Let the Games Begin

by

PlayingKitti2011 (a.k.a. Cat)

A/N: Hello, ladies and gents, I'm back with another story. I also go by DarkGoldenEyedAngel, but considering this story is rated M, I couldn't exactly let my father see it (he reads my stories on occasion) and he doesn't enjoy dropping the f-bomb as much as I do, so here I am.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story. It will be mostly from Bella's POV with a spattering of our favorite boy's thoughts and feelings. If you think it's funny, then awesome, if not… oh well.

Well, enough of my ramblings (if you've read my other stories, you know I ramble on occasion) and on with the reading. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight or any of these characters, I'm just messing with them for the time being (and giving them dirty mouths to boot. Teehee.)
P.S. I'm not saying this again, so this applies for the rest of the story. 'K? 'K.


Prologue

I Didn't Know Hell Looked Like the Set of 90210

Seattle, WA - Early August

I quickly climbed up the tree that grew outside my window and quietly slid the window open. I turned around on the branch and slipped into my dark room, landing softly on the hardwood floor. I listened carefully for the sound of my father's distinct snoring coming from down the hall.

I let out a sigh of relief when the loud rumbling rang through the house and quietly slid the window closed. I turned around and headed for my dresser. I pulled out a pair of gym shorts and a tank top to change into for bed.

"Nice of you to drop by, Isabella."

I squeaked and jumped, spinning around to find my mother sitting in the chair in the corner of my room. I rolled my eyes and started walking towards the bathroom again. "Mother, to what do I owe this pleasure?"

I closed the door to the bathroom and changed. I opened the door to find my mother standing up now, her arms crossed over her chest, a look that screamed "you are so about to get it" etched on her face. Pssh, whatever.

You may be wondering why I'm being so calm about this situation. Any other teenager would be freaking out if their parents caught them sneaking back into the house in the middle of the night. Not me. This is a common occurrence in the Swan household.

That's me, by the way. Isabella Swan. Call me Isabella though, and I will find a way to shove my foot up your ass. Only my mother, father, and some choice persons that will not be named for the sake of my mental stability call me "Isabella".

And what's so bad about Isabella, you ask? Well, it's not the name per se, it's the connotation that certain people have bestowed upon it. Oh, and the different tones that are associated with it.

Isabella. Irritated tone. I've maybe possibly done something bad and/or slightly illegal. Nothing that could be proven though.

Isabella. Disappointed tone. I may have punched a douche or twenty in the nuts for trying to cop a feel. It isn't like they didn't deserve it.

Isabella. Incredulous tone. I could have maybe made an entire row of tables at one of the largest social events of the year collapse, spilling everything onto the mayor of Seattle's lap. Or when I decided that I wanted to mix up my appearance a bit, so I got royal blue streaks running through my dark brown hair. The parentals didn't like that too much. I thought it looked quite attractive. And it kept away most of the pussy-assed pansies that were trying to get into my pants. Something about me looking "hardcore" and "bitchtastic." Eh.

And my personal favorite, ISABELLA. Outraged tone. I may have snuck out of the house to go down to one of the clubs (and by club, I mean piano bar) in downtown Seattle. The owner let me play here and there. (By the way, I'm really into music. It's my passion, but we'll get into that later.) Anyway, while I was there, my parents' best friends may have spotted me. And considering the club was for persons eighteen and older, they weren't too pleased to see me. You see, my parents don't really understand why I play my music. They think that young ladies my age should be focusing on cotillion and debutante balls. Yeah, like that was going to happen. I'd rather saw off my limbs with a rusty butter knife. But I digress. My parents were informed and I was taken home and scolded thoroughly about how my behavior was "embarrassing" and could "hurt the family's social standing" in the city.

I snuck out again the next night.

To sum the rest of me up I'd have to say that I'm seventeen. About five foot five. Dark brown hair with bright blue streaks. Brown eyes. Pretty decent sized rack. While I'm not really into the whole dating scene, I can't help but say that I've never lacked attention of the male variety (even if most - no, all - of it is unwelcome). My parents are freakishly rich social climbers who care about nothing (this also includes their daughter) except their money and their social status, and they let everyone know it. They try to force their way of life on me, but, as you can see, it's not working too well.

