Dawn

"A feather that blows in the air will always find its way back to where it belongs—when it gets there is the question; where it falls is the answer."1. Postage Stamp

There are many things that I would much rather be doing right now, sitting in the backseat of my new stepfather's convertible as he drove me to the airport, hot, humid and steaming unforgivable Arizona air hitting my face and blowing mousy brown hair in an uncontrollable frenzy.

Trust me. I really do not enjoy smelling the fumes of other gas producing, Earth-killing cars on the highway with nothing to help decrease the intensity but a broken roof that will always consequently be down.

It's not as if any of that matters, though, seeing as I will, without reasoning for the choice that I understand, be staying in Forks, Washington, with my father for the remainder of my high school career.

My mother is humane enough, though, to take me out of school during the summer, before anyone would notice that I was missing, if anyone would. I'm not the perfect, shining embodiment of the most popular girl in school. In fact, I spit at the most popular girl's feet whenever I see her in the halls, huff, shove my aristocratically pointed nose in the air, swing my brunette hair over my shoulder, then strut off to Math class.

You should have been able to tell I was making that all up as soon as I said 'spit'.

Either way—I decided as soon as the shiny white convertible lurched another half inch further, and the song on the radio turned to something even bubblier and rhythmic with a singer whose voice has probably been edited and auto tuned more times than they can count—that doesn't matter one bit. My old life is, apparently, the equivalent of a stamp—necessary to send a piece of information from destination to destination, but not key to the message itself.

I was never stupid. I know my Mom is sending me off to Forks to relay the messages of 'I-am-over-you-Charlie-Swan' and 'You-can-care-for-your-almost grown-daughter-now'. I am fully capable of taking care of myself, and to boot I would usually take care of my mother when she came in late from 'business parties' at the club, hold her hair back while she released her insides into the toilet when I should've been studying for a Biology exam. That was until Phil showed up, however.

Phil, my soon-to-be stepfather, is a very nice man, and bound to be successful with whatever endeavor he chooses. Renee, my mom, is sure to look amazing on his arm when he accepts the Nobel Peace Prize for something he patents that ends up curing cancer in some odd, unexpected yet expected way.

Phil is just that type of person, and, I guess, I'm that type of girl that can just simply ruin his dreams. I guess that also ruins my mother's dreams—is sharing seventeen years of my life with her not enough?—then, too.

Maybe that's why I'm going to Forks. I'm still trying to piece together the facts into a puzzle that actually makes a sensible, logical, and in all respects not wrong, picture. Is that too much to ask for?

I suppose so, considering I'm still being shipped off to Washington.

Now that I ponder on it, I could've very easily said 'No, Mom, I think you're being extremely immature and selfish along with Phil in thinking that I would be better off in Washington. How in the world would I have more success with a father I barely know, when I have so many opportunities with you and Phil, here in Arizona?'

However, then I'd be lying. I, somewhere deep down in my dark and dusty subconscious, actually want to go to Forks. It's highly possible that I just want to live there because it's named after a common kitchen and eating utensil. That could very well make any conversation I have with someone who could influence my life momentous, and leave an imprint of me on his or her minds.

'Oh, I was thinking that that girl…Isabella Swan? From Forks, Washington, would be a wonderful addition to our college campus. I think I read somewhere that Forks is the hometown of all things silverware—she must be an influential girl, then, no doubt, if she is from that town.'

That sounds so stupid that it should be written down in some law book, stamped to never be uttered, written, or thought of again, but, considering the actual brain capacity of most professors, deans, and persons of the sort, they would say something like that.

The sound of a throat clearing shook me from my genuinely pointless thoughts, and I blinked my eyes a few times, long eyelashes brushing translucent skin until I got a clear image of the suntanned Phil, glancing at me from at the wheel.

"Bella," he said, his carefree voice barely traveling to my ears because of the sound of rubber tire rolling against asphalt streets at a speed most likely faster than speed limit. "Are you sure you don't want your mother or me to at least walk you to the gates?"

I love how he pretends to care for me as if I were his biological child. Don't get me wrong; as I said before, Phil is nice, he just isn't high on my 'Favorite Guys in the World' list. I'd be surprised if he ever broke top twenty, to be completely honest. I'm happy for Renee, though, so I must be civil with the man.

