrust them at him. "I know your vision isn't that bad now, but you need to get into the habit of wearing them all the time. It's just going to get worse."

"But you don't wear glasses, Mommy," he huffs, taking the black frames from my hands. He complains about wearing them when I first make him put them on, but I've heard him telling Alice that he likes them because they make him look more like Spider-Man. I think he picked the thick black frames specifically because they look like the ones Andrew Garfield wears in the new film.

"No, I don't, but people you're related to do, so I know it's going to get worse as you get older." I don't elaborate on who exactly he's related to wears glasses, but he knows his grandfather wears them occasionally, so it stops him from asking too many questions. I swear I'll tell him the whole truth one day. Just not today.

He huffs again as he puts them on his face, but I see the satisfied little grin when he looks at himself in the mirror. I hold back my chuckle.

I let him resume his TV watching as I pack his lunch in the kitchen. Peanut butter and jelly, baby carrots, a juice pouch, and a baggie of Teddy Grahams are on the menu today. I also pack him a water bottle that he can have at recess, so he doesn't have to drink out of the "yucky water fountains" at school. I write a little note on a napkin ("Hope you're having a good first day! Love, Mommy.") and stick it in his lunch box before zipping it up. I stuff it in his backpack, along with the emergency information paper he needs to give to his teacher, before closing that up too.

A glance at the clock tells me I have just enough time to make my own lunch before we have to get going. After packing a meat sandwich and similar snacks into my own insulated bag, I set all our stuff on the kitchen table so I remember to grab it on the way out. I head back to my room to grab my shoes and the two manuscripts I've been looking over for the last two weeks. Sitting in the living room, I slip my own heels on and then help my baby into his. I help him slip his feet into them, but he insists on tying the laces himself. This takes up an extra five minutes, where it would've taken me thirty seconds, but I'm glad he wants to try this himself.

He shuts the TV off and grabs his backpack before handing me my messenger back. I smile and thank him as I stuff the manuscripts and my laptop in there, and grab my lunch. We head out the door and I lock it behind us, while he's already at the end of the hall, pressing insistently on the down button of the elevator. I catch up to him just as the doors open, thankfully with an empty carriage, because he just bolts in. I've had the talk about waiting to see if anyone is in there before entering, but he gets excited about riding down four floors. Maybe next year he'll learn some patience.

He buckles himself into his booster seat while I start up the car. We're only leaving a few minutes later than I was planning, so a trip to our favorite coffee shop is still possible.

He darts out of the car before me, but only because I was able to park right in front of the doors, and he didn't have to pass through the parking lot. He knows he isn't supposed to walk away from the car until my hand is firmly wrapped around his and we both check for cars.

He does end up crashing right into a woman who's trying to open the door to get out of the coffee shop, though. She has quick enough reflexes that she steadies the coffee cup in her hand against the impact of my seven year old running into her legs.

"Mase! Watch where you're going, dude. Apologize, please," I call out, catching up to him and grabbing his hand.

He mumbles an apology, looking up at the woman with his puppy dog eyes. She laughs and assures him it's alright, and I recognize that voice.

"Tanya?" I ask, finally getting a look at the woman in front of me. She's a new editor at the publishing company I work for. She's a couple years older than me, but she just moved here from Port Angeles to start this new job. She's only been at the company for three months, but our desks are right next to each other, and she's always been really sweet and holds easy conversation when we have some down time. She's beyond gorgeous with her strawberry blond hair and blue-green eyes. She's got a slender body, but she's got nice curves that I only ever saw after I had Masen. Granted, I was really young, but knowing my genes, I wouldn't have gotten them without becoming pregnant.

"Bella! Hi! Are you back from vacation?" she asks as she realizes it's me.

I scoff. "Vacation was staying in my apartment and hanging out with this one," I joke, tugging on his hand a little bit. He looks up at us and smiles.

"Oh, do you babysit or something?" she asks, sounding genuine and not condescending, which is a tone I've grown used to over the years.

