Disclaimer: Idea behind characters comes from Stephanie Meyer's Twilight and Ben Mikaelsen's Touching Spirit Bear.

-:Chapter One:-

Mr. Newton came out of his office carrying his professional black leather briefcase. He ran a hand through his hair. "Kids, get your bags. We're heading to Forks."

(Two months later)

"Emmett," she groaned.

"Bella," he drawled, stringing out the "ah" sound at the end of her name.

"Really? Again? Why? I like Arizona. I liked Florida. Why do you have to keep getting in trouble? Do you even think about what I want? I'm stuck with you because our parents paid to keep us together! And even if they hadn't had the money we would've been glued together like Siamese twins anyway! Have you ever heard of such ridiculousness…" Isabella said the last part more to herself.

"Bells, I'm so sorry," Emmett spoke.

"Don't call me Bells," she snapped, not knowing that a similar pair of twins a few states away had similar conversation two months prior. Isabella McCarthy loved her brother, there was no doubt about it, but this was too much. "I won't forgive you. I actually have friends here." She slumped against the plastic chairs in the police station. Isabella looked around at the grayness of it all, taking nothing in. Perhaps she would write about it in her autobiography one day, about how her twin brother was a self-absorbed delinquent, dragging her around the country, always ending up in gray police stations. She would write about how his actions had stolen her away from the sun and the wind of the desert and the humidity and moisture of the South, the wonderful humidity that had frizzed her hair and as a result, given her a quiet, welcome loneliness. Huh, more of a biography of Emmett, she thought.

The sound of Emmett scoffing grounded her attention. "Your friends? That lying two-faced bastard Jordan Brown? And that fake girl Laura MacKenzie? Please, Isabella." Emmett had charges for beating up Jordan Brown. He'd smashed Jordan's head against a brick wall when Jordan had been "talkin' smack" about his little sister. Emmett hadn't quite understood why "talkin' smack" wasn't a good enough reason to beat someone up. It had earned him another night in the local jail. But it wasn't the first incident either, so Isabella wasn't surprised when it had happened.

"Look, whatever. Now we're being confined to some mushy, watery town in Washington. What's it called, Forks? What kind of a place is called Forks? Is there a Spoons? Knives, even? We could have been sent to Knives, Idaho or something! It would've suited you, Emmett McCarthy. Did you know there is practically no sunshine at all in Forks? How am I supposed to live? I'm as pale as a freaking vampire as it is! Nobody will accept us, not after they figure out who you are," she rambled.

"Pshaw, you can just be your nerdy self and hide behind your weird books. Nobody'll even notice you," Emmett teased, pulling at her mousy brown hair like a toddler.

Isabella scowled and thumped her hand against her burly brother's arm. "My books aren't weird! They're classics! Nobody understa—When did you get that?" she thundered, when she saw a thick black Celtic design crawling up Emmett's bicep.

Emmett scratched a hand through his own brown hair. "I, uh…I—"

"Isabella, Emmett, let's go," their agent called across to them from the police desk. "We want to make it in to Forks by tomorrow morning, there's a bus leaving in two minutes."

Isabella stood up and grabbed her tattered black duffel bag. Saddening how her whole seventeen years fit into one medium sized bag. Emmett grabbed his, then as a sort of afterthought, tentatively reached out and pried his sister's fingers from her bag handles and tugged the bag away from her. He took her compliance as his forgiveness. "C'mon Bells, off to hell we go!" he said, trying to sound cheerful. That sort of rhymed, Isabella thought mildly.

Isabella stepped through the doors into a hot blast of Arizonian September sun. She reveled in the way the overly bright dollops of sunshine sat on her skin and pricked her faceted brown eyes until tears came. She felt the damp yet dry breeze flit its way across her skin, pulling at her tangled brown hair. She saw the stunted trees, pointy cactuses, cracked earth. She could taste the dust on her lips, the amazing red dirt she had grown to love in the past two years. It tasted like home, and that wasn't just because Emmett had dared her to eat it for their fifteenth birthday.

Isabella slung her long locks up into a knot with a hair elastic. She looked like a bird-of-paradise flower. This was accentuated by her delicately curved and poised body. Anyone and everyone else saw her beauty, but only she did not accept her natural beauty. Her self-esteem had taken low hits every time Emmett faced charges for punching people like Jordan Brown, and every time people like Laura MacKenzie had sneered at her.

On the bus, their agent laid the situation out for them. "Alright, we are situating you two with Charlie Swan. He's the Chief of Police, and an ex-marine. We served together and he's a good friend of mine. You're lucky he owed me a favor, or we wouldn't have anywhere to send you two. Maybe you'll learn some sense, Em," he said, cuffing Emmett over the head. Emmett ducked away, disgusted. "So we know that the school term started a few weeks ago, but you shouldn't be too far behind. I hope—" The agent was interrupted with the tinkling sound of his phone. "Hold on." He turned away.

"Yes, Burnham speaking." Static.

"Yes, we're on our way…What?" Furious static.

"Oh, you have got to be kidding me. The Masens? Really?" More static.

