The first time she ever became aware of him. It was because of a girly colored bicycle. It was a purple and pink-more like a lavender and cotton candy color. A gift for her tenth birthday. Courtesy of her father's hours spent in the garage, restoring such a classic. Outfitted with all the bells and whistles a little girl's bike could have. A reward for learning to ride without training wheels. Of course, her brother Aaron had been a tremendous help. Her mother told her to be careful, riding up and down the hill by herself. But Rebecca, being the feisty ten-year-old redhead that she was had told her mother she would be fine.

It was that pride that had told her to swallow the fear as she rode to the top of that hill. She could do it. So she took a deep breath and begin to pedal, quickly losing control and having the bicycle escalate downhill, flipping and sending her rolling across the asphalt. Her eyes were closed, less afraid for the damage to herself and more so for the damage to her bicycle. Her brother Mark told her their father had worked extensively on her gift and she would be devastated if it had been ruined in a day. She sighed, feeling a sharp pain in her side and noticed that the sunlight streaming across her face had been obstructed. Fluttering her eyelids open she looked up into the sharp blue eyes of Jackson Teller. She knew who he was. Everyone did. She was ten. Not stupid.

"Kid you alright," he asked, leaning down to help her up. He looked her over. Noticing her bleeding knees and the cut fabric of her shirt, "You're that preacher's kid. Rebecca."

"It's Becca. I know who you are. You're Jax Teller."

"I guess that's unavoidable in this town," he smirked at her, tugging her up, "I'll get my mom to give you a band aid or something."

"Thanks. And I'm sorry about your dad."

His step faltered, looking down at the little girl currently clinging to his t-shirt, "Thanks Becca."

Over the years, forever remembering the grieving teenage boy who carried her to his mother's house so she could patch up her needs, she always felt the need to be at least courteous. And so they begin to exchange polite pleasantries. Good days. Waves. Polite smiles. It wasn't until middle school that those polite pleasantries had the opportunity to blossom into another full fledged conversation. She was twelve, walking away from an ice cream truck on a hot summer's day. Some neighborhood girls were taunting her. It wasn't easy being a preacher's kid. And if that wasn't enough, middle school wasn't the best time of her life. The braces, the freckles, the long fiery copper red hair, and the baby weight she had yet to loose were not her friends. One girl-one of those girls who for some reason was born beautiful and would die beautiful but still maintained an ugly inside- had been brazen enough to pull her hair, calling her St. Mary, called her fat, and chucked her ice cream onto the ground.

He had left his place on his bike and approached the group, telling the brunette hair puller to back off. The girls scampered off, aware of who and what he was. He had to give it to the kid, she wasn't crying. Even though he could tell she wanted to. So he bought her another ice cream.

"Don't worry about it kid. You'll grow into your looks," he told her, unsure of his words himself. She didn't seem to believe him either if her eye roll was any indication. But he continued, "I'm serious. Girls like that may be pretty but really they're ugly. And when they get older. Only good for one thing. You'll be more likeable because you'll know what it means to be pretty on both inside and out."

"Thanks," she said shyly, "for that. And the ice cream."

"No worries," he told her, handing a five to the guy at the ice cream stand before turning and heading back towards his bike only to be stopped when Becca called out his name.

"My dad says we should pray for you."

"Don't waste your time," he told her quickly, with a bewitching smile.

From that point on whenever she saw him around town she would instantly get this fluttering feeling in her stomach from her school girl crush. And she remembered, weeks later waking up early everyday and heading towards the mirror to see if she had become beautiful overnight. But soon the hopes and dreams of a twelve-year-old were crushed and replaced with impending reality. She had indeed lost her baby weight by the time high school came by-and her braces. But she was thin, almost too thin, and waif like, dwarfed by her long hair. On the night of her college graduation, the elitist of Charming High were trying to get into a bit of trouble. And intoxicated, outside a gas station, that same brunette from six years earlier, Kelly Davidson, was cuddled up next to her QB boyfriend Jacob Brooks teasing St. Mary about being lame and virginal. He and Opie had been gassing up their bikes when they caught sight of it. He called out to the brunette, "Hey bitch why don't you run along and suck your boyfriend's dick."

Said boyfriend pulled his trash talking girlfriend away from Becca. Clutching the lemonade and bag of chips she had in her hand she sighed and told him thanks.

"Sorry about that."

"No worries," he said and she nodded, looking around and then back down at her feet, "So why aren't you partying it up? You're a senior right."

"Can't. Preacher's kid. Got service in the morning."

"Oh yeah. So what are your plans-I mean, now that you're done with Charming HS?"

"I got a full scholarship to UC San Diego," she said giddily, instantly brightening, "Sorry. Guess I'm a bit excited."

"You should be. College seems like you're kind of thing. And to be honest, so does San Diego."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Just, if I was Reverend Williamson's kid. I'd definitely want out of Charming."

Welcome to Charming. Population 14, 679. "Our Name Says It All". If you didn't know that behind her oversized aviators, Rebecca Williamson was crying you would think her snort was a sarcastic and snaky maneuver. She was exhausted. And glad to be home. Charming. The only place she ever really felt safe-even if all her life she felt as if she didn't belong here. She drove down Main Street. Past Floyd's. And Hoffman's Pharmacy. Into the residential bit of her town. She sighed, it was after all hard to believe she was back here. Even if she had planned to be. Just not under these circumstances.

Her parents mailbox was decorated with balloons and there was a sign across the top of the porch that said Welcome Home Rebecca. If her heart had been crushed, it had just completely shattered into irrecoverable small pieces. Snatching her compact out her bag, she hurriedly checked her make-up before her family came rushing out. Her mother was the first one who made it towards her. A small woman with red hair that was now filled with grays and laugh lines that were obvious tells of her disposition. But Baca would warn others not to be fooled. Her oldest brother Mark. A dentist. Married to an average looking blonde in her thirties. Two kids. Elizabeth and Leah. Another on the way. And her brother Aaron who was on leave from the Army. Her father, Shepherd of the congregation of Charming Church, came to her last with a huge welcoming smile on his face. Happy that at last his baby girl, the apple of his eye was home. And then there was her. The twenty-four year old PhD student who of twelve hours ago had become a rape victim.