I shake my head. This is always a weird conversation to have with people. "No, he's my son. This is Masen. Masen, this is Tanya. I work with her at the office."

Masen takes his hand from mine and sticks it out for Tanya. She giggles and envelops his hand, giving a slight shake. "Hi. I'm Masen Charles Swan." He widens his smile and his bright green eyes twinkle.

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. The little flirt.

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, Mr. Swan. I'm Tanya Rae Denali," she responds, completely serious. I'm glad she's taking this in stride. Tanya releases hand and turns her smile on me. "I've gotta get going, but I'll see you at work, Bella."

"See you in a bit, Tanya," I call out as she walks away. She looks over her shoulder and throws me a little wave before getting into her car.

As we're waiting in line to order, Masen starts dancing, switching his weight from one leg to the other. I sigh.

"Why didn't you go before we left?"

He looks up at me, dead serious. "I didn't have to go, then."

I want to laugh, but I also don't want to encourage him. "Go. I'll order your drink." He smiles at me and rushes off to the bathroom in the corner of the small store.

I order our drinks and barely sit down to wait as he comes out of the bathroom. He's wiping his hands on his jeans, so I'm hoping that means he washed his hands. You never know with little boys.

Masen sips his drink as we drive to his school. I find a parking spot and help him out of the car. I hold his hand as we cross the parking lot and enter the front gates. We check for his classroom number before setting off. Luckily, it's only a few rooms down from where his classroom was last year, so we find it easily. His teacher, a tall woman with long dark hair and a pair of square glasses stands at the door, greeting her students and their parents. She looks like she might be Native American with her russet skin and shiny hair.

When we get over to her, she smiles at us and reaches out to shake my hand and then Masen's. "Hi, I'm Ms. Young."

"I'm Bella Swan, and this is Masen." He smiles up at her after taking a sip of his drink, that I told him to finish before we got here, but he's almost done, so maybe I can convince him to throw it away once he walks in the room.

"It's nice to meet you Miss Swan. Did Masen go to school here last year?"

Just as she asks, there's a little yell from behind us, calling out Masen's name. I turn and see Angela Weber holding hands with her son, Ben, her husband trailing behind her, holding their son's backpack. Ben is a junior, and Angela usually calls him Benji, which I think is adorable.

"I'll take that as a yes," their teacher laughs.

Masen and Benji greet each other, laughing and talking about their new backpacks. I go and greet Angela and Ben. We're pretty well acquainted from all the playdates we've set up for our kids over the two years. I like the Cheneys. They're a younger couple, still a few years older than me, but Benji is their first kid. Angela is actually a couple months pregnant with their second.

I feel a tug on my hand and look down at Masen, who's gotten rid of his drink, thank goodness. Now let's just hope he actually got it into a trashcan and didn't just forget it on some table or bench. He's smart, but he gets a little carried away sometimes.

"I'm gonna go in now, Mama."

I squat down and press a kiss to his forehead. "Okay, baby. I should probably get going, too. I'll see you after school, okay? Have a good first day, honey."

"Bye, Mommy," he calls as he runs off with Ben to the playground. "Have a good day at work."

He's such a little man.

I make it to work about ten minutes before my boss walks in. There's not really a certain time that I'm supposed to be here, since I'm paid salary and bonuses based on how many authors I sign, but we all know we should be in the office before the boss walks in. The day will go well for you if you're here before Mrs. Cope. She's a sweet old lady on the outside, but she can get menacing when she needs to. Luckily, I haven't been on the receiving end of any of her tirades yet.

I interned at this publishing house for my junior year of college, and I was offered a paid position as a personal assistant just before my senior year started. I was on record as being a PA to the Senior Project Editor, Irina Malkovich, but I did more work for Shelley Cope than Irina. Which was just as well, because I'm pretty sure Irina doesn't actually like me, for some reason. Just before the end of my senior year, I was promoted to copyeditor. Tanya is also a copyeditor, so we were placed in the same area of the building with two others. The other two are much older than Tanya and I though, so we don't talk much to them, unless we're put on the same project together. Shelley usually puts Tanya and I together, though.

