Kaleidoscope

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

Summary: It's growing up, and growing apart, and falling in love. It's late nights and parties and all of the firsts. It's high school, and it's only the beginning. AH AU. OOC. Eventual Bella/Jasper.

Rating: M for language, and mild adult themes.

Author: tlyxor1.

Chapter One

Bella

In what passes for 'downtown' in Forks, the Book Nook is a lovely little secondhand bookstore with an attached cafe, and I've lost hours to the place, bought books and read books and consumed litres of tea, and coffee, and probably my body weight in cakes. It's a new shop, owned by a woman new to Forks named Esme Cullen, and it's perhaps my new favourite place in town.

Suffice to say, it's disappointing to realise I'll soon no longer be able to wile away the hours in one of the Nook's cozy armchairs, to enjoy Mrs Cullen's tea, or coffee, or delightful little desserts. The summer has drawn to a close, and with it, all of my endless hours of free time.

"Are you looking forward to the start of term?" Jasper Whitlock asks me, tongue firmly in cheek. He's a cashier/barista/waiter in the Book Nook, and I've grown rather familiar with him over the weeks of summer. I wouldn't necessarily call us friends - friendly acquaintances, perhaps - but we share a similar appreciation for literature, and I'm rather infatuated by his smile, by the sound of his voice, by the way his honey coloured hair falls into his pewter-coloured eyes.

"Um, maybe like a trip to the dentist," I answer. "How about you? I guess you have SAT's this year…"

Jasper winces theatrically. "Don't remind me. I'm dreading it."

I cluck sympathetically, and accept the change he drops into my hand. "Well, here's to the last gasp of summer, then."

"May it never end," Jasper agrees. He winks playfully, but there's another customer waiting, and I leave him to it with a smile and a brief wave. He returns both, but addresses his newest customer a moment later.

As he does so, I drift over to my usual table, make myself comfortable in my favourite turquoise, wing-backed armchair, and settle in to continue where I'd left off in 'The Great Gatsby'. Outside, it's drizzling, and Forks' Main Street is quiet. It's peaceful in the Nook though, the low, soft instrumental music a pleasant backdrop as I get lost in my book, as I enjoy the chai tea and carrot cake Jasper serves me a few minutes after I'd ordered them. He doesn't linger, but he nods his approval at my choice of novel, and I wish we could sit, and talk about books and movies and anything under the sun. At the end of the day, though, Jasper Whitlock-Hale is just doing his job, and I'm just the quiet underclassmen that frequents his workplace.

I sigh, a little disheartened by the thought, and distract myself with my novel.

It's such that the time passes me by, and before I know it, Emmett's texting me with word that he's waiting outside, and could I please move my ass before he dies of old age in the parking lot?

Emmett's my 17 - almost 18 - year old stepbrother. We've been raised as siblings though, and I'm as close to him as I am my twin, Edward. As such, the 'step' is merely a technicality, and I struggle to imagine a world wherein we weren't siblings, didn't fight and make up and carry on as we have for as long as I can remember.

I roll my eyes at his dramatics, bookmark my page and gather up my things, and reluctantly shuffle outside. It's cooled exponentially since I'd arrived at the Nook, and the chill bleeds through my sweater, soaks through my skin, and settles into my bones.

Mercifully, however, Emmett is indeed waiting for me, blasting Kanye West from his speakers, and I'm embarrassed on his behalf. I clamber gratefully into his Jeep, anyway, and eagerly await the day I can drive myself around, sans Kanye's deafening accompaniment.

"Hey, what's up?" I greet him, "How was your day?"

"Nothing," Emmett replies, "Chief's riding my ass about college applications. Same old shit."

Emmett's heading into his senior year at Forks High. He's Captain of the football team, point guard on the basketball team, and the baseball team's best pitcher. He's clever, too, lurking somewhere near the top of his class, and the University of Washington is essentially chomping at the bit to recruit him as a Husky. On top of all of that, he volunteers at the police station, he tutors and coaches elementary schoolers, and he did spectacularly on the SAT's.

