Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight and all it's affiliates, minus any unrecognizable characters you are about to be introduced to. Those are mine. And they're going to stay mine so I can at least say I own something! :)

Chapter One – First Sight

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix; the sky was a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favourite shirt – bright green with bright, royal blue paint splotches of my own imagining. Arie and I had gotten a little bored the day before and now this was my final fun memory with her. I refused to wear the jacket my Mom brought me because I didn't want the message of the shirt to be wasted.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town named Forks exists under a near constant cover of clouds. It rains on this inconsequential town more than any other place in the good ol' US of A. It was from this town and its gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. It was in this town that I'd been compelled to spend a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I had finally put my foot down; these past three summers, my Dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead. He was very calm about the whole situation and understood why I didn't want to leave when he met the gang. He understood why I couldn't leave when he met Arie.

But it was now to Forks that I was dooming myself – an action that I took with gritted teeth. I detested Forks in the same way that I loved Phoenix. And I did love it here – the sun, the heat, the city, my school, my friends, my life.

"Vivienne, " My Mom said to me quietly, as she handed me my carry-on. "Vous-ce regretterez."

"Not one bit." I lied, giving her a kiss on the cheek as I turned to the rest of my family.

My mother had gotten remarried not long after she had divorced my father. It left me with an awkward step-father named Earl and two half siblings who I loved. Katie was a nine year old girl with a very keen mind. She went to the same school as I did – grade three through to grade twelve – and tended to be on the same track as I had been, too only she was a drama star who loved to make homemade horror movies. She idolized me in a way that could possibly be deemed unholy, where as my little brother Shawn, at four years old was still insisting that I had cooties and he would just be happy if he got my room.

Which he wouldn't.

I kissed them on the cheek – much to Shawn's dismay – before turning to Arie. Even if my mother had said this was strictly a family goodbye, she wouldn't have gotten the message. Arie and I had been friends for seven years, but we had only become best friends in the last three and then we were inseparable. It was to the point where a lot of people knew us as 'Liv and Arie' but didn't know who was who until they actually met us in our separate classes.

"Tell your father that I expect him to take good care of you."

"I'm sure he will." I neglected to inform her that he was the reason I knew how to cook – just because he wouldn't do it for me. Not that he wouldn't try, Dad always did, but it never turned out right. He was the epitome of a single, middle-aged father.

"We'll see you soon. Maybe over the summer?" She smiled wryly. We both knew it wouldn't happen. "You can come back whenever you feel ready."

I bit my lip, not out of emotion, but so I wouldn't bite my tongue. I had nothing more to say to her and she knew that I would not be coming back any time soon. And if I did, it would be for Katie, Shawn, and Arie; not for her.

"Bye, Mom. We'll talk."

"You'll get homesick eventually." She reprimanded light-heartedly. It was hidden in a joke but the slight threat was sincere. I looked to Arie who was fighting not to roll her eyes. I smiled at her.

"I'll miss you, bunt-cake." I said to Arie. She smiled, but I was shocked to see her holding back tears. It was so unlike her. And because of those tears, it made the realism of it hit me like a brick. Tears fought their way into my vision as well.

"I'll miss you too hard-head." We held each other for a moment, trying not to let go and not to let go of the tears in our eyes before I pulled us apart.

"I'm going to miss my plane." I explained, as I used my sleeve to wipe my cheek. I had lost the battle. She sniffled.

"Would that be so bad?"

"That would be a poorly utilised seven hundred dollars." I informed. She laughed with me and with one last look at all of them; I dashed into the corridor to get to my plane. This shouldn't be so hard, I was the one who had made this decision; but it was hard. It was very hard. It's one thing to go visit Charlie for a few weeks in the summer; it's another thing entirely when I'm living with him until...

...Until who knows when.

I kept to my thoughts and my bright blue iPod during the six hour journey; this included two flights and an hour drive. I didn't want to seem rude for Charlie so on the fifth hour when he came to pick me up from Port Angeles – the closest city, from what I remembered – I turned my music off and planned to be attentive.

See, Charlie had been fairly nice about the whole thing. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me ready for school and was even going to help me get a car – though that one always made me antsy. He really liked the idea of standard and my mother had always ruled it out as unnecessary. It was a battle he had lost up until now.

It was weird riding in the front seat of a police cruiser – not that I'd been in the back of one. My Dad is Police Chief Charlie Swan of Forks, Washington. I was excited to get the car, standard or not, so that I wouldn't have to worry about getting to school in a police car. Gross, I could hear the rumours now...

