A/N: Flashbacks are italicized.

Prologue

A police car at an airport was never an unusual thing, but the presence of the sheriff of Forks using a squad car to pick up his teenage daughter, now that was something to be curious about. Everyone in town knew that Charlie Swan was a bit overprotective of his daughter, Isabelle (Bella to him, even if she disliked the nickname), but this certainly took the cake.

"Hey, dad," the young girl called as Charlie exited the vehicle and enveloped her in a bear hug.

"How've you been, sweetheart?"

"Oh, I've been great, dad. Can we not talk about this here? I kinda wanna get home ASAP."

"Oh, oh… of course, yeah. Come on."

The drive home was a chatty one, at least by Isabelle's standards. There were more than the superficial 'How are you?' or 'I'm fine, how about yourself?' that normally pervaded their conversations. This was also the first time Charlie has been able to have a good look at his daughter since he and Renee got divorced: Isabelle's hair was short, a pixie cut of sorts, dyed the most beautiful shade of black. She wore red dangling earrings and sported a nose piercing. Although Isabelle knew of Charlie disapproval regarding all the smoking and drinking she'd been doing as part of something she dubbed a "personality makeover," Isabelle claimed it was her method escape from her parents' divorce. Even the teen knew that was bullshit, though. She was angry and lashing out, and Renee never really kept good tabs on her daughter's behavior…

"Dad, watch out!"

Charlie swerved to avoid a dog walking across the road. He was glad for a distraction, at least a momentary one, from the memories of the past six months. Isabelle had no such luxury, since the events from June till December were the entire reason for her coming to Forks in the first place…

The last time this happened was the last class day of the spring semester, freshman year. Isabelle sat across from the principal, Don Faldo. The stench of cigarette smoke filled the entire room as Faldo munched on his tuna sandwich. Globs of mayonnaise and mustard fell out from between the bread and meat onto every lower extremity of his morbidly obese form. Not that Isabella minded. She was glad to be in this nauseatingly uptight man's office, about to be given the boot from this trashy public institute. Renee wasn't there to give her a good scolding in front of Faldo, thank god, as she was off partying with what's-his-face, the baseball player who had worse hand-eye coordination than a baby, and could almost be called negligent. But this expulsion was the third in less than two years, mostly for abhorrent pranks or flipping off and swearing at students and teachers she found unlikeable… which to her were all of them. Again, Isabelle thought such a thing was 'the cool thing to do,' or 'that it made her special or badass.' When the words were spoken, Isabelle proudly stood, shook the man's greasy hand, curtsied, and marched herself out the front door without so much as a goodbye to Martinique, a drama major who was the closest thing Isabelle had the entire time she was at the school. Hell, she couldn't even be bothered to remember the name. But whatever. Renee would not care in the slightest. Or so she thought. Renee gave her a pretty thorough chewing-out when the middle-aged accountant got home. In response, Isabelle slammed the bedroom door in her mother's face and blasted the music.

When they finally got home, Isabelle sat in the car for a good ten minutes just staring at Charlie's house. Taking it in. Charlie sat with her, trying to hold his baby girl's hand. Isabelle seemed unreceptive, so he dropped it.

"Hey, Bells, It's gettin' pretty cold, ya wanna come inside?"

"Yeah."

And so it was. Isabelle Swan, 17-and-a-half-years-old, living in a dusty, foggy town in Washington. The house was generic for the town. Two-bedroom, two-bathroom, living room, dining area, etc. Pretty meh, nothing special. Of course, Isabelle never told Charlie that. There were actually a lot of things Isabelle never told Charlie, like when she lost her virginity last month that it was with another girl, or the first boy she liked at 14 turned out to be a bookworm who thought Goths were "gauche." OR that Mr. Baseball Dude had gotten her mom pregnant. That one was best reserved for a later time, and honestly it'd be best if Renee told him herself. "Take that, highbrow, holier-than-thou book-loving nerd person," Isabelle thought, "I do have sophistication and grace. I understand discretion and I possess a basic sense of morality."

Her penchant for secrets sometimes invaded her dreams, and they soon turned to nightmares. On one such evening, there was a storm outside. Isabelle woke with a start and immediately shut the blinds and curtains. But the storm wasn't what had scared her once she woke up. It was the ill-defined figure in the forest surrounding the back end of the house like seating in a thrust theater. She looked away, as the figure seemed to be waving or something, and shut her eyes tightly. When she looked back, the figure was gone.

Out in the merciless onslaught of rain and wind, a young vampire named Edward Cullen stared up at his new object of pursuit. You could almost call her his new prey.