Hey guys, this is my first attempt at a Twilight-based fan fiction. There are some differences between this and the books. Mainly I took Bella completely out of the story and made a whole new female lead. This was written for theraputic reasons after I kept having a series of dreams for about a week straight. I'm honestly terrified of posting this so please, be gentle? And forgive me but the chapters are going to be abnormally long, I write too much sometimes.

Stephenie Meyer owns the Cullens, I own the original characters. This is just for entertainment reasons, no infringement or slander intended.


Chapter One:

I was invisible. Sometimes, this was the exact way I liked things. To be able to just glide through existance with no one really remembering me. But there were other days when I craved the companionship. To have just one person that I could go to and talk to whenever things were going bad. But I couldn't. My life wasn't exactly set up for something like that. By the time I'd turned nine years old, I'd completely forgotten what it felt like to put down roots. It was all just temporary, almost as if life was trying to keep me on my toes and prevent me from perpetual boredom.

But if that was the case? I would've picked somewhere vastly different from my new foster home. Forks, Washington. It was right in the Olympic Peninsula with an average of more rainy days than sunny, dry ones. While I didn't really care about that since, well, the sun and I've never really got along; I still would've preferred somewhere that didn't make me feel like I was living on the edge of a waterfall. But over the past two months, I'd begun to adjust a little easier. I was already used to the cold weather thanks to a stint in Oregon, and one of the first things I realized about my new home was that I fit in pretty well. Maybe a little too well.

People still talked about me as I traveled through the hallways, whispering behind my back about some of the new rumors that they'd heard. But again, something I'd already gotten used to. After all, this wasn't my first 'fresh start'. And that was exactly what my social worker called it every time I was pulled out of a home and shipped back to some group home while the State waited for another family to be able to house me. This time around, I'd gotten a little lucky in the family department. But only marginally.

The woman, Margie Banks, was a forty-something woman that had never been able to have children. She'd been married for about twenty years of her life until her husband, Daniel, unexpectedly died of heart disease. It was something they'd seen coming since the man didn't really know how to eat healthily. As a result, she'd started taking in teens that were considered unadoptable. By default, I'd been thrown into that category and as a result, propelled into Margie's life. For the most part, the daily routine of Margie's life was uneventful. She had a boyfriend that was considerably younger than her, aging closer to me than her but it never stopped her. The current boyfriend, Derrick, was a mechanic that hated the small town vibe of Forks. Not that I could nessessarily blame him, but that didn't form any common alliances between us.

He was tall and lanky, looking like he desperately needed a cheeseburger, or a dozen shoved down his throat. He worked all the time and always had grease coating his hands. The most I saw of him was when I would come home after school and see him sprawled out on the couch in his boxers. Enticing mental images he made...where Margie was concerned. As for myself? Boys didn't factor into the way I lived my life.

My last name changed when I was just seven years old. At first, I'd come into the world as Houston Elizabeth Sherwood. It was my father's surname, but I had no father to speak of when I came into the world in a Houston hospital. Hence my first name. It was almost as if I'd been embedded with my mother's history since the day I'd been born. My father, what little I knew of him, was an abusive drunk that my mom had known since she was fourteen years old. They'd been neighbors, families were very close, so it just seemed like fate that they would marry. They did and it eventually turned into hell for my mom. But she managed to get out of it, for my sake she'd always told me, and never looked back. He hadn't bothered to try and find us and by the age of seven, I wanted nothing to do with the father I now thought of as dead. At that age, my mom had tearfully given me her maiden name, transforming me to Houston Morgan instead. A name I liked and was much happier with. Plus it cut out on all the annoying Robin Hood jokes that the kids on the playground liked to torment me with.

But my mother had died shortly after and I was pushed into the system. I had no other family that would speak up for me, aside from an ailing uncle that was just as rich as he was sick. The offer had been made, for me to live with him, but I declined. I wanted nothing to do with his money and I didn't have it in me to take care of yet another family member. I'd been through enough with my mother's slow and agonzing death to last me two lifetimes.

Sighing as I walked into the house that was now considered my home, and would concievably be my home until my eighteenth birthday; I dropped my stuff off in my room then ventured into the kitchen. Of course, Derrick sat at the table, his grease-coated work shirt hanging open over his nonexistant chest and still tucked into the just-as-grimy work pants that he never seemed to watch. "Where's Margie?" I asked as I started to dig through a cabinet. For some odd reason, I was feeling hungry. But number one rule in Margie's house? She didn't cook. Everyone fended for themselves. In fact, I was the one in charge of the grocery shopping. You're so much more responsible than I am, Houston. Her exact wording just three days after I arrived at her home with my sole duffel bag.

