SM owns the characters, but the plot is ours. No copyright infringement is intended.

Many, many thanks to our awesome betas, Karentwilighted and ladyrip, for spiffing this up and making me doubt my fly grammar skills. Thanks and kisses to our pre-readers, LaraIsAwkward and ilsuocantante. We're so grateful to have you all on board, ladies!

Hello again! Let's see what happens when our two main characters finally set eyes on one another, shall we?

Chapter 4: Bella Swan, This Is Your Life

I was a magnet for weirdos. It was the only explanation I could muster as I sighed, putting my ear-buds back in for the fortieth time since we'd been cleared to use our electronics. There I'd been, all excited about having a row to myself, the airplane door about to close, when some joker had barreled down the jetway, yammering on his cell phone about something he obviously considered more important than life or death. Though there were plenty of free rows, as the flight was fairly empty, Mr. Important Businessman chose mine.

I attempted to ignore him as he fiddled with his things, shoving his laptop in the seat-pocket in front of him and turning that stupid air hole up to full blast. He obviously didn't realize that sitting in that stream of recycled air was much like bathing in a river of raw sewage. When he took off his shoes and socks, I knew I was in for an unpleasant couple of hours.

At least he's going to be working, I thought. He won't be one of those annoying "talkers."

And as soon as the thought crossed my mind, he'd started talking to me like I was his long-lost best friend. It was like the world's most unpleasant game. I'd bury my nose in the SkyMall catalog; he'd tell me about his super-important job. When the all-clear came for electronic devices and I slipped in my ear-buds, he decided it was appropriate to complain that his wife never wore real clothes now that they had kids.

This went on for hours, or at least, it seemed that way. Then I noticed the beverage cart approaching, which meant I was going to be trapped here for quite a while yet. At this rate, I'd be dead of boredom and annoyance before we landed. I thought I caught the flight attendant giving me a sympathetic glance as she handed me my coke, and I seriously considered passing her a note begging for help.

Finally, we began our descent into Sea-Tac, and I was ecstatic. As we sped down the runway, the plane shuddering as we slowed rapidly, I was very aware that my life was about to change irrevocably. Rain splattered against the small, oval windows, tapping relentlessly on the glass. Those stupid raindrops were taunting me.

There's no going back now, Bella. Welcome to your new life.

Hooray.

--

Charlie met me at baggage claim, where he hugged me uncomfortably, muttering how much I'd grown since he saw me last. I didn't mind because small-talk was about as complicated it got with Charlie. We waited for forty-five minutes before my lone, giant suitcase lumbered up the conveyor belt. I huffed a relieved sigh when we finally left, even if I now had to spend the next three or four hours in a police car.

The ride back to Forks managed to be both awkward and comfortable. I hadn't even known that was possible. I couldn't quite explain it, but I sort of sensed my dad felt the same way. Most of the time, my anxiety came from worrying if others around me were uncomfortable with the silence. Then I'd start to wonder if I was normal, because silence in a shared, confined space honestly didn't bother me.

The silence didn't bother Charlie, either. It was kind of cool. At least I didn't have to worry whether or not we'd get along. We were exactly alike ― hiding behind reserve and reticence, and quite enjoying it.

Well, I didn't mind it...but maybe "enjoy" was too strong a word.

The house was just as I remembered: same white paint, about five years past due for a good painting, the same huge picture window facing the street. I remembered how angry Charlie had been when I dirtied it with chubby, paint-covered hands during one of my summer visits.

"Painting this summer, Dad?" I asked with a smirk. We did this every time I visited.

"You know it," he replied dryly. "Billy's bringing the ladder, I'm bringing the beer." He held open the door, urging me through.

"Dad! That's so wrong. He can't walk!"

"Who do you think I stole the joke from?"

"Now you've stooped to stealing jokes," I laughed, hefting my bag over my shoulders and heading for my old room.

He followed, a soft, rumbling laugh betraying his presence behind me. "I guess you know where everything is." Awkwardness was written across his face as he tried to think of something else to say.

"Yeah, I've got it," I answered easily.

"Welcome home, Bella." He patted the doorframe a couple times and turned away, likely escaping to whatever last bastion of bachelorhood he'd saved for himself. He'd gone from single to single father, almost overnight. I couldn't remember a time I'd spent with him that was longer than a couple months for summer vacation. And those times were even rarer these days, our visits limited to two weeks a year in a cabin surrounded by giant redwoods and deep blue churning seas.

