Hi and welcome to my very first fanfic. I've been playing around with this idea for a long time now, and finally decided to put pen to paper...well, metaphorically speaking. This is very different from any fanfic I've personally read, and even though it is incredibly different, I hope you will enjoy it.

I do not own Twilight, or any of it's characters. This applies to all future chapters of this story.

I do however own Hadley, her plot, a box of madeline cookies, an In-N-Out burger t-shirt and a glass vase full of fake peaches. Boom.

If you review this chap I will be forever grateful. Let me know how I'm doing.

And now we begin...

"Beep, beep, beep!" the shrill sound of my oven alarm lets me know that the cookies are done. Finally. I don't think I've met my sugar quota for the day, hence this stupid headache. Headaches are not conducive to typing on a laptop all day long, which is what I do. The glaring light from the screen just makes everything worse, which is why I need cookies. Stat.

Oh, and some sweet tea. Don't judge me.

I take the cookies out of the oven and place them on the cooling racks. I pour a glass of sweet tea, and nuke it in the microwave for 2 minutes. I'm weird, I know. I like my drinks warm. My sister likes to give me crap about that time I microwaved a coke when I was 16. Ten years later, it's still not funny.

A few seconds later, I pick one of the hot cookies up and begin to eat it, letting it burn my mouth. There's just nothing like a fresh, hot cookie. My phone starts dinging. More emails. They will just have to wait until I finish this cookie.

I take a seat at my kitchen table. It's old, and it's actually a door. I found it at this great little junk/antique shop in the next town over. I brought it home and had a piece of glass cut to fit over it. My chairs are mismatched but that's how I like things. Homey. Old. Broken in.

Out my window it's another blazing hot day in Arkansas. The weather here should be the eighth wonder of the world. We can have a foot of snow or it can be 120 degrees. You just never know. Today, it's hotter than Hades and I am staying safely inside my house. I purchased a small, one story home off of our town square (yes, those really exist!) two years ago and spend my time slowly fixing it up. It's two bedroom, one bath affair with a small backyard that I use for a garden.

The second bedroom is a dedicated office. I have a great job – I get to set my own hours, be my own boss. Gosh, I sound like a spam email. I'm a blogger. I know what you're thinking – people can actually make a living at that? I'm proof, it can be done. Years ago, I started a blog before blogging was popular, about relationships. My sister thinks this is possibly the most hilarious thing she's ever heard of considering that I am perpetually single. What can I say? I just haven't found a guy who isn't a complete moron yet.

I graduated from the local university with a degree in journalism and worked at the local paper for a few years while I saved up for my house. I even started their blog and still occasionally write for it for some extra cash.

My doorbell rings and I have a pretty good idea who it is, since I rarely have visitors.

"Hadleeeeeey!" my sister sings out and she grabs me into a bone crushing hug. For someone so small, Alice is a force to be reckoned with. She is also unceasingly hyper. At five foot nothing, she resembles a pixie with her short dark bob, sparkling green eyes and elfin grin. Most people mistake us for friends because I look nothing like her, unless you count our ridiculously pale skin. At 5'7" with blonde hair and blue eyes, I feel like a giant next to her.

"Hey," I reply as she bounces past me, heading straight for the kitchen. Alice has a nose like a bloodhound. I think she caught the scent of the cookies before I even opened the door.

"Catching up on your sugar quota for the day?" she giggles.

"You know me, if I haven't consumed at least half a pound of sugar by lunchtime I get a splitting headache."

"Didn't you start the day off right with a chocolate chip pancake and chocolate milk?"

"Nope, I skipped breakfast. I woke up to surf the internet and was bombarded with stories about the Big Breakup of 2012."

You know how I said that I write about relationships? Well, sometimes I give my readers advice. They'll email me, and I write a blog post responding to their relationship woes. Other times, I'll use celebrities as my topic. I woke up today to find rumors all over the internet about the biggest celebrity couple around. Apparently, Bella, a young hot Hollywood actress, and her boyfriend Edward, a young, superhot Hollywood actor, have split because she cheated on him. Did I mention he was superhot? Like, there is no going up from him. He's an infinity on the 1-10 scale of hotness.

"So did they actually break up?" Alice says between mouthfuls of cookie.

"No one knows yet, but I've seen some of the pictures. She definitely cheated on him."

"I just don't get it," Alice says as she reaches for another cookie. "How do you go from Edward freaking Cullen to some wannabe actor? How old is he anyway? He looks twelve."

"I think I read that he's 18. His name is Jake, I think. He had a small part in the last movie that she and Edward were in together, and I guess they met there. I think maybe she was just feeling pressured to nail things down with Edward. They have such a huge fan base, and I think she may have been feeling the pressure to get married."

