I want to be rich and I want lots of money
I don't care about clever I don't care about funny
I want loads of clothes and fuckloads of diamonds
I heard people die while they are trying to find them

And I'll take my clothes off and it will be shameless
'Cuz everyone knows that's how you get famous
I'll look at the sun and I'll look in the mirror
I'm on the right track, yeah I'm on to a winner

-Lily Allen, "The Fear".

Isabella Swan.

Fame is never something I aspired to. Fame is something that has always been there, like a childhood friend. I've known fame for my entire life and in that time, I've seen the good and the bad. Though good and bad can be relative terms if you'd like to get technical. There's always something fulfilling and something degrading in every aspect of it. I just like to judge by which points are stronger. The degrading or the fulfilling, the good or the bad. I've always been told that I was really lucky to be in the lime light. But the lime light is blinding and you end up relying on other things to help you through it. For some it may be substances, such as drugs or even alcohol. For others it's family, like husbands, wives and children. A select few don't need anything or anyone to guide them. They simply see and assess. In my opinion, those select few are the only lucky ones in the business. It seems so glamorous, on the red carpet and in the magazines. But to the people that are having their picture taken, it's just a party. You're there because it would be rude not to make an appearance. Your face will be forgotten and you'll be awarded a negative label, something nobody wants.

You have to step into the fame willingly to ever hope to be happy with it. You have to want it more than anything to ever be comfortable. I have a great amount of respect for those few stars that have the courage to turn down movie offers and step back away from the spot light. Even if it's only for a few moments, they had the strength to pull away from the circle. That is the only part of the business that I want more than anything. I want the power to step away from it all, if only for a second. There has never been a time in my life when I wasn't being watched. I've always had eyes on me, whether they were welcome or not. More often than not, I don't welcome the eyes.

It all started when I was one year old. My Mother was approached by a photographer in the shopping mall who told her that I was simply too adorable to hide behind closed doors. Mother has always been incredibly conceited and to have a compliment like that lavished on her child? It went straight to her head and the next day I was in the studio, dressed in my best jumper, being photographed. The man told my Mother that it was a shot in the dark, but he was going to send my photo into a parenting magazine as a submission for the cover that month. Mother was floored and immediately entered me in child beauty pageants locally. The same day I won my first pageant, the photographer called to inform us that my photograph had been selected as the cover of the magazine that month. It was silly and honestly had no stability to take me anywhere, but Mother brought me to modeling agencies all over the state of Washington, looking for one that was accepting baby models. I was shot down again and again, by agencies that didn't work with infants like that. Mother took that as failure and continued to push me harder in my pageants. By the time I was two, we were traveling across state for a measly one hundred dollar maximum. To Mother, it wasn't the money that counted. It was the title.

I was spotted in my sixteenth pageant, at three years old. It was my personality, I was later told, that won them over. They told me the expression on my face when I was crowned told them that there was something different about me that needed to be explored. I was taken into a modeling agency and my photographs appeared pregnancy, parenting and baby magazines all over the country. Mother was over her head and she was wearing my Father down with all the traveling and appointments. I think in the end, I was what drove them apart. My first clear memory was Mother taking me on a red eye flight to California when I was four. I had an agent by then and when we moved to California, I was set up in auditions for commercials and small television roles. I was in my first commercial about three months after the divorce was settled. It was a cracker commercial and I was playing a little girl that couldn't get enough of them. I remember the crackers being flaky and smelling horrible, but we went through five boxes with all the takes we did. The lines were cheesy and I recall Mother scolding me on the way home for not having enough spirit when I said them.

I was six when I had my first voice lesson. On the rare occasions I was allowed to see my Dad, he told me it was raw talent that I wad gifted with and not to let anyone try and 'cook it'. Those are his words, not mine. I refused to work with the voice coach, not until Mother threatened to take away every privilege I held. No television, no story time, no more movies, no more toys. She was going to take everything I valued with that warped childlike sense of emotion. I finally worked with the coach, who actually told me the same thing Dad did. It would absolutely despicable to change anything about my voice. Mother acted like she thought the same thing, but all she did was take dance instead. She had apparently decided we would go back to my vocal 'issues' when I was more compliant. Dance was terrible. I had classes four days a week for ten hours every day. Mother got me a tutor with some of my modeling money and I was schooled from home.