"Thanks, Dad," I whispered to the empty room, taking in the familiar childish drawings and art projects decorating the walls.

Well, here I am, Forks. Do your worst.

--

Grocery shopping was my priority for the next two days. After that, I spent most of Saturday unpacking the non-perishable items. I wasn't sure if my father had ever eaten in his kitchen when I wasn't around, and I knew to expect the provisions to be in a sorry state when I first arrived. But this was worse than I'd ever seen.

Jeez, Charlie...has your blood made the transformation to complete cholesterol yet? I knew what he ate at the diner ― french fries, chicken fried steak, chicken fried chicken... See a theme?

Late Saturday evening, I collapsed in bed after what seemed like ages of hard labor. Charlie and I were full, there were lasagnas in the freezer, the kitchen was clean, and I was dead tired. So far, this was shaping up to be worse than living with Renee. At least she'd been a bit of a stickler about having a clean living space. I pacified the resentful child inside by reminding myself that I'd only have to work this hard once. It was a lot easier to keep a house clean than to actually clean it.

Right?

The next morning, I woke to a horrible noise outside my window. It rumbled and shuddered, coming closer and closer until it suddenly stopped with a painfully loud bang. Squinting at the clock, I sighed when I realized I'd slept away half of my last day of freedom.

Sleepily, I made my way downstairs in search of food, tunnel vision leading me in the right direction, where I mechanically poured a bowl of cereal and ate it at the kitchen table. Charlie still hadn't shown by the time I dumped the remaining milk down the sink, and as I went back through the living room, I heard male voices in the front yard.

"Dad, did you hear that awful noise...?" I trailed off as I took in the rusty red jalopy that was backed into the driveway. The hood was up, making the old truck look like a fish long past its prime, jaw gaping wide with its last breath. "Did someone break down in the driveway?"

The thing looked like it could eat Phil's station wagon for breakfast. It was a relic of a bygone era, one where cars were American, made of heavy steel, and ran on leaded gasoline ― in other words, it was a hideous, big, red monster.

"Bella!"

"Hi," I answered shyly, poking my head even farther out the door, hissing at the bone-numbing cold and hoping I wouldn't get frostbite. "Hello, Mr. Black," I said through chattering teeth, nodding at him, not willing to expose any of my extremities to the elements. Surely I would die of exposure up here.

"Been a long time," he stated, in that drawn out way some men had, those men who had a laid-back attitude on top of a lot of confidence and even more bravery. Billy Black had always reminded me of Dirty Harry, in a way. Minus the guns. And the walking... Oh, Lord, I shouldn't think things like that! "You sure have grown up since the last time I saw you," he went on, and my brain automatically filtered out the typical old person chatter ― the oohs and ahs and "Oh, you're such a grown-up young lady now"s.

My nose began to run in response to the frigid wind as more than my teeth started to chatter. Was it possible to disarticulate a skeleton by shivering?

"Yeah, it has, Mr. Black. It's good to see you. Um...Dad? I'm going to go put on a coat or four."

"Bella!" A new voice called from further out in the yard. Long, dark hair popped up from behind the hood as it slammed shut, startling me. I bumped the back of my head on the doorframe, which momentarily distracted me from the cold.

"You remember Jacob, don't you, Bella?" Charlie asked, pointing toward the boy who was rapidly crossing the yard.

"Little Jacob?" I muttered to myself, looking up at the beanpole now standing next to my dad. This couldn't possibly be the tiny kid I'd shoved into mud puddles when we were younger.

"Not so little anymore, Shorty. I'm taller than you are now," he said with a friendly smirk, but his overt familiarity with me made me a little uncomfortable. And a little scared. I was really mean to Jacob back in the day...

Suddenly remembering I was dressed in pajamas and near the point of hypothermia, I stammered out an excuse and slammed the door. Figuring it would be rude to take a shower while we had guests, I almost whimpered as I passed the bathroom and all its teasing promises of hot, steamy water to soothe my chills.

Once I was suitably dressed in a thousand layers, I forced myself to show my face outside again. It was still far too cold for a rare desert flower like me, though I'd heard once that freezing to death was the way to go. Lord knows I'd been forced to read enough descriptions of it with all the Jack London they'd shoved down our throats in school.