I got an awkward one-armed hug when I stumbled off the plane. Good start to the new state, stumbling on my first few steps.

"Good to see you, Viv, " he smiled at me. I smiled back but as a gut reaction corrected him.

"It's Liv, now. Normally. I mean, I guess if you wanted to you could but Mom said-"

He smiled at my awkwardness. "You haven't changed much. How's Sarah?" I'm sure that he noticed my face twitch.

"She's fine. It's good to see you, too...Dad." Usually, I just avoided saying 'Dad' or 'Charlie' around him. Just because both of them sounded awkward – Earl wasn't dubbed as 'Dad' or anything, but it just seemed weird to me. Besides that, Charlie was awkward too. It seemed disrespectful.

I had quite a few bags. If I was living here, I wasn't going to be uncomfortable. I brought some posters, probably far too many pictures, and little trinkets that I felt I couldn't live without. Not to mention things that even though I was living without my normal life for the year, I knew I would be able to use in solitude. Luckily, even in Phoenix I had a problem with always feeling cold so my clothes would transfer well to the change in climate. He helped me load everything into the trunk and back seats before he decided to speak again.

"I found a good car for you, really cheap, " he announced as I strapped myself in. My eyes narrowed as I suspiciously waited for more information... "Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

I almost smiled, but I was still suspicious. One of the only things my step-father and I had in common was our love for automobiles. I was one of the only girls I knew who understood cars. He only did body work, but Earl had taught me all I needed to know. I knew the basic mechanics of vehicles. Models, makes, most of the parts, and most importantly: how to change my own tires and oil.

"Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember Billy Black down at La Push?" La Push rang a bell full of hazy memories in the ocean, but I shook my head. "He used to go fishing with us during the summer."

Ah. That's why I don't remember him. Most of those memories ended with me falling out of the boat and into the water – those are the ones I usually keep far out of reach in my mind's eye.

"Can't picture his face, sadly."

"He's in a wheelchair now, " Charlie explained further, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell it to me for cheap."

"What year is it?" I asked, still suspicious. Ah. The reaction I got made me realize it was the question he would rather I not have asked.

"Well, Billy's done a lot of work on the engine – it's only a few years old, really." I waited. "He bought it in 1984, I think." I continued the waiting game. "I think it was new in the early sixties – or late fifties at the earliest."

"I can do body work, but if something goes seriously wrong I would have no idea what to do with a vehicle that old, Dad..."

"Really, Vi-Liv, the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore." I hoped secretly that it was a 1956 Chevy, it was my favourite model. The later into the sixties and seventies, which was when they really started to change the models were the ones I liked least. Seventies didn't bring on the nicest cars.

"What colour is it?"

"It's...uh...red." The hesitance made me realize it probably had been red, but was more rust than paint, by now.

"How cheap is cheap?" I sighed, wondering if I should just help put the money out and get a more expensive car if the Chevy really wasn't worth it. He suddenly looked sheepish.

"Well, honey, " the word sounded awkward. "I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming gift." His expression was hopeful as he looked at me.

"You didn't need to do that, " really, "I was going to buy myself a car."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." The emphasis wasn't lost on me and I was glad he was staring ahead as he said it. We were both really awkward about this kind of thing. Gratitude, love, appreciation, those kinds of things that make people blush and look stupid.

"Thanks. I really appreciate it." I wanted to be happy here, too. But something told me an old, cheap, run down truck wasn't all it was going to take.

"Well, now, you're welcome." He mumbled. We exchanged a few comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. I pretended to be tired from jet lag and luckily, he didn't call me on it.

Washington was beautiful. There was no denying it, even if I was far from proper civilization. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered in ferns. Even the air filtered down and looked green through the trees – that just shouted unsanitary.

Eventually we made it to Cha – eventually we made it home. He still lived in the two bedroom house that he had bought when he and my Mom were first married. It had been empty soon after. It was a quaint house, very homey and something I could see living in for the next...however long...but it still was slightly daunting with the realization that it was also a bit of a jail cell.

Huh, how fitting.

Parked right in front was an awkward rusted vehicle, it wasn't that difficult to see it wasn't the 1956 edition that I was hoping for, but the nice lines of it let me know it was close. It was at one point red, but it had been repainted so many times that no part of it seemed the same shade. There was no sheen to the coating either...I briefly wondered if I could get my hand on some paint to fix that. I forgot about Charlie for a minute as I opened the door while he was still parking the car and rushed to the front of it.

