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Photo : docer. Genesis Fitness Posts Facebook. Fitness Tips Shelter Publications. Photo : wish4book. Kick Ass Workouts 6 Week Guide. Lauren Alexa 6 Week Diet Plan. Lesson Plan The Tiny Seeds. Photo : sites. I was able to get Pre-Calc done at lunch, but I still have some questions from the Novel Study and Government to do tonight. Is that your locker? I look down the hallway and spot a pile of belongings spilling out onto the floor. About right where my locker is located. I kneel down, my lungs emptying as I sift through my clothes, iPod, and a mountain of papers laying astray from the folders they were neatly organized in previously.

I kneel down, surveying the items on the floor and see that all of my books are accounted for as well as the Louboutins and the shirts I hide from my mom. Why break into my locker and not take anything?

He holds my locker door closed, showing me the word written in black Sharpie on the front. I stare at it, confused. My lungs feel heavy, and I search my brain, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. And why just my locker? I gather up all of my belongings and pack them in my duffel, completely creeped out that someone was doing this while I was at practice. Slipping on my black fleece jacket, I head out to the parking lot with Ten and climb into my car as he hops into his.

I immediately lock my doors. Who would root around in my stuff? And what if it happens again? I quickly drive home and pull into my driveway, parking in the garage and seeing no other cars home yet. I stare down at my phone screen, sending a quick reply to her text that she sent earlier. Cheer…swim…, I type. Dinner will be waiting, she replies.

Yeah, yeah. I stuff my phone in my duffel. A couple nights a week, I stay late at school for cheer practice and then to teach swim lessons for a couple of hours afterward. Closing the garage door, I gather my bags and enter the kitchen through the door off the carport, grabbing a water bottle out of the fridge before dashing up the stairs.

I swing my bedroom door open and walk in, my bags falling from my hands. What the fuck?! Masen, the new guy, sits in my desk chair, leaning back with his hands locked behind his head. That seems more you. Hot pink princess bullshit with the zebra print bedding. His shit? Two things of mine, actually, and I want them back. Now get out! My face falls, and a knot tightens in my stomach. My notebook. How did he find it? And the other one. I lunge for him. I grab hold of the book, but he shoves me back, and I stumble onto the bed, his body coming down on mine.

I grunt and cry out, trying to get the book. He reaches for something, and then my scissors from my desk is pointing at my face. I freeze, staring at the tip. I want the locket, and I want the piece of paper you took at the Cove. And then I pause as it hits me. The Cove. Last night. The piece of paper. I want a lick while you still taste like you. And then today… You taste like shit.

I stare at him, dumb-founded. I was right. There was someone there in the tunnel. He saw us. And then I widen my eyes. He was the one who broke into my locker! He darts to my side and snaps the scissors, and I wince as he brings the scissors back up, a few of my light brown hairs floating in the air.

I growl, grappling for my pillow and reaching inside, pulling out a folded, worn piece of paper. I shove it at his chest. He takes the paper. I told you! Ten was with me. He took it. I breathe hard, flexing my jaw. Now get off me! But eventually he pushes off the bed and tosses the scissors onto the desk, sliding the poem into his back pocket.

I shoot up, grabbing at my ponytail and finding the small bit of hair that was snipped. Only about half an inch from a few strands. I scowl at him. He stops in the doorway and turns around, taking a last look around my room. Students crowd the halls, and I hold my books in my arm and turn inward, trying to avoid any attention.

He glances up from his locker and sighs, looking a little embarrassed. Reaching into the pocket of his knee-length shorts, he pulls out a long chain with a circular, silver locket hanging off it. I take it, instantly feeling a little relief at having what that asshole wants.

Now I can get my notebook back. Did he think it would go well with his J. Crew T-shirts? But Ten just shrugs. I thought maybe it might be worth something. Yeah, no. Digging the necklace back out of my pocket as I walk, I flip it over, studying the aged silver and intricate detail around the large moonstone set in the middle. Ten is right. It looks like an antique. There are several scratches, and the metal feels thicker, more solid than your typical Target jewelry.

What does the necklace mean to Masen Laurent, though? I open the locket, slowly climbing the stairwell, the people jogging and laughing around me a distant echo. But as soon as I pop it open, I dig in my eyebrows, seeing, not pictures as I expected, but a tiny, folded-up piece of paper. Taking it out, I unwrap it and turn it over, reading the words. Close your eyes. I slow to a stop, staring at the note and saying the words to myself again. Or said them or something… The second bell rings, our one-minute warning, and I fold the paper back up, stuffing it into the locket and closing it.

Everyone around me hustles up and down the stairs, and I jog to my class, slipping the necklace back into my jean shorts. Who does the locket belong to? A family member? A girlfriend? Maybe he stole it. Perhaps he got out of the class. Agitation boils under my skin.