My own answer was a simple, "No, I'll be fine," but I could, even though I was behind her, see Renee's shoulders slump low, disappointed. Quickly, I added, "B-But if you guys want to help me with the luggage at check in or whatever, it'd be greatly appreciated."

I could feel Renee smile, and with a quick, furtive glance toward the rear view mirror, I could actually see the corners of her mouth rise in a small smile, large enough to make smile lines deepen, but not large enough to declare a full-on grin. She was happy, either way.

My purpose is filled.

A comfortable (or at least it felt that way to me) not so silence filled with honking horns and swerves, motorcycle revs and Roadway trucks hooting, blanketed the three of us, and I slapped my hands over my face, covering my eyes.

I would be living in Forks. Washington. I don't know why but I have a gnawing feeling that this will be more than me staying with my Dad, more than me moving to a new state, more than me being separated from Renee. It'll be…in short and for lack of better word, interesting.

The sound of crinkling leather caught my attention, that and the whirring noise of the air turbines of planes cutting through air.

I separated my fore and middle fingers, allotting just enough space to let me see the surroundings of tan sand and dusty-looking plants, tall palm trees, and people walking around in nothing but bikinis and swim trunks for the last time. This will probably be the last time I'll see a cactus.

Dear Lord.

Renee turned around in her seat so that her knees were embedding into the fancy leather, facing me, plucked brown eyebrows raised in excitement. "You know, Bella, you don't have to be so depressed about going to Forks to live with Charlie (she refused to call him my father; usually it was 'that man'), honey. I heard that there were some pretty cute guys…"

Her tone was desperately conversational, and the topic brought nothing but pink to my usually near-albino cheeks. Despite myself, I released a small groan.

"Mom, could you not?" She put on a big show of expression that spelled out she had no idea what I was talking about even though she really did, and I rolled my brown eyes, adding, "And I'm not depressed. I'm…unwillingly expectant."

My nose crunched up in confusion, because I had honestly just confused myself with my words. Was I truly unwillingly expectant? What was unwillingly expectant? I know what I feel right now—a barrage of happy and sad, anxious and nervous, worried and elated; if colors could describe, the mixture on the canvas would be a disturbed and poorly blended blob of blah.

Because when you have no word to put your feeling on, that's what you say: Blah.

Phil slowed his way into a turn, going up a ramp that went to the Drop Off dock of the airport. "Alright, then, Bella, this will be your last stop here in Phoenix. We'll help you with your baggage as soon as I find a decent place to park."

That's the happiest he's sounded all day. Probably because he's dropping off his baggage—me.

I was zoned out during the whole safety and precautions seminar, sitting next to an overly attentive young, as in no older than twenty-eight, mother who was obviously protective of her son. He was seated in the aisle seat.

I was lucky enough to remember to check my ticket online, so I was in Group A, and landed the window seat. The little boy, though, had been crying about that just minutes ago.

Apparently, the clouds are made of cotton candy and, apparently, he likes cotton candy and he is hungrier than the Hungry Hungry Hippos on diets.

I sighed, plopping my head onto my hand, my elbow propped on the small ledge of the window. I watched each house get smaller and smaller, trained my eye on certain cars until it was simply impossible to trail it anymore, and tried to fight the warm feeling around my waist, where Renee had hugged me at least ten minutes ago, a strong, loving squeeze that almost surprised me. She must've been working out.

Either way, the gesture, no matter how sweet and maternal, made me feel nauseous—I could be airsick, though—because I knew that that was the last time I would be physically seeing her for a while, the last time she would be hugging me and begging me to shop at some cute teeny-bopper store, the last time I would see her smile wholeheartedly while she told me she loved me.

I would miss the woman, despite the fact that she was more of a child than I was, so much so that she believes that I would be better off with Charlie, instead of with her and Phil. I remember her telling me it was because of the outrageous amounts of travelling would be strenuous, especially adding in the schooling issue, and my education is 'valued'.

Whatever, I mentally sighed, leaning into the back of the uncomfortable seat, trying to feel the cushioning that I was starting to believe was nonexistent. I had a good, nice, long plane ride to think things over, and discover why a plain switch in location and living was irking me so much. I was staying in the same country, maybe not the same time zone, but it wasn't as if I was moving to Russia—no offense to Russia, you were just the first to come to mind—or anything as absurd as that.

