Twilight is owned by Stephanie Meyers.

I know for sure that this story is going to be sometime after Eclipse, but I'm debating whether or not I should put spoilers in here. It might be a little difficult for me not to, but if you're one who doesn't like spoilers, I'll try and give a warning at the disclamer. Otherwise, enjoy.

Sorry readers, I made a few errors at first, but then I fixed them. I tried fixing up a little of the grammar too.

Chapter One: The Misfit

I had always wondered what it would be like to live in the valley, but I never got it right. My imagination was nothing like my younger brother, Oliver, who sat giddily in the backseat as he had watched the flat-surfaced city change into the mountain terrain; the place where we should have been hours ago...

Day One.

It was still a starry morning when I had woken up in my familiar bed: the bed that I had slept in since I was nearly ten, but not tonight. No matter how many times my parents had tried to convince me that it was time to get a new bed, I would protested severely, and would even point out that I was too small for a full-sized bed. As you can see, being small never really bothered me. In fact, I actually liked it. I wasn't long, sleek and sheer— the kind of girls that boys drooled on. My body was slim, but still very tiny. My hair was smooth and strawberry red, like Anne of the Green gables. And I hid my silvery blue eye color with a dull olive green so I could blend in with the crowed even more. "A silver coin hidden within copper pennies." My dad would tell me, but I always ignore the compliment.

Although it was probably just three or four in the morning, there were still so many things I needed to do before I left: Pack my quilt and pillow, feed my cat "Florence", put her in the kennel, feed myself, my humane hygiene routine, and then change. I didn't have to worry about my blonde kid-brother until we got ourselves into the car—after a long discussion about the move, my mom had finally countered that I wouldn't have to start keeping an eye on him until we left her roof. The only dignity I had in that argument was that I kept my poker face on throughout the whole conversation, whereas I usually started with a sob story. Ever since then, she'd always try to cheer me up by saying wonderful things about the valley-coated city called "Simi". She even brought up that my relatives were thrilled to have me, with inappropriate enthusiasm. The ploy was unnecessary.

"Your Uncle George can't wait to see you, sweet pea. He even said that your cousins Ginger and Mandy couldn't wait for you to come over. See? It's not so bad."

Yes. It was bad. But I couldn't complain in front of them; especially since they had requested me to come live with them after their recent…mourning. I hadn't a clue why they wanted us to be with them, my brother and I, but I suppose it was because we show the same presence of the passed love one. Aunt Terri was a sweet, caring woman who always put others before her, but she too didn't like to "stick out like a sore thumb" as she would say. She understood my need of keeping precious things, like a pack rat, and would probably even understand why I wouldn't want to leave my precious Oregon, but I couldn't refuse this time. It would have been rude and selfish.

As I came downstairs with my final bag—equipped with my favorite book, beloved quilt, and fluffy pillow—my father greeted me through his newspaper shield while my mother set a plate of her special cinnamon and chocolate pancakes. The ones that always motivated me to move quicker as I stepped down the stairs while my mouth watered for three helpings. The fluffy disks steamed pleasantly as I set myself down on the chair in front of them, reaching my hand out for the marmalade jam. There were also sausages, bacon and eggs on large plates and I would eventually devour them when I got my hands onto them.

"Why don't you just use maple syrup?"

Here we go again, I thought to myself with a sigh. This was so typical for my father: He would always ask me the same question whenever the pancakes were laid out, as if he never heard the same answer before, and then I'd speak to him in an as-a-matter-of-fact tone, saying that syrup was too soupy and messy. I also liked to "butter" the jam in between the flat cakes, so they wouldn't slip when I sliced all three tiny pieces at once and shoved them into my mouth. He'd chuckle while I gulped down every bit of it and then chugged down the Orange Juice before finishing off my sunny-side up eggs. I didn't touch the bacon though; my mom had probably purpously burnt them for Oliver. It was his favorite delicacy.

"I never imagined that such a tiny little thing could eat so much…"

Typical.

"I need as much protein as I can get." I countered.