"Well the McCarthys will be with Swan, so hopefully we won't have problems…They're with the Cullens?... What do you mean no other school would take their records?...Yeah…Okay see you there." Burnham snapped his phone shut and cursed. Isabella groaned and hid behind her hands.

Barely a second passed, and Burnham's phone rang again. "What, you got some other bad news?...You can't be serious, the Hales too?...Oh, their aunt…"

"Cha-ching! Yes!" Emmett pumped his fist.

Well, what do we know about the Masens? Isabella mused. Or about the Hales? She cracked open a worn composition book. Flipping through the leaves, she found a clear page enfolded within character sketches and story plots.

She read her own writing, writing that had accumulated over the course of three years. It reminded her vaguely of those story notebooks at the library...what were they called, Amelia's Notebooks? She had taped in child-like drawings of what she imagined her characters to look like. They didn't always turn out how she wanted, though. Isabella was no artist. Here was a character description that fit John Lennon, there one that fit Queen Elizabeth I. Here was an Austen/Bronte-esque plot setting and there was one for a meeting at the dog park.

Isabella shook herself free from her reveries. It didn't do to dwell on childish dreams.

Growing up with Emmett had its strange points. It didn't matter where they were moved, there was always some other boy (or boys) around who knew them. In a few weeks those boys might be gone and be replaced by others. News traveled around fast, across the town, across the state, across the country. The "Delinquent Boys", as Isabella had labeled them, easily passed around gossip about the most infamous boys. Edward Masen held the number one spot. Emmett McCarthy was second, and Jasper Hale was third. Needless to say, many neighborhood boys had come groveling at their doorstep all throughout the year, leaving money or food, or even the occasional vial of blood or scrap of hair, as silent requests to join his non-existent gang. Isabella shuddered inside. Disgusting, she thought. At least they managed to get a bit of extra pocket money. She began making lists in her composition book.

PROFILES

Edward Masen
- From Chicago. Wealthy father.
- Drug possession and street fighting.
- Easily roused to fight.
- Womanizer.
- Twin sister Alice Masen.

Isabella wasn't sure how she managed to obtain that amount of information. She was sad she did not know anything about the sister…they might get along. Or they might not.

Emmett McCarthy
- From Georgia. Wealthy parents, father a pharmacist, mother a housewife from old money.
- Street fighting and being thick-headed.
- Lacks logic.
- Stupidly moronic with a huge ego.
- …somehow not a terrible person.
- Twin sister Isabella McCarthy.

Isabella remembered being eleven years old and helping Emmett limp home after his third fight, injured but victorious. She remembered his bruised knuckles and bleeding nose, and vowing to stay with him until he grew out of his bad habits. At the time, she thought it would take a year or two. She hadn't been prepared for the long, six year haul. Their parents, of course, hadn't understood her desire to remain with her dear brother. They'd called child services, paying them to keep their two children together and out of Juvie.

Isabella heard a cynical laugh inside her own head. A second later, a lighter laugh sounded next to her. "Thick headed? Lacks logic? Really? When have I ever come off that way to you," Emmett chuckled. Isabella pouted in way she hoped was more mature than a toddler's. "If you had logic we wouldn't be here." "Somehow not a terrible person?" Emmett guffawed. The sound was so strange and troll-like that a smile tugged at Isabella's mouth and in a second they were both cackling hysterically. Burnham turned, huffing. "I'm glad someone finds these complications hilarious."

After the laughter had subsided a moment later, Isabella had no idea what had been so funny. But it felt so good, like she and Emmett were six years old again, watching their pudgy ten-year-old neighbor slip and belly-flop, barely missing the pool, then run towards his mother and the prospect of sweet treats after such an embarrassment. The boy hadn't been hurt at all, on account to his extremely premature beer gut. It might even have helped him slim down. The amount of chlorinated water he had spit out had been quite the spectacle.

Isabella looked back down at her cramped notebook.

Jasper Hale, she wrote in an inelegant, though not altogether ugly, scrawl.

Jasper Hale
- From New York. Wealthy aunt. Deceased parents.
- Drug and weaponry (knives) possession.
- Calm, collected, and dangerous.
- Twin sister Rosalie Hale.

She felt like an FBI agent from the show Criminal Minds. Agents from the show calculated when and where serial killers struck, and why. They "profiled" people. She'd even written the word "PROFILES" in large letters at the center of her page.

Well, this should be interesting, she thought. She imagined pinning up pictures of the three delinquents on a large corkboard as suspects, trying to plan their next move. Terrorizing the neighbor's dog? Perhaps sabotaging an old man's garden hose? she wondered. From what she'd heard, there was absolutely nothing to do in Forks. There was a total of one store that wasn't a convenience store or restaurant, and it was for outdoor gear. Isabella debated between sleeping the last…she didn't know how many…hours until they reached Forks, or attempting to strike a conversation with Burnham to learn more about Forks and the other "Delinquent Boys." Eh, she shrugged in her imagination, the conversation can wait. We're stuck here for a while anyway. She fell back onto the hard seats of the bus and tried to sink into sleep.

A/N: Is it strange for children of affluent backgrounds to become violent? I don't know. We'll see.

Expect an update in two weeks? Perhaps? Not sure. School is starting up.