Chapter One: Antique Shop

The old man's eyes gleamed at me like dead beetles as I strode around his shop. It was old, and a thick layer of dust coated everything in the antique store. Even the air tasted rusty. But it was colorful and fascinating; old treasures, lost books, scuffed trophies, battered, wooden carvings. They all carried a story.

"See anything you like, sweetheart?" the elderly man inquired, his voice cracking with the effort of trying to sound totally uninterested in me. After all, I had to humbly admit that I was probably the prettiest thing in the shop.
Maybe even in the town.

"Oh... I dunno. I just love old, dusty things," I said sardonically, groping around a particularly nasty-looking pot (I wondered if it was a retired spittoon) and tracing my fingers across the sadly twisted assortment of fake diamonds and pearls in a small silver box.

The old man barked a laugh. It was rusty, just like everything else in the store. "So you're a funny man- er, girl?"

I sighed, sloping my shoulders up and down in a shrug. "If you say so, pop."

I turned delicately on my heel, my eyes flitting around. There was really nothing else to look at. I'd come here to kill time, but this old shop was getting more luck in killing me out of sheer boredom than I was at shooting down minutes. Mom and Dad were across the street in another painfully old store (they have a taste for antique things; more so Dad than Mom, really) and I'd come here in the hopes to find something exciting.

"You like shiny things?" he observed carefully as I trotted across the stiff carpet and gazed at a statue of a leaping stallion, probably the only thing in this entire shop that came close to mildly threatening my position as prettiest in the store.

I bit back a chuckle. "Yeah. I guess I do. Why?"

The old man smiled, revealing stumps of moldy-colored things I guessed were once called teeth, and stepped out from behind the glass counter containing several small, dusty instruments. "I have just the thing for you, little bird."

Little bird? I wondered if this guy was aiming at getting on a first name basis. As he passed me, I silently told his retreating back that I was certainly not into older guys, and he was definitely no guy-cougar.

"Here are the prettiest things in the shop," he beamed as I strode closer to his wrinkly, bespectacled form, slightly hunched over a small table by the windows of the old shop. It was a dull-looking wood table with a dusty silk cloth draped across it. A large box sat on top of the cloth, holding an assortment of objects that were indeed shiny.

Curious-looking gadgets, silver toys, brass keys, shiny old locks, small glass snowglobes, and a single golden pocket watch stamped with the symbol of a griffin and several sparkling diamonds encrusted around him (which I assumed were wannabe-diamonds) made up the space in the wooden box.

"I like that watch," I accidentally blurted. My cheeks warmed just slightly, and I hated the feeling of stupidity that pinched me. I'd wanted to keep my disinterested, cool mood about everything in the store, and admitting I liked something felt a little embarrassing.

"Do you?" the old man asked enthusiastically, his glasses slipping down his nose, and what was left of his snow-white hair flapping, as he hunched even farther over to retrieve the pretty watch from its companions in the wooden box. He held it in his too-soft, slightly shaky hands, and gently handed it over to me. It felt small and cool in my palm, and a long, small gold chain trailed after the pocket watch, dangling out of my palm and swaying back and forth for a moment.

"It is pretty," I grudgingly admitted, glancing towards the doors. Where was Mom and Dad? This old guy was achieving in giving me the creeps, and I'd noticed we were the only two people in the entire store. One person, I mentally reminded myself. I'm not human. At least, not totally. And besides, I could kick his butt if he tried anything shady.

I was careful not to brush against the old man's skin as I held the pocket watch; hell, last thing I needed was listening to his probably perverted thoughts, and besides, I was ready to go. I prepared to hand it back to him when he said something strange.

"You should keep that, Renesmee."

I stared at him eyes wide and accusing. "How do you know my name?" I asked, my playful, bored mood gone. Suddenly things were very tense in the air, and I wished I had Dad's ability to just read thoughts.

His old, gray eyes began to lack their innocent, mild appeal and turned dark. Like storm clouds. "Open the pocket watch, Renesmee. Go ahead."

I stared at him, startled as suddenly, my hands began acting on their own as they obeyed him. They fumbled with the small latch on the pretty watch, and I felt dread and confusion slapping me in the face. How did he know
my name? Why couldn't I control my body, for god's sake?

"Have fun, kid."

It was the last thing he said before suddenly, the pocket watch clicked open. Everything was silent for a heart-beat.

And then, it began to tick loudly. It got even louder. And louder, until I wanted to scream and put my hands over my ears. But to my surprise, I was frozen like marble stone. I couldn't move. My powers were failing me.

There were faint popping noises, and then somebody's shout. The world was spinning, racing, muddling like the town was a painting, and someone had taken their hand and run it through the careful paint-strokes, destroying the picture.

After what felt like only a second on the billowing mess, everything was still.

I stood there for a moment, in shock. My mind was racing, and my heart was bumping blood like crazy. I tried to focus my eyes and I looked around, gasping for breath.

I was... in some kind of school. A high school.

I blinked, trying to gather my thoughts. I wasn't drunk or anything... right? Had the old dude somehow poisoned me? Was I dreaming? Hallucinating?

Suddenly, the confusing string of questions stopped as I froze, my eyes pinned on a single body among the many in the room I was in, a cafeteria. She was slender, with a heart-shaped face and big, brown eyes.

"Hey, Bella!" came the voice of a boy, the chess-type class. "Remember me? Eric?" A tall guy sat down, squeezing in across the table from the brown-haired girl, his expression eager.

"Oh, yeah. Sure," she said weakly, offering a small smile.

I stood frozen, dumbstruck.

I was in Forks High School. And that was my mom, Bella Swan.

Before she was a vampire.

"Oh, crap."

A/N: A crazy idea that became a story. It picks up; I'll continue if you want.