But as soon as I step into the room, I spot him sitting in the row to the left of mine, one desk back. Relief and a touch of annoyance both hit me. Is he going to be in any more of my classes? Just like yesterday in Art, the guy simply sits there, staring ahead with a slight scowl on his face as if this is all such an inconvenience to him.

I take my seat, noticing his jeans and black T-shirt are actually clean today. Foster fires up his projector, the screen of his laptop appearing on the big white board in front of the class, and he begins making the rounds, handing back our latest essays. The final bell rings, and the class lowers their voices, quietly chattering as the teacher walks up and down the aisles.

Foster and I constantly go head to head, and while Art may be the class I enjoy the most, Foster is my favorite teacher. He encourages us to use our voice and is one of the only adults to talk to his students like adults. But it was depressing and in a pointless way. What was I supposed to learn? But Foster lowers his voice, looking me deep in the eyes.

I stare at him for a moment, seeing the plea in his eyes. He backs away, moving onto the next student but still speaking to me. Something you want to tell us, Mr. I end my taunting, satisfied that I won that argument. In their eyes, anyway. The air is cool and fresh as it fills my lungs.

I pause at the deep voice behind me. Foster stands in front of his desk and looks up, focusing over my head. What is he doing? But I turn my head to the side, fixing him with a bored expression. When I was twelve. Did you have an Edward T-shirt, too? How could he have known that? I picked up a Twilight paperback when I was younger, because Robert Pattinson was on the cover, and hey, I was twelve, so… But immediately after reading it, I asked my mom to go buy me all the books, and I spent the next two weeks reading them with every free moment I got.

I arch an eyebrow, looking at the teacher. As society dictated. And yet, your precious Edward Cullen was over a hundred years old, still in high school, living with his parents, and trying to get in the pants of a minor in the twenty-first century. Sure, Edward was decades older than Bella. But the fact that he was good looking had nothing to do with her loving him anyway. Masen continues his attack.

There would be no Bella and Edward. Masen leans down, and I refuse to look as he types something into the search engine. I glance up at the screen and instantly feel anger curl my fingers into a fist. A huge image of an old man, withered with wrinkles, missing teeth, and bald but with wiry, silver hairs sprouting from the top of his nose smiles back at us, and I glare at Masen, who grins back. Students double over laughing, and their amusement surrounds me like a wall closing in.

Everything is getting smaller, and I start to feel the space in my lungs shrink as I pull harder to take in air. I clench my teeth together. The weight on my chest gets heavier, and I pass girls undressing for P. The white noise of the water shields me from listening ears, and I grab my inhaler from my pocket, taking two quick pumps and leaning back against the shower wall, closing my eyes.

Four years. My lungs start to open up, and I slowly breathe in and out, forcing myself to calm down. What the hell is wrong with me? I can handle this. So he was challenging me. So what? Am I going to flip out every time that happens? But for a moment, everything went dark.

Slowly the world in my vision got smaller and smaller like I was in a tunnel going backward. The light ahead of me—Masen, Mr. Foster, the other students— became tiny as the darkness ate up the room, and I felt completely alone. Just like before. Wilkens, my fourth grade teacher, calls as we line up at the door inside the classroom.

Some students dash for the tetherballs, others for the bars, and some stroll around the blacktop, figuring out what they want to do.

Everyone passes me by, and I slow to a walk, fidgeting and watching them as they find their groups and begin playing. The sun is hot, and I slowly step into the chaos, looking around and not sure where to go or who to talk to.

This happens every day. Girls run up to other girls, smiling and talking. Boys play with other boys, tossing balls back and forth and climbing the equipment.

Some of my classmates sit on the grass and play with little things they snuck into school, and everyone has found each other, pairing off. I shuffle my feet, feeling my stomach twist into knots. I hate recess. I want them to see me. I look over at Shannon Bell and a few other girls from class, their hair and clothes always so cool and pretty. I run my hands down my knee-length skirt and Polo shirt, looking like such a good girl. My mom always pulls my hair back in a ponytail, but I want to curl it like them.

I lick my lips, swallow the big lump in my throat, and walk over to them. They stop talking and look at me, not smiling. Yellow grosses me out, but my mom said complimenting people is a good way to make friends, so… Shannon lets out a little scoff, looking embarrassed that her friends see me talking to her. She shoots a look to them. I feel an invisible hand pushing me away from them. But I force a smile and try harder. She laughs, rolling her eyes. My heart sinks a little. No one else in my class has an inhaler, and now it makes me even more different.