This would have been the point where my mom would say: "All right you two, that's enough. I won't have a war-zone at the table so make peace with each other." But instead, she giggled femininely as she washed the preteen boy's dish who licked the soupy syrup off of his fingers. I guess it was because she knew that this would be our last breakfast together for a while— and for a moment, I thought I heard a quick whimper, but as I glanced back, her back was still facing us. I frowned, then quietly chewed my second helping of eggs, and then, started to nibble onto the end of my tiny sausages. For a while, there was an uneasy tension in the room, the one that everyone seemed to be avoiding. My eyes flickered towards Oliver, who appeared to either be in deep thought; complete boredom, or utter curiosity. Either way, he still spoke out.

"Dad, any news about California?"

One of the pages of the newspaper turned and I could tell that he was scanning the print for any updates with the world.

"Sorry kiddo… no wait… there's been some reports about a bear somewhere in the valley. And then there's the usual be aware of coyotes in the Foothills. They're not dangerous if you keep your distance." He shook his head. "I want you kids to stay out of the woods, okay? No funny business."

"Okay." We both chimed.

Of course, the only reason that I would ever go into the woods is if I had to take a picture of something. Bears lived in the woods, right? But how many forests or woods were in the valleys? The questioned made me ponder, half-deciding what would be a good area to take photos while the other half was wondering if Oliver would complain from side site-viewing, but then again, Uncle George was never really one to be patient. He would have suspected me to get to California within four days, but I could easily counter with that. I was a new and confused driver.

Both my photography camera and motion camera that had been packed in weeks of advance had been itching to be filled out, while my digital camera had been practically full from "goodbye" photos with my friends. I'd have to develop those pictures soon—so I could fill out all of my empty scrapbooks that had already been mailed to my cousins. They would keep them safe until I came but I started to wonder if our mother would start to agonize for letting her children drive into another state.

We finished our last breakfast with silence.

5:00AM.

Our parents had incredibly good poker faces—neither of them let a speck of tear leash from the corner of their eyes. It made me feel terrible as I hugged and kissed them goodbye, because I had already let the salt waters stream down my cheeks. I had used my last poker face for the wrong time and the wrong place, but I was glad that I hadn't made too much of a fit about it.

"Katie, now I want you to take care of your little brother. He's your responsibility now and you're almost seventeen."

I nodded once to my mother before burying my face into her stomach before leaving. She gently stroked my naturally waved hair when she kissed the top of my head then started to hum a short version of my lullaby that she had always sang to me whenever I was troubled or before I went to sleep. Sometimes she'd even hum it while she was cleaning the house as I did my homework in the kitchen area. The tears slowly stopped overflowing and came to a dead halt as her slender arms pulled away from me.

Oliver had already said his goodbyes and he was eagerly honking on my new Sedan—a welcoming gift from my uncle and his daughters, but I saw it as a bribe. I had just recently claimed my driver's license and my dad was even impressed that I was such a "born driver". I sighed as I slowly took the driver's seat, for the first time in months, and jerked the key to the right. The electric blue car awoke with an easy purr, then, I instructed my brother to put his seatbelt while I did the same. Just to make sure, I adjusted the mirror to make sure it was on, then I shifted it back to where it should be.

Our parents' reflections appeared in the review mirror, sadly waving their hands as the black wheels started to whirl. I could have imagined it, but I thought I saw my mother's head start to fall to her knees, but our father caught her before her hands hit the floor. I bit my tongue in protest to start crying, creating a new pain to distract myself. Oliver saw the distress and frantically asked me what was wrong, but I shook my head, not trusting my voice to speak.

I tried to go over the course that Uncle George discussed with our father and myself: which hotels it was best for us to pre-pay, how long we should stay for breakfast, and then I added in my input that I wanted a few hours to ourselves. Why not make this road trip fun? But I knew that I was only kidding myself if I thought I could go through with driving without an experienced driver; I had always had a hard time getting off and on the right road and I would occasionally bump into another car in front of me. Some born driver I was. The only thing I was born to do was blend in with everyone around me.

Sometime around the afternoon, my phone buzzed for the first time. I knew this phone call would come sooner or later—he had told me to call him each time I checked-in the hotel. His even voice was false—I knew him to be a terrible liar, but I never challenged his fury.

"I'm sorry. I missed the highway that I was suppose to."