"It's not the ice age, Bella," Jake snickered, rolling his eyes. Okay. Now I remember why I was mean to him.

"Excuse me for not wanting to die of frostbite."

"You can't die from frostbite; you'd die from hypothermia first."

"As long as I don't have to deal with you, whatever works!" I snapped, fighting the urge to stick my tongue out at him...right after I yanked on that girly hair.

"Kids, kids," Charlie started, scowling at both of us while Billy looked on with his arms crossed over his chest, a wide grin splitting his face. "Bella, you're seventeen, not seven, so act like it." He didn't miss a beat in his rant, immediately turning to Jake. "And you ― if that's how you treat girls, no wonder you can't get a date."

Billy burst out laughing at this, smacking his son on the leg in mirth. Jake flushed scarlet; which was no small feat, taking into account the darker tone of his skin.

"See if I do you any more favors, Chief Swan," he grumbled under his breath.

"Bells, you'd better be nice to Jake if you want someone to work on your new truck," Charlie added, shoving his hands in his pockets with a smug smile.

"I don't have a truck," I said dumbly, looking out at the yard. The only truck I saw was the monstrosity in the driveway.

"What do you think that is, Bella?" he laughed, pointing in its direction.

"That's mine?" It suddenly wasn't so hideous, now that it represented autonomous transportation.

"Yep. Why don't you try it out?"

"Wow...Dad... Wow. Thank you so much!" I stammered, very pleased with this event. Then I remembered that "my" truck was what had woken me up this morning. My baby was sick. "Are you sure it's safe? Does it work?" I asked warily, earning another dirty look from Jake. Crap. I really was going to have to be nice to him, if I was going to be driving that big red monster around.

"Of course it's safe," Jake scoffed. "I rebuilt the engine. I just need to fiddle around with some plug wires, and she'll be good as new."

"Why don't you go show Bella the ropes," Billy suggested. "The game's about to start, and I intend to win some money off Charlie, here."

At the very mention of sports, both of them were off like a shot ― pretty impressive, considering Billy was in a wheelchair, and our house was definitely not handicapped-accessible.

Jake and I just stared at each other like two wet, cranky cats, coolly assessing one another. Finally, I decided that I shouldn't be hanging on to my grudges for all the frogs, worms, bugs, and dirt he'd shoved in my face when we were kids. We'd probably be wasting a lot of time together, considering how often Charlie and Billy hung out.

I stuck out my hand. "Truce?"

He looked at my outstretched arm for a long moment, distrust written plainly on his face. Then he sighed, gingerly shaking my hand. I couldn't help but giggle at his weak grip.

"Come on, I know Billy and Charlie taught you better than that," I said. "I've got a stronger grip than you do."

"I just didn't want to crush your hand, Shorty." Cocky bastard.

"Whatever, Jake," I sighed, rolling my eyes as I went to the truck.

"You know you want tickets to this gun show, babe," he said, unaffected by my dismissal.

"You've got to be kidding me," I muttered as I hopped into the driver's seat. Jake climbed in on the other side, showing me how to run Bertha the Big Behemoth. He was surprisingly knowledgeable about automobiles, which made me feel a bit better about the idea of him working on the truck.

Afterward, we went back inside and I offered Jake a snack, in return for his tutelage in all things regarding my decrepit truck. He single-handedly polished off all of the lasagna leftovers as I watched in shock. It was like watching buzzards picking clean a carcass ― stomach turning, yet sort of fascinating because of the way they managed to get every salvageable bit of food.

"You sure are a good cook, Bella," he said as he finished, sighing and leaning back in his chair. I was speechless ― until he let out a loud belch.

"Let me give you a couple pointers, Jake," I said, giving him a dirty look. "While your buddies might greatly appreciate your ability to burp the alphabet―"

"Backwards and forwards," he interrupted with a smug smile.

"What?"

"I can burp the alphabet backwards and forwards." He spoke to me like I was a slow child.

"I'm so proud," I snapped, yanking his plate away and placing it in the sink, just in case he decided to start licking it. "As I was saying, while that might be impressive to your fourteen-year-old friends―"

"Sixteen. I'm sixteen," he said, pouting at my underestimation of his age.