Sliding into my desk chair, I connect my laptop to the charger and boot it up. I also pull out my manuscripts and look through them to make sure I made the corrections that I needed to for this level of editing. It's definitely not going to be the final product, but I need to get the ball rolling on the little changes that need to be made before it goes to print.

Tanya slides into her chair as I'm typing up an email to send to my first author. She's a first time publisher, and she's been very willing to listen to our criticism and advice, which is always nice. She's not much older than I am, so she seems less against getting advice from a twenty-something than my older authors are. I've been placed on projects where I've edited for men and women in their fifties, and they're always so reluctant to bend to any of the changes I want to make, and I'm only fixing their grammar and verbiage, for Christ's sake!

"Hey, are you done with both manuscripts?" she asks, sipping on her coffee. I can see she has both binders on her desk, as well.

"Yeah, I got them done over my vacation. I should be done with these emails in about five minutes. Wanna compare notes when I'm done?" As the senior editor in this instance, I maintain correspondence with the authors as far as my role goes. Shelley, who acts as owner and Acquisitions Editor, is the primary liaison for the overall project, but each department keeps up individual conversations, as well.

"Yeah, sounds good. Just let me know when you're finished." Tanya smiles at me before turning to her own computer. I can tell she's going through her own emails, a slow clicking sound as she scrolls through the ones that aren't urgent or important at all. There's a few times where I can hear her typing out replies, but nothing substantial. Probably just thanks for information from other departments. The publishing house is only on one floor of this building, but it spans nearly six thousand square feet, so we all usually email or call back and forth if we need something.

I finally get done with my emails and turn to Tanya, who glances over at me with a smile. "Ready?" I ask her, and she nods.

For about three hours we work through the manuscripts, comparing changes we've made, and we're both pleased to see that we're mostly on the same page about what grammar needs to be used to keep everything flowing correctly. We're able to work through about the first half of each manuscript, making changes that we come to decisions to along the way. We break for lunch, and both eat at our desks. Tanya has a chicken caesar salad and some crackers, along with a soda, and I pull out the lunch that I packed myself earlier.

"Oh! So, I didn't realize you have a kid," she starts, keeping her hand in front of her mouth so I don't see all her chewed up lettuce.

I turn the picture on my desk towards her. My dad, son, and I are smiling together last Christmas in front of the tree that my dad had in his house. We always go to visit my dad in Forks, my hometown, during the holidays.

"That's my son and my dad," I tell her once I finish my bite.

"How old is Masen?"

"He's six. He'll be seven in March."

"Oh, wow, so you were really young when you had him?" She says it more like she's in awe than being judgmental, and I'm glad for that. I'm so used to disapproving eyes that seeing anything beside that is like a breath of fresh air.

"Yeah. I got pregnant the summer before my junior year of high school. I was only sixteen, but I was seventeen by the time he was born."

There's playfulness in her eyes as she smirks at me. "So you're one of those smartypants kids that started kindergarten at four?"

I can't help but laugh. "Yeah. My parents thought I was ready. They said I was able to read pretty basic words by that summer before, so they figured they'd send me off. It worked out pretty well."

"Well, considering you're a senior copyeditor at…what…twenty-three? Yeah, I'd say it worked out," she chuckles.

"I'll be twenty-four in a couple weeks, but yeah," I agree.

We eat in silence for a couple minutes before she speaks up again.

"So, what about Masen's dad? Is he around? He's not in that picture and he wasn't with you guys this morning." When I pause with my sandwich on the way to my mouth, she quickly backtracks, panic in her eyes. "I mean, you don't have to answer that! I know it can be touchy. And I obviously don't know your life. I don't mean to pry. I'm just curious. Masen is so cute, and you're really pretty, but he doesn't look a whole lot like you or your dad."

I cut her off before she can keep rambling. I can tell she's embarrassed that she asked. "Tanya, it's okay. Yeah, he looks a lot like his dad. We broke up shortly after I found out I was pregnant. He took off to college and doesn't even know about Masen."