I twist my lips to the side, feeling tears creep up. I blink, my guard going up. You got a problem with him? My heart starts racing. She walks up to Cory and whispers something in his ear, and he turns to look at me, scrunching up his face in disgust. Ryen likes Cory. I run behind the wall of the building and hide myself as I break down.

I dry my tears and walk to my classroom. I quietly step into the classroom, seeing a few students sitting at their desks who wanted to get work on their projects done, while Ms. Wilkens sits at her computer with her back to me. I slide into my desk and take out two folders, standing them up to make a fence around me. I put my head down and hide. I look to my right and see Delilah working on a piece of butcher paper on the floor. She holds out a marker, her fingernails dirty and her blonde bangs hanging in her eyes.

She always stays in for recess. Unlike me, she stopped trying to fit in a long time ago. I take the marker, coming down to the floor with her. She smiles, and we begin working, coloring it in as the weight starts to lift from my chest. Why do I care so much what the other girls think? Why do I want to be friends with them? Why is that? I bend over in the shower stall, resting my hands on my knees and pushing the memory away.

He pushed, they laughed, and I choked. I got complacent. I just have to push back next time. Or just ignore him. This was no big deal anyway.

None of these people will be a big deal in a couple months. Damn Twilight. How could he possibly have guessed that? I breathe in and out, my muscles finally relaxing. Masen Laurent is consistently a step ahead. I slip the inhaler back into my pocket, shut off the water, and exit the stall, leaving the locker room. Absolutely no one. The rest of the school day passes mercilessly slow as I brave lunch and every single class, feeling like another shoe is going to drop at any second.

But as soon as the final bell rings, I drop off my books at my locker and grab my duffel for cheer and swim, hurrying out of the school and to the side parking lot. But I just keep going. Making my way through the parking lot, seeing students piling into cars and hearing engines fire up, I scan the crowd for the new guy. I finally see him, stepping up to a black truck and not carrying a single thing.

No books, no folders, nothing. As I walk toward him, I notice a couple of guys greeting him while my friend Katelyn approaches him, coyly grazing her hand along the side of his truck and acting all shy and shit. My hopes are dashed. I hesitate, watching her hug her books and talk, giggling at something she said, while he stares down at her, calm and cool, looking no friendlier than he did with me.

Why does that please me? I walk over to them, tipping my chin up and nodding once at Katelyn. I hold the strap of my duffel hanging on my shoulder and stare at her, waiting for her to leave.

She eventually gives a little eye roll and walks off, leaving us alone. No doubt to tattle to Lyla. I dig in the pocket of my bag, pulling out the locket and handing it to him. He takes the necklace, almost gently, and stares at it for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket. He raises his eyes to me, and something gives.

For a split-second I see something different. But before he can close the door, I reach out and grab it.

Starting it up, he steps on the gas, and I run my hand through my hair, despair curling its way through me. But I hesitate only a moment before I drop my bag and race up to him, jumping up on the cab step. How am I going to explain this? I stroll up to his window, feeling a bit of my power return as I give him a small smile.

You definitely want to stay invisible. Maybe his parents are looking for him. Maybe a foster family. Maybe the police. Not many kids transfer schools six weeks before the end of their senior year, after all. He shifts the gears again and finally speaks. What did she always tell me? Just start. Just start, and everything will open up. I stare out into the empty warehouse, black soot from past bonfires coating the walls and the warm breeze whipping through the broken windows and hitting my back.

A chain hanging somewhere in the vast space above me blows in the gust and bangs against a rafter while a shiver creeps up my spine. It feels different here. My favorite place to come when I need just that. I stare down at her name, trying to remember how easy it was to always open up to her.

I hate this, I tell her. Everything fucking hurts. She saw a movie when she was a kid, about a woman buried alive, and it scared the shit out of her. I close my eyes, wetness coating the rims of my lids. Anger churns inside me, and it flows down my arms as I carve the words into the paper.

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List of found email addresses No Emails Found Find 6weekshred. Scan Now. Related websites Mobile Friendly. Six Week Shred: Craft A Hollywood Physique In 6 Weeks This 6-week course is crafted to help you drop fat, and quickly The combination of methodical dieting and intense workouts are a recipe for the fate of stubborn fat This program is composed of killer hypertrophic exercises, prioritizing the growth and synthesis of muscle mass These, paired with hollywood-studied diet Sixweekshred.

About Six Week Shred Alex Hager is a year old fitness trainer, model, and oddly enough, computer engineer After helping his high school sidekick lose over pounds, it changed his life — and knew that his future was training He began training and received his certification through the ISSA, at the young age of Maintaining or building lean muscle mass and losing body fat, while also revving up metabolism, is the focus during weight-training sessions. Developing more active muscle tissue will help increase resting metabolic rate and encourage the body to burn more fat for fuel.

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