So what, there would be a completely different climate? Umbrellas come as cheap as a dollar, and hoods can do wonders.

So what, I would be going to a completely different school? I didn't have many friends anyway.

Maybe that was it; maybe I was being the cliché teenage girl that I never was, and I was worrying about first impressions and making relationships with people who will, most likely, mean absolutely nothing to me twenty years from now. Yeah, that seems highly plausible, considering that most everyone needs to have something cliché about them.

Think about it; that's how labels exist, and if you don't have a label, you're still labeled as 'Weird' or 'Off' or 'Creepy'. I would know.

Three soft taps on my shoulder deterred me from my mental rant about society and its unfair ways, and my attention was averted to the mother next to me, who must've been from Arizona, going off her tan complexion.

I don't know what's wrong with me. Maybe my body just doesn't accept Vitamin D. I don't tan. Period.

She smiled, "Hi. I'm Helen."

"Um…," I said awkwardly, since I wasn't exactly accustomed to entire strangers introducing themselves to me on an airplane, "Hi. I'm…Bella. "

Helen grinned wider, eyes honestly delighted. The woman wanted conversation. With me. "Are you from Arizona?"

I was tempted to say, "No, I'm from this town where we find it the highest form of disrespect to our god to speak to complete strangers on aircrafts," but that would've been rude.

"No, actually. My mom and I are from Jacksonville, Florida, but when she met her boyfriend, we moved to Phoenix. She might be going back to Florida, though," I informed dryly as I reached forward, grasping a magazine from the pocket on the back of the seat in front of me. I flipped through pages, hoping that Helen would get the clue that I would really rather not speak to her right now.

The sounds of her son playing Mario Bros. (the undeniable theme song gave it away) filled my ears before Helen's cheeky, giggly laugh did. "Oh, so you're just visiting Washington?"

Since I hoped so, I nodded. "That's the plan."

"I would've never guessed you're from such sunny places, though," She said with such dramatics that I was urged to look away from the picture of the extremely skinny celebrity that the journalists were questioning for anorexia.

My brown eyes flicked in her direction, and I rose an eyebrow, unable to feign my curiosity. "Why do you say that?"

"Because you're so pale!" She replied, slapping a hand to her chest theatrically.

My eyes narrowed. This woman was going to get on my nerves.

The part of my mind that still held remnants of my etiquette lessons from childhood reminded me to be civil to those who are civil and friendly with you, so, rather reluctantly, I stopped glaring at Helen and played surprised.

"Really, you think so?"I asked.

Helen replied, "Yes. You should try this tanning lotion," she dug through her purse, a large, normally deemed 'Mommy Purse', and pulled out a bottle, "it works wonders for the fair complexioned. You could keep it, if you'd like. I have plenty more."

I twirled the bottle in my fingers and furrowed my eyebrows, a crease forming on my forehead as I looked at it.

"Um…thanks," I eventually muttered, feeling more than uncomfortable now because of the woman's friendliness.

"No problem, dear." She replied, waving it off as if giving me a brand new, whole bottle of suntan lotion was her gift to me from Jesus. She probably feels like a saint or something. "Trevor! Wh—you do not eat…"

I stopped listening to her then, focusing on the fluffy white pillows that the clouds were and how similarly related they were to marshmallows.

So soft, a whisper in the back of my mind told me, quietly, warmly, so comfortingly that I found my eyelids growing heavy, fighting to stay open.

I turned toward Helen. "Do you mind if I close the shade? I'm pretty beat," as if to add emphasis to my statement, I yawned.

Helen shrugged, then turned to Trevor, "Do you mind if Ms. Bella closes the curtain?"

"NO! I wanna see the clouds!"

I watched his expression go from peaceful to distressed in seconds, big blue eyes watering and a bottom lip poking out. "I-I could just close it halfway…then…" I suggested, rubbing the side of my face nervously.

Trevor seemed to take my suggestion into thought, and eventually nodded. "Okay, Ms. Bella. Just don't close it, okay?"

I smiled, "Okay. I promise."

He grinned back, quietly ending our little agreement, and I took the opportunity to close the shade halfway before he got the chance to change his mind.

Cuddling as much as possible against the leather of the airplane seat, I sighed, closed my eyes and was met by darkness at first, of which slowly dissolved into an array of colors; greens and browns, reds and smiling faces playing in my mind.