It was a 1953 Chevy classic. The headlights had been changed a bit to make them look new and probably so that they were the proper blue-white that cars now had instead of the yellow-white the Canadians still retained. The cab was well built and there were surprisingly very few dents or deformities to it. The light leather in the cab had been washed – but not new – and I was surprised by my realization. My dad knew me well, it was perfect.

"Papa, c'est la merde!" I exclaimed. "I love it!"

"Hey, now." Charlie frowned. "Don't be thinking you can get away with that French cursing. I know enough to get by." I smiled.

"You mean you only know the swear words?"

"Well, your mother only spoke in French when she was very angry..."

I smiled, looking back at my truck and running my hand over the sandpapered exterior. This would certainly make my day better. Maybe they had an auto body course at this school that I could get into and if they did, I could abuse their resources. But I liked the fact I had something to ride to school into. Something with character. Something with history and a story and a badass personality.

"It really is great." I assured when I saw him looking at it sceptically.

"I'm glad you like it, " Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again.

He then helped me take my things upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced out over the front yard that had a nice tree outside of it. Maybe one day when I was bored enough I'd figure out what type of tree it was. I knew the room well; from the deep coloured, wooden floor, the cyan painted walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window – those were all things I remembered. The newer parts – a new desk and a bigger bed covered in a teal bedspread. On the desk was a computer back from the late 90's that I knew had a dialup connection. My mother's rocking chair, which had become my favourite piece of furniture as I grew, still sat in the corner.

Strangely, it felt very much like home.

One of the best things about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me to unpack and go through memory lane as I brought out all the pictures and made the room more suited for a seventeen year old. It was a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother and I won't deny I quickly noticed how quiet the house was. No blaring SpongeBob, no nagging children, and no French or Italian Opera. It was nice to be alone, to not have to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few tears escape. I wasn't in the mood to cry. It was a rarity. Tear up? Not unusual. To actually cry?

I viciously wiped the tears off of my cheeks, trying to get a hold of myself. Vivienne Swan does not cry, I tried to say over and over. But at the same time I would always add a yet to the end of it. I already had the gnawing feeling of dread deep in the pit of my stomach. Forks High School only had three hundred and fifty-seven – now fifty-eight – students; my last school, though a more 'private' school still had just under the same amount in what would have been my graduating class. All of these kids had grown up together – their grandparents had been toddlers together. And tomorrow I would be the new girl from the city, a curiosity and a freak.

I wasn't like all of these small town kids. I liked my inexpensive yet higher fashion styled wardrobe, I had my tom boy qualities, and yet I was from a 'private' school. And I say 'private' because it wasn't necessarily private at all. You had to audition, not pay tuition. And I wasn't like the blonde, bombshell cheerleaders who seemed to represent the population of Phoenix women. No. I was dark haired with a nice tan and freakishly dark brown eyes.

I really took after my Mom, half blooded Quileute – from the La Push reservation, fifteen minutes away – and half French. I had her darker skin, her slim nose, her slender French frame, but I had my father's soft hair and his dark eyes. Not that my mother's eyes looked much different, you could just tell that they were his. It was something about the colour and shape that made me not fit in – especially with my family who had the nice almond shape of my mother and the green from Earl. It was hard to fit in with that.

When I was finally finished packing I took a quick shower in the only bathroom in the house. I forgot that I would have to share it with a man, but after sharing two bathrooms for five people – six if you included Arie who was basically attached to my hip – something told me I could manage. Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I had never fit in. And if I couldn't find a niche in a school with well over three thousand people and nine grades, what chance did I have in this shark tank?

I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even Arie, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never quite on the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain.

I snorted. I knew there was a glitch in my brain.

You going insane yet? My phone glared brightly as I readied myself for bed. I smiled at Arie's sensitivity. The cause of my brain glitch didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect.

You say that like I wasn't before. I replied, with that I turned off my light and tried not to think too much about how tomorrow would be the beginning of the biggest effect of my entire adolescence.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after my spirits were lifted by Arie's twisted sense of humour. I was really nervous about school and her determination for me to find friends, while also making sure no one replaced her only made me more anxious. It was the constant whooshing of the rain that eventually what did me in – usually I listen to the sounds of rain or thunderstorms on my iPod to pass out, anyway. Maybe I'd get more sleep living here? I wonder if that comfort was something subconsciously related to my memories here.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning and I was surprised by how much I liked it. Part of me recognized this weather as a cage away from the sun – my proper home – but another part of me found it soothing. Something different. And with difference came a mysterious factor that helped me keep my mind off of what the morning was to bring.

