Chapter 1

"Isabella! We'll be late for sign up, come down here!" Momma calls up from downstairs as I give myself one last look in the mirror. My fingers brush over my shirt, perfectly pressed with no wrinkles. Then over my straight, dark hair, and across the pearls resting against my collar bone before resting back in my lap. I take a deep breath.

Makeup perfect. Hair brushed and set. Smile on.

"Coming, Momma!" I spritz some perfume on my wrist and rise from my vanity, grabbing my purse hanging on the back of my door as I head downstairs.

"Oh, honey, that shirt?" Momma scrunches her nose and her voice perks up like she's talking to a child who just walked out in their pajamas.

"Should I change?" I look down, wondering what's wrong with it. I don't want to make a bad impression.

"No, no," she shoos me toward the door. "We can't be late."

On the ride there, she quizzes me.

"What we do have the moment we walk in?" She asks.

"A smile to light up the room," I repeat, staring out the window at the houses as we pass by.

"And what is your name?"

"Isabella Marie Swan, and I'm a Senior at Pinehurst Academy."

Momma makes a turn down the main road and we park at the community center. "And what do you want to do after high school?"

What do I want to do? Take a year off, maybe. Travel. Get out of this town. Meet new people.

"My dream is to go to community college and pursue a degree in general studies, just like my mother did." I say my lines so well, it almost convinces me.

"Good." She sighs in relief. "Good, baby."

Before we head inside, she pulls down the mirror and checks her makeup for the tenth time. My mother is beautiful, I just wish she would believe it too.

I watch all of the other girls with their mothers walking in. All of them like Barbie robots marching mechanically into the slaughter. Except in this case the slaughter is the Miss Americana pageant.

It's been my momma's dream to see me compete in the pageant she competed in when she was my age. So here I am, following her through the doors into a crowd of fake laughs and even faker smiles. Mine included.

"Renee!" Mrs. Weber stands from the reception table and gives Momma a half hug and a kiss on each cheek. "Isn't this so exciting that the girls are finally competing this year?"

"It's a dream come true!" Momma says, gesturing back to me. "Isabella, come."

I obey like a dog, hating myself more and more with each step. Why can't I say no?

"Isabella, Angela just came through here. I'm sure y'all will catch up at the introduction meeting." She hands me a clipboard. "Fill this out and you can return it to Mrs. Stanley at the next station there."

I sit in one of the chairs along the wall and fill out my form.

Name: Isabella Marie Swan

Age: 17 (for 3 more days)

Favorite Color: Purple

Special talent…I'm supposed to put baton twirling, because if I don't my momma will ask me what good all of those lessons did. But beyond that, what were my talents? I listen well. I do as I'm told. I never, ever stray from the path that's set for me. I fit the mold. Sometimes, I wonder if the mold fits me.

"Isabella, the introductory meeting will begin shortly," Mrs. Stanley reaches for my papers and shoos me into the room to the right. All of the girls, my competitors, are sitting in the chairs chatting amongst themselves. The mothers are lined up at the back, standing against the wall, smiling from ear to ear but secretly sizing up the competition.

I take a seat beside my friend, Jessica, and wait for the presentation.

The music stutters for a moment and then begins in a wailing, jubilant melody.

Mrs. Newton and Mrs. Weber step up to the microphone, do the obligatory tap, tap, tap, and start their speech.

"Welcome, girls. We are so excited to have you compete in this year's Miss Americana Pageant. As you all know, the winner receives a $1,000 scholarship, and more importantly the opportunity to represent our organization in the Hometown Glory parade," Mrs. Newton claps, nodding to the crowd.

"We're passing out the schedule now, please review. Practice for the show begins this weekend…"

Her words fade into the background as I read through the different events.

Rehearsals start Saturday, September 13th. Great, Happy Birthday to me.

Appearance at the Homecoming football game against our cross town rival Greystone on the 26th later this month.

Volunteering at the Halloween dance.

Pageant November 2nd.

That's it. A month and a half and I'm done.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I pull it out just enough to see who is calling. Dad. I hit ignore and stuff it back inside, telling myself not to forget to call him back once we're done.

"Isabella," Momma calls through the crowd once the meeting is over. "Ready to go, baby?"

"Ready." I nod and follow her out as she rambles on about gowns and shoes and interview answers.