"That's the problem with Hollywood. They don't know how to handle anything like normal people so they go out and do bizarre stuff, like cheat on the hottest guy in the world. Gag. Me. Have you written up a post yet? I checked earlier but I didn't see anything about them."

"No, I think I'm going to work on it tonight. Are we still on for dinner? Where's Jasper?"

"Yeah, Jazz is going to meet us there. He had to work late. The high school band director came in to purchase a few new instruments before the band resumes practice and so he will be closing up shop whenever he leaves."

My sisters' husband may be the only good man in this small southern town. Jasper Whitlock is a true gentleman, and always has been. I should know – they started dating in junior high, when Ali was in seventh grade and I was in sixth. He owns the local music store, which is fitting since he a talented guitarist.

"You want to walk or ride?" I ask with a wink. Alice always wants to ride. I keep several bikes in my tiny garage, since I live so close to the town square and the walking trails.

"I call Pinky!" she shouts as she races to the garage.

There's never any point in arguing with Alice. The minute she turns on the puppy dog eyes, it's all over with and that's exactly what she'd do to me if I didn't give in. She prances to my 1963 Schwinn Deluxe that I had painted pink (hence the nickname) and hops on, giving the bell a ring. I grab one of the spare bikes, a black Wal-Mart special and give my non existent bell a very dramatic ring which makes her burst out in peals of laughter. Alice's' laughter is the best. It's home and Christmas and sugar and the cold side of the pillow all wrapped into one.

We head out into the blazing sun, thankful for the tree-lined streets. Living in the old but adorable part of town means that we have gigantic oak trees lining the way to the square. Perfect for our easily burned skin. We make our way to the Mexican food restaurant tucked into the corner of the picturesque square, lock our bikes to the bike post out front and head in.

"Heeeey chicas!" our favorite waiter, Juan greets us. We try to eat here every Friday night, Alice, Jasper and I, and Juan is the best. He also happens to make the strongest margaritas in the whole town, which is just another reason to love him.

"Juanita!" we cry. We head back to our spot in the back underneath the hot pink sombrero. Alice once made Jasper wear the sombrero and serenade the restaurant during dinner for putting a tiny ding in the door of her Porsche. I don't know why on earth she thought that would humiliate him – not only is Jazz a talented singer but he is a lover of attention.

"I'll be right back with the usual, senoritas," Juan says as he disappears into the back.

"So, are you going to do a post on the perils of cheating on your uber-hot boyfriend, or what?" Ali asks in a voice surprisingly clear despite her mouth being chock full of chips and salsa.

"I was thinking about doing something a little different this time…like writing an open letter to Edward? I don't know. Maybe a "how to get over your girlfriend being a lying, traitorous bitch" type post? It's not like he'll ever see it anyway. Maybe I can give all their fans a little bit of humor since they seem to be taking it really hard."

"I just don't understand it. He followed her around like a lost puppy for years – anyone could tell from their pictures and interviews that he was head over heels for her. He practically worshipped the ground her ungrateful Louboutin's walked on. And side note, but what an incredible waste of great shoes. I mean, seriously? She'd wear them for like, 5 minutes and then take them off so she could wear Converse. Who does that?"

My sister, who happens to be terminally fashion obsessed, is probably the only one discussing Bella's shoe choices throughout her relationship with Edward, as opposed to the actual act of cheating. Go figure. I guess that's why she's the perfect person to open our little town's first high fashion clothing boutique. She's been working tirelessly on the opening of Twilight for the last year, and has the been grand opening scheduled for this fall.

"Bella, I guess. Seriously though, she's young and even though he may have been ready for the commitment, maybe she just wasn't and didn't know how to express it. I think he's like twenty six and she just turned twenty one. We can't all be ready for a lifetime commitment at twenty one, even though you were."

Alice and Jasper got married one week after she turned twenty one. They wanted to be able to drink (heavily) at the reception and do so legally, since half of the town's police force was invited. Come to think of it, I think the entire police force was invited…along with everyone else in this town.

Juan has returned with our margaritas, and Ali takes a huge gulp. "I don't think I'll ever understand how you can give the best relationship advice, but not actually be in one yourself," she says.

I sigh. I hate this line of conversation, and I'm going to have to do some quick thinking on my feet or get her drunk to steer her away from it. Right now, getting her drunk seems like the better option. I take a huge drink knowing she'll follow suit.

"It's common sense, you know that Ali. When people are so deep into a situation, sometimes they need a third party who isn't involved in anyway, to point out the obvious to them. As far as me being single, well, that just is what it is. You happened to snag the only decent guy in this town, besides Juan here and I'm not exactly his type, if you know what I mean. I'm pretty sure his boyfriend would agree."

