Who loves Jazzy?

-Raises hand- Me! Me!

Who loves Alice?

-Raises hand- Sure! Why not?

Who loves stories of them together?

-Raises hand- Of course!

Then you're in the right place.

This is going to be freaking awesome; I assure you that. Does it have a plot? Roughly…No. Not really. But it'll just show up as I go along, with as much requests as you want to give! Really. Please. I need requests.

We're going to start in Alice's point of view; don't ask me why. She's human, by the way. Just in case you're, uh…wondering.

Days left until school starts: 7

I looked at myself in the mirror with a sigh, thoughts running through my head at lightning speed. Questions, mostly; questions I'd been thinking for months. Can I change? Will I fit in? Will I finally be popular? But mostly, Will they recognize me?

What I did at my old school last year made national news – worldwide – and I was scared that even here in Forks they would know who I was and what I did. I didn't want that to happen; I knew I had to do something. Get a new hairstyle, a pair of sunglasses, change my name.

Change my name…

It was just crazy enough to work. I'd never liked my name that much anyway. It was plain, overused. It showed absolutely no personality. It was just Mary. Not Maria or Mary-Anne, or Marybeth, or Marietta, or anything. Just Mary.

All I had to do now was find another name that I liked better. That wouldn't be hard, of course, considering I had Mary for a name, but it would be hard to find the perfect name, the one I wanted to go by for the rest of my life.

But what?

My little sister, Cynthia, poked her dark head through the door sadly. "Mary," she said sorrowfully. "Good morning." A little piece of my heart broke as I saw her expression. Ever since the incident, Cynthia had refused to talk to me at all, ashamed and saddened, just like everybody else who had ever come in contact with me. These were the first words I'd heard her speak in a long time.

"Good morning, Cindy," I said cheerlessly. "Say, I've been thinking I should change my name. You got any ideas?"

Cynthia shrugged. "I don't know," she said gloomily. "Alice?"

"Alice?" I echoed. "Why Alice?"

"Read it in a book," Cynthia said plainly. "The character sounded a bit like you, so…"

"Well, Cyn, I like it," I said, trying to let her know I appreciated her finally talking to me. "Alice sounds perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Of course,"

"Huh," Cynthia said. "You hated everything I did in L.A."

"That was L.A.," I said darkly. "This is Forks. I'm not going to be who I was before, Cindy. I'm going to try to be better this time. I won't let it happen again." Cynthia nodded.

"Well, let's hope so," she said.

"Where's Dad?" I asked curiously.

"Oh, he's avoiding us again. I think he went golfing."

"Golfing? Here?"

Cynthia shrugged. "Anything to get out of the house, Mare."

"Alice," I corrected.

"Right. Alice. That's going to take some getting used to," Cynthia muttered.

"Should we change your name, too?" I asked hopefully; Cynthia seemed so formal, and I'd been on her back about that for years.

"Oh, sure," Cynthia said dryly, "We'll just call me Ashley Burns."

My eyes narrowed. "We'll stick with Cynthia," I mumbled. Cynthia laughed.

"Of course we will," she said smugly. "Cynthia's an awesome name."

"I wouldn't get your hopes up, kid. It's three syllables."

"Exactly. I've got more options; you're just stuck with two."

"Oh, ha-ha."

Even through this immature exchange, I knew Cynthia had matured miraculously since the incident. It was on her fifteenth birthday that it occurred, and she had been extremely upset about that. But I couldn't help myself…

Cynthia and I were like the North Pole and the equator. We had nothing in common, but we weren't polar opposites. Cynthia focused on reading and literature while I focused more on art. Cynthia never understood why I'd chopped off all my hair and donated it, even as I told her over and over that I didn't want the paint to get in my hair. Of course, that wasn't the real reason. I thought it made me look ugly with my pixie-like face.

However, Cynthia's face was slightly rounder and younger-looking, but with a maturity that let you know she was not to be trifled with. Her own hair was long and black, stretching down the length to her butt. It flowed easily and surely, and it was set to stay on Cynthia's head, no matter what you said or did.

"Hey, Cyn," I said suddenly, "Can I try something? Do you have plans for the rest of the day?"

Cynthia looked at me as if I was crazy.

"Oh…right," Neither of us had dared to leave the house since the incident, even though we were now in Washington. Dad thought this was crazy, but it didn't stop him from trying to be sociable here. "Well…can I paint you?"

"Paint me?" Cynthia echoed. "Are you sure?"

"Of course. Come on," I said brightly.

"Okay…it's just…you've never wanted to paint me before," Cynthia said slowly.

"That was before. This is now. So can I paint you or what?"

"Oh…sure. Of course, Mary." I stared at her. "Alice," she corrected. "Yeah…yeah…how long is it going to take?"

I began to set up my easel and take out my lucky pencil – it was just like a regular pencil, but with a rainbow-colored eraser instead of a pink one. "Um…I don't know. A few hours, I guess. Maybe the whole day."

"Oh…" I rolled my eyes.

"You can bring a book," I said dryly. Cynthia's face lit up.

"Thanks!" She ran off, her long, black hair flying behind her.

Okay, thanks for reading everyone and anyone! Every single review here counts, so don't hesitate to click the beautiful, irresistible button below.

It calls your name…you look up, away from the computer, wondering where it came from. You look back at the page and at the button below and you think to yourself, "Should I?"

You should.