A girl, lanky, tall for her age, and with stringy wet brown hair that I could vaguely name as myself from over ten years ago ran on a beach, laughing and giggling as she chased was being chased by a boy with golden russet skin, and the blackest, silkiest hair I've ever seen.

He smiled from ear to ear when he caught me, announcing loudly, "Gotcha, Bells!" while tackling me to the ground, both of us getting sandy and wet. "You're it, now!" He laughed, same mesmerizing smile still on his, even at that age, handsome face, glowing and infectious.

The younger I grinned, lightly pushing the russet skinned boy off her and to the side.

"Jeez, Jake! I'm tired!" I announced, rolling onto my stomach, propping myself up with my elbows. 'Jake' did the same, looking at me with warm brown eyes like hot chocolate.

"You're just mad because you're always it," he smirked, bumping my shoulder, "Admit it."

Though I pouted, a playfully glint adorned my eyes, and the protruding of my lip didn't last long, and I laughed. "Whatever—"

"No, not whatever."

"Yes, whatever," I said, an irritated edge on my tongue.

Jake grinned, "Whatever."

My eyes narrowed just before I grabbed a handful of sand and threw it into his unsuspecting face. "If I can't say whatever, you can't say it either," I jutted out my tongue, rising onto my feet and kicking another barrage of sand in his direction. "And you're it!" I giggled, running off into the horizon.

"Hey!" Jake called, "Bella, wait up! That wasn't cool!"

He was probably running after me by now, but the focus of my dream was changed. Blurs of green forest replaced dark tan sand and blue-gray rough seawater, the smells of mold, dirt, Evergreen, and earth taking the place of mist and burned out fires. My bare feet softly pressed the moist soil, leaving footprints, and my hands brushed branches out of the way as I ran, a white smile on my face.

There's no way Jake's going to find me now, I thought, and the mental note seemed to make me slow, in the middle of a large clearing. Tall grass surrounded me, reaching up to my waist, and all the big, huge, trees of the forest seemed to encircle the one clearing. I looked around, brown eyes scanning the area.

There was no way Jake was going to find me, because I didn't know where I was myself. The sounds of the ocean slamming against the rocks were gone, and an eerie silence was making itself known. It was too quiet for anyone's liking. Far too quiet for my own.

Hesitantly, I called out, "I-I-Is anyone there?"

Silence was more reply, even more achingly so quiet. A whip of wind sent my hair westward, and my eyes snapped in that direction.

"Hello?" My voice echoed, three times until I could hear it no longer, and off in the distance, a family of birds cawed, taking off into the air and away from where I had just looked.

Something was over there, my instincts told me. I just couldn't run. It was as if someone had superglue, put it on the balls of my feet, and pressed me into the ground.

My little heart beat hard in my chest, with so much vigor that my ears pounded. "Jake!" I screamed, tears pinching the corners of my eyes, "This isn't funny! I-I-I-I'm sorry I threw sand in your face, okay!"

Run, my mind told me, run, and with limbs shaking like jelly, I took one step backward, only to bump into a stone hard, sub-arctic temperatures enveloping me. I yelped, for that was all I could do, a gloved, but still freezing palm covering my mouth, the other holding one of my arms.

"Hush, hush, now, darling," A smooth voice ordered softly, long, red, curly hair touching onto my shoulder. She whispered, "We don't want anyone to know, okay?" cold breath ghosting not only my ear, but also a whole side of my face.

I could feel her lean, closer and closer to my neck, and with a furtive glance I saw shining white teeth baring, red lips curling.

"Be still, honey, it won't hurt as much, then…" she coaxed.

I whimpered, holding back tears, shutting my eyes tightly. My mind was blank, adding to the deathly silence, but my heart screamed when sharp fangs dug into my skin. In a split second, I saw my life flash through my eyes, and I opened my mouth, biting down on the glove with as much force as I could muster.

Just as I prayed would happen, the vampire jumped back in shock, releasing me, but obviously not in pain. I turned around to see it, and was completely blown away.

She was beautiful.

"That was cute," she chuckled lowly, looking down at her gloved hand, checking for harm, I supposed. "Still a futile attempt, though."

I found my voice, and questioned, rolling onto the balls of my feet, preparing to run. "W-Who are you?" I asked quietly, chagrin I had wanted to express gone. I was scared senseless. Why wasn't I running? I was talking to the vampire that had just tried to suck my blood!