He asked me which road I was on and I could practically hear him bite his tongue before he spoke out. "It's all right. Drivers make mistakes. Just call me back when you find your way, all right?"

I nodded, but it was unnecessary. "Okay then."

His phone on the other line died and I gave an exhaling breath.

"George was angry, wasn't he?" Oliver deducted. I was silent and he grinned immediately, loving to see that his older sister was going to be in trouble for once.

"Not funny." I said flatly.

"Actually, it's very funny."

Mid-Noon

We found ourselves in an unpronounceable city and I had only realized that this had been my second wrong turn of the day. When I parked the car in the lot, I grumbled unappealing threats to my brother as he had his impish grin on his face. He stepped out of the car and I killed the engine, pulling out the key and whirled it by the ring within my index finger before unbuckling and stepping out. The car beeped after I slammed the door and walked along side of my brother as we headed for my first shop: the bookstore.

"Do you have your phone on ringer?"

"Yes." He sighed with a bored tone.

"Half an hour and we go eat. Then it's your turn, but if you even step as little of an inch outside of this store, I'll make your life miserable."

He rolled his eyes and spoke curtly before leaving, "As if you haven't done that already."

I clamped my lips into a tight line, forcing myself not to make a scene. At the heel of my foot, I turned sharply and walked the opposite way. After a short steamed walk, I found myself in the music section and placed a set of earphones onto my ears, picking up the closest CD I could find. I scanned it and started to listen to the whining music, but paused it after a few seconds, visibly cringing. My body stiffened when a cool breath whispered behind me and I practically jumped, accidentally stomping on the stranger's foot. I lowered the earphones and whirled around, opening my mouth for an apology but her white teeth blinded me. She looked incredible. Almost like a pixie, but no wings.

"I apologize about that, miss."

I shook my head feverishly, "No, no, my fault."

When my head stopped moving I realized that she was no taller than I was, but her eyes looked unhealthily hollow. Like the black abyss.

I didn't know how long I had gazed into them, but the sound of her voice was less polite when she asked me what was wrong. I shook my head feverishly again, trying to say that nothing was wrong, but I didn't think she buy into that lie; my breath was still uneven and I was glad that I hadn't started hyperventilating. Why did she scare me so much?

She gave a single nod in response and started to walk away. As she did, I started to notice that she was covered from head to toe, as if she was hiding every inch of it. From a distance, she didn't seem as frightening as before, but every inch of my body was still trembling like a maniac who had just told me that the aliens were coming to invade our planet and I had believed them. I held my breath a few seconds before letting it escape from my lips, but it didn't help much. I suddenly felt un-hungry, parched and had no desire to entertain myself.

Unwillingly, I moved my shaky arms to the earphones and pulled them off, setting them back to where they should be. Even more regrettably, I started to walk stiffly towards the Starbucks connected to the bookstore and quietly ordered a coffee and a chocolate-chip cookie; Oliver would like that. My fingers anxiously tapped the rhythm of my heartbeat while I waited for the coffee to be made. No sugar, just cream, I ordered myself. The last thing I needed was to be a solicitously wired driver.

The guy on the other side of the counter came back with my paid food and carefully headed towards the single table on the side and grabbed a pair of cream pouches before heading towards an empty table. I ignored the suspicion that my fear had caused; the suspicion that would have made me feel like a criminal even though I hadn't stolen anything. Shakily, I mixed the cream with the caffeine and found myself rejuvenated after the first two sips.

Oliver was eager after my phone call, running gleefully to his cookie that he imagined cried out his name. As I lifted it he seized the plastic-wrapped junk food in his hands and started to tear it open as he stood. I shook my head, laughing, and told him to sit down. Once he did, he gnawed a huge chunk of the cookie, just like I had whenever our dad had gotten me a cookie from Starbucks. When he swallowed he finally looked at my face and raised his brows.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Yeah, why?" I asked, trying not to sound cautious. It was a waste though; I was a terrible liar when I was nervous or nauseated.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost." He took another bite of his cookie, but this one was smaller. "And he just painted your face with Florence's bushy tail."

I choked, forgetting that we had left the feline in the car. "She'll fry!"