When we get home, I finish my homework at the dining room table while I wait for dinner. My eyes drift up to the shelf above the counter, where a photo of Momma on the night she won Miss Americana when she was seventeen sits. She's wearing a beautiful silver dress with the tiara sitting perfectly on her head. She looked so happy. I wonder if I'll be that happy if I win.

My phone vibrates on the table and my stomach drops. I forgot to call Dad back.

"I'm sorry," I answer, cringing. "I forgot to call you back, I had that...meeting thing, you know?"

"For the pageant stuff," he says, with the least amount of enthusiasm possible. Dad isn't into all of this, but he doesn't have the energy to argue with Momma about it. He tried for nearly ten years before they split and he just won't anymore.

"Yeah, pageant stuff."

"I just wanted to see if you were still coming for your birthday on Friday night?" He asks.

"Yeah." I nod, finishing up a math problem. "Of course. I'll meet you at the diner. Say 7?"

"Sounds good. See you then."

"Bye, Dad." I hang up and slam my math book closed when I see dinner is finally ready.

The next two days at school is a clamor of gossip and excitement about the pageant. It might as well be the Miss America pageant to everyone around here.

"Did you see her?" Jessica asks, slipping behind me as I walk out the front doors Friday afternoon.

"Who?" I dig in my purse for my keys and try to remember where I parked.

"Rosalie Hale. She was at the sign up."

"Oh?" I don't really know Rosalie, but I know of her. A beautiful girl from the wrong school on the wrong side of town. I know exactly where she lives because her house is right next to my dad's.

"Does she really think she has a chance? It always goes to a Pinehurst girl," Jessica sneers.

I don't bother to answer her because I have other things on my mind. "See you tomorrow, Jess." I wave goodbye and head home.

When I get home I pack, trying to think of anything I might need for rehearsal tomorrow. Once my bag is packed, it's nearly time to meet my dad.

At the diner, I see his car outside and through the window notice him waiting in the booth. Our booth.

"Hi, Chief," I say, sliding into the seat.

"Bells. How was your...meeting...thing?" He sips his soda. I know he's not interested in the pageant, he's just being polite. Well, his version of polite.

"It was good." I nod.

"Miss Bella," Heather, the waitress who has worked there as long as I can remember, approaches our table. "The usual?"

"Yes, please," I say with a smile. After she fetches me my milkshake, I peel the paper off the straw and loop it over and over through my fingers.

"So, what's been going on?" Dad asks.

"Not much." I shake my head. "Just school stuff."

"You heard back from any colleges yet?"

I avoid the question like the plague because the truth is I haven't sent in any of the applications my parents think I have. I'm just not ready yet. How is anyone ready yet at seventeen, almost eighteen years old, to know what they want to do for the rest of their life? I've never been anywhere outside of this little town. What if college isn't what I want?

Thankfully before I can attempt to stutter out an answer, our food arrives. We make it through eating talking about regular things. The weather, the upcoming football season, things going on at work for him. Just when I think I've escaped unharmed, the singing starts.

"Happy Birthday" was never one of my favorite songs. Not because I didn't appreciate the sentiment, but I never knew what to do while it was happening. Do you smile? Sing along? Stare awkwardly into the void?

The mini-cake is placed in front of me, with exactly eighteen candles lit.

"Happy Birthday, Bella," Dad says, a sly smirk taking hold of his lips.

"Thanks, Dad." I take a deep breath and blow out my candles to a chorus of applause.

Back at his place, I bring my bag up to my room and sit down at my desk chair, twirling around. The light at the house across the way catches my eye, Rosalie's house. Well, not her house I guess, her parent's house. It's the nicest house on the block, which you would expect for a doctor's house, but I never understood why The Cullens lived here and not...somewhere else. It's not like it's a terrible place to live, but it's where the "Pubbies" live. Not that I buy into that public school versus private school bullshit, but small town politics do.

My dad's voice from downstairs catches my ear.

"Renee, I just don't think it's good for her. I don't even recognize her sometimes. My Bella played baseball, and got dirty, and wasn't always so reserved and put together...I'm not saying it's bad for her to be put together, you're not listening to me, Renee…"

They always argue about the pageant stuff. My mom has been preparing me for it for years, "practicing" in competitions all over the state. I've brought home a few crowns, but this is the one she really cares about. I mean, I really care about. Right?

"She is my daughter," he continues. "She is. That's what shared custody means, we co-parent and make decisions for her best interest."

