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Author's Note: To those who are returning readers of Opague: this is not written by her but by someone who received permission to write and post on her account. Her previous work will be hers alone and remain untouched, even if they are unfinished. For more information or if you have any questions, read the profile and then message me. Any future notes will be given by the author of this story as well. If you are new to this account, welcome!

Disclaimer: Twilight characters and plots don't belong to me. This is a fanfiction written for entertainment purposes. No claims made on Stephenie Meyer's works.

Chapter 1

I couldn't tell which one was thwarting my vision more, the heat waves or the masses of sweat. I've gone through the three towels that I brought from home and if I sweat anymore I'll have to start using my T-shirts – yay for laundry. The only thing that's keeping me alive at this point is the the air rushing in from the windows against my face. Natural air conditioning was acceptable, but it was nothing compared to the cooling sensations of an actual air conditioner - a luxury that I used to have before this piece-a-shit air conditioner broke. The down side of natural air conditioning, however, was the constant whipping of hair in my face. It was like pulling a fish out of water and placing it to your face so you can watch it flail and throw itself against your skin.

Looking toward the rear-view mirror using one hand to straighten my hair back into a bun, I held my hair clip on my mouth. As I finished, my novelty glasses fought to surf off the sweaty bridge on my nose, reflexively I dash to readjust the frame. I was practically doing everything with one hand, which by the way is a skill that I've acquired over the duration of my Thirty-six hour drive from my home town Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania to Los Angeles, California. As I angled my face to check the entirety of my hair, the mountain of water bottles collecting in the backseat of my car were visibly undeniable. Considering that I've only had four pee breaks during the trip, I was holding my ground excellently.

I placed my sweaty hands back on the steering wheel after I adjusted the map in order to pinpoint my location. I seemed to be somewhere on North Bronson Avenue approaching Franklin Avenue which was the street Bella apparently told me to right turn on because it would be, and I quote, "a absolutely fabulous short-cut". Too bad the fabulous shortcut didn't match my fabulous mood in this fabulous California heat. Despite the moist premise of my skin, my lips were dreadfully dry and my attempts to 'lick them' only did the opposite and push them to their limits of dehydration. Exhaustively reaching in the back expecting another lukewarm water bottle to be present among the plethora of empty plastic carcasses, my hand only acquire disappointment. All of the water bottles were completely empty, all Twenty-four Ozarka water bottles that I brought with me.

I sighed in dissatisfaction, returning my hand to the steering wheel as I thought out loud to myself "Fuck."

I wasn't the luckiest person in the world, but in a situation like this, I can't help but conceive that god is somehow plotting against my existence despite the fact that it was my fault. I currently have three option left, either find a cafe that can whip up the most amazing iced coffee with a functioning air conditioning system, try to last another possible hour in this heat as I struggle to find Bella's condo, or I could pull over and sob in a fetal position and collect my tears into a bottle for hydrating purposes.

I think I'll look at it from a logical perspective and take the first option to scavenge for a nearby cafe.

Sobbing in a fetal position isn't really my style.

As a red light appeared, I examine my surroundings hoping I that the divine being that resides above me is somehow on my side. I leaned forward and squinted to make out a group of letters in the distance. It was on a sign of a store with large array of wine in it, but I was almost positive that the sign was pronounced something like:

"Oh-Oaks...gourmet...Ca-Cafe?... OH MY GOSH! A CAFE!" I exclaimed with utter enthusiasm. I began bouncing repeatedly in my car as a smile ran across my face. To me, seeing quality cafe after a days of driving in this heat was like seeing a sanctuary of hydration. Although I had four stops on the way to California, none of the stops served an exquisite Iced coffee. I set my hopes high, since I was now in the land of dreams and stardom, that I might actually find some delightful coffee.

I pulled my car over to park in the parking lot as the light flashed green. I reached over and turned my key to allow the engine some temporary rest for it's excruciating labor over the course of this trip. The passenger seat next to me was a mess of maps, towels, liquids, and technological devices. The convoluted pile made it unreasonably difficult to identify the location of my clutch among the sea of necessities.

"Ah-Ha!" I remarked as I uncovered the long lost treasure of Camilla.

Before leaving the car, I gave a clutch a quick kiss for it's existence.

Still covered in a layers of my pore's wet secretion, I straightened my white tank top, pulled down my jean shorts, and aligned my glasses. I strutted like I was ready for the best coffee of my life.

The shop had this native Italian aura to it. Wine hung gracefully by the decoratively wood piece that intersected in perpendicular patterns behind the counter as food laid across the wooden counter top and a luscious display of sweets and snacks begged the customers for consumption. As I entered the palace I was instantly welcomed by a breeze of air conditioning! A breeze of MOTHER-FUCKING air conditioning! The joy I felt was instinctive since this wasn't some wind blowing against my face that was messing up hair, this was the real deal. My body was finally at ease; the only thing left to fulfill is the taste of emptiness on my taste buds.