"Fine, sixteen!" I huffed, wishing I'd kept the plate so I could use it to knock some sense into him. "Anyway, you might keep in mind that girls really don't care for that sort of thing. We also don't like being offered 'tickets to the gun show,' and we don't like being interrupted."

"Why, Bella, are you trying to tell me you're attracted to me?" The kid had the gall to smirk at me!

"If you're an example of Forks High's standard of educational excellence, I'm gonna be smarter than the teachers. Your listening comprehension is terrible." I shook my head and stared at him in disbelief.

"Oh, I don't go to the public school. The Rez has its own."

"I fear for the future of your tribe, Jake."

"Jeez, Bella. Learn how to take a joke. You do know what those are, right?"

Is he accusing me of not having a sense of humor? I just looked at him stonily, trying to think of something to say that wouldn't be horribly offensive.

"I'm just pulling your leg, Bella. What happened to our truce?"

"We don't have one if you're going to keep making stupid comments," I muttered.

"Fine. You're ugly. Happy now?" he was grinning, and I had to return it. I might have even laughed a bit, but I still wouldn't answer. "Come on, Bella. Let's give it a rest and go make fun of our dads instead of each other."

It was an appealing idea. "Sounds like a plan. And Jake?" I asked as he started to leave the room.

"Yeah, Shorty?"

"You're ugly too." He took it like the compliment I meant it to be, laughing as we joined Charlie and Billy in the living room.

--

When I pulled into the tiny parking lot of Forks High the next morning, everyone stared. Everyone. Well, it's official ― my life has turned into a John Hughes movie. Too bad it wasn't Ferris Bueller's Day Off...I'd be pretending to be sick right now.

My soon-to-be classmates didn't even bother to hide their curiosity, their eyes gleaming in avarice like ravens looking at a shiny new bauble. I had to force myself to get out of the truck, fighting back the irrational fear that they'd all descend upon me, en masse, as soon as I opened the door. Of course, that was just my overactive imagination at work. They didn't mob me, though their stares followed me as I crossed the lot.

School in Forks was much the same as school in Phoenix ― boring and easy. I managed to make a friend in first period without even trying. Jessica Stanley was the bubbly cheerleader type that I usually did my best to avoid, but she seemed nice enough. She was in most of my morning classes, and though she bombarded me with neverending chatter, it was nice to have someone to show me around. The morning passed quickly, and before I knew it, we were heading to the cafeteria for lunch.

I could feel almost every pair of eyes on me as Jessica and I walked into the room. Chattering away, she was pointing out the different cliques and sets, explaining who sat with whom and mapping out the lunchtime landscape.

"I always sit with Mike," she said as we shuffled through the lunch line. I couldn't tell if she'd taken a breath since she started talking. "And usually Angela and this kid Ben, and Eric, and Lauren, and..." Half-listening, I took my tray like everyone else and slid it down the line, choosing from the limited options only institutional foodservice could offer. I briefly wondered if they served the same food in Washington State's prisons.

After we paid, Jessica grabbed my arm, practically dragging me to her usual table. We were the first ones to arrive, and I found myself desperately wishing for more people to show up. I needed a Jessica buffer, and soon. Picking at my food, I nodded and smiled in the appropriate places, even answering her yes or no questions. She was so busy talking, I doubted she noticed my less than verbose responses. One by one, the others filtered in.

The first was a petite girl with light brown hair and a friendly face. "Hi, I'm Angela," she said softly, taking the seat next to me. "You must be Chief Swan's daughter. Isabella, right?"

"Just Bella. No one ever calls me by my full name, unless I'm in trouble," I said lamely, returning her smile.

"Well, Bella, welcome to Forks High," she said with a smirk. "In all its wet glory."

"Yeah, I mean, who was stupid enough to build a high school with a boatload of separate buildings in a town where it rains all the time," Jessica babbled, pushing around the lettuce on her plate. Come to think of it, I didn't think she ever stopped moving either.

Five minutes later, I'd been introduced to Mike, which I honestly could have done without. He was way too touchy-feely, and I was grateful Jessica and Angela sat on either side of me. It would have been horrible if I had to sit next to him ― I'd probably have to spend the entire lunch period terrified he'd put his hand on my leg or something.

