Disclaimer: I don't own Twiligh, only Abigail and her storyline.

Chapter one.

"Good evening, this is your captain speaking. As we begin our descent into Seattle, we ask if all seatbelts can be fastened, and all luggage is stored safely in the overhead compartments. All cabin crew to landing positions. Thank you for flying with us today, and behalf of the crew and myself, we hope you have a lovely Summer."

3674 miles later, and I'd finally made it. The eight hour flight hadn't been uncomfortable, I had plenty to do. I'd watched two films, finished an entire book full of Soduku's - well, apart from one which I'm sure they must have made a typo on, there was absolutely nowhere to put that damn six! - I'd gone through all my emails (twice), and even looked up local ballet studios in and around Washington.

I'd been attending the Royal Ballet School in London since I was eleven, eight years on and I had just passed my National Diploma in Professional Dance, and was now on my way to qualifying to become a full time ballet teacher at the school.

Founded in 1926, the school offers an eight year carefully structured dance course, aligned with an extensive academic programme, giving the students there the best possible education to equip them for a career in the world of dance. It remains one of the foremost classical ballet schools worldwide.

It's a boarding school, catering for both girls and boys. I'd boarded all year round for eight years, only returning to my Aunts house in Surrey for the Christmas, Easter and Summer holidays. My Aunt had requested that I would stay at the school during half terms, she'd even paid an extra fee on top of the annual school fees just to make it possible with the Chair of Governors. Eventually they said yes. Sometimes I got the impression my Aunt didn't want me to live with her.

Annual course fees cost around £32,000, add on accommodation - £3,900 - and my Aunts payment of an extra £1,000 every year to secure my stay over half terms, my Aunt was paying a staggering £36,900 a year. Multiply that by eight and you've got a grand total of £295,200. When I first started the school, my Aunt had asked me if it was even worth attending the school; I had then launched into a ten minute description of my dream to become a Prima Ballerina. Prima Ballerina Assoluta is a rank or title given to notable female ballet dancers. To be recognised as a Prima Ballerina Assoluta is a very rare honour, reserved only for the most exceptional soloists, usually those who have achieved international acclaim.

Only two Britons have been branded Prima Ballerina Assoluta - Alicia Markova and Margot Fonteyn - and I was determined to be the third.

Looking out of the plane window, I could see the blur of lights that made up the small city of Seattle. Living in London, I was used to the city life - having to continually dodge taxis, and fight my way through seas of people - so adjusting to life in a small town with a few hundred occupants would be easy. Or so I thought.

After slowly filing off the plane, and dragging my suitcases from Baggage Claim, I made my way out of the airport and into the fresh air. Being greeted by a sticky humidity, I was instantly thankful for pulling on my denim shorts this morning, along with a light sweatshirt.

After hailing a taxi, and the driver helping me load my two suitcases into the boot, we sped off and onto the highway.

"Where to, love?" He asked as I looked out of the back seat window.

"La Push Reservation, please."

After an hour of constant driving we pulled into a dirt road, signposted 'La Push Reservation, home of the Quileute tribe.' Home sweet home.

Pulling up at a small red two-story house, butterflies buzzed forcefully around in my stomach. Three years, I hadn't seen her in three years. Would she even recognise me? I'd changed a lot since then. I had grown taller, slimmer and become a hell of a lot more wiser. I wasn't that shy fresh out of school teenager anymore. Not that little girl, set on a fairytale ending with a Prince Charming who'd never let me down. I'd realised that fairytale endings weren't real, and there definitely weren't any Prince Charmings in this world. Boys would be boys, and men would be men. Nobody's perfect - I had learnt that the hard way.

The taxi slowed to a crawl, then to an eventual stop. Opening my door, the butterflies in my stomach were turning my insides to knots, making me feel dizzy and slightly sick.

The house was a double-story, sweet but small. Painted a faded red, the house had a charismic charm to it. Ivy grew up the walls, laced with delicate white roses. The porch held a rocking swing, being gently swayed in the breeze. A white picket fence surrounded the house, but I felt that the fence wasn't the only thing protecting the house from the outside world.

The driver cleared his throat uncomfortably, pulling me away from the survey of the house. He'd unloaded my cases from the trunk, and placed them on the sidewalk next to me.

"Twenty dollars please, darlin."

I pulled two tens from my shorts pocket, and handed it to him.

"Have a good day sweetheart." He tipped his flat cap up, got back in the taxi and drove away, leaving a dusty trail along the road behind him.

Breathing heavily, I picked up a suitcase in each hand, and headed towards the open gate. Stepping onto the porch, I could hear laughter from inside. Setting down my cases, I knocked on the door and took a hesitant step back, distancing myself slightly from the house in front of me.

I heard footsteps pad along the floor, getting closer. I in took a sharp breath, and as the door swung open, I exhaled deeply.

Standing at 5"9, not many towered over me, but the man who stood in front of me was at least 6"4. Tanned, tall and lean, he reminded me of the memories I had of the men on the Reservation when I had lived her all those years ago. I had once called this place home, now it felt more like that than ever.

"Can I help you?" The man asked, looking at me.

I swallowed nervously. "I'm looking for Emily Young?"

"Uh, sure. Come in." He stood to the side and walked into a room just off of the hallway. "Em, someone's at the door for you."

I followed the boy into the room which turned into the kitchen. He sat down at a small crowded table which occupied four other similar looking guys, all digging - quite literally, they looked like animals when they ate - into their individual plates which were stacked high with pancakes.

"Who was it Jared?"

I took a deep breath and set down my suitcases on the wooden floor. "It's me."

(A/N): This first chapter has a lot of information about Abigail childhood and upbringing. I wanted to give you a brief idea of what her life was like before she boarded the plane to Washington - this isn't the only information that you'll learn about her past, believe me there's a lot more coming. The Royal School of Ballet does exsist, I;ve tried to make it as accurate as possible, I had to ask my friend who goes there a lot of questions. I know there's alot about the school, but I wanted to make it obvious how much ballet means to Abigail.

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