Giving a full length story another go...yikes. No beta. No schedule. Just kind of going with the flow as it starts off. Chappies will get longer probably.

SM owns Twilight, but I own this plot.

Enjoy.

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"Did you even bother brushing your hair this morning, Isabella?" My mother's makeup caked eyes rake over my form. "And is that blouse ironed?"

"Uhm, yes mother, I brushed it; it's just wavy. And I just pulled it off the hanger."

"You didn't even bother straightening your hair? Oh, Isabella." She sighs heavily and rests her forehand in her hand, as if my untidy hair has caused her great stress. "I have wrinkles due to you."

I internally roll my eyes. "Okay, well, I'm running late…" I trail off as I head for the door, peeling my banana as I go.

"You had a banana already when you first woke." I could hear the disapproval dripping in her voice.

"I'm hungry. Besides, I need potassium – I had another Charlie Horse last night."

"But so much sugar. Don't think I haven't noticed the way your skirt looks on your hips."

I ignored the jab, knowing it was untrue and was only made for her to feel better. "Right, well, I'm running late…" I repeat, but this time I don't stop on my way out the door.

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"Can you believe Jessica was being such a whore at that party? She was practically humping my boyfriend!" Lauren's nasally voice is always a charm first thing in the morning. "And that top, my God. Her boobs were everywhere!"

"You know how she gets when she's drunk. You should probably talk to her about this. You've been friends since kindergarten." I try reasoning, but I've never seen her so pissed off before.

"And I always make excuses for her, don't I? Yeah, well, not this time. Friendship over."

She's said this multiple times, and it has yet to actually happen.

A huddled girl comes in our direction – books pressed to chest, glasses pushed up nose, hair frizzed behind ears. "Hey, Ange," I call to her with a wave and a smile.

"Hey, Bella," she replies briefly, but genuinely and hurries along.

"Why do you talk to that nerd?"

I frown. God, why are girls so mean? "She happens to be really nice, Lauren."

She rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to give a, no doubt, snarky reply, when a booming voice interrupts her.

"Muffin!" Arms encircle my waist from behind and squeeze the breath from me.

"Hey, Mike," I say once I'm free of his hold.

"Babe," he sighs. People seem to always be exasperated with me. "I told you to call me Pumpkin." I smile with tight lips. No chance in hell.

"Can we talk?" I ask and I see his smile falter just slightly.

"Can we wait till after school? I need to go see Coach Clapp now."

"Uh, yeah that's okay." But it's not; I'm frustrated I have to go yet another school day being Pumpkin's girlfriend. Then I realize something. "Didn't you go talk to him yesterday?"

"He needs to see me again," his reply has a defensive edge to it, and I know then he's lying. Third day in a row he's avoiding us talking; he must know.

"You guys are just so cute!" Lauren squeals, having always been Team Mike. I shoot her glare as Mike shoots me a smirk.

"I'll see ya later, Muffin." He pecks my lips before I have a chance to turn my cheek.

"Lauren," I hiss when he steps out of earshot.

"What? I think you're making a mistake. You have the school's hot quarterback calling you Muffin. Can I have first dibs on your sloppy seconds?"

"Ugh, Lauren, you're disgusting."

"Well, why'd you agree to date him when you didn't even like him to begin with?" I don't miss the poorly disguised jealously in her tone.

Because it made my mother happy…for a little while, at least.

"I don't know." Now I'm the one sighing. "Maybe I thought my feelings would change. I don't know. He's the quarterback, I'm the head cheerleader – I've seen the movies; our roles belong together."

"But…"

"But he's annoying and clingy and belittles me and doesn't ever listen to my opinion."

"So a typical guy," Lauren decides.

As we sit in our seats, I can't find it in me to disagree.

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School drags on as usual. Our daily dress code check goes swimmingly like normal. No rolling skirts, boys where are your belts, no jewelry, closed toed shoes always, why do you think we have uniforms? Conform conform conform.

There's nothing I hate more than our uniforms. They represent everything I stand against. Conformity, submission, resignation, docility. It's ironic, really. I am all those things. Trapped in this world of fake nails, fake friends, and for what? Just to fit in, just to be accepted.

One day, though. One day, I promise myself. One day I'll become who I am.

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That's it for now. Tell me what you think and such.

Meow.
~Kay