I also met Eric, Ben, Tyler, and Lauren, getting eager grins from the boys and an icy glare from Lauren, who'd evidently decided I should be hated on sight. I despised that type of girl. Phoenix had been full of them.

While everyone began talking about their day so far, I took the opportunity to peek at my surroundings. Everywhere I looked, eyes met mine and then flickered away.

This whole "new girl" business sucks. I hate being stared at.

When I turned my gaze to the far corner of the cafeteria, I finally encountered a table whose occupants weren't staring at me. There were five of them, clustered at one end of the long table, but none of the other students even went near it, though there was plenty of room. The three boys and two girls were absorbed in each other, ignoring the rest of the student body.

They were all ridiculously good-looking, and a study in icy contrasts. Their skin was pale, just like everyone else here ― where it seemed the sun never shined ― but this group was near the albino side of the spectrum. However, it didn't detract at all from their visual appeal.

I noticed that some kids were alternating their spying between me and the table full of Zoolander wannabes at the other end of the room. Four of them were paired off into couples ― a tall, lanky blond guy sat with his arm around a very small girl with short, wispy black hair as they whispered to each other, heads close together, ignoring the other three. Across from them, a knockout blonde sat very close to a huge guy with curly dark hair. Continuing my assessment, my gaze slid over to the last boy, pausing to admire the broad yet lean shoulders underneath his charcoal-colored sweater before reaching his face.

Holy. Cow. Dear Santa, I'd like one of him for Christmas...

I almost choked on a cherry tomato, rather ungracefully coughing it out onto the table. Everyone stared in silence before Lauren started laughing in a snide tone.

"I guess they didn't teach you table manners in Phoenix, did they?" she asked with saccharine sweetness.

"I guess I won't be counting on you to give me the Heimlich Maneuver if I really do choke," I returned, my cheeks playing chameleon and trying to match the tomato I'd just embarrassed myself with. The temptation to throw the half-chewed tomato in Lauren's face was strong, but I resisted. I'd probably miss, anyway.

Thank God Mr. Delicious over there hadn't been witness to my humiliation.

"That didn't take long," Jessica giggled, rolling her eyes in my direction and making me even more uncomfortable. Oh, this day is getting better and better... "Already eying the Cullens, huh? Good luck with that."

"Who are they?" I couldn't resist asking, as I stared over at the physical representation of all my hormones' dreams. "You say their name like they're some kind of unit. Like the Partridge family or something."

"More like the Brady Bunch," she snorted. "They're the hot doctor's kids. All adopted...and they're together. Like, dating! I mean, they're not blood-related or anything, but still, it's like, weird..." I tuned her out once again and stared some more, half-wishing for one of those bibs people wore when eating lobster.

Mr. I-Should-Be-An-Underwear-Model's hair was dark, yet shone with hues that ran the spectrum from golden to rusty brick, the strands coming together to form a beautiful, reddish mess of cowlicks that was more attractive than it should have been. My palms actually itched with the need to try and smooth it into submission.

His profile should have been stamped in bronze to cast a million coins, his strong jaw and nearly straight nose giving him a classic handsomeness that was more appealing to me than anyone I'd ever seen before. Pale, full lips pursed slightly as he focused on the book in front of him, leaving the food on his tray untouched. Heavy brows winged down over deep-set eyes in concentration as he flipped the page with a long-fingered hand. I had to remind myself to breathe.

"The one on the end there," I whispered to Jessica, not bothering to wait until she was finished talking. After all, she didn't really ever offer me the same courtesy, so I figured the best way to get somewhere with Jessica Stanley was just to barrel straight ahead. "Is he with anyone?"

"Edward Cullen? Ha," she laughed. "Everyone wishes. Even a few guys. He doesn't date. If you ask me, he's either gay or some kind of freak. No man that pretty is ever straight ― on T.V., anyway." In my opinion, Jessica sounded a little bitter. I wondered how many times this Edward had turned her down.

The old-fashioned nature of his name surprised me. Never had I imagined someone with such a name could look that good. "Edward" was a name for people who looked like Ted Kennedy, or the crotchety old man that always yelled when kids ran through his yard. Not this...this personification of every naughty dream I'd ever had in my short life.

"Why do they sit alone?"

