Author's Note: After getting some money for Christmas in '08, I decided to get three books: J.K. Rowling's "Beedle the Bard," Young's "The Shack," and Stephenie Meyer's "The Host." Beedle was a great fast read, and Shack was fantastic, so it's now the Host's turn. But this isn't going to be a Host fanfic. Hold on, my explanation is almost through.

[potential spoiler]After getting to the part in The Host where Wanderer and Melanie get captured by Uncle Jeb,[/spoiler] the book started to go downhill from there, and I'm struggling to have the motivation to finish it. As a little side project, I decided to revisit "Twilight," even though I constantly dog it and feel like Meyer just got lucky with writing this.

However, after reading the leaked draft of "Midnight Sun" and the beginning part of "Twilight," I realized something; the book is actually good. Sure, it's not Tolstoy or Shakespeare, but once you put that aside and just try to enjoy the book and escape to this other world, that's the important lesson.

But Tyler, you might ask, what does this mean for this new story you're writing? Why aren't you focusing on the two other stories that you have yet to finish (and yes, if you look at my bio and see my Heroes story, I'm officially ending that story)? It's simple; I got inspiration from "Twilight," and had to write it down.

So here we go. If you want to drive the plot down to a single line it's this: "A male version of Twilight." There will be different aspects to it, so if you're not liking the differences I'm making, tough. It's my story, and frankly, I'll write however I want. This story is basically how I would have written "Twilight" from the male point-of-view, that's not from the vampire's.

Hold on there, author's note is almost done. Check out my new avatar to see me trying to look sexy, i.e. possible Jasper look-alike? Not really though; I'm not really blonde enough and/or good-looking enough. Oh, well. Got the pale skin down! I hope you enjoy the story and don't take it so seriously as a seriously rabid Twilight fan might. If you get past the initial shock, then I think you will like it.

Last paragraph: I'm serious this time. I'm warning you all in advance that I don't have a lot of time to type, and I'm busy since this is my senior year in high school, so I'm going to take as full advantage of it as I can. That means less time on the computer to type, but hey, real life comes first, definitely. 'Kay, now we're starting.

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight or any of it's subsequent installments in the saga.

Overcast

01. First Day

In my dream I was dancing. Not hip-hop dancing mind you, but slow dancing in a ball room. It was weird. I had on a mask that you'd wear at a masquerade party, and the woman I was dancing with inhumanly beautiful. I know this is weird coming from a guy, but this dream could only be described as beautiful. We danced to the classical music and she laid her head on my chest, as if to hear my heartbeat. A touching moment in my dream worthy of cheesy Hallmark clothes.

But then I woke up to my annoying alarm clock, the klaxon screeching away. I hurriedly slammed the switch off and crawled out of bed, trying to delay the inevitable; getting ready for my first day as a senior in high school. A big day for any high school student, I'm sure.

Then again, I guess I wasn't a "typical" high school student. I didn't care to fit in, as evident by my bland shirts and jeans that I wore every single day. None of that American Eagle or expensive stuff like that. Just plain, boring old clothes that wouldn't be worthy of any fashion magazine, I'm sure.

Not like I read that sort of stuff.

I sighed and pulled out a brown long-sleeved shirt with a zipper near the top that went down to the middle of my chest, and a pair of dark blue jeans. Not caring whether they matched or not, I went downstairs with them and into the bathroom to get ready for school. After taking a quick shower and getting dressed, I move on to the mirror for my daily hygiene regiment.

My dark-blonde slash light-brown hair was still sort of wet from the shower, so I took a comb and successfully combed it to look passable if Harriet managed to wake up.

Harriet's my mother, and by mother, I only mean that in the pure biological sense. I know that sounds mean or cold, but that's the only way I can relate to her these days. We don't look anything like; my hair color, eyes, everything came from Jack. The only thing I might have inherited from her was the way I related to people my age. We both didn't really fit in with the crowd, which was both good and bad. Good in the sense that I'd rather be myself than homogeneous like the others, but bad in that we couldn't fit in, as much as we wanted too. Maybe that was the reason Jack and Harriet got together in that she was so different from anyone he'd ever met before.