I looked back at my mother, a bored expression on my face. This was beginning to get old. My mother or father would wait up in my room and catch me sneaking back in. They would scold me and attempt to punish me (and fail miserably). And then the process would repeat again.

But today, something looked different. My mother wasn't trying to lecture me or punish me or tell me that I'm an embarrassment to the family name. No, today she was sitting there calmly, not saying a word. I waited for her to say something.

"We're done, Isabella," she finally said.

"Who's done?" I asked, hesitant.

"Your father and I. We don't know what to do with you anymore. You won't listen to us, or anyone for that matter. You won't do what you're told. You're constantly embarrassing this family." And there it is.

I couldn't help but scoff at her. "Maybe I won't listen to you because I know that whatever you say is something I that couldn't care less about. Maybe I don't do what I'm told because everything you tell me to do is for your benefit and not mine. Maybe some embarrassment is exactly what this so-called family needs."

My mother just shook her head, her face turning red in anger. "Isabella, you will not talk to me that way. This is the last straw. We've had enough of your foolishness. Your father and I have decided that you might need some help getting straightened out. You'll be attending St. Alexander's Academy this year for school. Pack your bags. You leave in two weeks."

My jaw dropped. Boarding school? I was pissed now. "You can't be serious? You cannot be serious? Are you freaking kidding me? You're just going to send me away now to some stuck up prep school, hoping that by the time I come back, I'll be the perfect daughter who'll want to have tea parties and play house with some dumbass lawyer or accountant? Is that right? Is that what you want? If it is, I hope you like disappointment because none of that shit is going to happen. Ever." I could feel my face burning with anger.

My mother, if you could even call her that, just looked back at me, her face completely void of emotion. "Either way, you leave in two weeks. Start packing." And with that she closed the door in my face, leaving me pissed and broken on the other side.


Huntington Beach, CA - Mid-August - Last Day Before Classes Start

As my cab drove through the streets of Huntington Beach, I looked out the window and, honestly, I was not pleased with what I saw.

First off, it was sunny. The sun and I don't have the best of relationships. No matter what I do to try to keep myself from getting burned, I always did anyway. My pastiness didn't exactly help much.

Second, there was a beach. Beaches meant sand. And I hate sand more than the sun. It gets into places where it shouldn't be able to get into, and it made me chafe. So not cool, man.

We drove for another thirty minutes until we were outside the city limits where the sand turned into lush green grass.

The green reminded me of Washington and its ever damp forests. I looked away from the window and down into my lap. After that night two weeks ago, I didn't speak to my parents once. While my father wasn't there for the initial conversation about my change in zip code, I knew that he was just as guilty as my mother. They would try to talk to me, tell me that it was for my own good, but I would just flip them the bird and storm off to my room.

I packed only what I liked. I left behind all of the clothing that my parents had bought me, seeing as all of it was polo sweaters and frilly skirts and dresses. Everything that I had deemed appropriate for me, I brought. I didn't want to leave any of it behind, just in case my parents decided to purge my room of all things Bella. They dropped me off at the airport early this morning, once again telling me this was for my own good. I ignored them and checked my bags and walked through security. I didn't look back once.

I was pulled back to the present when the cabbie pulled up in front of a huge wrought iron gate, and the gate swung open when the cabby told the gatekeeper who we were. As we drove into the campus, there was a stone monument with the name plaque that read "St. Alexander's Academy for Young Ladies and Gentlemen". A stone tiger, the school's mascot, with its mouth open mid-roar was crouched on top.

The campus was huge. Most of the buildings had that old English boarding school look to them - red brick buildings with ivy covered walls and wrought iron detailing. We stopped in front of the main building, a large brick building in the middle of campus.

I looked around and saw students milling around in the large open courtyards. The girls were all wearing designer jeans and heels and tiny tops that were borderline scandalous. The guys were all sporting khaki shorts or jeans, polo shirts and sports jerseys. They all looked very… California. They all turned their heads when I finally stepped out of the cab. The girls were scanning my outfit (a band tee, ripped jeans, and Vans) and some of their reactions were comical. Some flinched away like it was actually hurting their eyes to look at me. Some just stared in disgust. Others looked like they had gone into shock. It's like they've never seen a girl wear black before. The guys were a completely different story. They looked me up and down, most of their eyes stopping on my chest where the band's logo was stretched tight. It's not like the shirt was obscenely tight, but it wasn't a sack either.