"You didn't tell him before he left?" She seems shocked by this.

I shake my head. "I mean, I told him, but it's…complicated." I sigh. Complicated doesn't even cover it. Fucked up is more like it. "I haven't seen him since that summer."

Tanya is silent for a few moments, seeming to mull this over. "It sounds pretty messed up, this whole thing. I know I don't know the details, but I'm amazed by you, Bella, regardless. To get a degree after having a kid at sixteen…. Hell, even to graduate high school after having a kid at sixteen. That's amazing. And to do it by yourself." She smiles at me. "I'm twenty-six, and I can't imagine having a baby by myself."

I can feel myself blushing, something I only really do when I get praise like this. I clear my throat. "Thanks. My dad and best friend helped me out a lot, but it was still hard. It's still hard sometimes, but having a steady job makes it easier."

"Your mom doesn't help out?" Her question is innocent, and, even though it would have bothered me a few years ago, I'm past it all now.

I shake my head and give a breathy laugh. "No. She left when I was thirteen. That's what started this whole mess."

October 2007

Charlie and I sit at the rickety kitchen table for breakfast. We're having cereal again, but it's all my dad can really afford right now. We've only been in Forks for a few months, and Dad is working pretty steadily at the lumber yard just outside of town, but it took a lot out to be able to buy this house and the furniture to go in it, not to mention the ongoing repairs. The house was built in the fifties and doesn't really look like it's been worked on at all since then.

We had to pick up and move in July. We lived in Phoenix back then. We had lived there for years. Dad is originally from Forks and met my mom on a trip up to Seattle one time their senior year of high school. They ended up having me and getting married, and we moved to Arizona when I was three. Charlie found out Renee was having an affair, though, with some younger guy who's on a minor league baseball team in Tempe. Mom and Dad got a divorce, and she didn't want to be tied down in a new relationship by her kid, so Charlie and I went back to Forks.

We live pretty close to where we used to live when I was a baby, according to Charlie, but I don't actually remember. I'll take his word for it.

We were able to move before the school year started. My freshman year of high school has been a little lackluster, to say the least, but I met a girl named Alice Brandon. She ran into me on the first day of school, literally, and she's been determined to be my friend ever since. I like her, even though she's a little too peppy for me, especially since I've been in a pretty weird mood constantly since my mom left. I try not to let it get to me, though. Charlie can't even tell how I'm feeling. He's taking this hard enough on his own, so I keep my crying to my time in the shower every night. I haven't told Alice about the reason for the move, but I think she suspects. She's a pretty intuitive little thing.

Charlie drops me off at school on his way to work. I kiss him on the cheek before I make my way out and meet Alice by the front gates. She beams as she sees me and loops her arm through my own when I get close enough. She hands me a travel mug of coffee that she made for me before she left her house, and I thank her. She's been doing this every morning since we met, and it's one of my favorite parts of the day. Coffee is a luxury at my house that we can't afford, and, like I said, she's intuitive.

Alice and I have homeroom together, and it's usually a thirty minute period where we don't do anything and do homework that we forgot about. Except it's October and homecoming is right around the corner. Alice and I don't go to football games, but the whole school is buzzing about the dance that's in a couple weeks. I'm not going, but I can't escape the signs and decorations around school promoting it.

Not five minutes into our homeroom, ASB comes in to talk about voting for homecoming court and the logistics for the dance and game. Surprisingly, the ASB president, Edward Cullen, is here to make the announcements. Edward usually doesn't do any of this work. It's usually our treasurer and officers doing this sort of stuff. But he's here today, and I'm awestruck.

I've only ever heard of him before, and Alice has tried to describe him to me, because she swears I've seen him around, I just probably never put the name with the face. But, as soon as I lay eyes on him, only six feet from me, I know I've never seen him before, and Alice's description doesn't do him justice.

