I'll try to keep my author's note brief. I'd just like to start off by saying, hey! How ya doin'? Anyway, I'd really like some feedback on this first chapter to see if I'll continue with the story. No flames, please. Like Thumper's mother always says, if you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all.

Also, I'm just going to do one big disclaimer right now so I won't have to deal with it every chapter

Ehm…

I DO NOT OWN TWILIGHT! SM DOES!

Now, enjoy the story.

"MY EYES!"

Now, you're probably wondering why I would yell that after coming home from a fairly normal day of school. Here's why: I walked into my living room, normally a very pleasant room to be in, to find my mother in some revealing French maid-ish outfit. She was sitting on some shirtless guy's back while she danced around with a riding crop in her hand.

Immediately my mother, and the man I didn't know, looked up. My hands were slapping against my head to get rid of the disturbing image. "Mom!" I screamed, hysterical and praying for this nightmare to end. "Seriously? In the middle of the living room?"

I peeked out from behind my hand and found both of them in a standing position, staring at the ground, trying to look innocent. "So, honey, how was school?" Mom asked quietly.

My eyes narrowed. "Oh, no. As disturbed as I am, I want to know what the hell you were doing in the middle of the living room!"

The man next to her blushed. "Well...I'm the fairy princess and Jeff is my bad little pony," she stated calmly. I gagged slightly. She turned to Jeff. "Just go home. We'll continue later." He nodded and rushed over to grab his shirt before running out the door.

Mom turned to me, a sheepish grin on her face. "So...why are you home so early?" she asked. I rolled my eyes.

"The warden wasn't looking and I managed to scale the barbed wire fence." I said sarcastically. She glared playfully, before heading into her room to put away her..."princess" outfit. Meanwhile, I sat at the island in the middle of the kitchen, tossing my backpack into the chair next to me. "I told you that we were getting let out early because they were going to let us have a long weekend. Telling you that doesn't mean, 'Go have sex with some random guy in the middle of the living room even though your daughter might be home any minute!'" I exclaimed. "What if I saw something!" I added, horrified at the possibility. Mom's bark-like laugh was muffled by the fact she was in a different room, but it was still distinct.

"Katie, hon, you would've liked whatever you accidentally saw." She winked as she entered the kitchen, wearing a silk Chinese patterned robe. "He's thirty-eight, but could still get hired to work at Abercrombie and Fitch."

I made a noise that sounded in between a gag and a cough. "Are you trying to make me want to join a convent? Because Grandma offered to help me escape the last time she was giving me twenty bucks for being my awesome self."

She snorted and began to make herself a sandwich. "Being royalty really takes it out of ya!" she told me. I coughed to hide my snicker.

"Yeah, that's what it is," I murmured sarcastically. I was smacked on the back of the head promptly afterwards. "Ow! God, Ma! Are you trying to kill me by giving me brain damage?" I whined like a three year-old.

Mom snorted. "Oh yeah, you caught me, kid. I'm one of those self-obsessed mothers who uses their child's pain to get attention."

"Münchausen syndrome by proxy."

"Yeah that." She paused and turned to give me a perplexed look. "Where the hell did you learn that? I'm supposed to be the smarterer one. I'm the adult here." Her words were connected and slightly slurred.

I sighed, rubbing my head tiredly. "First of all, Mom, smarterer isn't a word. Second," I paused to give her a wary glance, "you had wine before that whole fiasco in the living room, didn't you?"

Proudly, she nodded and pulled a bottle of white wine out of the fridge. Quickly, I bypassed her and shoved the bottle back into the fridge before blocking the door so she couldn't get in. I knew the consequences of not stopping her right now in her slightly-tipsy state.

At the thought of the last incident, I shuddered. Let's just say it involved two male strippers, a candy striper costume, and a spray-bottle of whipped cream. All taking place in the middle of the dining room. I was never the same after walking in on that. By the way, I was eleven.

Sex wasn't a foreign subject in this house. Considering my mother isn't the most...subtle person when it comes to her...encounters. I got the sex talk when I was nine. And it consisted of Mom telling me the basic "goal" (her words, not mine) of sex, what you're trying to do, and then listing all the bad things that can happen to me if I have sex.