I brushed those thoughts away and washed my face so I could avoid the inevitable teenage curse known as acne, the water splashing my pale white skin and into my father's blue-gray eyes. I dried my face and walked out of the bathroom, tiptoeing around the couch that held my sleeping mother.

Or at least I thought she was sleeping. "You're finally awake?" Harriet grumbled, rolling over.

"Yeah, just a half hour," I answered, rubbing my eyes.

"Gimme a minute and I'll take you to school," she told me but taking the blanket and covering her head with it.

"Nah, it's fine," I refused politely, concealing the fact that I'd very much not want to be seen with her driving me to school. "Just go back to sleep."

As if to spite me, she rolled off the couch and onto her feet. She slid her feet into her slippers and yawned in my face, oblivious to me still standing there. "I'll get the keys," she stumbled in her footing.

I rolled my eyes and tied on my shoes, allowing Harriet to walk past and grab the car keys. I knew she was in no mood for driving after what she had done last night, so I grabbed a granola bar I could gulp down during my first class and hurried over to her side. "Mom, I really don't think you should be driving. You have a headache?"

"How'd you know?" she slurred, holding her forehead with the hand that had the keys in them. "Ow..."

"You really need to lie down," I ordered her, trying to take charge. "It's not safe if you operate a vehicle."

"I ain't operating on nobody," she snapped at me, not making any sense at all. "But maybe I should lie down..."

"That'd be a great contribution to society," I added snidely, unnecessary. I helped her back to the couch and tucked her back in, enveloping her in the covers of the blankets.

"Good night," she hiccuped, instantly closing her eyes and falling asleep.

"Yeah, yeah," I mumbled, her not being able to hear me. I was even surprised at myself how seemingly easy that was. Usually she got pushy or violent if I got in her way.

I say these things of course, because Harriet's not like most mothers. While most go to P.T.A. meetings or soccer games, she's much rather go to bars or clubs, guzzling down any form of alcohol that she could get her hands on. She usually did this every single day, not caring about the apparent consequences they have sown for her, like the no paycheck coming in and the damage the liquor has done to her body. Her imminently cirrhosis-ailed liver or the brain-damaged cells that will never regenerate.

If only--no. I can't speak ill of Jack. It wasn't his fault what had happened.

I sighed and took the car keys, twirling them with my finger. I grabbed my backpack, got out of the house and got into our crappy, rundown red Corsica. I've had to put so much money into that stupid deathtrap that I could have bought a much nicer automobile, but it's too late. I'm stuck with it. I started the car and pulled out of the driveway and began the drive to school.

The traffic was horrible, as most opening days are. Parents eager to drop their kids off at elementary schools so they can hurry to make it to the office on time, you know, that sort of thing. Other than that major roadblock, the drive was uneventful, and soon the high school was in my sights.

The school loomed at the end of Dogwood street, looking like one of those abandoned, dilapidated, haunted houses that you'd see on one of those back roads in the country. Of course the school wasn't entirely made of rotten wood, but rather bricks. The only reason I say the school looked like a haunted house was because it looked like a face, like that house in "The Amityville Horror." The school was wide and long, and the entrance had two big windows by the sides of the doors for eyes, and the little roof above the doors for the nose. It was creepy how the building was constructed, but don't tell the architect that.

I found a spot in the parking lot in one of the further-back rows and got out to make the walk into the school. Backpack slung over my shoulder, I sighed and resigned to the fact that school was indeed back, and I only had one more year of this crap. One more year of slugging this stupid thing around, ripping and tearing. One more year of the jokes, the put-downs I've heard in the hallways about me. One more year of annoying cheerleaders, bossy teachers, and cocky jerks. Just one more year. I could make it.

The inside of the school was blistering hot in contrast to the cool September air outside, so I immediately regretted wearing that long-sleeved shirt. Great, I'll roast my butt off in here because no one knows how to work a thermostat or crack open a window. What a great way to start the day, I thought sarcastically.