Breakfast with Charlie was fairly quiet. He wished me good luck at school and I thank him, knowing his luck was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Like the plague. I quickly asked him what he knew about my courses and he told me that the school had called him to apologize for the lack of French Immersion or Advanced French courses. He informed me that they could put me in the highest level of French they had, to which I thanked him but declined. It was a small town: I should have known it would be the best they could do. Then again, at least they didn't try to make me go with the freshmen or sophomores because I technically didn't have the prereque credits–I'd try next year.

Charlie left first, off to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old, square, oak table in one of the three mix-matching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing had changed. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief sized family room was a row of pictures. First was a wedding picture of Charlie and Sarah in Los Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, then a picture of my family in the hospital after Shawn had been born. I was holding him. It was strange – I could have sworn that Earl had been in the picture as well, but he was not within the frame. After that followed the procession of school pictures every year up to last. These were the worst to look at – I would have to see what I could do about getting him to move them somewhere else, at least while I was living here. I doubted I would make friends close enough to come over to hang outside of class, but I didn't want to take the chance.

It was impossible to ignore that my Dad had not gotten over my Mom. Maybe Earl really had been in that picture. It was almost suffocating to be in the house with all the tension of these pictures and it made me so uncomfortable that I decided to leave.

I didn't want to be too early for school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my stereotypical bright yellow rain jacket and headed out into the constant drizzle.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had cleaned it up, but the light leather seats I thought I had seen were actually tan. They still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. It was a strangely comforting smell, even if it did remind me of old men. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw – besides the paint job. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected, even if it did only get me three clear channels.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I had never been there. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only the sign, which declared it so, made it evident. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon coloured bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs that off the high way I couldn't see its size. Where was the feel of the institution? Chain link fences? Metal detectors? Smoke pit? Nostalgia hit hard and I had to shove my phone in my pocket to stop from mass texting my complaints.

I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one else was parked in this area, so I was sure that it wasn't for students, but I decided that I would get directions inside instead of circling around like an idiot – my truck would get me enough attention as it is.

I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door, taking bets with myself over what I was going to see. What I saw – and let me win a bet with one side of my brain verses the other – was brightly lit and warm. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, like there wasn't enough of it lining the exterior of the school itself. The room as cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly coloured flyers taped to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which immediately made me feel overdressed – something that oddly didn't comfort or discomfort me.

She looked up at me with confused eyes. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Vivienne Swan, " I explained and saw the immediate recognition in her eyes. I was expected, probably a gossip target. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, home at last. I set my chin, trying to make it look a little more chiselled and strong; I had a pretty weak chin.

"Of course, " she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pike of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

She went through each of my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map. She gave me a slip for each teacher that I had to have them sign and bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At home it had been a common thing to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny, silver Volvo. It was an S60R, probably a 2003. Earl and I weren't the biggest fan of Volvos, so I couldn't be sure.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it now so that I wouldn't have my nose stuffed in papers as I walked around. I pushed everything into my sling back bag, sent out a mass text about what and who is involved in my Will, then sucked in a breath.

You can do this, I assured half heartedly.

I kept my face pulled back in my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My jacket did end up standing out, but it's not like I wasn't expecting stares. I was relieved I had thought to wear a sweater with a hood; suddenly my temperature sensitivity seemed a gift rather than a curse.

When I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. There was a large three painted in white on the side. I felt my breathing gradually creep toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed two people through the door. I was greeted with a small classroom; the people in front of me were hanging their coats up on a row of hooks that I hadn't seen since grade five. I copied them, glad that my clothes were strangely colourless today. Less to stand out now that the bright yellow was gone. I noticed most people were the sunless pale of my father...it made me wish I had gone to school on the Quileute res.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall, balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name – not an encouraging response – and of course I flushed tomato red. But at least he sent me to an empty desk at the back without introducing me to the class. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me way in the back, but somehow they managed. I kept my eyes down on the reading list the teacher had given me. It was fairly basic: Brontë, Shakespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner...I'd read that all two years back. I wonder if my Mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would consider that cheating. Most likely she would consider it cheating.

