Post Script

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. All recognisable characters, content or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Summary: Bella Swan's life was normal… until it wasn't. It started with a letter and spun out of control from there. Is it possible to fall in love with a perfect stranger? AU Bella/Jared

Letter One:

To: Student Unknown, la Push Reservation high School

From: Isabella Swan, Forks High, Forks

Date: 1st September, 2005

Dear Reader

In the interest of remaining anonymous, you can just call me Jane. Fairly simple, rather unspectacular and also a name that no one could call their own in my personal cohort. hence: Smith, Jane Smith.

So, hi there. I hope this letter finds you well. mr Greene says this pen pal system is in the spirit of racial interaction, getting back to our roots and getting away from the influence of technology. I think it's a crock of crap, but what the fuck ever. Failing to comply is totally not worth my GPA.

I'm just glad they're not going to be reading them.

Phew.

My teachers have so graciously provided a list of questions I should ask and answer, so here goes nothing:

As I said previously, my name is Smith, Jane Smith. I'm sixteen, I am a junior in high school and I've lived in Forks my entire life. My mom is dead, though she was from the Navajo tribe in Arizona. Therefore, I find the whole 'getting back to our roots' aspect of this task particularly ironic.

I enjoy romantic strolls along the beach, holding hands and the occasional serenade. Not really. What I do enjoy is watching sports, mudslinging, cliff diving and cars. Reading novels of all genres is one of my favourite pastimes, though aside from everything already mentioned, I'm a huge movie buff, I regularly belt out songs on the fly and I really do enjoy cooking. I'm also good at it, which is a bonus.

What else?

No pets. Only child. My best subject is English, though my favourite is Chemistry.

You can just call me pyro.

Anyway, that's all I can bullshit right now. So I guess I'll catch you on the flipside.

Sincerely

Smith, Jane Smith

ps. Don't tell me your name yet. I'd like to know you before I know your name - just in case of any preconceptions I may or may not have. It's a small town, after all.

Letter 2:

To:Student Unknown, Forks High School, Forks

From: Jared Cameron

Date: 2nd September, 2005

Smith, Jane Smith

In the spirit of remaining anonymous, you can call me Al. As in Albert. Since, you know, I don't think anyone's been named Albert in a decade - or five. Therefore, it's pretty safe to say no one in my grade can call themselves that.

Thank you for your platitudes. I, too, hope this letter finds you well. My teachers didn't tell us squat all about this new system except that we're participating in it, no exceptions. That's not really saying much - my teachers don't explain much of anything.

As you already know, you can call me Al, as in Albert. I'm also sixteen, I'm also a junior in high school and I've lived in la Push for as long as I can remember. I'm half Quileute, half Quinault, though I'd like to think I'm more Quileute than not - culturally speaking.

Have you ever been to Navajo?

Mudslinging and cliff diving are epic, so I'm not surprised you love it. I'm not particularly into cars and mechanics myself, though I do know how to navigate my way around an engine. It's an excellent skill to have. I enjoy a good novel on occasion, though movies, video games and drawing are my preferred hobbies. What is your favourite sport?

No pets either. A younger brother who's a dirtbag. My best subject is Maths, though my favourite would have to be Visual Art.

If we're going to create nicknames for ourselves, I guess you can just call me Picasso.

I'm looking forward to your next letter. I'll freely admit that you made me laugh.

Sincerely

Al, As in Albert.

ps. I'm agreeable to this notion, so long as you yourself are.

Post Script

Chapter One

Bella's Point of View

September 2nd, 2005

"God, where do they think we are, Hollywood?" Angela scoffed.

She was, of course, talking about the new students huddled around a sleek silver Volvo and a cherry red BMW. They were beautiful (the cars) certainly, though my love would always belong to classical models.

Then there were the new kids themselves: styled impeccably, dressed impeccably and so appallingly out of place in this two-bit town in the middle of nowhere, Washington, I wondered why they were there at all. Terribly pretty and terribly pale, I figured they at least had skin tone going for them - all the other whitey whites here were almost albino.

I shrugged indifferently, turned back to my beat up Chevy and answered, "Who cares? I give the Mrs three months before they get the hell out of dodge. NO way will prissy rich kids like them last in this hick town."

Angela laughed, we shouldered our bags and finally headed inside, heedless of the drizzling rain. It became a constant in your life when you lived in the wettest town in the continental US, so I was pretty sure I'd feel naked without my clothes perpetually damp.

"How'd you go with your letter?" Angela enquired.

"I did fine," I answered honestly, "I put it in Mr Greene's dropbox before you arrived."

"Lucky," Angela sighed, "I really struggled. It's weird talking about myself to a complete stranger."

"Meh," I shrugged, "It's kind of just like writing in a diary. Except, you know, the fact that someone else will be reading it." Angela was silent. I looked at her expectantly, to find her with a bemused expression on her face. "What?"

"I'm trying to imagine you writing a diary."

I rolled my eyes, kicked up my sneakers onto the table's support bar and answered, "Fuck you too, bitch."

Angela let loose with another laugh and I smiled despite myself, though that was no surprise. Angela's laughter was always contagious, regardless of the occasion. She'd been my best friend forever and throughout all of that time, she'd never failed to cheer me up.

Jessica and Lauren joined us then, wide eyed and apparently lovestruck. They dropped into the seats in front of us, deposited their bags on their respective desks and then turned back to face Angela and I, gazes expectant.

Jessica broke the silence. "Well, did you two see them? They are hawt!" She finished with a little squeal and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. I'd known this girl forever, I knew what she was like (psychotic came to mind) and therefore, I was not allowed to stab her with my pen or God help me, Lauren would rain down on me like an avenging angel.

