Disclaimer: Stephanie Meyer owns Twilight and all original characters. I am proud to say that Katy, Benjamin, Henry, and any other character you stumble upon in the future belong to me; however, it is very unfortunate I won't be making a killing like SM. :(

A/N: This is my second Twilight fanfic. The first died out after the third chapter. I just couldn't get into it anymore. I was tired of "Bella, Bella, Bella." Bella will be in my fic, but not the main Character. My favorite scene has been written, I just have to get my characters to that point. Ideas to help this flow are much appreciated (I will recognize any "helpers").

Thanks. Now Enjoy!

Chapter One

Moving

The morning sun made its way through the windshield of my red Honda. I'd been driving 3 days now, stopping once to sleep. The only other stops I'd made were for bathroom breaks and for Benjamin to eat.

Benjamin. That beautiful blond hair, blue eyed six year old, asleep in the back seat was the reason I was leaving everything—my home, our home—in Alabama to move to the coldest, rainiest place in the continental US. Forks, Washington. Ugh. I'd been to Forks twice in my life; once, for Christmas when my mother and father were still married, and once, to visit my father the summer I was ten. That was seven years ago, and I vowed that day that I'd never return to that God-forsaken hell hole, nor would I be visiting my sorry excuse for a father, Henry, ever again.

Today, I broke both promises as I crossed the county line, heading straight for Forks. I didn't want to be here, and I didn't want Benjamin here either. Benjamin had never met our father. The day my mother found out she was pregnant, was coincidently the same day my father decided he no longer wanted a family. We had been fine—my mother and me—and the day Benjamin was born was the greatest day of both of our lives. My mother loved him dearly, as did I. Although he was only my brother, I felt oddly protective of him. Looking back, I now understand. I was being prepared to take care of him—alone.

My mother died a last week. She'd been diagnosed with cancer three years ago, unbeknownst to me. Three things were said to me on her death bed: "I'm sorry I didn't prepare you for this, I love you more than life itself, and please take care of Benjamin—he needs you." After that, my best friend slowly slipped away. If she wanted me to take care of Benjamin, then that's what I'd do. But being only seventeen, and Benjamin only six, custody was granted to my father. The same father who'd never meet his son, who'd never called since he left, who didn't see a need to attend his children's mother's funeral. And the same father who saw it was fit for his seventeen year old daughter to drive cross country with her six year old brother, alone.

In three months I would be eighteen, no longer a ward of my father. At that time, I could do as I please, but I couldn't leave Benjamin. He was my life now—all I had left in this world. He was mine and I was his. I wouldn't—couldn't—leave Benjamin. I did have a plan to survive the next three months, though. If I could portray Benjamin and myself as a burden, when I turned eighteen, Henry would gladly sign his parental rights over to me.

Three months—surely we could survive that long.