Maybe I'd call Arie and get her to do it, posing as borrowing one of my tops...

When the bell rang, a nasal buzzing sound, an awkward and gangly Asian boy–there hadn't been many at my old school–leaned across the aisle to talk to me.

"You're Vivienne Swan, aren't you?" He looked like the overly helpful, chess club type.

"Liv, " I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me. I tried not to glare at them for their intrusion but realized they probably couldn't help it. I must be the first fresh meat in decades.

"Where's your next class?"

I had to check my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building...six." I couldn't look anywhere without catching someone's eyes so I looked down at my paper, trying to memorize the rest of my classes so that I wouldn't have to do this ever again.

"I'm headed for building four, I could show you the way..." Definitely the over-helpful type. "I'm Eric, " he added.

"Thanks." I smiled wryly. We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking so close just so they could eavesdrop. I hoped I wasn't being paranoid, but by the way people kept stepping on my heels, it was making it hard to shoot down the thought.

"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked. Something told me that would be the start of all conversations.

"Hell yes." It made him smile and somewhat relax, which made me feel better about it.

"Doesn't rain much there, does it?"

"Three or four times a year." Probably more, but it's always appreciated by that point.

"Wow, what must that be like?" He wondered out loud. I snorted.

"Sweaty."

"Yeah, you look a little bit–oh, not sweaty. I was going to say tanned." His cheeks darkened.

"I know. I'm probably going to be pegged as the town gangster." He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humour didn't quite mix. I was afraid to turn up my dial of sarcasm any higher, because that would be dangerous for their health. We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked me right to the door, though it was clearly marked. I let out a vocalized shiver of anxiety as I stood on the step.

"Well, good, " he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful. I smiled at him with a nod, hoping I wasn't leading him on or anything, but a friend would be nice.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same fashion. My Trig teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of what he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class to introduce myself. I rambled, blushed, tripped on my way up, and told them about how I would miss Arie most, who most – I later heard – assumed was my pet cat.

I hope that the 'Crazy Cat Lady' doesn't become a codename.

After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I tried to be diplomatic but mostly I just ended up avoiding the subjects. It wasn't that I didn't like Forks – I just didn't like change. They seemed to accept the avoidance and walk me to classes so I never had to memorize my map.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the caf for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than me at five foot six, but her wildly, curly hair made up a lot of the difference. I couldn't remember her name so I was the one who just smiled and nodded, only answering the questions directed towards my French, which I answered in French, so that she couldn't understand me and I could avoid using her name anyway. After that she ended up prattling on about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up.

We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, each who was introduced to me like a kindergartener. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them, just because I was so annoyed with her tone. They seemed impressed by her bravery to speak to me – which made me suspicious that her motives hadn't been all that chivalrous. The boy from English – Eric? – waved at me from across the room.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them. None of them were talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. Maybe I couldn't stop staring at them because they seemed to be the only students that weren't gawking at me. It was good because I was free to stare at them without meeting an excessively interested pair of eyes. But it was one of that which caught, and held, my attention.

They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys, one was big – muscled like a serious weight lifter, with dark, curly hair. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular, and honey blonde. The last was lanky, less bulky, with untidy, bronze-coloured hair. He was more boyish than the others who looked like they could be in college, or even teachers here rather than students.

The girls were opposites. The long, golden-haired one was statuesque. She had a beautiful figure – the kind you saw on Sports Illustrated bikini covers, the kind that made every girl around her take a hit on her self esteem just by being in the same room – I was feeling it now. I knew I was thin, but it wasn't a nice thin like her. I knew I was a bit busty and well curved, but I was flabby in comparison to her. It really did start to hurt the more I looked at her. So I looked over to the other girl who was pixie like, thin in the extreme, with small features. Her hair was a deep black, cropped short and pointing in every direction. Very modern, close to what this girl Sylvie used to do with her hair, only this girl did it right.

While these differences separated the group of them, they were all somehow alike. Everyone one of them was chalky pale, the palest of all the students living in this sunless town. They all had dark eyes despite their range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under those dark eyes – purplish, bruise like shadows that somehow didn't take away from their beauty. Though their noses, all their features, were straight, perfect, and angular.

But again, this was not why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you never expected to see except perhaps on the airbrushed pages of a fashion magazine. Or painted by an old master as the face of an angel. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful – maybe the blond girl or the bronze haired boy?

