Disclaimer: They are not mine, but I wish they were. I could use the millions.

"No enterprise is more likely to succeed than one concealed from the enemy until it is ripe for execution."

-- Niccolo Machiavelli

"What are you gonna do?" She smirks and there's an annoying, little flip of her hair as she takes a step forward. "Are you gonna hit me?"

Bella takes a step forward, too, because she is in fact giving serious and deep consideration to rearranging Rosalie's fucking face.

Two Days Previous…

"Please don't freak out…"

Sometimes Bella likes to amuse herself by thinking about clichéd expressions in the literal sense; it's a terribly nerdy and sad form of entertainment, but she can be a terribly nerdy and sad person on occasion, and at least she knows better than to insert information such as this into polite conversation with anyone below the age of twenty-five. She chuckles at the thought of there actually being some poor son of a bitch with the job of handing out lemons whenever life takes a turn for the sour. And she's taken the time to calculate just how much money she'd have if she in fact had a nickel every time she was told "don't freak out".

As of now, the total stands at $1,428,232.

The rise of "don't freak out" to becoming the phrase that pays wasn't an easy one. It waged a bloody war against "Bella the Fella" which reigned supreme for about three months of her fifth grade career (thanks to a salad bowl and her mother's genius plan to save money on haircuts). Napoleonic battle strategies were drawn and although "Bella the Fella" had the right amount of cruel school children charm behind it, "don't freak out" had the staying power of several, embarrassingly public tantrums.

Propensity for an emotional meltdown wasn't always in Bella Swan's character description. Though they've grown a bit hazy over the years, she possess several pleasant memories of being an easy going, if quiet sort of kid. There were spelling bee losses she shrugged off and hearty hand shakes to the winners after a tee-ball upset. Competition didn't matter – win or lose you still got to eat Shakey's Pizza.

So Bella knows that the hell bent on overachieving robot she's become –the one that requires every disappointment to be prefaced with "don't freak out" is completely thanks to her; and she longs for the days when greasy pizza and a few rounds on an ancient Mortal Kombat arcade machine would've been enough to appease.

"Don't make me give the speech. It's way too early for the speech, Bella." Alice's fingers drum nervously against the poster board in her hands – the one she refuses to turn around.

She knows exactly what it is her best friend is working so hard (and so poorly) to hide. It was expected when she threw her hat into the ring for Senior Class President. It had to happen because it was an unwritten law of Bella's universe, and the absence of Rosalie Hale in her orbit was likely to open up a black hole.

"No one's freaking out." Bella's voice is clipped and she claws at her bangs.

"You're doing that thing with your hair." Alice pauses, she frowns. "And you're starting to turn red."

"It's just that…you know, you swore you'd help me with my campaign…"

"I did and I meant it, but Rose asked me to put some posters up. She's my friend, too, and I know she started that whole 'Bella the Fella' thing, but that was like what, fifth grade? I love you like Lindsay Lohan loves cocaine, but you've really gotta let that shit go, Bells. It's not good for the soul."

Bella wants to remind her of a few choice incidents – like, the Little Miss Forks pageant 2004 (where her costume for the talent portion met an unfortunate scissor related accident), the seventh grade softball tryouts (where her right eye was the target instead of her glove), and the clarinet solo at eighth grade sectionals (where her reed was snapped and the backup disappeared off the face of the earth). The moppet of an embarrassing nickname could be easily spanked, but the other incidents? Those call for bloodshed and Napoleonic battle plans.

She wants to remind her, but she doesn't. Because the first half of the speech has already made it out of Alice's mouth, and she's right, it is too early for that shit.

It's hesitant, but a smile crosses Alice's thin lips. "We're still cool?"

Bella swallows. "Of course."

"And you're still coming over this weekend, right? I've got the best of Depp, Grant, and Firth locked and loaded; I swear to God your ovaries are gonna melt."

"I can't wait, Al." She feels herself relax long enough to grin. "Seriously."

Bella leaves Alice to her poster taping duties and as she heads toward first period, makes a mental note to take that sharpie out of her locker.

Replacing "Rosalie" with "Cuntalie" is already set in stone, but she's having trouble deciding between giving her a handlebar mustache or a goatee.

Author's Note: Two things: 1) this is me channeling the ghost of Tracy Flick for htothem who left a prompt for some Bella/Rosalie action at forkshighschool (and you can check that community out on livejournal for more prompts/stories. 2) This will be short. I once made an attempt to make it longer, but that wasn't happening. My attention span is for shit these days.

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