A low grunt passed Derrick's lips as he watched my every move, his shoulders bouncing up into a shrug before he looked down at the bowl in front of him. Ramen noodles. That was pretty much what he lived off of and while I did enjoy the chicken-flavored noodles from time to time, they weren't a staple in my diet. When I was actually able to eat, that is. "Work." He finally answered, looking at me again before he staggered to his feet and put his bowl up.

Nodding, I just left the kitchen and shut myself up in my room. Even though Derrick slept in Margie's bed, that didn't stop his eyes from wandering. Quite a few times, one of Margie's friends had seen him eyeing me over the past two months. Something I knew wouldn't bode well. Foster mothers didn't like to compete with the girls they were bringing into their homes. But the thing that startled me the most was that he actually was bothering to glance at me.

Really, there was nothing all that special about me. I was considered short, averaging about 5'5" on a good day. My passion for dance had kept my body slender and toned, until I hit the age of fourteen. Then everything changed. I stopped dancing and I finally started to get some sort of curve to my frame. But I still considered my pale skin, dull green eyes, and long, black hair increasingly boring. There were more attractive people in Forks. I wasn't on that list.

I threw myself onto my low futon bed with a sigh and buried my face in the dark blue comforter that Margie had bought specifically for me. She had a tradition in her home, whoever was given the 'good' bedroom was also allowed to pick out their own set of sheets. Of course, I'd gone for a dark color to contrast the grossly cheery decor. The walls were bright white with lace yellow curtains and wicker furnishings. While it was a pretty nice bedroom, I often felt like I was stuck in some kind of Disney bedroom. Like I was being molded into the child that never grew up. But as I flopped back onto my bed, I began to let my mind wander. I should've started on my homework, but the thought of school brought on a new set of thoughts that I really just did not want to think about. The list of beautiful people in my mind. A list I'd been trying all day, in vain, to ignore and forget about. Sadly, there wasn't much hope of that as I picked myself up off the bed and stumbled over to my desk. My laptop, which had been a gift from the ailing uncle, was pulled out of my school bag, along with the ancient, portable CD player that I'd held onto from my younger years. Once I had the comforting pressure of headphones pressing against my earlobes, with the mix CD I had put in, I found it pretty easy to forget everything I'd just been thinking about and threw myself head first into my school work. Even though people liked to call me a geek with no social life, my grades had never slipped out of the low A average range. Something I was proud of since I actually did want to make something of myself. I just had to figure out if I would get the chance to do that. Sometimes the future was uncertain when it came to me, which was probably why I had become so grateful for being invisible. It kept people away. People that might've eventually figured out how to worm their ways into my comfortable, solitary existance.

Of course, it was raining. Squinting as I walked through the parking lot of Forks High, I didn't bother to acknowledge the stares on my back as I trudged through the almost glacial sludge. I was just starting my senior year, but it was also my last year. Then I would be free. I could do whatever I wanted and more importantly, I could go wherever I wanted. I wouldn't be shipped off to another house, another family and town that was just as dreary as the last. But as I walked to my first class, I had the sudden, sinking feeling that I wasn't as invisible today as I normally was. That feeling only intensified when I stepped into my morning Calculus class.

Seated in the furthest chair in the corner, on the back row, James Dalton grinned from ear to ear and waved eagerly when he saw me enter the cramped classroom. "Hey Houston!" He called out loudly, as if I could ignore or actually not hear his loud, boisterous voice. He actually wasn't that bad, all things considered. He was the typical good-looking boy that could have his pick of any girl in the four classes and knew it. His hair was cropped into a buzz cut, covering his head in dark brown fuzz. His eyes weren't anything special, the normal color of brown that I'd seen on countless boys before him. The only thing that really made James stand out was his height. He easily towered over just about every single person in this school. Save one person. One excruciatingly beautiful boy that I'd never even dared talk to. But yet I sat next to him every single day in Physics. Every time I chanced a glance in his direction, I saw the exact same thing. His fist curled tightly against his left thigh, his perfectly chisled face drawn tight as if he were trying not to even breathe around me. The one time he had even bothered to look over at me, the intense glare that filled his features immediately started haunting me. His eyes were coal black, anger and hatred oozing from every single pore in his alabaster skin, which was always partially ascued by shaggy, tousled, bronze hair.

Forcing the thoughts of the beautifully angry boy from my mind, I just smiled weakly as I went to join James. He always saved me a seat. Always, without fail. Even though he had heard me say repeatedly, in a round-about way, that he didn't stand a chance. No one did, if a person wanted to get technical. Not that I thought I was better than anyone in the town of Forks. I just didn't date. My mother's history had taught me that men, and boys especially, were not to be trusted. And I didn't really trust anyone. There was no one in my life to trust. "Hey James." I sighed as I slid into the vacant seat in front of him. That was my rule, I never sat beside him. I had a feeling the temptation to talk to me and potentially get me in trouble. I didn't take risk. In any way, shape, or form. My life was risky enough with all the uncertainty that surrounded me. "How was your weekend?"