Everything about the lights got more and more overwhelming, the older I got. When I was eleven, we went back to my vocals after my dancing was as professional as Mother thought it could get. I danced my little ass every day at that studio, all by myself, screaming every time I got a move wrong. I hated myself for the longest time, because of all the negative words Mother spewed at me. As my voice matured, the dollar signs matured as well. Mother saw something in me apparently, because she had my agent call recording studios all around Los Angeles. I was fourteen when I had my first single. It was cheesy and impersonal, but Mother thought it was success. I didn't know anything besides work. To me, music and acting wasn't fun or something I enjoyed by any standards. I despised everyone around me that wanted me to perform for them, like I was a trained chimp. I suppose that's what I was in their eyes. After a year of lackluster lyrics and half hearted dance steps, I finally took a stand. If I had to do this, I was going to do it on my terms. I wanted to write my own music. And so I did.

I'd been writing poetry for years, but just as something to do when I actually wasn't busy. I transferred poems into lyrics with no trouble at all. It took me by surprise that something that came naturally actually pleased Mother. I didn't have to work at writing; it was just something that came from within. I had my first real album when I fifteen. It went on fairly smoothly for the next two years. I drew the line in the sand when my agent got me an audition for a movie role. It just wasn't something I wanted to do.

"It'll do wonders for your career." Mother gushed in the car after I turned it down. "You have no idea what your passing up, young lady."

"Oh, and you do?" I snorted. "You know as much about movies as I do. I'd like to stay in the theatre, not on the screen."

"Isabella!" She snapped. "As your Mother, it's my responsibility to help you make decisions. Well, this is a fine example. You need my help with this. I'll call Jenks in the morning and tell him the audition is back on."

There was no arguing with her. So, when we got back to the house that I was paying for with my record deal, I called my Dad. He answered on the first ring. That was the thing I liked most about my Dad. I didn't see him as much as I'd like to, but he always had time for me. I sniffled and explained what was going on in a mass of tears.

"Daddy, I don't want to do this." I sobbed. "Please, help me."

Little did I know, his idea of help was buying me a plane ticket to Washington that very night. He called me the next day bouncing out of his seat; he was so excited to tell me.

"Dad, slow down." I sighed. "You're mumbling at me."

He took a deep breath. "You've been in L.A way too long, baby. So…I decided, you're coming to live with me."

This did not sit well with Mother, as you might have guessed. Her only defense was a shriek and the fact that she still had primary custody of me. We got into a huge fight and finally, I pulled the age card. I don't think she realized that I was almost an adult and I didn't have to listen to her.

"I'll be eighteen in six months." I hissed. "We can do it one of two ways. I can stay here until my birthday and never sing another song again. Or, I can go live with Dad and work my way back into the music business. It's your choice."

She reluctantly helped me pack. My all around life saver, Peter, drove us to the airport, making faces about my Mother the whole way. It made me laugh and that really helped in the long run. He'd been working for us since my first single came out. He was my body guard, but he doubled as a fantastic driver. He followed me everywhere and most of the time I didn't mind. But sometimes, a teenage girl doesn't want a middle aged man walking ten steps behind her wherever she goes. My assistant and my agent were in the limo with us when we pulled up to the airport. Jenks was having an in depth conversation with Mother about a little publicity while I was away.

"No." I growled. Charlotte stopped scribbling down notes and gave me a sympathetic look. I pulled my knees up to my chest and set my chin on them. Jenks clucked his tongue.

"Bella, Bella, baby!" He crowed. "You have to keep up appearances. Think of your fans! Think of how disappointed they'll be to see you gone."

I had never been more grateful to see the airport. I grabbed my purse as Peter pulled up and popped the trunk, giving Jenks my best defiant glare.

"I'm not thinking about my fans, Jenks. I'm thinking about myself." I murmured. "You can say I'm selfish, but I need to do this. Goodbye!"

I didn't let Mother follow me into the airport. I clung to Peter's side and kept my head down, hoping to avoid eye contact with any possible fans. Peter stopped at security and gave me his best reassuring smile.

"You have a good vacation, kid." He chuckled. "Call and check in sometime?"

I nodded, giving him my signature smile. "You know I will."

He gave me a quick hug and passed my bags. I went through security without being noticed, much to my liking. I was late for my plane, but once I got on, I slept like a baby. I was never on a plane without Mother, so the silence was refreshing. The only disadvantage was when I was woken up by a flight attendant and asked for my autograph. Had Mother been on the plane with me, she would have reported her. But I just smiled, groggily and signed the airplane napkin. She was really thankful and for a moment it was all worthwhile. But I drifted back to sleep and woke up an hour later when we touched down in Seattle. Charlotte told me beforehand that there would be a car waiting for me at the terminal, so my Dad didn't have to drive so far to come pick me up. I called him once I was safely in my car. I doubted anyone in Forks would recognize me; therefore, I didn't go to such great lengths to hide my face or disguise myself. My recent win at the Music Awards had me doubting this for a little while, but Forks was a tiny town. No one watched the Movie Awards there.