Essentially, he's a shoe-in for any college he applies to, but the parental units are anxious. Not because they don't think so, but more because they'd rather have Emmett's plans for the future cemented as much and as soon as possible. All the same, Emmett doesn't appreciate them breathing down his neck, and who can blame him? I wouldn't appreciate it, either.

"Just give them your shortlist," I advise him, "That'll get them off your back for a bit, at least."

Emmett grunts his acknowledgement, noncommittal. He's been fussing over that shortlist all summer, switching around his preferences, detracting some, adding others, and it's been rather painful to witness. He seems satisfied by the most recent incarnation of his list, though - at the very least, he's stopped looking vaguely frayed at the edges - and showing Charlie and Siobhan isn't necessarily a lot to ask.

At least, I don't think it is. Emmett, perhaps, may beg to differ.

In any case, he doesn't seem particularly interested in continuing the conversation, and I don't press him to do so. Instead, I spend the trip home watching the scenery pass us by, and it's not until Emmett's pulling into the driveway that the silence between us is broken.

"Mom asked us to sort something out for dinner. You want to order something, or…"

"I'll cook," I say on an exhale. I'm not exactly thrilled to, but if left up to Emmett or Edward, it'll be pizza, and I've had my fill of takeout for the next month, at least. "I hope you feel like salmon."

"Yay, salmon," Emmett deadpans. I laugh at him as I clamber out of the car, because I'm not about to feel bad for ruining his pizza plans, and he pulls a face as he walks up behind me, "When I move out, I'll never eat fish again."

"You say that now," I acknowledge, "But I'll bet you'll be craving it the first month into your first semester at college."

"You'll bet wrong, then," Emmett parries. He unlocks the front door, and we pile into the front room in a tangle of arms and elbows. He's bigger than I am, though, taller and stronger and with an annoyingly long reach, and he has me in an unapologetic headlock before I can blink. "I'll put up with the fucking salmon for now, though."

"Of course you will," I scoff, and wriggle myself free. I'm under no illusions, however: I'm only free because Emmett lets me go. "What else will you eat, baked beans?"

Emmett pulls a disgusted face. "Why do we even have them?"

I shrug, clueless, and shuffle my way down the front hall, towards the living room. With the exception of six year old Maggie, no one in the house likes them, and no one's about to voluntarily feed her baked beans, either. Not when there are far better alternatives, and certainly not when Siobhan would kick our asses if we even thought about it.

"One of the mysteries of the universe," I say. Emmett, behind me, grunts his agreement.

We come to a stop in the living room doorway. In front of the TV, Maggie is engrossed in an episode of Spongebob, her thumb wedged firmly in her mouth. Edward's there too, snoozing on the couch, one of his music journals open across his chest. It's his day to babysit Maggie, and he looks wrecked. Chasing after a six year old is exhausting though, and I'm not remotely surprised by my brother's state. God knows, afternoon naps become my best friend whenever it's my turn to babysit, too.

"Hi," Maggie waves at us both, but Spongebob grabs her attention a moment later, and Emmett and I leave her to it. Neither of us are willing to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"I'm going upstairs," Emmett says to me in an undertone.

I nod my acknowledgement, and briefly contemplate doing the same. It's tempting, but if I do, I probably won't come back down, and I really have no interest in eating another shitty pizza.

With that in mind, I shuffle into the kitchen instead, and reluctantly make a start on dinner. Emmett can complain all he likes, but the salmon - with a side of baked potatoes and steamed vegetables - turns out great, and I'd like to see him make something better.

Siobhan, when she gets home from the hospital, agrees. She's pleasantly surprised that we haven't just ordered takeout, but when Emmett grouses about it, she chides him for being ungrateful, and tells him he can clean up the dinner mess for his trouble.

And because we're all a little intimidated by Siobhan's redhead temper, Emmett does as he is told without protest.

I pull a silly face at him as he passes me, he returns it with a roll of his eyes but an easy grin, and I consider it a win. As such, I end my day on a high note, and retreat to my bedroom with a grin of my own.