I rolled my eyes at them and unloaded my two bags (I didn't like to carry around a lot of shit like most of the girls at this school probably did) from the trunk and paid the cabbie and he drove off.

I threw my duffle over one shoulder and grabbed the handle on my rolling bag and walked into the building. There was a middle aged lady sitting at the front desk, typing away.

I cleared my throat as politely as I could. The lady lifted her head to see who had interrupted her, gave me a once over, and then returned to typing. I glared at her. Bitch, you really don't want to mess with me right now.

"Excuse me," I ground out. "I'm in need of some assistance here. New kid and all."

The lady finally looked up again with an exasperated sigh. Like she was actually doing anything anyway. "Yes?"

"I'm Isabella Swan. I'm new here," I said again, trying to keep my tone as civil as possible. I really didn't have the energy to go apeshit on someone right now, but I would if I had to.

The woman gave me a terse nod and got up to pick up a folder from behind her. She came back and handed it to me. "This is your schedule, a map of the school, and all the rules and regulations. Read them, learn them, follow them." She eyed me again. She probably thought that I was a troublemaker. Oh, honey, you have no idea.

"The headmistress would like to see you now," she said, pointing down the hallway. Before I could say anything else, she was back on her computer, typing again. I breathed out a frustrated sigh and headed down the hallway towards the headmistress's office. I found the office and knocked.

"Come in," a muffled voice called from behind the door. I left my bags outside the door and walked in.

The woman standing behind the desk was the epitome of strict, English headmistress. Her dark brown hair was pulled back in a severe bun and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses sat on her straight nose. Her mouth was set in a firm line, with the corners only slightly turned up on the edges. Maybe that was her welcoming face. Her navy pantsuit was neatly pressed and she stood ramrod straight. She looked a little bit like she was possessed too, which was just straight up creepy.

Great, I've just walked into Hades' den, I thought as I made my way into the room.

"Hello, Isabella, I'm Headmistress Marsh," she said, her voice calm. "Please, have a seat." She gestured to one of the high-backed chairs in front of her desk.

"It's Bella," I said, completely ignoring the greeting before slumping into one of the chairs. The slight smile, if you could even consider what she was sporting a smile, on her face twitched. She walked slowly from around her desk and stood in front of me.

She ignored my rude behavior and continued on. "It's lovely to have you here at St. Alexander's." I'm sure it is. "I'm sure you'll fit in quite well here and make plenty of friends." Not likely. I gave her a little nod and a smile to appease her.

She twitched her lip at me so I'm going to assume that she tried to smile back. "Here at St. Alexander's we pride ourselves on the grace and good decorum of our students. How they behave and look are important to show the community that our students are here to better themselves." She walked behind me and placed her hands on my shoulders. "And I'm hoping that you, Isabella, will focus on bettering yourself as well." Then she pulled back on my shoulders, straightening me from my slumped posture, pulling my back straight. "Starting with your posture."

She let go, and I glared at her. If she thought that I was going to let some stuffy prep school change me, then she had another thing coming. They all did. "Have a good rest of the day, Isabella. Classes start at eight a.m. sharp. Don't be late." Then she sat down, turning to her computer, effectively dismissing me. My glare didn't leave my face as I got up and walked out the door. I bent over to pick up my bags when Marsh called out, "Oh, and Isabella?"

I looked back into the room, waiting. "Welcome to St. Alexander's." The corners of her mouth twitched. The smile looked more menacing than welcoming. I nodded and grabbed my bags and headed towards the door.

She might have meant for it to sound welcoming, but I couldn't shake the feeling that what she really meant to say was, "Welcome to Hell."


Well, I hope you enjoyed this Bella. She's a bit of a badass, if I do say so myself. I really like her. She's everything that I would love to be. LOL. XD Anyway, we'll meet our favorite gang next chapter.

I thinking about having an update at least once a week. I really hope you all enjoy this story because I'm really enjoying writing it.

Laterz,

Cat :)