Dad assured me that my room was how I left it. That meant nothing to me, considering I was only four when we left. But I thanked him and hung up, letting my head fall back on the seat. This was a whole new experience for me. I was thrilled to be able to hold my head up high and not hide from paparazzi. Who would think to look for me in Forks, Washington? I'll tell you who. No one in their right mind. We pulled up in front of my Dad's house and I profusely thanked the driver, only to have him blush and wave it off. He was a young guy and gave me a shy smile. But who was I to say he was young? I was only seventeen.

"Just doing my job, Miss Swan." He muttered, blinking with wide eyes. I winked and collected my bags from the back seat with me. Dad met me in the driveway with the biggest smile on his face. I dropped my bags and ran up to hug him. I hadn't seen him since Christmas of last year, but he acted like I was never gone. He helped me get my stuff in the house, ranting and raving about how fantastic I was at the Grammy's.

"I was the only man at the station who watched it under his own free will." He laughed, guiding me up to my room. It was smaller than I was used to, but I was happy to be living simply. This was where I came from and this was where I would stay.

"You didn't tell anyone I was coming…did you?" I asked, hesitantly. He shook his head, hair falling in his face. My Dad had always had long hair and it irked Mother to no end. She always nagged him to get it cut whenever he visited.

"I know you want privacy." He assured me. "This is the perfect place for it."

"Am I going to get recognized?" I sighed, sitting gently down on my bed. He grumbled.

"Well, we don't live under a rock." He muttered. "So, I suppose you will be noticed eventually. But you have some time."

This eased a bit of my anxiety. Dad left me to unpack and I was grateful he didn't hover like Mother. She would have picked at the way I folded my clothes and stuck them in the dresser. Or she would have rearranged every piece of furniture in the room until it was completely up to her standards. When all my clothes were safely in the dresser, I dug to the bottom of my second bag and found my rehearsal clothes. I did promise that I would practice my routines every now and then, and I prided myself on being honest. I had every intention of practicing at some point. But, not any point in the near future. I threw my rehearsal clothes in the back of the closet and solemnly swore not to get them out unless I really needed them. I was going through and placing some of my things around the room, when I noticed something shiny at the bottom of my bag. I moved over a few of my books and my journals, to find the dress I wore the Grammy's last month. I tried to recall putting it in there, but I had no memory of it. Mother must have put it there, I thought. And just when I thought she was letting me go. I removed and hung it up gently in the back of my closet with my rehearsal clothes.

I found my way to the kitchen, where Dad was reading the sports section of the paper and drinking a beer. I smiled and leaned against the doorway. I'd never seen anyone drink a beer before. They never had beer at the events I attended or the parties I went to. Even if they did, no one ever drank it. Mother had a fit every time she saw anyone drinking at all. Dad noticed me standing there and raised an eyebrow. I went to sit across from him.

"This is a lot different than L.A. " I noted, looking around the room. I saw that there was no dishwasher, much to my dismay. I had a thing about dishwashers.

Dad took a swig of his beer. "It's a lot quieter than L.A. There are no tabloids in Forks. No paparazzi, no red carpet….no pressure."

I winked at him, and flipped to the comic section of the paper. "I guess I came to the right place."

He chuckled. "You'll get used to it."

I felt my stomach turn and I looked around to see if Dad was making anything. "Hey, Dad? When's dinner?"

I saw a faint blush on his cheeks and he stammered. "I'm not that great of a cook. I usually eat at the diner on my way home from work."

I set down the comics and nodded. "Then let's go."

He looked surprised. "I thought you would want to get settled in. And besides, you said you didn't want anyone to see you just yet."

I shook my head. "I changed my mind. Let's go, old man."

