AN: Well, welcome to my first fanfiction.

I started reading Twilight FF about a year ago while my wife was pregnant with our second child. But it took until today to work up the courage to give writing a try. Much like Ms. Meyer to whom we owe so much (and who owns Angsty Edward and Clumsy Bella) this story idea came to me in a dream. I hope I can do it justice.

The basic plot is finished, but is not set in stone. The chapter summaries are about halfway finished. Character notes and sketches are still very much a work in process. I wanted to focus on writing the early chapters just to get the ball rolling and to give me some finished product to put out there. As the characters come closer to their appearances on the stage I anticipate fleshing them out a lot more.

I have not written enough to be able to gauge how fast I will be able to crank out the chapters. I figure I will start out with a bang and then will slow down as I develop a better feel for my natural pace.

I do not have a beta or a pre-reader or anything highfalutin like that. Any mistakes in grammar are my own and any spelling mistakes are curtesey of Google's spell checker.

~Squid

All copyrighted materials, trademarked items, or recognizable characters, plots, etc. mentioned herein belong to their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended. No copying, translation or reproduction of this work is permitted without their express written authorization.

All honor and glory to Stephenie Meyer for giving us these unforgettable characters.

Chapter One

August, 2010

Mom said I should not have come to the city. She always hated it. It reminded her too much of her past life and her past pain. She was happy where she was now, ensconced in a 1970's ranch style home out in the live oak country east of Lakeland.

She and Garrett loved their farm with its cows, horses and pigs. There was a massive tree out front with a tire swing for my kid sister and brother. There was the above ground pool out back for grilling and parties surrounded by a eight foot privacy fence and shaded with cabbage palms. And of course there was the trailer home they had sitting at the edge of the pasture that they rented out to Garrett's deadbeat sister and her brood. She had four kids and they had four different fathers. Beyond that, I could not be bothered to keep track.

Garrett's latest addition was a four post carport for their precious RV. They loved to drive it up to North Carolina and cruise up the Blue Ridge Parkway, stopping at every cheesy antique store, outlet mall and tourist trap on the way. I had been with them a couple times and wound up car sick and bored out of my skull.

God I hated that farm and I hated that life. I hated the chores. I hated the mosquitoes and the fire ants. I hated the damned sand in my shoes and the two acres of grass that needed cutting year round. About the only thing I did enjoy was riding Mom's horse, Chief. Chief was a beautiful roan Arabian stallion that was her pride and joy. Garrett bought him for her for their tenth wedding anniversary last year, and I thought Mom was going to pass out from joy and surprise.

But right now I was riding away from that life and it certainly wasn't on my mom's horse. The pickup I was driving rattled and clanked from age. I bought it off my friend Leah for three hundred bucks when she left for NYU two years ago.

For some reason she thought that a 1969 Chevy C10 with a gold hood and a big white stripe down the side was not a good fit for the Big Apple. It had a spare tire in front of the grill, a rusted bed and cow shit on the fenders. It also had stick on gems all around the back window courtesy of Leah and her misguided attempt to make the truck more girly. I left the gems, but changed its name from Bertha to Ralph.

You know, after Ralph Stanley, the bluegrass singer? I was a proud country boy and could not think of a bigger tribute then to name my favorite crusty old truck after my favorite crusty old musician.

Ralph's engine was a muted growl under the roar of air from my open windows. I had the wing vents flipped around backwards so the hot air hit me right in the face. The blinding light of the Central Florida sun was beating down and I felt like a sugar cookie in my sister's easy bake oven. It was a hundred and three with ninety percent humidity and I would have given my left nut for a truck with air conditioning.

The blast of air from barreling along on the parkway was the only thing keeping me from drowning in my own sweat. I grabbed my collar and angled it so the rush of air inflated my shirt, pealing it away from my overheated skin and making it flop like a fish on my Uncle Carl's dock. I let up on the gas so I could peel my legs off the vinyl where the Daffy Duck beach towel I was sitting on had ridden up.

The towel covered the rips in the rips in the upholstery where the springs and the foam were poking through. It also kept me from getting third degree burns on my ass from the superheated vinyl. You could just about cook an egg on that uncovered seat after any length of time in the sun.

Thankfully the tollway finally came to an end and I fished the last of my change out of Ralph's ashtray. I was getting pretty damned excited by this point. I only had a couple miles left to the start of my new life.

I had been to the campus once before for freshman orientation. Garrett and Mom drove me up in their car with the GPS that time. I did not have that luxury this time, but thanks to an almost photographic memory for directions I knew exactly where to go. I made a right onto Alafaya Trail, a right onto Central Florida Boulevard and another right onto Gemini Boulevard.

I laughed to myself. Gemini. Twins. Fat lot of good it did me to think about twins. I briefly wondered where Tony was and if he was going to college. I had looked for him on Facebook a couple times but nothing ever popped up. Once I saw mention of my Dad in the business section of the Miami Herald but I ignored it. I still was not ready to forgive him for cheating on Mom.

It was only a few minutes more before I was pulling into the loading zone for the dorms.

I jogged over for quick stop by the housing office to grab my keys. I ran back to the dorms and did a quick walk through of my room. Basic to the extreme, it was nothing more then two beds, two dressers, two desks and a sink. A door lead off to a shower we shared with the adjoining suite. I cranked the A/C and made the couple of trips to the truck to bring in my stuff.

I did not have much. A single Army duffel handed down from my grandpa that was stuffed with clothes, a backpack with my laptop and a file box full of knickknacks. Oh, and my treasure box with that picture of Tony and me that thankfully mom had never found.

I knew we were on the upper end of poor, but I also knew Mom did her best to provide for me. I remember how bad it was a little kid living in a run down trailer behind my Aunt Esse Mae and Uncle Carl's home. Things got a lot better once Mom married Garrett, but it was still tight even with selling some of the cows and pigs at auction while Garrett worked days at a Publix warehouse in Lakeland driving a forklift.

I moved my truck back over to the parking garage and pulled out my last worldly possession. A beat up old ten speed named Fred that I had since I was kid.

Fred was special to me. He was my ticket to the world when I was little and I rode him everywhere. At some point in the past he was white and had tires with some tread on them, but now he was coated with sand and filth and had tires balder then Kojak. I figured that keeping him dirty would lower the chances of him getting stolen. It did not hurt that all the sand in the bearings made a quiet getaway impossible. He sounded like a cement mixer.

I rode back to the dorms, chained up Fred to the bike rack and headed in for a nap. The room was blissfully cold and the AC had sucked enough humidity out of the air to make breathing tolerable. I peeled off my soaked shirt and tossed it over the back of my chair and barely had the energy to throw the fitted sheet on the mattress before crashing headlong into my pillow. I was out cold in seconds.

I awoke to the sound of the door opening. I propped myself up on my elbow to see who was coming in. I guess my roommate was here.

If you think I have even a modicum of talent please review and let me know. If you think I am a worthless hack please review and let me know that as well. I hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoy writing it.