A/N – All characters belong to S. Meyer.

Chapter One

Glamorous Indie Rock & Roll

Interpersonal attraction is related to how much we like, dislike, love or hate someone. Well according to the textbook I acquired back in Phoenix. Said textbook also states that when measuring a level of interpersonal attraction one must take into account the qualities of the attracted as well as the qualities of the attractor to achieve predictive accuracy.

This is what makes the whole situation so confusing in my mind. I don't know whether it was because, at heart, I am a hopeless romantic. I mean isn't every girl? Even Rose with her bulldog bite has a soft centre and lusted after romantic ideals.

Or whether I really had, finally, gone insane. That was a possibility.

Even Jane, with her eloquent descriptions of both Henry Crawford and Mr Darcy had not prepared me for the whirlwind that was Edward Cullen.

I first set sight on Edward Cullen when I moved to Forks, Washington in the summer of '05 aged 17. Rosalie Hale's twin brother and his band were playing at the local academy in downtown Port Angeles and she dragged Alice and me into going. Alice had no qualms about going for the subject of her affection; her crush for the past year, Jasper Hale would be there. I really didn't have anything to lose by going so it was decided.

We walk into the stylus with our arms thrown over one another and we're laughing. I don't remember what we found so funny but I know that my cheeks begin to ache.

I haven't smiled like this in months.

We reach the bar and Rose takes away the arm which was over my shoulder, a security blanket, and for the first time I feel exposed. My long brunette waves are pinned up messily and my upper torso is clothed in a delicate, navy, sleeveless blouse, the narrow white valley of my sternum exhibited to just above my navel. I place my hands on the bar and I can feel the sticky remnants of spilled liquor on my forearms. My nails are painted ebony which, like the navy of my blouse, makes my milky skin appear somewhat translucent, the blue-y river of veins flowing underneath.

The wine we drank before is flowing through my system and I feel buzzed. I didn't really drink that often in Phoenix, I suppose I didn't really go out which is probably a sufficient reason. I stare at the fluorescents above with awe-like wonder before Rose tucks a loose tendril of hair behind my ear and pushes my jack on the rocks in front of me. I watch Alice sip her magenta drink. Her pixie cut has grown out and her short, black bob reaches her chin. She grabs my hand, sensing my nerves, as we follow Rose deeper into the club, the blond water down her back a beacon in the darkness.

I wonder why two such exquisite and startling creatures would want to be my friends.

Rose leads us to a small balcony about 5ft above the main floor which gives us a perfect view of the stage. I lean on the railing in front of me as Alice lights up a cigarette, I watch as the wisps of smoke uncurl from her mouth before taking a drag and passing it to Rosalie. I don't know how long we stand there but I know that from the glasses on the table to the side of us that I have had three more jack on the rocks before the atmosphere changes. It becomes tense and somehow everything seems much more alive. I glance to the stage and notice that despite it still being dark there are now four figures picking up their instruments.

The opening chords to a Killers song I knew well resonated around the club and as the lights went up my blood began to rush and my heart began to race and as Edward Cullen crooned the lyrics into the mic I knew that things had changed. His tall frame encased in a sharp, black suit, white shirt and thin black tie around his neck. His wayward hair sparkled bronze in the bright stage lights and his hands strummed the cream telecaster hanging from his shoulders.

As the guitars wail my muscles twitch and I am drawn to the dancefloor down below, Rose and Alice on my tail and we dance. Rose has the full attention of every male within a 2 metre radius and I don't know whether feeding off of Rose's confidence, Alice's enthusiasm, my years of dancing or the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream made this all so perfect. A grin broke out on my face as Rose and Alice mocked the grinding skanks around us and I shut my eyes and raise my arms in the air concentrating on the music and feeling the bass and at the moment nothing could beat it.

I open my eyes and am met by a startling emerald. His fingers caressed that bitch of a Fender daring me to retaliate. I was no longer dancing to the band, I was dancing to him. To the whine of his guitar, to the lyrics he cantillated, to the rhythm of his fucking fingers on that fretboard.

We dance to every beat the band throw at us, our hips moving to the throaty thrum of the bass and the sultry whispers and whines of the guitars. By the end of my set my cheeks are tinged pink and I place two fingers to my mouth letting Alice and Rose know that I'm going for a smoke. I grab a caipirinha and wander up to the balcony which we watched from earlier. I touch the lighter to the tip and watch the amber smoulder in the darkness and embrace the burn of the cigarette and the liquor as it slipped down my throat.

It was then, that evening, that my attraction/infatuation...call it what you will, with Edward began. I didn't know him; I didn't know anything about him. Yet I liked him...that was for sure.