He laughed at my expression and I rolled my eyes. Typical. He hated cats.

"No she won't. She's not even in the car."

I looked at him, dazed. "But I swear I thought I—OLIVER!"

My hand squeezed hard on the plastic cup and everyone glanced as its contents spilled out from my death grip. With the cookie—and an impish grin—he ran out of the store without me. I abandoned the mess, ignoring the un-sensational burn on my hand, as I chased after my annoyingly sneaky brother. If I had ever got my hands on him he'd have to come up with something pretty slick for me to not pound him a pulp.

Evening.

I cussed ever so softly as I realized I had taken the wrong road for the third time, but this time, I caught on quickly and made to the right road this time. My phone buzzed for the fifth time this day, but I knew who was calling. Uncle George was not patient after three days, but my parents knew better to trust me. I was, after all, their eldest daughter. Even though I felt like squeezing Oliver hard enough to make him turn purple, I had finally refrained myself from doing so. Mom wouldn't have appreciated it and I would have gotten scolding from dad. I sighed as I tried to think of a way to get on the right road without crashing into anyone, but at least I had the upper hand than before: I wasn't as distracted, but I had wasted the caffeine rush for trying to keep up with my brother. Wrong place at the wrong time, I thought to myself with a shaking head.

Oliver was minding his own business with his new MP3 player, which probably contained the contents a Rock n' Roll band from the 80's. If I could just make a U-y, I thought. It'd been hours since I had slept and I was starting to feel the weight hang onto my eyelids. I fought them with protest, hoping to at least find a parking space, but I found none. The last thing I remember was a screeching sound, a scream, and the nauseating jerks of the car jumping out of control. My eyes jerked back open, listening to nothing but Oliver's crying.

I don't know where, or why, but we were already bouncing within the trees—I didn't know if I could exactly call it a forest, but it was too dark for me to make any sense of it all. I tried spinning the wheel from left to right, but it didn't do much good, and at some point of it all I found myself screaming louder than Oliver had. Like the idiot of a driver I was, I shielded my eyes from the horror that appeared before us, wishing that it would end soon. And it did, but with help. For a moment, I thought I had seen fur, but I couldn't picture it. The scene was moving too quickly for my mind to keep up.

I couldn't tell if the thing had hit the car or if the car had hit the thing, but either way, our bodies jerked with the momentum and the white airbags inflated as a cushion of protection. My sweaty palms were already in front of me when the bag came out, so it had some difficulty of choking me to death. To save myself, I unbuckled the seatbelt and tried to pull it off. The clammy hands did little to no success for a few minutes, but then, I felt another set of big warm hands cover mine up as they easily unbuckled it.

"Out." The husky voice ordered, but it was not forced. It was almost gentle.

I unnaturally obeyed this stranger and squirmed out of the car.

My hero? I questioned to myself, wondering if it was the appropriate title to call him. For all I knew, he was going to push me aside and take my unacknowledged kid-brother with him along with useless junk with him. But to my surprise, he did no such thing. His warm finger curled under my chin, gently moving it left to right as if to examine me. It was too late at night to study his shadowed features, or I was just too lazy to focus my mind and concentrate. His words flew through my ears, partly because I couldn't pay attention and partly because I thought he was speaking a foreign language. Native American? I guessed. The most foreign languages I have heard were Spanish and French, both classes which I remembered taking my first two years of high school.

He finally spoke in English after a while, but I still had trouble keeping up with him. My head was still spinning from all of the car's movements and my stomach had been gurgling in an unpleasant way—threatening to let out all of its contents from the early afternoon. I heard him sigh and he easily picked me up into his arms, walking towards the other side of the car. It was then, I noticed, that the car was unbelievably in almost perfect condition, but then I guessed that we never really crashed into anything hard or life threatening.

In his arms I felt incredibly tiny and almost helpless. If I wanted to, I could probably scratch his eyes out, but the only thing that was stopping me from doing so was my conscious telling me that he wasn't bad. I wanted to believe it, but I had an uneasy feeling that didn't have to with motion sickness. I squinted my eyes as I felt a warm breeze tickle into my ear, but my mind told me that it was a whisper with one single word:

"Sleep."