I hopped up from the table and went to get my shoes from the hallway. I slipped them on, followed by my coat and snickered as I heard Dad grumbling about my old man comment. He came out of the kitchen and grabbed his jacket off the back of the couch, before following me out the door. We climbed into his cruiser and drove into 'town'. It wasn't much of a town if you asked me, but I was going to embrace this. I was a little nervous as we pulled into the parking lot of a rusty old diner. I was so used to ducking behind tables and hiding my face when we were out. I kept my head down out of habit as we got out of the car. Dad put his arm around my shoulders, obviously trying to be comforting but it just made me feel silly for hiding my eyes. I let my hair cover most of my face and Dad cover my body. We went into the diner, letting the bell on the door jingle behind us and I quickly sat down at a table. Dad slid in across from me and opened up a menu.

"The burgers here are really good." He offered, before the waitress came over. I furrowed my eyebrows.

"I can't remember the last time I had a burger." I murmured. "Mother says they're fattening."

He snorted. "A little meat never hurt anyone. We'll have two burgers then."

I gave him a hopeful look. "With bacon?"

A grin appeared on his face. "You got it, Bells."

The waitress appeared out of nowhere with a pad of paper and a pen. I kept my eyes trained down and let Dad order for us. She said in a dull tone that it would be a few minutes and to enjoy our wait. I took a deep breath when she walked away. Dad looked uncomfortable.

"I wasn't sure what the school situation was," He started. "So, I just went ahead and enrolled you in the local high school."

My breath caught in my throat. I gasped for breath and looked up at him with wide eyes. "Really?"

He had a confused expression. "Well, yeah. Didn't you go to school in L.A?"

I shook my head, vigorously. "No, never! Mother always said I was too important for real school. I've had a tutor since I was six."

Dad guffawed. "Too important? Your Mother is a real piece of work."

I rolled my eyes and looked away when the waitress came back with our drinks. When she left, I glanced back up. "You think I don't know that?"

He sighed and lifted his glass up a bit. "School should be exciting for you then. To new experiences?"

I gave him a sly smile and clinked my glass with his. "New experiences? I'm in a whole other ball game, Dad. This is crazy."

Our food came a little while later and I scarped it down, greedily. Dad had to remind me to chew about four times. Our burgers came with fries and embarrassingly enough, I ate both mine and Dad's. He whistled when the waitress came to take our plates away.

"Has your Mother been starving you?" He demanded as we went out to the car. I felt heavy, but it was a good kind of heavy. I felt like I was finally being weighed down to the ground. I wasn't drifting anymore. Who knew a cheeseburger had so much meaning?

"Not starving, per se." I murmured. "She just makes sure all food is very unappetizing."

He shivered. "She used to do the same thing to me. I'll tell you, if I never see another soy bean again, I'll die a happy man."

I went to bed late that night. Mother always told me no amount of make up could truly cover up bags and I had to get a full ten hours of sleep at night if I wanted to be prepared for a hard day. Dad scrounged up some extra school supplies for me, giving me the choice between starting school tomorrow or later in the week. I was so excited to actually have some interaction with kids my own age, I chose tomorrow. I had some blank notebooks and pens in my bag with me, so all we really needed were some pencils. I found some in the junk drawer, another concept I loved. Junk was not an option in my house. I put an emphasis on mine because I technically paid for the house and everything in it. Mother was just acting as my guardian until I was eighteen and had legal rights to do what I wanted with it. I think when I'm eighteen I'll take pleasure and in evicting her. I was feeling rather malicious tonight.

I stayed up and watched television until midnight, the latest I'd ever stayed up on my own before. It seemed outrageous. I'd been up until two or three o'clock in the morning before, but while at parties and events. Never just because I was watching television or reading a book. I watched a George Lopez marathon, which really perked me up. George thought his Mother way bad? He should try to spend seventeen years with mine. Then we'll see who's miserable. I honestly think I'd rather live in poverty than be famous. At least in poverty you're actions aren't being monitored by millions of people. If you screw up, it's your screw up to witness. No one else can judge you for it because they've probably done the same thing. The media doesn't work like that.

When I finally went to bed, my room felt so cozy. My room at home in L.A was spacious and hollow. I always had a hard time falling asleep at night there. Not to mention, it was one hundred degrees every day out there. In Forks, I wrapped myself up in a blanket to keep from shaking. I drifted off to sleep peacefully, something I hadn't done since I left.

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"Bella?"

"Bells?"

"Bella, wake up. You have school." Dad murmured, shaking me lightly. I stirred and opened one eye to see him standing over me in his uniform. I rolled out of bed and stumbled down the hall into the bathroom. I had set up my toiletries in the shower sometime before I went to bed last night, so I was in and out in all of about ten minutes. I weighed the pros and cons of putting on make up, but I figured I might as well stay with something a bit familiar. I applied the usual make up, more lightly then normal and threw on something relatively normal. I didn't want to look like some Hollywood snob to the all the other kids. I wanted to fit in here. When I came down the stairs, Dad was holding out my purse. I took it, gratefully and took deep breaths as we went out to the car.