That's my cue. Hearing them fight over what's best for me always made me twitchy. I open my window and climb out onto the small ledge like I'd done a million times when I want to escape. I put my left foot on the nook beside my window, grab the top of the peak, and pull myself up and onto the roof. There's a slight dip to my right, my spot where I come to sit and think. It's been awhile since I've been here though, part of me wondered if it would even still be mine.

I lay back and feel the rough shingles dig into my back. The moon above is full and hanging high above me.

The shouting follows me. But this time, it's not my parents. It's coming from The Cullens' house.

"You aren't my father, Carlisle, you're going to have to accept that someday." A tall boy steps out the back door and I see the burning round embers of a lit cigarette.

"It can't be…" I mumble.

"Edward, get back in here right now!" Dr. Cullen peeks his head outside, but then looks around to the neighbors, not wanting to cause a scene I suppose.

Edward has caused enough scenes in the past few years to get more than a few passing glances from the people around here. Carlisle and his wife, Esme, adopted Edward when he was about five. They have a habit of doing that. Six times exactly. Edward was apparently the bad seed of the group.

I've heard so many rumors about him. Between his mysterious disappearances and the limited time I spend here, it's been a few years since I've actually seen him. Last I knew, he was in juvie for breaking into cars or something.

"Hey, Rapunzel!"

I blink, startled by someone calling up at me. Not just any someone. The very someone I was just thinking about. Edward Cullen is leaning on the fence separating our houses, puffing on a cigarette.

"Huh?"

"What the hell are you doing up there?" He asks.

"Um. Hiding, I guess."

"Mind if I hide away with you?"

Before I can answer, he swings his legs over the fence, scales up the lattice on the side of the house, and is sitting beside me only a few moments later.

"Hi," he says, smiling.

"Hi."

"What are you hiding away from?"

"Um." I look down at my feet.

"Aw, come on, Bella, don't leave me in suspense," he teases.

"You remember my name?"

"We've lived next to each other most of our lives, of course I remember your name." He takes a long drag of his cigarette.

"Well I don't really live here, and you...haven't been home much lately. I'm really just that girl next door...sometimes."

"Touche." He leans in. "I still remember your name though."

A string of obscenities echo from inside our house, I would assume that means the phone call with Mom is over.

"Daddy problems?" He asks. "Me too."

"No," I shake my head. "No, not at all. My...my parents don't agree on much, that's all."

"That's all?"

"What about you?"

He scratches his forehead and pulls his knees up to his chest. "Carlisle…he just…"

"Is being a dad?" I ask.

"He's not my dad." He shoots back.

"Let's see. He puts a roof over your head, feeds you, buys you guys nice cars, from what I can tell a nice guy who cares about you. I think I would call that a dad."

He stares at me for a moment before laughing. "Touche, again."

"He didn't leave Carlisle, his bike is still here." Esme walks out into their back yard and scans the area. "Edward?"

"I'm here, Ma!" He calls.

Her head jerks in our direction. "What the hell are you doing up there?" She comes closer. "Oh! Hello, Isabella. I didn't realize you were around. Nice to see you, sweetheart, I know your dad loves when you stay."

"Just celebrating my birthday with him, Mrs. Cullen. Nice to see you, too." Esme always seemed very sweet, but stubborn. A smile that could brighten your day and a tongue that could ruin it. I wonder if that's why Edward seems to have a sweet spot for her.

"Happy Birthday, dear." She smiles. "Edward, come inside."

He rises and makes his way down the way he came, but catches himself just before he disappears. "Happy Birthday, girl next door." With a wink he's gone and them both of them go inside arms wrapped around each other, Esme scolding him for the cigarette the entire way in.

The air turns cold and I decide it's time for me to head inside too. After all, rehearsal starts tomorrow and I have to be ready. Woohoo.

A/N: Did you blink several times to make sure your eyes weren't playing tricks on seeing this update? Good, me too.

Few things of importance before we venture too much further together. I am not committing to an update schedule. Because when I do and I get behind, it gives me anxiety and then it hinders me getting things out at all. Thanks for understanding! I still hope to finish Quarantine at some point.

Then this, is the most important thing. This story is a comedic romantic tragedy. Yes, I said tragedy. No, I will not go into any details about what that means or answer questions about the ending because I want to protect the integrity of the story. I understand if people don't do angst or sadness, totally get it, this story may not be for you. Please don't come at me later because you're sad and mad about it. I warned you.

For those of you still with me, Welcome to Miss Americana and the Heartbreak Prince, based almost entirely on Taylor Swift's new album.