Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight, or any Twilight associated characters in this story. So please Stephanie Meyer, don't sue me. (:
-Sincerely Zoe-
Chapter One
We lived in a nice apartment, near the top of a nice building, in a not so nice city.
By "we", I mean me, my mom, my dad, and my brother. Oh and our dog, Hans. My brother named him, don't ask.
We weren't a typical family in New York, far from it.
My mom was from Italy, my dad a small town in Washington. Not your average ethnic background.
Me and my brother look alike. Same skin tone that doesn't know whether to be tan, or a bit pale. Same dark hair, same dark eyes that can never decide between a dark sapphire or just plain black.
Another odd thing about my family is our stories.
When the kid two floors down form me was listening to Hansel and Gretel, me and my brother here hearing about Werewolves and Vampires.
My brothers eyes would widen with awe when he heard these stories, at the time he wanted to be a werewolf. While I would sit there, and try to imagine a vampire or a werewolf, and all I came out with was a cartoon. Not so realistic. So I didn't believe.
Sure, I loved animated cartoon and movies, but they aren't trying to make you believe in mythical creatures.
While my friends where aspiring to be a princess when they grow up, I was dreaming to be a lawyer, or a doctor. Or even a soccer player. I've always had a love for that sport. Anyways…
They'd waste their parent's money on cheap pink dresses and plastic crowns, while I was saving up for a book. And no, not a picture book, more a long the lines of "How to be a good Lawyer".
I read logic books, about science, autobiographies of people who changed our world. Not ones about the stories I grew up with.
I was never a normal child.
And I'm still not normal.
"Come on Mack, show some emotion." Matthew, my 15 year old brother encouraged.
I looked back at the screen and stared blankly.
"Your so plain." he mumbled, pouting and lowering into the couch.
"Thank you." I remarked, pulling my knees up to my chest.
We where watching his favorite movie, a gory one at that.
While he jumped at the masked murderer, I sat there, thinking about how unrealistic and stupid this was.
"How can't you be scared?" he said, still looking at the screen.
I looked over at him. His hair was in face, shielding his eyes from the bright midday sun.
"Its not realistic Matt. Its never going to happen." I whispered, watching his face.
The tips of his lips pushed down for a second, "Kind of like the stories, mom and dad used to tell us." he didn't ask, he knew my answer.
It was his dream to be a werewolf, and probably still was.
But I crushed that dream, so much he rarely talks about it.
"Yes." I sighed, feeling bad. I didn't want to him to become like me. Dreamless, I mean. But also I didn't want his to get his hopes up, and then them being crushed either.
He didn't say anything else, he just stared hard at the screen. He didn't even jump when the murderer jumped from behind a tree.
A clear sign he wasn't paying attention.
I got up and walked to my room, not liking the eerie silence that fell between us.
I'm not the one to enjoy the silence.
"Mackie, honey, can you come here?" called my mom as I walked by the home office. I walked back down the two stairs I trudged up, and stood in the doorway.
"Ma'am." I sighed, pushing my hands in my jacket pockets.
"Has your father told you yet?" She said, putting some things in a box. I suppose Halloween décor.
"told me what?" I nervously stood there, noticing she was wrapping up our family portraits and carefully put them in the rather large box.
"We're moving." she said, putting down the frame to look at me.
My mom did look Italian, but not full on Italian. She didn't have accent, she just had the brown hair, eyes, lightly tan skin, and food tradition. My mom can make a pretty mean meatball.
I paused, "like to that apartment on the twelfth floor?"
She laughed, "No honey, to your dads home town."
"uh La Shove?"
She laughed again, "No! La Push."
And that makes a difference? I thought.
"Why?"
She smiled and sat down in the swivel chair, "You dad found out that his branch of work," my dads an accountant, "has an office about thirty minutes from the house we are buying in La Push."
I stared at the ground.
"Your dad has been wanting to go home honey," She stood and put a hand on my shoulder, "for a long time. He needed this, I think we did too."
I slightly glared, "What do you mean."
"Well, Mackie, you've been to…."
"normal?" I seethed.
"No," she said.
"Plain?"
"No, Mackie. You just haven't been yourself lately, that's all."
"I've been the same way since I was five mom." I yelled as I walked upstairs, letting my weight hit the stairs even harder every step.
"That's what I'm worried about!" she called from the bottom step as I slammed my bedroom door.
Normally this is where a teenager would start going into a fit, yelling at pillows, glaring at pictures. But not me.
I stood there.
And let all the plainness of me and this life soak in.
And trust me, it wasn't a lot to soak in.