"Because they're a bunch of rich snobs," Lauren said venomously, raising an eyebrow at me. "And they're not going to socialize with the police chief's daughter." She eyed my comfortable hooded sweatshirt and thermal henley with distaste. Evidently, she didn't approve of my fashion choices.

I ignored her, letting the conversation flow around me once again as I watched him ― Edward. Again and again, my eyes were drawn to his face, eagerly awaiting every slight shift in his expression. He looked tired, faint lavender circles under his eyes clouding the pale canvas of his face.

Suddenly, he looked up, his dark eyes grabbing mine and refusing to let go. My heart and my stomach rushed to switch places before both dropped to the floor in abject surrender. It felt like he was trying to look inside me, to discover what made me work. A frown of confusion marred his features, sending a shiver down my spine that finally unlocked my muscles. My cheeks were on fire as I ripped my eyes from his, staring straight down at my largely untouched tray.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you," Angela whispered from my other side, smiling at me in excitement.

"So is everyone else. New kid, remember?" I mumbled, desperately trying to hide my intense reaction to Mr. Edward "Come-Here-and-Fix-My-Bed-Head" Cullen. I couldn't resist one more peek, getting caught in his piercing stare once more, my entire body flushing hot in response. This time, it was he who looked away, his attention diverted by a wadded-up napkin square on the nose. I giggled as he turned a scowl on his stepbrother ― the huge one ― for throwing things at him. At my laughter, he turned, those all-seeing eyes catching me looking, and I stared at the tabletop again, not daring to look up until the bell rang.

He was gone when I looked over as I gathered my things, a pang of disappointment hitting me in the gut...and a little lower. Did you think he was going to offer to carry your books, Bella? I asked myself snidely. Jeez...was the guy wearing some sort of pheromone called "Bella's Kryptonite?" I almost hoped I wouldn't have any classes with him ― the thought of being in a small, enclosed room with him was pretty daunting. Would I be able to keep from leaping over the desks in a clumsy rush to rip off his clothes?

I had a good idea how I'd be spending the rest of my day: trying to ward off fantasies of what was under a certain very lucky charcoal grey sweater.

To Mike's eternal joy and my exasperation, he and I were both headed for biology, and he insisted upon walking me. He didn't offer to carry my books. This was good ― at least I still had some sort of weapon if he kept it up with the grabby hands. Mike had absolutely no concept of personal space, as I'd learned earlier.

In preparation for the hike to my next class, I pulled up the industrial-sized hood of my parka, trying to ignore the rest of the students who were eying me like I was suiting up for a space walk.

Mike laughed when I pulled my umbrella out and took a deep breath to brave the elements. "It's not that bad, Bella."

"You try growing up where the average January temperature is sixty-six degrees," I explained, barreling through the door and out into the yuck, fighting with my umbrella at the same time. He reached out and caught my elbow, tugging me back to his side.

"At least let me carry your umbrella," he wheedled. I jerked my arm back, wondering what signal I'd given him that said it was okay for him to touch me.

"Really, Mike, it's fine. I've managed for this long on my own," I replied with a small smirk. Desperate to take his attention away from trying to grab parts of my body or things on my person, I latched onto the one ― and only ― thing we had in common. "Do you have any idea what we'll be working on in biology?"

He rolled his eyes and shrugged, shoving his octopus hands in his pockets, thank God. "Some stupid flatworm shit. Something about the animal kingdom and all its phyto...photo...photosynthesis!" he finally finished, his eyes lighting up like a puppy's. A puppy who was mentally challenged. "You know, grouping animals together and stuff."

"You mean animals and their assigned phyla?" I asked. "I hate to break it to you, but photosynthesis is how plants make food."

A blush that could have rivaled one of mine stained his already ruddy cheeks, making him look like a blond candy apple. I hated candy apples.

"Yeah, uh...that's what I meant," he mumbled. I bit my lip to hold in the laughter that was just dying to get out. We were silent as we neared the building that housed our next class, and the rain was beginning to pick up. Increasing the pace of my steps, I slipped on a tuft of grass growing from a crack in the path.

I thought I was headed for a nice butt-plant pike on the asphalt, but Mike was all too happy to catch me, one of his hands grazing my boob in the process. I yelped, and he set me on my feet quickly. Shooting him a sideways glance and a mumbled thanks, I just caught the smug grin he couldn't hide. Bastard knew exactly what he'd done. Gross. I need a shower.