I approached the front counter.

"Hey can I get a Mocha frappe and two bagel sandwiches?" I requested.

The counter lady looked up and gave me a lift of an eyebrow and replied " Looks like someone worked up a sweat this mornin', I bet you're hungry ain't cha?" as she continued to type in the order.

"Starving." I kindly remarked although starving was not an appropriate definition for the state my stomach was agonizing from.

"For here or to go?" She inquired.

"To go please." I smiled as opened my clutch to retrieve my debit card. I notice that there were still obvious smudges and drops of sweat on my glasses. I brushed it off deciding that it was acceptable until I got to a table to sit myself down to wipe it off.

But as I looked at the price my jaw reflexively dropped in disbelief; It was almost twenty-four dollars for three items. I was unaware of how big the jumps were in living expenses from Pennsylvania to California. In Pittsburgh, this would cost about eighteen dollars – Tops. It was too late now to change my order now, so I grudgingly swiped my card and signed for my signature.

"Can I get your initials?" She asked totally oblivious to the expression on my face.

"CP for Camilla Pernard" I answered using my middle name instead of my last, Song, since most people including my parents prefer to use my middle name. I put the debit card back into my clutch and led myself in the direction of closest available seat.

This is outrageous. So far my first impression of California was not pleasant. The heat was unbearable and the costs of living were just outright robbery.

"This day could not get any worse." Whispering under my breath as I walked over to take a seat. The seat was thankfully cold as my buns had grown uncomfortably accustomed to warm, sweaty, leather seats. I repositioned myself to fall gracefully into the soft framework of the cold chair.

Suddenly as I slowly removed my glasses to clean the smudges that had collected on my lenses, I heard a squeal; almost the same ecstatic squeal I produced when I found this coffee shop. I jumped at the sound dropping my glasses in the process. It was extremely unexpected for commotion to occur in a remotely quiet coffee shop unless a celebrity walked in.

"Oh my god! OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD! I-I-Its C-Cr-Chr-Chris Plum! Oh my gosh! Can I have your autograph?!"

Yup, a celebrity walked in.

As she announced, her heaving, hopping, and hyperventilating continued. It took me a moment to register that this was could possibly be my first encounter with a celebrity. Even though I didn't know who this "Chris Plum" was, I was still determined to get their signature.

I scrambled to pick up my glasses off the floor. This is it! it's an actual celebrity. Those rare species of super good looking individuals you only get to see in films, but today is my chance to get to see one in 3D! These are the people who redefine the definition of a star based on talent – well most of them. But still, these are the individuals that reform Hollywood with each passing generation. I dash toward my key to visibility and quickly threw them on my face.

Was it an actor or actress or a director?

What did they look like?

Were they nice?

What were they wearing?

Why were they here out of all of the possible cafes in Los Angeles?

So many question spun fantastically into my head as I looked up expecting Prince charming, but got Queen Elizabeth instead. I was confused; I could've sworn she said "Chris Plum" but It was a Caucasian woman who appeared to be in her late 40s and just a couple inches under six feet. She was neither elegant nor tall, she wore a pink tank top with black athletic pants that had a streak of pink running along the side from top to bottom toward her tennis shoes. She looked extraordinary ordinary for someone of her stature to produce such a reaction from her fans that were still freaking out behind the counter.

I guess that after awhile, an actress' looks diminish with age. It was fine since it happened to everyone at one point and aging is practically inevitable. The woman stood there completely unwavering by the circular tribal rain-dances her fans were doing. Still, it was my chance to the get an autograph from the first celebrity I met with in California and I wasn't going to waste it. I walked over slowly hoping to not intrude on anything and display myself kindly as possible.

"Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to have a pen and paper would you?" I asked politely to the girls who were supposed to be working the counters but instead were jumping furiously. They stopped twirling enough to realize that they were still on their job and not a fantasy film with their favorite celebrity.

As they searched for the items, the Barista called out the order "I got two bagel sandwiches and a Mocha Frappe for a CP!" Despite my hunger, I was determined to complete my mission before I got my food.

"Uh Yeah, sorry for the commotion. Here ya go." She responded trying to seem dignified as she handed me the pen.

"Thank you." Gladly grabbing the items I requested and handed them to the older woman in front of me. The counter girls quickly rush back to work on the beverages south of the cash register leaving me to my business.

I watch the woman jump backwards as she saw the paper and pen. It took her a couple seconds to register that I was handing her. At a closer distance she was prettier than I predicted, but moderately confused. Although she was probably just new to the autograph signing business, she still took the items. She looked at the items in her hands as if it was foreign to her native country and returned her gaze back at me.

"Um, what do you want me to with this?" She asked with a tone of genuine confusion.

I smiled a bit from the irony of the situation before I answered.

"Can I have your autograph?" I asked her to make sure there were no more misunderstandings.