I fished around in my pocket for that granola bar and the slip of paper that had my locker number and combination written on it and made that my first destination in the school year. I found it easily and took a couple tries to get the locker open, but eventually I hung it up on the hook inside and took out my folder for my first class; Calculus. I had no idea why the counselor had placed me in that class because I suck at math. It was probably just because of that stupid rule that math was required in all four years of high school.

I slammed my locker shut, though too loud for anyone to turn heads and made my way to Mr. Hammond's room for the mathematics class. As I was walking down the hallway, I noticed that some of the students were eyeing or giggling at me, and immediately looking away if I caught them in the act. I rolled my eyes and kept walking, not letting them see that it bothered me. Someone probably started another rumor, like I was gay or sent to military school. Or something, I didn't know what garbage they came up with these days.

Mr. Hammond's room was freezing cold, and I cursed inwardly at the teacher's incompetence at knowing how to work the air conditioning. I don't mean to sound rude, but frankly, this day just isn't turning out well at all. I shivered and found my name-tag that the instructor had placed on a desk close to the front but far from his desk. I must have grimaced without knowing it as Mr. Hammond looked at me and asked, "Would you prefer a different seat, student?"

I saw that his eyes were pointed to the nameless desk nearest to his and shook my head. "Not at all." Calling me student? How demeaning was that? I shouted in my head at him and sat down at my designated desk, placing my folder on top of it.

More students filed in, and I saw more looks out of the corner of their eyes on me, as if it was some covert operation to spy on me. I'm sure that wasn't true and I'm just being paranoid, but with years of experience of petty bull crap being slung at me every year, you learn what people's actions tend to mean.

They sat in their respected desks, and much to my horror, I was surrounded by preppy students. The kind that lived and breathed to get good grades in school to make Mommy and Daddy proud of them. I bit my upper lip in anxiety and the bell signalling the start of class rang. Great, the first torturous period of the day had begun.

"Good morning, students," Mr. Hammond introduced himself to the class. Mr. Hammond at one time in his life probably was the big man on campus. I could see him being the quarterback or center back in high school, but he let himself go a lot. Just from my earlier encounter with him, he was also probably the same douchebag as before, pardon my French. "I'm Mr. Hammond, and I'll be your guide in the wonderful world of Calculus."

Everyone chuckled around me while I just ignored it and began doodling in my notebook. I'd much rather do my crappy drawings of randonness than listen to this lecture. I honestly don't know when he started taking role because I was so consumed with my drawing to notice, so of course I was caught off guard when he said for the second time, "Julian Gallagher? Is that correct?"

I finally looked up and the preppy girl next to me laughed at my expense. "Yes," I answered.

"Huh, cool name," Mr. Hammond said kindly, though in a way that you can tell that he wasn't being genuine. "All right if I call you Jules or Julia?"

The class got a big kick out of that and I sank deep in my chair, my cheeks beginning to blush. "Just kidding with ya, Jules," Mr. Hammond joked around. "All in good fun, right?"

"Right," I laughed along lamely.

I hate this class already with a passion, and I hadn't even flunked a test yet.

After that humiliating episode, the class dragged on and on. Mr. Hammond continued his lecture on classroom procedures, but luckily gave us just enough time for a pop quiz. On the first day? Really? For fear of more embarrassment, I shut my mouth and bombed the quiz before the bell rang to signify changing time. I gathered my folders and shot out of the classroom, not wanting to see that teacher's face for the rest of the day.

The next class was Photography II, which is the only class that I actually liked. There was always something appealing to me in taking beautiful and artistic photographs that I couldn't mimic in paints or pastels. Instead of launching into a lecture about expectations or a syllabus, Mr. O'Keefe got the left side of our brains working by giving us an assignment: Take a photo of something from your house that shows who you are as a person. Usually with such an oddball task like this, the other students would shrug it off and just take a pic of anything they thought would be interesting, but not me.

The bell dismissed the class and I was still thinking of the assignment, trying to figure out what it was exactly that showed me off as a human being. What object was my soul? Hmm...

As I pondered that challenging question, I stopped by my locker to drop off my math and photo textbook before heading to my second-most dreaded class of the day, Chemistry. As I shoved the books in, I noticed that the girl beside me was looking at me. But not in a way that made her seem like she was repulsed by me, strangely enough.

