Since this is going to be asked a lot, I'll explain this here. I, like many others, am not a fan of Bella as a person.

Bella is not going to be in this story because this isn't Bella's era at all. I am setting this in the time before Bella, a life cycle before the Cullens start over in Forks in 2003.

I hope that someone out there is going to like what I wrote. Thank you for giving this story a chance.

edited 27 Dec 2017

§

When she closed her eyes and willed it hard enough, she could hear it.

Mom, talking animatedly in the foyer waiting for one of the housemaids to retrieve her coat. Dad was on the other end of the conversation, listening attentively like the amazingly patient man he was. Her? An obnoxious, extrovert sixteen-year old, leisurely sprawled on the sofa with her phone on her ear, planning a Friday night out. She didn't even bother to look up when Dad planted a kiss on her forehead as they were leaving, waved her hand dismissively when Mom promised to send pictures from the charity gala they were going to attend.

But she never got the pictures, nor did they ever come back home.

§

August 1996

The faint scent of cigarette hit Bridget's nose when she opened the door to her BMW– a left-over from the ghost of a girl who thought that cultivating the habit would be hip. The scent triggered the memory of the silly giant red bow the car had arrived with, something Dad thought would be hilarious on her birthday. Before the familiar warmth could burn, she had sped off just above the speed limit.

The road that led to the campus consisted of a Wegmans, a few mom-and-pops shops and the sports club that was frequented by college students and locals. Bridget would have chosen to ride a bike over being confined in a car, but riding up the hill would be required and she wouldn't be pleased if she arrived in class drenched in sweat.

Parking her car beside a black family Mercedes, she pulled the hood of her jumper over her head and tucked long, blonde hair into the coat before exiting the vehicle since it was drizzling already. She should've opted for a sturdier leather bag instead of the drawstring material. Hopefully she wouldn't have to deal with wet score papers for the afternoon practice.

The classroom provided for advance financial math was small and square, filled with thirty students at most, as it does every year, proving that not many were eager enough to try studying something challenging. Counting was hardly challenging, but the brain work and the strenuous study they required were. As the teacher drawled on with bond amortization, her eyes flitted to the transfer kid that happened to sit in front of her. It wasn't odd to have a transfer, but the event was so rare that everyone had been talking about it for weeks during summer break before the student even arrived.

He looked like an alert-student, like any other of her classmates–like any other valedictorian. Though not all of her classmates were valedictorians, they wanted to be, which was probably why Professor picked on Bridget a lot; she sat however she pleased, did work whenever she liked and busied herself with other things when not, and knew her life-changing story and privileged background had granted her the seat to the elite private college itself. She was parentless and too privileged for her own good, after all. If only he actually sat down and talk to her, she might felt enough sympathy to share her stories and use her smoldering eye contact and pearly-white smiles to turn his opinions around.

From his back, she could see that his hair was a bland bronze color, so many colors they would've made her dizzy if the sunlight hit at the right places, and it was effortlessly messy. His hair looked almost flamboyant, but with a touch of modern hair commercial. She wondered how much time he actually spent on it. Must've been annoying to wake up so early just to look presentable. Edward, right?

Bridget's eyes moved to his face when he tilted his head to his left as if he was about to talk to her. What she saw was as impressive as the hair. Strong chin continued to a square jaw accompanied by a high cheekbone that made a strong combo that his lips seemed to just fit into, a little slack as if he was about to say something, his nose thin and straight, ending into a slope of prominent eyebrow and his slightly upturned eyes beneath it, leaving little space in between and creating a severe stare when moved a certain way. It was a boyish side profile, yet altogether he was anything but.

"Miss Wilson, please show us how to do the equation."

Her eye twitched. Bridget was convinced that the only thing that can please Professor Turner was her inability to do an equation. Fortunately, that also meant that Bridget prepared for every class; one utter humiliation for not being able to solve an equation during her first semester in front of everyone was more than enough for her. It was independent study sessions every other day for a few hours at a time in her apartment study space now.

Bridget took pride and grinned to herself as she underlined her solution, secretly crossing her fingers that Professor would learn his lesson this time. But she didn't hope too much, this has happened time and time before.

"Very good," the Professor murmured, clearly not pleased.

She wanted to rub it to his face, so much so that she even added written explanations on the board. She chuckled in her seat when the Professor was forced to walk it off. Maybe it wasn't a good idea to write too much, but she didn't like him as much as him her. They started on the wrong foot.

"You did that on purpose," a melodious, yet masculine voice commented.

Bridget looked at Edward, scrutinizing his juvenile face as he turned halfway on his seat. Her eyes automatically searched for the Professor, making sure that her usual far-corner seat was a safe distance away from his ever-watchful eyes.

Her eyes went back to meet that of Edward's, who was looking at her expectantly, waiting for an answer. She was struck for a moment, realizing how pale the boy was. His skin looked like that of the porcelain dolls that she used to play with when she was younger. Her father built a collection for her from his all-over-the-globe adventures. Bridget knew what to expect every time Dad went away for awhile, and was over the moon every time she got to add yet another doll behind the glass door. But from holding them numerous times in her hands, she knew the texture very well: flawless, smooth, and hard.

"Glad you noticed," she replied, kicking the thoughts about his face out of the window.

"I believe I haven't introduced myself, I'm Edward Cullen." He offered a smile.

The first thought that popped in her mind was how much his smile colored up his facial expression, but then, she knew that smile; the polite, hopefully-you'll-see-me-as-a-decent-person-style.

"Bridget Wilson." Her smile vanished, suddenly wary.

"It's nice to meet you."

"You too, now stop talking or he'll pick on me again." She jerked her head at Professor, pretending to focus on her notebook. She saw his amused smile from the corner of her view, a smile reappearing on her own lips at the attention he showed.