I could almost imagine it now, Lauren with her devil horns, black wings and red talons (pardon me, fingernails) and I smothered a laugh. Man, I cracked myself up sometimes.

"I was a bit preoccupied ogling their cars, honestly," I answered, fibbing a little bit. I had seen the new kids - I just didn't care to go bug-eyed over them. My preferences had always leant more towards the native boys, so it was perhaps no surprise that though they were objectively attractive, I, personally, didn't find them appealing.

"They are nice cars," Lauren conceded. "But man, those boys' faces are much prettier."

"To lust is a sin," Angela answered monotonously. She didn't care for her father's preachings, honestly, but most of the time it got Jessica and Lauren off our collective ass, so she'd gotten rather good at pretending she was devoutly Catholic. It was all rather amusing.

"That sucks, Angie," Jessica tried to sympathise, she really did, but she in actuality just came off as patronising.

"Whatever," Lauren interjected, "I found out some information about them. It turns out that the five of them were all adopted by the new doctor - Dr Cullen - and his wife. Apparently, they can't have kids, so they just adopted a bunch of teenagers. The teenagers' names are Rosalie, Jasper, Emmett, Alice and Edward and they just moved here from Alaska. What the fuck's in Alaska, anyway?"

"The abominable snowman," I deadpanned.

"Really?" Perhaps unsurprisingly, the enquiry came from Jessica. The girl was intelligent, if a bit ditzy, but she was also unfortunately gullible.

Angela smothered her laugh behind her sleeve and Lauren rolled her eyes, exasperated before she bitingly answered, "God, Jess, you're so stupid sometimes. She was being sarcastic."

"Oh. My bad." Jessica laughed it off, but in her eyes, I could see that Lauren's words stung. Silently, I made a note to talk to her alone when I got the chance. No one deserved to feel stupid. Even if the girl was a perpetual pain in the ass.

The tardy bell sounded and Mr Richmond still hadn't made himself known. I rolled my eyes - I'd heard horror stories of his perpetual absenteeism - and I withdrew that semester's novel to pass the time. 'Gone With The Wind' was a book I'd read many times, though this time, my reading was regularly interspersed with a pause to annotate any particular themes evident in the text in my notebook, on a page full of the different themes, corresponding quotes and the relevant page numbers. it would all no doubt come in useful during assessment time but for the moment, I simply ignored Lauren and Jessica's horrified gazes (god forbid I study before I had to) and Angela's snickering beside me.

They'd each be eating their thoughts soon enough.

The morning passed slowly and as my day passed, I learned that I was in the same cohort as three of the Cullens. It wasn't until lunch break that I learned the other two were sophomores, but as I made my way through my curly fries, I could hardly care less about the gossip everyone had learned about them. I was debating the worth of Marvel versus DC comics with Ben Cheney instead (Marvel all the way) and until I was interrupted by Angela, I would have been happy to argue my point throughout the lunch hour. Ben was disgruntled by the interruption and glared at his tray. I gave him a consoling clap on the shoulder and turned to Angela, expectant.

"One of the new kids are staring at you. I think his name is Edward."

"How cute," I patronised. Angela laughed, tugged at one of my twin braids but dropped the subject. We instead talked about our classes and such things until finally, the bell sounded and we dispersed for our respective classes. By the end of the day, I was ready to head home and to get away from all of the gossip surrounding the Cullen family. I couldn't care less about them, after all.

When I actually got home, I finished up the last of my homework before I took the opportunity to veg out on the couch. I left it on House, snacked on Doritos and by the time Charlie got home, I was well and truly content. It only continued as my father began his ritualistic bitching about all the gossipmongers residing in Forks. I listened with a grin, ever amused by the man's grumbling.

"How was your day, Bells?"

"Not bad," I answered, "The usual suspects were gossiping about the new kids though. I don't really see the big deal - they all just look like prissy rich pale faces to me. I doubt they'll last long here."

He chuckled his acknowledgement, kicked up his feet onto the coffee table and switched the channel to ESPN. We watched football for a while, but eventually dinner had to be prepared and since my father took kitchen ineptitude to a whole new level, I was the one responsible. Spaghetti bolognese was easy to make though, so in less than forty five minutes, we were seated across from each other at the dining table, eating our meal in companionable silence while the football commentators made for comfortable background noise.

"I got a call from Kya today. She and Jeremiah are coming up for a visit soon."

I smiled, pleased by the notion.

Kya and Jeremiah, or grandma and grandad for me, were my mom's parents. They'd had no other children aside from Renee, so once she'd died, they'd pretty much poured all of their parental and grand-parental loving onto me. Gifts for most every occasion in the calendar, visits four times a year and a month long stay in Navajo every summer, it would be perfect if not for the fact that they and my dad's parents, India and Wendell, got along like oil and water.

"That's awesome," I replied, "I'll tidy up the guest room this weekend."

Later, I was sprawled out across my bed, mouthing along to Nikki Minaj and savoured in the burn from that night's yoga stretches. My window was closed and locked, my bedroom door was too, but as I began to sing along to the chorus of Super Bass, I got the sudden, discomforting feeling of being watched.

Rising to my feet, I approached the window, attempted and failed to see through the black of night and shivered when I caught the unmistakeable glint of gold within the trees. It was gone just as quickly and with another shiver of unadulterated fear, I tugged my heavy curtains closed, burrowed myself tight beneath my sheets and reminded myself that no one would dare break into the house of the Chief of Police.

I had nothing to worry about.