Confused, I asked, "What? Is there something on my face?"

She giggled and stuck her hand out, "No. I'm Cat Whitfield, and you're Julian Gallagher."

I shook her hand back, just to be polite, though I was still a bit puzzled at why she was talking to me. She was a very attractive girl; blonde hair that reached down to her shoulders, pretty sparkling blue eyes, and a thin but healthy body with curves in all the right places. Cat could probably land any guy she wanted, so why was she talking to me?

"That would be me," I said.

She looked down at the ground, blush reaching her cheeks and said to me, "You remember me, right? Head cheerleader at all the football games?"

"Don't usually go to the games," I admitted.

"Oh," she squeezed out a little chuckle. "Look, I know your reputation around school."

I raised an eyebrow and asked, "What would that be?"

She blushed and continued, "That you're the loner guy. The guy that all he does is avoid social situations and writes crappy poetry."

Well, she's right about the loner status.

"But I don't really care what anyone else thinks," Cat added, making sure that I understood where she was coming from. "You're cute."

Cute? Was that what everyone was acting strange about? My loo--Oh, I get it now. This was a trick. Some ploy to get me to say something stupid and have the entire school laugh at me. This was all just a prank. Well, I wasn't going to fall for it.

"Really?" I tested the waters.

She nodded her head and waited for me to say something in response. "Huh," I grunted, putting my hand at the back of my head. "Usually people notice someone's attractive, say last year," I leaned on my locker after taking my hand away from my cranium. "Looks don't change, you know."

"Well," Cat started, taking her eyes off me. "There's this thing called...you know."

"Puberty," I helped her say the long word.

"Right. And there's all these changes, and--"

"But you didn't change from junior year in the looks department," I interrupted her.

She tilted her head, confused at what I was getting at. "But I thought you said didn't know who I was."

"No. I said I didn't go to any of the football games you cheerleaded for," I reminded her, pointing accusingly.

As if caught in a lie, Cat stuttered and turned on a dime, walking away briskly to retreat to her friends. I chuckled at how easy it was to drive people away, but at the same time, it was sort of a curse, really. I don't want to spend the rest of my life alone.

Or was that just my destiny?

I brushed that whole incident aside and just barely made it to Mr. Dalton's chemistry class on time. I found an open seat near the back, with no one else at my lab table. I thanked God silently for the lack of companionship for fear of the Cat situation repeating and turned my attention to the same boring lecture Mr. Dalton was yammering on about. This time, the instructor was talking not just of his expectations for us students, but also the safety precautions for the labs we'd be doing. Such gems like, "Don't use your mouth when using a pipet," or "Don't pick up broken glass with your bare hands," made the class laugh, but I was pretty confident that with these kids, common sense would be out the window and those rules would be broken.

Third period soon ended, and it was now the part of the day that I hated every single time. No matter how well my day was, if that was ever going to be possible, or how good it will be, lunch is always the time of day I hate. Because I'm always that idiot that walks around, trying to squeeze into a table with a close-knit group of friends.

I put my things away in my locker and slowly walked to the lunch line, trying to delay the inevitable embarrassment as freshman ran past me so they could get first dibs on crappy cafeteria food. Unfortunately, my efforts were futile as I was in and out of the line fast, and I now stood in the annex, holding a tray with milk, an apple, a salad, and a chicken sandwich on it, now faced with the humiliating task of trying to figure out where to sit.

My first option was a half-filled table to jocks and their dumb cheerleader girlfriends, the kind that blew pink bubble gum bubbles with their men as they talked about working out. I didn't even bother with that one, for fear that my I.Q. would drop at the very thought of trying to converse with them.

Option #2 was with the emo kids, or as I liked to call them, "goth-hacks." We've all seen them: black clothes, hair that gets into their eyes so they had to flip their head back to get it out of the way, and the way that they talked about how life was so awful and they wished that it was all over. And as much as I hated my life, I didn't hate it that much, so that was possible.

The last, and now only choice, was with a bunch of kids I'd never seen before. They must have been new, because even if I was the most unpopular kid in school, I would know exactly who they were. Because they were all absurdly beautiful.