"Oh honey," shouts Juan from across the bar, "you know you're always my type!"

"Thanks Juan!" I shout back, laughing hysterically.

Alice, however, is undeterred. That's one thing about my sister. When she's focused on something, it is hard to get her off the trail.

"Hads, this isn't about some big fear of commitment or something, is it? I mean, what happened with mom and dad…well, that has nothing to do with any of this, right? It was a fluke, Had, a really awful fluke and it sucks but…"I have to cut her off now. I can't do this. Not now. Preferably not ever.

"Ali, of course not. It has nothing to do with mom and dad. I just haven't found Mr. Right yet, and I don't want a Mr. Right Now…not that there's anything wrong with that, it's just not how I operate."

Alice opened her mouth to continue her line of attack, but I was saved by Jasper. Thank you, thank you, my dirty blonde, slightly disheveled looking saint of a brother-in-law.

"Hey girls," he drawled out. Jazz is originally from Alabama and has a thick southern accent. Ali and I have hardly noticeable accents. I think it comes from travelling all the time as kids, and our parents were from California, so we didn't grown up in a home where people talked overly southern. His accent is possibly the most adorable thing I've ever heard…with the exception of a British accent. Oh gosh, that one gets me every time.

Speaking of British, I'm pretty sure that Edward Cullen has a British accent…part of my mind is always on the post I'm getting ready to write. I'll have to check into that. I've only seen a few of his movies but he spoke with American English in them, so I'm not really sure.

Jazz plops down and begins shoveling chips into his mouth. He looks tired. He and Ali have been under a lot of stress lately, though she hides it much better than he does. A couple of years ago, they decided to work on having a family, but so far, they haven't had any luck. They recently started seeing a specialist and I know it's been taking a toll on them both.

"Good sales day?" I ask him. I'll talk about anything to change the subject off of myself and my pathetic lack of a dating life.

"Mm-hmm," he mumbles. "They needed a bunch of new instruments for the percussion section. Three hours later, we finally got them nailed down. Seth is a nice guy and all, but he can sure talk your leg off."

We make it through the rest of dinner without returning the focus of the conversation back to me. Thankfully. We talk a little about the article I'm planning on writing tonight, and drink margaritas by the pitcher. I'm not a big drinker and it doesn't take much to send me over the edge. Pretty soon Ali and I are laughing hysterically about the fact that Bella Swan would actually cheat on the hottest guy on the planet with some dude who looks twelve.

"Maybe she's having a quarter life crisis," slurs Ali.

"Maybe she's reading too many of those teeny bopper magazines and now she thinks she's twelve!" I choke out.

"Maybe it's time to head home," the voice of reason pipes up. Of course, Jazz is right. It's late and I've got to get that post out tonight. Jazz throws our bikes into the back of his pickup truck and we pile in. In takes less than five minutes to get to my house. After dropping the bikes off in my garage, I wave goodbye to my two favorite people on the planet. My only family and my best friends.

I head in and decide to break my one unbreakable writing rule. Do not write a blog post while intoxicated. I reason with myself, after all, what's the harm? It's not like any of those hot Hollywood types read my blog. And I'm pretty sure most of the women out there will agree with what I have to say.

I begin filling out the autoform for my post, while snacking on one of the cookies I made earlier.

Post Title: An Open Letter to Edward Cullen

Post Body:

Dear Edward,

I'm fairly certain you'll never read this post, hence I feel comfortable writing it. My name is Hadley, and I run this little blog, Dear Hadley. In short, this blog is all about relationships. I answer reader questions, sort of like a modern day Dear Abby, but only dealing with relationships. I can't tell you how many people have written in today, asking about advice for you, and advice for themselves…how they can move past the devastation of their favorite hot Hollywood couple falling apart.

Since none of us actually know you, we can only piece together what the media is feeding us. Here's what I've gathered and a few thoughts from yours truly:

You loved Bella. Maybe you still do.

You were way more into her, than she was into you.

She made a huge mistake. She owned it, but she doesn't want to fix it, she just wants to move on with her new guy.

You can't try to win her back, because she doesn't want to be won.

YOU deserve better. You seem to be a stand up guy, a true gentleman in the land of pervs who don't know how to treat a woman right. She didn't recognize what she had and that is her loss. Hopefully, it will be someone else's gain.

You need to move on from this with your head held high knowing you did nothing wrong.

I think it would be a good idea to get some individual therapy. Find someone you can trust, someone who will be completely honest with you and someone who has no vested interest in the whole Hollywood thing. Maybe find someone in the middle of nowhere who doesn't even know who you are…if that's even a possibility which I kind of doubt.

In any case, good luck. We all stand behind you.

Yours Truly,

Dear Hadley

I hit publish and passed out.