They were all looking away – thank God, or they would have seen me ogling – from each other and students. As I watched, the small girl rose with her tray – unopened soda, unbitten apple – and walked away with a quick, graceful lope that belonged on a runway. I watched, amazed by her lithe dancer's step – I hadn't even seen things like that in my school. Nothing that flawlessly natural. She dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have though possible. My eyes darted back to the others, who didn't budge.

"Who are they?" I asked the girl from my Spanish class.

As she looked up to see who I meant – though already knowing, probably, from my tone – suddenly he looked at her, the thinner, boyish one. Maybe he was the youngest. He looked at my neighbour for just a fraction of a second, and then his dark eyes flickered over to mine.

He looked away more quickly than I could – these people were fast – so I dropped my eyes, too. It was the only polite thing to do. In that split second, his face held nothing of interest – it was as if she had called his name, and he'd looked up in involuntary response, already having decided not to answer.

She giggled in embarrassment, looking down and away from them like I had. "That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen, they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She said this under her breath.

The beautiful boy – by far the most attractive of the males – was now picking a bagel to pieces with his long, pale fingers. His mouth was moving very quickly, his perfect lips barely opening. The other three weren't looking at him but somehow, I could just tell he was talking to them, though I had no idea what he could be saying that they would be able to comprehend at that speed.

Strange, unpopular names, I thought lightly. Kinda like mine. The kind that they are probably teased for because everyone's grandparents had them – oh, I'd heard that jab all too often. Maybe that was the 'in' thing here, small town names? I finally remembered the girl from Spanish was named Jessica, a perfectly common name. I had a friend name Jessica back in Phoenix, too.

"They are very...Baywatch." I struggled with the statement because I had this gut-wrenching feeling that Jessica was one of those girls who you couldn't tell a secret to. She giggled.

"Yes! They are all together though – Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together." Her voice held the judgement that only a small town girl could have, I thought critically. But I could understand why it would have caused gossip.

"Which ones are the Cullens?" I asked. "They don't look related..."

"Oh, they're not." She clarified. "Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties or something. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins – the blondes – and they're foster children."

"They look a little old for foster children."

"They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."

"That's sweet," according to the look she gave me, I had just sprouted several more heads. "I mean, it's sweet for them to take care of all those kids like that, when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so, " Jessica agreed reluctantly and I could tell that she was still holding on to her critical views of what she thought a family should be. I think I am probably the poster child for insufficient Nuclear Family settings, so it was harder for me to pass judgement.

"I think that Mrs. Cullen can't have kids, though, " she added as if that made it all make sense. I turned towards her with a blank face, hiding my disgust. Something told me that this Jessica girl and I would be butting heads often.

"That makes it all the more compassionate." I said in a monotone, trying not to show my frustration.

"Yeah, more like desperate."

More like kinder than you've ever seen in your narrow minded little world, I wanted to his back. But my friends in Phoenix had told me to play nice and not talk back yet. I would hold my promise.

"Compassion can bring on things that people without it will never understand." I bit back. It was still a downright insult, but I had hoped that she would see past it by asking a sooner question. "Have they always lived in Forks?" I tried to remember through my memories if I had ever seen walking angels in this town – sadly, I had none that I could remember.

"No, " She said bluntly. I wondered if she thought I was stupid or even asking. "They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska." I felt an immediate stab of both pity and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were outsiders – never to fully be accepted. The relief was that I wasn't alone in my situation – even though it appeared they had chosen that particular fate.

As I watched them, more creepily than inconspicuously, the youngest one of the Cullen's turned and met my stare. This time his expression was dripping with curiosity, which made my blush and quickly look away. I didn't like that flicker of unmet expectation from him. Like that blonde one hadn't knocked my insecurities enough...

"Which is the one with the reddish brown hair?" I asked, rubbing my neck with the sole intention of throwing my hair over my face. I peeked through the curtain I'd created and saw him still staring, but not gawking like the other students had today – he still wore that same odd expression that again made me look down in some unrecognizable form of shame.

"That's Edward. He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him." She sniffed – ah. It was pretty clear what that meant and I briefly wondered how long ago it had been that he had rejected her.

I bit my lip to stop myself from smiling at the thought. Glancing at him again, basic instinct it felt like, I saw that his lips were tight, too. Almost like he was holding back a smile, himself. After a few more minutes, the four of them left the table together. Each was shockingly graceful in an unnerving way. The one named Edward didn't look my way again.