He's the most beautiful boy I've ever seen. His bronze hair is a chaotic mess on his head, like he (or someone) has been running their hands through it. His eyes are the brightest, most brilliant shade of green, and the shimmer under the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. His lips are a perfect rosy color, and I stare at them for a second as he speaks, though I have no idea what he's actually saying. He stops his speech, and I can hear the buzz of someone else speaking, then he smiles this quirky little crooked grin, one corner of his mouth lifting higher than the other, and I love it. He's tall, too, probably just over six feet, and his shoulders are pulling the fabric of his ASB polo. I can't see much, but I can tell he's got a pretty decent body under there. I know he's a baseball player, as well, so there's no doubt he's fit.

My eyes flit back up to his face, and I'm startled to see he's looking at me already, his eyes trained on mine. He's speaking again, no doubt answering whatever question he was just asked, but he's looking straight at me as he says it. I want to look away, because this is definitely embarrassing, but I can't bring myself to do it first. His gaze is pulling me in, and I can feel my bottom lip between my teeth. It's a nervous habit I've had for years, and I'm definitely nervous right now.

He apparently finishes what he's saying, but he's still looking at me. He smiles, his grin even more heart stopping when it's aimed right at me. I feel my breath catch, and it takes me a second to coax myself into breathing again.

Edward eventually breaks eye contact to say goodbye to the teacher and the class. He walks right past me to get out the door, and he looks down at me as he does. His smile it back, but it's more of a smirk this time, and his eyes roam my face briefly before he gives me a subtle nod and walks out. I can feel myself blushing even once he's gone.

"Holy shit, Edward Cullen totally just eye-fucked you," Alice squeals softly, tugging urgently on the sleeve of my hoodie. I'm trying very hard to keep my smile at bay and tamp down the pounding of my heart.

"He just looked at me, Alice," I argue. I want to believe that he has a certain interest in me, but I have to be realistic.

"Um, no. He definitely looked straight at you and did his sex smirk."

"I'm the new girl, of course he singled me out. And what the hell is a 'sex smirk'?"

"I don't know, I just made it up. But his smirk is so suggestive, it just has to mean he wants to bang whoever he flashes it at."

I roll my eyes. "You're ridiculous. He's a junior, Alice. He definitely isn't going to flash his 'sex smirk'," I add the air quotes around it, "at some girl in a freshman homeroom." There's absolutely no way.

By lunch time, I figure out Alice was right about the way he singled me out. Whether it was specifically because I'm the new girl or because he actually has some sort of interest in me, I'm not sure. I don't think I ever will be. But, as soon as I walk out of my Spanish class and head for the quad, where I always meet Alice for our lunch period, I'm stopped by Adonis himself.

He sort of jogs up to me from where he was with his friends from the baseball team. He has his backpack slung over one shoulder, gripping it so it doesn't slide off. His free hand runs through his wild hair and he smiles at me, that crooked one that I find so endearing.

"Hey, it's Isabella, right?" he asks, making me stop in my tracks and cease my search for Alice.

"Uh, yeah," I answer, already feeling my cheeks heating up. Get it together, goddammit. "I prefer Bella, though."

His smile widens and he sticks his hand out. "Nice to meet you, Bella. I'm Edward Cullen."

The second my hand makes contact with his, these amazing little shocks of energy lick up my arm and eventually settle in my chest. What the fuck? I nearly jerk my hand back out of his from the surprise.

Edward apparently felt it too, because his eyebrows have furrowed together in the center as he stares at where our hands were just attached. He shakes it off though, and puts his carefree smile back on his face.

What do you guys think? How do you like the flashback things? (Honestly, it took me entirely too long to figure out the correct year and timing and everything. I swear, I know how to do math.)

Give me some love, please. I love hearing what you guys have to say. This is mostly prewritten up to chapter thirteen, so there's not much I can change, but I love hearing suggestions anyway!

I promise an update next week, since the next chapters are completely written. Since I am so far ahead, my goal is weekly updates until the end. I'm pretty confidant in myself this time!

Until next time, lovelies!