And as if on cue, he began to rattle on about every single thing he'd done that weekend. James came from a normal household, one I'd never even known still existed until I moved to Forks and met him. His parents were still together and owned a local business. They weren't rich by any means, but it meant that James had his own car and was able to make some extra cash for himself. And he flaunted it quite regularly. Another thing that deepened my disinterest in him. Class started about halfway through his recap and I was thankfully saved from having to feign interest in the camping trip he, his brothers, and father had gone on. That was another thing I didn't do. Me and outdoorsy stuff, minus four-wheeling, just did not go hand-in-hand. I'd only found my interested in ATVs during a four-month-stay with a family in the outskirts of Wylie, Texas. The family I'd gone to stay with had about three acres of land and the only real way to get around the property was by the ATVs. It was the one place that had changed me more than any other on the map. And I'd been in some off-the-wall surroundings since entering the system.

Class seemed to drag on as I took meticulous notes. It kept James from talking to me and it would help if I ended up getting stumped on some homework problem later. But that very rarely happened. Another gift from my mother had come in the form of my intelligence. Even though I loved English classes the most, I seemed to excel in Math too. By the time the bell rang, my stuff was gathered and I was out the door before anyone had the option of even thinking about trying to talk to me. That was how I preferred things. People already talked about me as it was, varying from the way I looked to the way I dressed. Not that I ever gave it much thought, I didn't really think about anything concerning school. Gossip was a normal part of life, it just wasn't part of my life.

The rest of the morning passed in a mindnumbing blur, the voices of my teachers blurring into each other as I acted like the perfect, quiet little student. It wasn't until lunch that my interest was actually piqued. James wanted me to sit with him and rather than argue and kick up a big mess; I caved and ate my lunch in silence. Usually. Today I wasn't hungry and I didn't even bother getting anything to drink. Instead of sitting in the thick of the group of people that comprised of James' friends, I sat on the edge of the table, leaning over with my hand clasped against the side of my neck with my nose in a book. It passed the time quicker than attempting to make small talk, something I'd always failed miserably at, and it kept me out of the conversations completely. That is until a girl from my English Lit class, Anabelle Sullivan caught my attention by nearly ripping my arm out of it's socket. "What?" I hissed at her, closing the book around my finger when I realized that she was trying to be discreet and tell me something at the same time. Not one of her strongest suits.

"Edward Cullen is staring at you."

My first instinct was to roll my eyes when she mentioned a boy staring at me. It was something that usually happened with a new move, but after about a week, the looks and curious stares usually stopped. I was nothing special and I made sure that everyone around me knew it. I hated being the center of attention. Loathed it with a deep and burning passion, actually. But again, Forks was different. A couple of boys from my classes couldn't take a hint and now I had some other guy staring at me. But my first instinct was ruled out when I realized I had absolutely no idea who she was talking about. I'd never met anyone by that name, a name I hadn't heard for a very long time. "Who?" I hissed out, making no effort to conceal my irritiation at the new topic of conversation. She could've at least given me the whole story instead of a clipped version.

But when I asked that one, simple question; she launched into the full story. "Edward Cullen. He's only one of the most anti-social people in this school, Houston." Yeah, as if that narrowed it down for me! I guess she could tell that I still wasn't following and after an exasperated sigh and flip of her unruly blonde hair, she tilted her chin slightly as if to gesture around the room. I caught on that time and found myself looking over at the boy that sat next to me in Physics. Thankfully, from where I sat at least, he didn't look like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. He merely looked at me with a perplexed expression on his face. His head was tilted slightly to the side and I found myself unable to look away. But when he continued to stare a hole in me, I just raised an eyebrow slightly and let my chin fall into my hand. It was something I did in my last town whenever anyone would stare at me longer than the allotment of time I considered a grace period. I just didn't like being stared at, especially by someone who looked as complex as this guy did. When he didn't look away, my eyebrow inched even higher before I rolled my eyes and shoved the slip of paper that served as a bookmark into the thick volume in front of me. This week was Atlas Shrugged by Ayn Rand. An author that got me stared at just as much as my mere presence did.

"I'll see you later." I mumbled absently and grabbed my messenger bag off the back of my chair. Not bothering to look at Edward Cullen again, I did walk right past his table as I strode out of the lunchroom, my book resting against my thigh with my arm secured around it. I was going to be early for my next class, which just so happened to be the class where I had to share a desk with this boy, so putting my book away was pointless. It was just going to be taken out again anyway so that I could continue to get lost in a world where I wasn't gawked at or whispered about. Why did people like small towns again?! The reason was unfathomnable to me.