There were five of them in total, two men and three women. Their bodies and faces looked completely different from each other, but they were all still filled with an obscene amount of pulchritude. They all had the palest white skin I'd ever seen from my life, as if they'd never stepped out into the sun, and dark eyes that would seer into your soul if you dared to look in them, with faint purplish circular bruises underneath their orbs. That was where all the similarities ended.

Sitting on one of the far ends was a tall, lanky guy, with curly brown hair, the color of caramel. Even though everyone at the table wasn't talking much, it was clear to me that he was the most outgoing of them, whispering quietly to spur on any conversation while using his hands in many gestures and mannerisms. He reminded me of those wacky class clowns that everyone had in their school, the kind that everyone got along with even if he pulled a prank on you.

Next to him was a short girl with brown hair, styled like Peter Pan. She didn't look androgynous though if you looked below the hairline. She had a great body underneath the little dress that she wore, and her face was very feminine, yet strong; the kind of face that you'd see in a fashion magazine for cosmetics. She seemed to have the same attitude as the lanky guy, though, as she was just as boisterous as he was, even if she was a little subdued compared with him.

On the other end of the table was the most handsome dude I'd ever seen in my life, and yes, I'm comfortable enough in my masculinity to say that. He looked just like one of those extremely handsome leading men from old Hollywood movies with black hair and eyes that would make any woman faint at the sight of them. He wasn't as tall as the other male, but he had more muscle on him. He didn't talk as much as the others, but he stared into the eyes of the girl beside him.

Or should I say woman? Out of all the girls, she had the biggest...ahem, assets out of them, and was proud to show off her body with a low-cut top. She had platinum blonde hair, though you could tell it wasn't dyed or anything with no roots in them. She was the hottest girl out of the girls, I'd admit. But from judging by her body language and only staring at the black-haired guy, she wouldn't give me the time of day, not like I really wanted to.

But out of the five beautiful teenagers, my eyes were on the girl in the center, staring down at the ground. She was probably the shyest one out of all of them, but with her astonishing looks, it was a surprise. She appeared to be about my height, though a little shorter, maybe around 5'8", with a slight and lithe body. With fiery red hair down past her shoulders, she was the most intriguing to me out of everyone, and I had no idea why.

I snapped out of my analytical gazing and took a step towards them. However, as soon as I took that first step, I had a sudden feeling of dread wash over me. What was this supposed to mean? I tried to brush that wave aside and stepped closer, making it just a few feet away before they all looked at me, wondering what I was doing, approaching them. The handsome guy looked at me with the most murderous gaze, it was crazy. I hadn't done anything to deserve that look.

Luckily, as if God wanted me to avoid them, a seat opened up a couple tables away as a group of freshmen got up. I looked away from the beautiful people and towards the empty table, relieved that I wouldn't have to awkwardly eat my lunch with them. To my surprise, I felt a huge relief, as if I dodged a bullet or something, which was pretty odd. I usually didn't care if I got into those kind of situations because what was the use of worrying about that?

So why was I starting to care in this case?

I sat in a seat at the empty table and stared at food, now not hungry after seeing the quintet. I sat with my back facing them and drank my milk, trying to absorb all the calcium in the delicious dairy product. All the while as I ate slowly, not really caring for the taste, I couldn't help but think about those new kids. Who were they? Where'd they come from? Why did I feel this sense of dread around them? So many questions popped up into my head, and I was becoming curious and curiouser by the minute, wanting to get to know the impossibly good-looking teenagers.

I turned around to find most of the cafeteria empty, and their table as well. I sighed, bummed out of the chance of possibly asking them those very questions and then some, and got up, carrying my tray of half-eaten food in my hands. I dumped the scraps away in the trash and placed the tray on top of the others in a neat stack, before I trudged my way to my locker for my remaining two classes of the day. I grabbed my folder, shut the locker door, and made my way to AP Literature.

Now compared with some of the other students in the school, I actually like to read, so this would be a great class for me to do nothing but curl up with a good book. However, this was school, so the books were going to be mind-numbingly awful. But I wasn't going to complain about that. Yet.

