"While you and any children created, will never have access to

your sperm donor's personal information, we strive to create

an in-depth bio that will answer any questions you/they may

have about their genetic origins."

'Choosing A Sperm Donor', Family First Clinic

Ch. 1

The dorm room smelled faintly of mildew and strongly of bleach. The smell was one of its better attributes.

My mother, Renee, sniffed distastefully. "This is what you're paying thousands of dollars for, Bella?"

I chose to ignore it the tone, knowing she would never understand my desire to live on campus. After all, I was a professor's daughter getting free tuition, I could graduate debt free if I lived at home. But instead, I was choosing to live in a cramped, cinderblocked room, only a short bike ride from the charming bungalow she co-owned with her boyfriend, Aro.

"It just needs some light." I walked over to the sole window, sandwiched in between two narrow twin beds, and pulled the blinds up. Light filtered in, shining on the unfortunate yellow linoleum floor.

"It looks like a TB ward." Renee said bluntly. "An expensive TB ward." She was such a literary type. I was about to point out that there was a shared romanticism to TB wards and freshman dorms when the door opened.

It wasn't Aro lugging up my boxes. Instead, a tiny girl, maybe just five feet tall, with a black pixie cut bounced in. She was holding a laundry basket overflowing with stuff and had an air that I could only describe as "plucky"-like the heroine of some 1950's musical.

"It's hideous." She announced, but in a cheerful way. "Truly dreadful." Mom looked at me triumphantly. I, being an awkward person, just stood there awkwardly.

"It's like a TB ward." My mom repeated, pleased to have an audience receptive to the abject horror of the dorm room.

"People have definitely died here." The girl agreed, then turning towards me. "But lucky for you, roomie, I am an interior design major. Our room is going to be awesome. No bean bags."

"No bean bags." I agreed.

Two hours later, I was sitting in the room amazed. Alice Brandon was a force of nature.

Our dorm room had gone from despair to something she called 'Eclectic beach house.' There were several fluffy white carpets softening the floor and pale blue, plush backboards behind the previously astere wooden beds (BOTH beds). The chairs (real arm chairs probably the only ones to ever enter the building) were bright pink and covered in pineapples.

Even Renee had reluctantly admitted it looked nice before leaving.

I took a framed family photo from the box. Alice had been so decided about the room, I hadn't bothered unpacking anything yet. "If I put this on my desk will it throw off the decor?"

"Of course it won't! That's the beauty of eclectic. Anything goes" She looked at the frame then, studying my family curiously. "Is that your brother?" She had met Renee and Aro, when they helped move me in.

"Yeah, Austen. He's a Senior at Stanford- his school started today that's why he wasn't here." I added. "He's crazy smart." That what I always said about Austen. It was true, but had been my constant defense of him growing up. Your brother's a weirdo, people would say. Actually jackass, he's brilliant.

"That's cool." Alice said, then said the one inevitable statement I always dreaded when I met new people. "You guys don't really look anything alike, like any of you."

I looked at the picture and saw a family that looked less alike than the worst casted family on tv. There was Austen, 6'4'', towering over the rest of us with a shock of red hair. I was in the nook of his unaware arm, brown hair, brown eyes, a look I knew to be of quiet, discomfort.

Then mom, her chaotic, curly black hair and pert nose. One arm around us kids, one around Aro. A wobbling bridge between the two. Aro was barely an inch taller than my mom. He was clearly hispanic, and clearly not attached to us kids, standing as far away from us as the polite restraints of photography would allow.

My mom had laughingly called it Modern American Family. I privately titled it Not-Quite-A-Family.

"Are you guys half siblings?" Alice asked curiously.

"Um, sort of." I said. Sort of was the word, the one that said nothing and everything. "Me and Austen have the same mom."

"I have, like, a ton of random half-siblings scattered around the country," Alice said lightly as if it were air and not DNA spread out like jam on toast. "And, like, a ton of foster siblings. They don't make frames big enough."

She added laughingly, in a practiced way that told me this next line was one she said often and liked how it sounded. "I'm serious, it's almost 'make my dates take DNA tests' bad."

This is the moment where I almost told her that I'd never met my dad. Not because he was dead or skipped out or any normal reason, but because my mom ordered his sperm from a catalog.

But then a knock thudded on our door and Alice jumped up with glee, "Speaking of my fucked up family tree, some of my brothers are here."

AN: First story in a while, got a couple more chapters ready to go but excited for feedback. Let me know what you think! Most characters of borrowed from Stephanie Meyer, but a few unique characters such as Austen (to appear in later chapters.)