I sat at the table with Jessica and her friends a little longer than I would have normally, but my first day jitters got the best of me and I was completely paranoid of being late for my first day of class. One of my new acquaintances, who considerately reminded me that her name was Angela – I like her already – had Biology II with me the next hour. We walked to class together in silence, which was nice. She realized that even though I wasn't as shy as her, I was still awkward.

When we entered the classroom, Angela went to sit at a black-topped lab table which was different than the ones I as used to. Mine used to line the walls of the classroom in one long, onyx table. There were two rows of five black tops where two people could sit. To my disappointment, Angela already had a neighbour. In fact, everyone had a neighbour except for the by second from the back near the window – and who else would it be but Edward Cullen? I recognized him by his unusual hair and perfect boyishness.

I walked to introduce myself to the teacher, named Mr. Banner, who was an energetic, middle-aged man that wasted no nonsense on introductions. As I reached towards him to exchange the slip that needed to be signed for the textbook he had assigned me, I saw Edward go rigid in my peripheral vision. It drew my eyes to him, now he was staring again. The look on his face was so shocking that as I walked towards him, I suddenly couldn't move anymore. There was so much hostility, so much hate. It made my blood run cold.

I almost fell into my seat, thanks to the girl who left her books right in the aisle. She giggled and I glared at her, raising my eyebrows in challenge. She stopped immediately and turned back to face Mr. Banner. I smiled towards Edward, hoping the scene had lightened his spirits, but was shocked to see that he was just ass furious as he had been. But I couldn't look away – his eyes were coal black. Like a starless night or a bottomless ocean.

I swallowed and hid behind my curtain of hair once more. I heard his posture change and with a glance through my hair, I could see that his posture had changed. He was now leaning as far from me as possible, his hand balled into fists, face towards the windows and were his – yes, his eyes were squeezed shut.

Inconspicuously I smelled myself. My hair smelled like vanilla and I could still smell the lingering scent of my spiced vanilla body wash and spring fresh antiperspirant. I had a strange obsession with how I smelt and my favourite smell was vanilla, so I always tended to pulsate it. This was probably because Earl smelled like a pig-pen. It wasn't his fault, he naturally sweat about three times the amount of a normal person, but it made me very aware of my smell, so that couldn't be it.

Unfortunately, the lecture was on cellular anatomy, something I had never studied. I delved into my notes, making them far more detailed than I normally would have – any other time I would have referenced my textbook later – but I couldn't bring myself to look past my curtain of hair to the boy I could still feel glaring at me. And yeah, I didn't think it was actually possible outside of a book to think you can feel someone's eyes on you, but there was so much hate behind it, how could I not?

The one time I did dare to peek at him, I took in everything as quickly as possible and was horrified by the result. He had not taken his eyes off me, he had not relaxed, and his hands were clenched into tendoned fists that were so vicious I couldn't understand how I had ever thought him slight, even beside his burly brother.

Needless to say, this class lasted for far too long. I was antsy the entire time and I couldn't stop squirming under his scrutiny – it was one of the most terrifying experiences of my life and yet nothing was actually happening. He was silent, he was deadly, and he was completely removed from the environment. What was wrong with him? Was this his normal behaviour? If looks could kill, I would be sixty feet under, right now. Maybe Jessica wasn't as resentful as I thought and the boy really did have issues that needed to be dealt with – by a professional, it seemed. I mean, how could this have anything to do with me? I hadn't said a word to him; I hadn't touched him or had the time to offend him – even though I never would have. Would have, anyway. Maybe now I wouldn't be so courteous.

When the bell rang, I jumped. Mostly because Edward, even in his stupor, had somehow anticipated the ring and was out of his seat and walking past me as it wailed. He was taller than I thought as he passed people before they could stand, and he was out the door before anyone else could give a second glance.

I sat planted in my seat, completely terrified. He was cruel. It wasn't fair. I began gathering my things in a daze, thinking about how much of a dick that guy must be to d this to me on my first day – to ruin my day, month, year, and each day until graduation – just because he could. There was a moment where I tried to pretend like this wouldn't affect me for that long, but I was usually honest with myself and I knew that, for some strange reason, it invariably will.

"Aren't you Vivienne Swan?" a male voice asked. The owner of that voice was a cute, baby-faced boy, with pale blonde hair that was carefully gelled into orderly spikes. He smiled more friendly than I could have thought possible after the hour of disgust I'd sat beside. He must have smelled the vanilla.

"Liv, " I corrected robotically.