"Uhm...sure..." She confirmed oddly.

It was weird. I guessed this didn't happen very often for her. She most likely went to this coffee shop because she assumed that she would get less attention here. Unfortunately, it looks like I just blew her cover but she didn't seem to mind it that much. When she finished signing, I placed the pen back on the table and returned it to the cashier.

"Thanks for letting me use your pen."

"No problem, Oh I see you got Mr. Plum's signature." She replied as she put the pen back into the desk not even looking at the signed slip of paper in my hand.

"Yeah I di- wait, what?" I stopped myself in the middle of my sentence. Mister? Did the cashier just say Mister? I'm not sure of the heat exhaustion is getting to my hearing first or if it's water deprivation but I could've sworn I heard it incorrectly.

Was my vision was lying to me or were the counter girls making obnoxiously false claims of excitement back there?

"Yeah, Chris Plum's a guy..." The cashier confirmed as she caught a glimpse of the paper in my palm.

"Um...that's not his signature, this is his signature." She continued as she held up slip of paper to compare to mine. They were two completely different names created by two completely different hand writings.

I looked back at the woman who just gave me her signature and returned the most confused glare.

"So...you're not Chris Plum?"

She silently shook her head in verification. Now I understand why she was so genuinely confused when I requested an autograph from her. I looked back at the piece of paper in my hand to examine the name.

"...Barbra Anthony?" I read quietly befuddled as the bridge between my eyebrows wrinkled in disbelief.

I felt so embarrassed. Both the counter girls were snickering at my humiliation as the lady progressed with her day as if this misconception didn't occur. This middle aged woman is just a normal citizen looking to get some morning coffee and breakfast and here I was interrupting her day with my nonsense. I looked at the paper in my hand one more time before I apologized.

"I'm sorry ma'am, I thought you were Chris Plum." Excusing myself as I made eye contact with the ground. It was better to judged by the very floor I walked on then to be judged by the people who occupied this cafe. What a great first impression on the people of California.

I threw the slip of paper into the trash shamefully as I made my way toward my food on the other side of the room.

"Ugh, what an idiot..." I said in a self-deprecating manner. At this point, I just wanted to get my food and get out. I felt tremendously uncomfortable after that act of crystal clear stupidity. First the childish celebratory squeals in the car and now this. If I had just waited a couple seconds before I'd taken my glasses off to clean them I probably would've seen where this "Chris Plum" guy went and this entire fiasco could've been evaded. At least now when I get to Bella's place, I'll have a great story to tell her over a cup of coffee – preferably not this place. Once I settle down in LA, I'll know which cafe to avoid for a while until the counter girls forget who I am or they stop working here.

As I made my way to the pick up lanes, there was a profusion of brown paper bags awaiting me. I carefully examine the front of each bags to look for a bag with initials "CP" but this expedition came to no avail. My bag is absent among the collection of foods as my hands began to search faster and faster.

"Are you kidding me?" I sarcastically asked in frustration. How ironic that just a couple of minutes ago, I told myself that "this day could not get any worse".

I continued to search the front of the brown bags one by one.

"LD...NR...CS...CF..." Reading the initials out loud to myself, the bags that were unchecked began to diminish in quantity. As I finished the examination I scavenged the pile one more time, but it was useless. This I knew for sure was no a hallucination induced by the symptoms of the exposure to the Californian heat.

Someone just took my fucking shit.

Honestly, after driving thirty-six hours, and paying twenty four dollars for food I haven't tried and even made a mockery of myself in front of the public eye. I was up to the roof with my tolerance of 'Bullshit' for the day. How could someone even mix up their order with another when they're all labeled? The system was practically fool proof. Who would just grabs a bag without check the initials? The direction of my luck was absolutely ridiculous. I researched the bags one more time before I looked up to ask the Barista.

"Excuse me sir! Did anyone recently come here to take their order?" I questioned.

He turned in the midst of perfecting this craft and pointed toward a general location behind the line.

"Yeah, that guy over there." He answered nonchalantly.

"Thanks."

I turned and scanned the area behind as I began walking. I wasn't thoroughly positive if this person I'm pursuing was the culprit, but I am convinced that the Barista shouted out my order with the initials "CP". There was no way I missed my order, and based on my mediocre deductive reasoning abilities the culprit must have either left with my order already or is about to leave through those doors. I tracked the individual by spotting a figure with a gray hoodie on and a brown item in his hand. I started to dash toward the line of people waiting to place their order while maneuvering around the clusters of loitering customers. This person was fast, making sure that he went unnoticed as he dug his way toward the exit with what may or may not possibly be my food. As I pushed my way through the line, the rest of the path became less congest to the extent that visibility was restored. My eyes raced across the room until I spotted the suspect. He was definitely a tall male in a light gray hoodie with dark gray sweat pants and with something in his hands - a brown paper bag with the initials "CP".

Gotcha.

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