"You'll be fine." He assured me. "No one will recognize you. I'm sure these kids don't even watch television."

I had never been so nervous in my life. Not even when I accepted Best Female Artist at the Music Awards last year. Dad dropped me off in front of a dull brown building with kids swarming around. I practically ran to the front office, where a middle aged woman was typing on a computer behind the desk. I hesitantly made my way over to her, with my eyes down.

"Excuse me?" I asked, softly. "I'm new here."

The woman didn't even glance at me, she just kept typing. "Name?"

I cringed and spit my name out, quickly. "Isabella Swan."

I heard the keyboard quiet. I glanced up from my shoes and found her giving me a dirty look. "I don't appreciate your jokes, young lady. Name?"

I let my whole face show. She gasped and I repeated my name. "Isabella Swan?"

"As in…?" She trailed off and shook her head. "You're Charlie Swan's daughter?"

I nodded, sheepishly. "Can I please have my schedule?"

She shakily handed me my papers and introduced herself. "I'm Mrs. Cope, dear. If you have any problems, I'll get them sorted out right away."

I winced as I turned away and looked over my schedule. A bell rang overhead and kids got louder, before disappearing into rooms. I looked around and sighed, before hitching my purse up higher on my shoulder and walking towards my first class. It said room 136, so I kept walking until I found it. I pushed the door open, gently, to reveal a small class of kids and an overworked teacher. I held up my papers and quietly introduced myself to him. He didn't seem to recognize me, because he simply pointed inanely at a spot across the room and told me to sit down. I obeyed and found an empty chair at the back of the room near a small girl with short black hair. I kept my face firmly down, but she tried to speak to me anyway.

"Hi," She chirped, ignoring the teacher. "I'm Alice Cullen. What did you say your name was?"

I was practically whispering at her. "Isabella."

I kept looking away, but I knew she was grinning. "You must be Chief Swan's daughter, right?"

I nodded, letting my hair truly cover all my features. "Yeah."

She was silent for a moment. "Ha, you know what's funny? You have the same name as my favorite singer, Isabella Swan. You kind of look like her too."

I stopped breathing and finally looked over at her. Recognition didn't set in on her face until I tucked my hair behind my ear. Before I could stop her, she was squealing and bouncing in her seat. Other kids looked over to see what the commotion was about. I covered my face, but it was useless. Alice was still squealing.

"You're Isabella Swan!" She shrieked. A few other girls joined in a group of boys started whistling and cat calling. I stood up, grabbing my books in the process, but so did Alice and the other girls. The teacher was yelling for everyone to settle down and I tried to use that as my escape from the room. But I found myself jogging down the hall as the kids followed me. That little Alice girl was losing her fucking mind and I dropped my books and covered my ears as I started to run faster. I didn't know this place, so I was randomly going down hallways, hoping it wasn't a dead end. Gradually, I looked back to see more kids had joined her and I sped up, thankful that Mother had enforced those early morning runs. Dad's words came back to me.

"You'll be fine. No one will recognize you. I'm sure these kids don't even watch television."

Good call, Dad, I thought bitterly as I ran away from the mob. This was just like in those cheesy movies, where a mob of screaming fans chases the actor through the streets. Any minute now, they were going to catch up to me and I was going to get tackled. It definitely wouldn't be the first time. A door squeaked open when I was a few yards ahead of the mob, and I felt a sense of dread in my stomach, knowing I was trapped between fans now. But a boy popped his head out from behind the door and nodded back into the room. Did. I jumped into the room and the boy locked the door. I caught my breath and suddenly realized it probably wasn't a good idea to join a strange boy I've never met in a locked room with no one around.

"Damn Alice." I heard him mutter, before turning to face me. His hair was in his eyes, but it was the oddest shade I'd ever seen. It was almost bronze. "You must be the new girl."

I nodded, relived that he wasn't jumping all over me. "Yeah, I'm Isabella. Isabella Swan."

He stopped for a second and pushed the hair out of his eyes. "The musician?"

I nodded, slowly. He didn't seem all that excited about, to be honest. He sounded more surprised. "Who are you?"

He leaned against a desk and crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm Edward. Edward Cullen."

Review, please. This is my first attempt at fanfiction, so I hope it's alright.

Rina.