Great approach, right?

Back to the present, my phone vibrated on the kitchen island. I picked it up and saw a text from my best friend, Maria, flash on the screen.

Bonfire in La Push 2nite! R u goin?

Quickly, I replied.

Idk. Mom's been getting a little too close to a wine bottle today so...

Apparently, my mother had been reading over my shoulder because I heard her snort before she stalked out of the kitchen, sandwich in one hand, bottle of Pepsi in the other (she flaunted the fact her drink wasn't alcoholic). I just rolled my eyes and waited for a reply.

Plz? D can come over & take care of her.

Who she was referring to when she said "D" was my older brother Dean. He's 26 and has his own house here in the tiny town of Forks. Even though he has his own house, he visits a lot. But honestly, I didn't want to go to the bonfire. Big crowds and parties were Maria's scene, not mine. She was good at flirting with guys, I mostly snapped at them or made sarcastic remarks to the few pick up lines ever aimed at me.

Why should I?

Her reply came back soon after I texted her that.

Bcuz u luuuuuv me! And you want to make me smile! :( PLZ?

I sighed and gave in.

I'll be there.

God, I was going to regret this.

"OK, no sex, because I know you don't own any condoms and you aren't on the pill. Don't drink too much, one beer is the limit. If you come home high or with breath that smells like a cigarette, I'll kick your ass so hard you'll land in next Tuesday. Got it?" Mom asked, done laying down the rules and making threats of bodily harm. I nodded. She flashed me a 1950's-we're-a-creepily-happy-family smile before shooing me out the door. I had to leave early tonight to pick up Maria. My beautiful chariot awaited. It was a 1971 Chevrolet Monte Carlo, with original seats and paint. The radio was busted when I bought it, so Dean got me a new one and was procrastinating about putting it in.

The olive green paint had been a turn off for most, along with the radio, but I loved my baby. The Green Bomb. (Don't look at me! Maria's nickname for it.) Anyway, I cruised down the silent streets of Forks, occasionally seeing another car. It was dark out, almost eight o'clock, and no one was outside. Only badasses such as myself dared drive through Forks this late. Yeah, I'm such a rebel.

Not.

When a familiar mustard yellow house came into view, I pulled up to the curb Maria's house was sitting on and waited for her. My best friend's parents were very strict and do not tolerate parties, so Maria was taking one of her signature escape routes. Out the window, down the tree.

Not long after I'd stopped, I saw a blurry, dark figure shimmy out the window and slide down the roof slightly. Then, they jumped off the roof and latched their arms on one of the branches that dipped downward. They swung their legs back and forth a few times before they let go and landed in the left center of the yard and scurried towards my car.

Maria slid in quickly and glanced at me, smiling. Her pale cheeks were flushed from the cool night air and the excitement she'd told me she always felt when sneaking out. I sighed.

"You owe me. Bad." I told her. Her smile widened and she nodded.

"I know, I know. That's like 'I owe you' number ninety-two in this friendship. Thank god they don't have a due date," she muttered the last part under her breath as she took off her thin cardigan. I was surprised to see what she was wearing beneath.

She had on a tight, jean mini skirt that was over some black tights. Her top was a magenta colored tank top that had a plunging neckline. On her feet were some sparkly sandals. I examined the rest of her with an eyebrow raised so high it was probably touching my hairline. Her normally straight blond hair was in wild, messy curls that glittered slightly. Her eyes had eyeliner, a thick layer of mascara, and dark eye shadow covering them. The rest of the make up was much simpler, thank God.

"Where the hell are you going? Because, last time I checked, bonfires didn't require an outfit suitable to go clubbing with Paris Hilton in." I muttered, starting the Carlo.

She giggled. "Oh, Katie. Silly, silly, Katie." Maria said, patting my head like I was some naïve little girl. "I would never go clubbing with Paris. She only strips in them and I ain't that desperate to get a man."

I didn't bother replying, just began to drive towards La Push.