"I'm Mike."

"Well, hello there, Mike."

"Do you need help finding your next class?" He smiled almost too much, but now I couldn't be sure if I was so desensitised from Edward's anger or if it really was excessive. I shook my head.

"I'm headed to the gym, actually. I think I'll manage."

"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled with this; though the school was so small I was sure I'd had classes with two or three other people in each so far. Nevertheless, we walked to class together; he was a chatterer – he supplied most of the conversation on his own, which made things easy for me since I was still so zoned out. He apparently was a little bit of a newbie, himself – living in California until he was ten, so he knew how I loved the sun. He was also in my English class – called it.

"So did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or what?" He asked as we walked into the gym. "I've never seen him act like that." I winced. So this wasn't his normal behaviour. Lucky me was a special case of...whatever the hell that was.

"You mean the dick from Biology?" I muttered darkly. He laughed almost too loud.

"Yes, " he said. "He looked like he was in pain or something."

"I never spoke to him." I sighed. "Apparently he can feel my poverty through his Prada shirt."

"He's a weird guy." He chuckled. Instead of heading to the dressing room, he lingered and watched me with amusement in his crazily-blue eyes. "If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."

Almost immediately, I decided it was time to change. He was friendly and admiring, but I was irritated and not even the most attractive boy – ironically enough, to me that was Edward Cullen – wouldn't have stood a chance.

The Gym Teacher, Coach Clapp, found me a uniform but didn't make me dress for today. At home, you only needed two years of Gym was but here it was a four year requirement. Another stab at my day. Luckily I watched four volleyball games simultaneously instead of participating, I didn't need to be active today, it seemed. Thank. God.

When the final bell rang, I felt like I could cry from happiness. I walked to the office to return my slips of paper and smiled at the lack of rain...the smile didn't last long as my bones were chilled by the wind. When I walked into the office I was assaulted by an angry, honey tone of someone talking to the receptionist. I closed my eyes and held my breath when I realized it was Edward Cullen.

His tousled bronze hair was what gave him away and he was so busy quietly yelling to her that he hadn't noticed me enter. He was arguing in a low, attractive voice – much lower than I would have expected him to have. The argument was very clear, he was trying to trade form sixth hour Biology.

This couldn't be about me. This had to be about something else that had happened before I had gotten there. Something that happened that had nothing to do with the new girl he hadn't spoken a word to...right? It was impossible that a stranger could take such a sudden, intense hatred towards me.

The door opened again and I gasped from the cold wind that whipped through the room. The girl who came in put a note in the wire basket and walked out again, but Edward Cullens back had stiffened. Somehow – and I had no idea how it could be – he turned around and knew I was there. His face was absurdly handsome – even with his piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I felt a thrill of genuine fear, raising the hair on my arms. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the freezing wind. He turned back to the receptionist.

"Never mind, then, " he said hastily with a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And he turned on his heal without another look at me, and disappeared out the door. I took my moment to breathe out his absence before I walked meekly to the desk, face pale to hand her each signature.

"How did your first day go, dear" The receptionist asked maternally.

"Dandy, " I said sarcastically. She gave me a look of sympathy right after the one of shock – she must have thought I would have lied. Well, she clearly didn't know me at all.

When I got to the truck, I was glad that I was one of the last cars in the lot. It seemed like a safe-haven, closer to home than anywhere else I had been since I had gotten off the plane. I sat for a while, wondering what I could do to get my mind out of this rut of...what? Fear? Self-consciousness? As soon as I was so cold I was snapped out of my reverie, I grabbed my cell phone and mass texted, ignoring the ones I had received throughout the day.

For the love of God, someone fly me home.

Why What happened Where are you? Came the near instant response of Arie. I shook my head.

I'm on my way to Charlie's. I don't think I can do this.

Im calling in 15 whether youre home or not

I smiled despite myself and started my truck. I knew that she wasn't joking or playing around and knowing her she would only be able to make it ten minutes before dialling. I took a small comfort in her fast reactions just like I had taken the small insult of Edwards'...

It was nice to know that someone out there wanted me to stick around.

I hope you enjoyed! Tell me how you think it's going and what you think of Vivienne, I'm really trying to clarify the differences between her and Bella, but keep her on the same course, you know what I mean? The big changes are soon going to be obvious since I'm chapters ahead, without being edited. So let me know what's going on in those heads of yours by pressing the review button riiiight there! Thanks guys!