I walked into Mrs. Harper's class and took my seat near the back, but closest to the bookshelf. I fancied a glance and was pleasantly surprised to see not just Shakespeare or Hawthorne, but Salinger, Steinbeck, Joyce, and even Machiavelli. Sure these books were going to be extremely difficult to read, but it showed that this class had good taste when it comes to literature.

I didn't even notice when the seat next to me was filled when I turned away from the books to see the beautiful red-haired girl sitting beside me. It was strange, but knowing that she was only a few feet away from me made me feel electrified. She seemed so approachable, but I wasn't going to reach my hand out to her. That'd be too weird.

So instead, I looked away, shy enough to not let her notice me, even though I wanted her too. Mrs. Harper began her lecture and I tried my best to pay attention, but my I would gaze over to the girl's beautiful face, her fiery hair. No matter what I did, I was drawn to her, even if my brain earlier had warned me to move away from her and her family in the annex. Strange.

Mrs. Harper was done with her speech, so she started handing out the first book we would have to read, Edith Wharton's "Ethan Frome." I almost gagged since I'd already read it before and hated the novella, but held my critical tongue. She turned us loose to get started on the reading, but of course everyone started getting into discussion groups on what they did over the summer, which celebrity was hot, blah, blah, blah. I placed the thin book into my folder and glanced over to find the red-haired girl reading quietly, not looking up at anyone. It was surprising to me that she wouldn't be in the conversation of all the popular people. Usually they would be all on the new kid since Sault Ste. Marie was sort of a small city of around 16,000 residents. But not today.

Even though it's not something I often do, I took the plunge in trying to greet her to Michigan. "Hi," I said, trying to get her attention away from the world of Starkfield. "You new here?"

She looked up at my timidly, as if unsure how to respond to me. "Yes," she squeaked out, her voice light.

I could tell this conversation wasn't going to get anywhere with just herself, so I added, "I'm sorry if I'm interrupting your book-reading time." Not really, I thought. "I recognized you and your family from the cafeteria today."

"Oh," she replied, as if trying to remember who I was. "You were the one who almost sat with us," she said, with the slight hint of disappointment.

"Yeah, but I didn't want to intrude," I explained myself.

She gave a faint smile and looked at me straight on with her dark eyes, the color of coal. It was strange to see such dark eyes on a pale person, but I guess that was what made her beautiful. That she looked humanely impossible with her perfect looks, but yet here she was.

"I'm Julian Gallagher," I held out my hand out of respect, showing her that we meant her and her family good will in Sault Ste. Marie.

She hesitated before reaching towards me with her hand. Then when it looked like she was going to shake it, she didn't and pulled it back. "Sorry," she covered herself. "I'm a hypochondriac."

I put a smile on my face, faking the sudden disappointment I felt from not shaking her hand. "I understand."

"My name is Sophia Redmond," Sophia introduced herself, following my initial introduction.

"Sophia?" I repeated, trying to guage whether I liked that name or not. It suited her. Unusual in this day and age, but still beautiful and nothing to complain about. "Pretty name," I complimented.

"Thank you," she thanked me.

"No problem," I inadvertently cut the conversation off right there, not knowing any other way for this discussion to continue.

She nodded her head and returned to "Ethan Frome," while I just sat back and tried to come up with another question. It was weird that Sophia had me so flustered that I was stumbling over my thoughts. That never happens. Ever. But this...this was different than anything I'd ever experienced before. What could this mean?

Luckily, the bell interrupted my self-evaluation and now it was just one more class left in the day. For me it was Gym, and I was only taking that class because there was no classwork involved and it was an easy credit. Though as I was walking to my locker, throwing my stuff in haphazardly, I only thinking about Sophia. Her hair, her eyes. She intrigued me to no end, and it was when I had slammed the locker door shut after grabbing my gym clothes and backpack did I realize something.

I think I have a crush on her.

Author's Note: So, how was it? I know it's sort of long, but that's what happens when I'm left to my own devices, I guess. Hope you liked it, and I'll see if I can crank out another chapter. In the meantime, please review!