"So, you're like...smart about this science stuff?" he asked, a new, speculative gleam in his eye that I didn't like one bit.

"I don't know...my grades were good back home," I hedged, trying to calculate the possible direction of his new line of questioning.

He reached for the door, intending to open it for me, but I beat him to it. It opened to the inside, and I just knew the sleaze would stand right in the middle so I'd have to squeeze past him to get in. I folded my umbrella and started down the hallway, only to be stopped as Mike grabbed my wrist. Someone really needed to have a conversation with him about respecting personal boundaries. Maybe I'd mention something to Charlie...I was sure he'd jump at the chance to terrify a teenage boy.

"Biology's this way," he said, jerking his head in the other direction with a grin, still not releasing my wrist. I found myself being towed down the hallway after him as he kept talking. "So, I was thinking... We have assigned partners for the year, but maybe you could ask Mr. Banner ― that's our teacher ― if you could pair up with me? You know, 'cause you already know me," he added with a wink. Oh, no way. No. Way.

"That's okay, Mike. What would happen to your current lab partner? I don't want to inconvenience anyone," I rushed out, trying to discreetly remove my wrist from his grasp.

"Who cares?" he shrugged, towing me toward the next doorway we came across. I finally managed to get away from his iron grip and resisted the urge to wipe it on my jeans ― I could do that after I sat down. Scanning the room, I noticed the unmistakable hair of Mr. Delicious among the slightly damp heads of the other students.

Great. I hope I have to sit somewhere in front of him, so I won't be tempted to stare. I'll never remember any of the lectures if I spend all class period drooling over him...

Mike followed me to Mr. Banner's desk, hovering about like a mother hen. I wondered if I'd have to introduce myself in front of the class, thinking I'd rather be subjected to public speaking every day than have to sit by Mike for the rest of the semester.

"Take your seat, Mr. Newton," said Mr. Banner, waving him off without even looking up. I think I'm going to like you, Mr. Banner. Mike sighed and slunk off, slumping onto his lab stool somewhere behind me. I didn't watch, not wanting to give him any kind of encouragement. "You must be Isabella Swan," he said, finally looking up.

"Just Bella," I said softly, already feeling twenty or so pairs of eyes burning a hole in my back.

"Well, Miss Swan," he began, gesturing behind me, "as there's only one open seat, you can introduce yourself to your new partner for the semester, Mr. Cullen."

Oh, shit.

Is he kidding me? I couldn't decide if today was the worst or the best day of my life.

"You can take your seat, Miss Swan," Mr. Banner prompted, giving me a strange look. Nodding mutely, I whirled around, my hair fanning around with the sudden movement as I searched the classroom for the empty seat...and the boy who was so ridiculously pretty he was terrifying to a shy girl like myself.

Of course, he wasn't hard to spot. Neither was his burning gaze as he stared at me, his strange, pitch-black eyes filled with revulsion, like he wanted to sear the flesh from my bones. A cold chill skittered down my spine, and my breath froze in my chest.

My question had just been answered ― this was the worst day of my life.

So, I didn't really lie...they sort of met. But you'll have to wait for EchoesOfTwilight's next installment to see the fallout. Believe me, you want to see this from EPOV anyway, right? Direct all hate-mail at me. If you guys read Work in Progress, you know I almost never give you cliffies, so let me have my fun.

So...let us know what you think, please? Things are really getting going, and we're so excited to show you more. We love to read your feedback, so don't be shy about dropping us a line!

Finally, Echoes and I are judges for the Fun With Your Clothes On Contest. Give us your leg hitches, your dry humps, your naughty times...but no pole in the hole, please. Visit the contest profile at http:// www . fanfiction . net / u / 2291087 / for details. You've got until April 17th to enter.

Wait, I lied. I entered the Awkward Contest...yeah, I know, I'm riding this issue hard (no pun intended, can you believe it?). You can find the story under my profile (araeo), since I don't want to screw up the anonymous judging portion of the contest. Voting is going on now, and lasts until 11:59 p.m. EST on March 31st. Visit the profile to read the entries (and vote for me? please?).

Okay, annoying A/N over. Thank you all for reading! I hope you're enjoying this as much as we're loving writing it.