She looked up from her glove, blood red eyes reflecting nothing but hunger, for food, for blood, for me, and before I could think that maybe looking into her eyes was a bad idea, a strong hand was wrapped around my throat. "Don't sc—" She started, only to be interrupted by a long, rough, thunderous growl, coming from directly in front of us.

Time seemed to freeze when the huge, bigger than life itself, wolf emerged from the trees from nowhere, black pelt shining gloriously in the afternoon sun. The grip around my neck loosened considerably, but I was shaking now, knees knobbing in fear, too afraid to try to run. The wolf curled back on its hind legs, snout rising as he growled again, animals of all sort skittering away from the noise so loud. If sound waves had a color, his would be red—angry, determined, fierce.

Another breeze of wind wrapped me, but this time away from my body, and the redheaded vampire was in front of the huge wolf, hunched into a battle position.

The realization hit me harder than a rock. They were about to fight.

Where was I supposed to go? Should I just stay here or run further into the forest and risk running into another vampire? What if I ran into a not-so-friendly wolf that was hungry. Would it eat me? I wasn't too sure if this big old black wolf here was of the heroic and friendly type, either. My eyes shifted, trying to see through the thick forest, only to be severely disappointed.

There was no way out, no way I knew.

"Bells!" I voice called from behind me and to my left, and I spun on my heels, gasping in happiness when I saw a familiar, round face. "Come on! Do you want to be one of their dinners?"

Statically I shook my head 'no' and stepped into the forest, where Jake was, and took his offered hand. Before I could ask any question, he pulled me forward, forcing me to follow as he ran effortlessly through the thickets, avoided every branch with ease, and jumped expertly across overgrown stems.

My eyes had to adjust to the sudden change of light when we ran the trees thinned, and a highway was revealed, a sign reading La Push: Quileute Reserve on the side of the street, standing proudly.

Through ragged breaths, I asked, "Jake, what was that all about?"

"I—," his brown eyes locked with mine, and he pursed his lips together, trying to decide whether he should tell me. "I can't. Not now, at least."

Just when I, well, my dream self, was about to question when he would be able to tell me, the edges of my not so pleasant fantasy blurred, bright lights and bell sounds filling my ears.

Lazily, I blinked my eyes open, and I looked around, shocked at first with my surroundings, though I quickly remembered I was still on the plane.

Going to Forks.

I sighed, and glanced toward Helen, only to see that both she and Trevor were asleep, she cradling her boy in her arms. Now I had no one to distract me from the images of my dream with incessant chatter.

Eventually, I couldn't quiet my burning curiosity any further, and I looked above me at a panel of buttons, pausing when finding the desired picture of a person in a cute—not really—little hat. I outstretched my arm with a tired moan, and pressed the button.

In what seemed like seconds, a flight attendant was at my service.

"How may I be of assistance, Ma'am?" She asked, the required smile in place.

I tried to sound like I wasn't asking this question for a reason when I inquired, "Is there a city called La Push in Washington? Near Forks, maybe?"

Sound nonchalant, my mind reminded, and I quickly added, "M-My uncle said he had some friends down there."

The attendant grinned, "Yes, actually, it's an Indian Reserve and nothing more than a twenty minute drive without traffic from Forks. My cousins are from there."

I barely released my sigh, "Thanks."

"Is that all, then, miss?" She asked, already preparing to turn for her leave.

I nodded. "Yep. Thanks."

My mind whirred, and for some reason, the thought that I could've made that whole dream up from nowhere, and that this 'Jake' person was nothing more than a figment of my imagination did nothing to calm it.

A/N: Blame the birth of this on the fact that Eclipse was freaking awesome (well...they messed up a lot of stuff, but I was satisfied) and I absolutely hate that Bella chose Edward! I refuse to rant in my A/N and make it longer than this chapter, but-UGH! It's aggravating. I seriously contemplated hating Stephenie Meyer for awhile, but that would've been immature and unnecessary, but weird because Stephenie was the genius who created the character I'm trying to defend, so it'll be pointless to yell at her. Yeah...

Anyway, the life of this (at least my posting it) solely depends on the type of response I get. If no response, I will stop posting new chapters and updating. Clearly spoken. Does everyone understand that? OKAY! Lol.

Review Please!

WhisperingLoudly