So, this is my very first fanfic! I hope you enjoy it!

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the Twilight characters. But I do own A Robert Pattinson poster!

One

I was afraid. Shaking in my boots afraid. The reality had finally hit home. Or should I say, it had hit Paris.

Paris, France! City of Light. City of romance. City of my dreams.

I hadn't realized until this moment as I stared out the window of my new bedroom how terrified I would be. Or how alone.

I Isabella Swan, born and raised in tine Forks, Washington, had never ventured beyond the Washington boarder, and here I was, thousands of miles from said boarder. It was beyond comprehension. Terribly exciting! And incredibly frightening.

I had been looking forward to this moment for so long that I was having a difficult time reconciling the terror that was gripping me. With a lot of cajoling, pleading and promises, never to ask for anything else as long as I lived, I'd managed to convince my parents to let me take part in the Year Abroad program. Paris had been my city of choice-for its art, but more important, for its romantic guys.

For a whole year I would go to a school in Paris-starting tomorrow. And that realization was what had me scared spitless.

I would attend a new school where I didn't know anyone! My best friend Angela Weber, was spending the year in London. My other best friend-after all, a girl can have more than one best friend-Rosalie Hale was on her way to Rome. Maybe she was already there. I wondered if she was scared. I can't imagine Rosalie being frightened of anything.

Of course, I hadn't expected to be frightened myself. I tried to draw comfort from the Eiffel Tower-outlined in lights-silhouetted against the night sky. The artist in me appreciated the view. The girl in me longed to see the vast Washington night sky, feel the cool Washington rain against my skin, and pick up the phone to call a friend. But long-distance phone calls were expensive and totally out of the question on a regular basis. Emergency only to friends. Once a week to parents.

I couldn't quite bring myself to classify these jitters as an emergency. Even though I thought I had a good chance of bringing up the foie gras I'd eaten for dinner. The French considered it a real gourmet item. Me, I hadn't been too thrilled when the meal was over to discover I'd wolfed down fatted goose liver.

Absorbing a culture was part of being a Year Abroad student. It required a strong stomach, a stout heart, lots of courage, and a desire for adventure. Angela, Rosalie, and I had made a pact to email each other at least once a day in order to keep our morale boosted-and to share these exciting moments.

I glanced around my room. The wallpaper was a mosaic of blues and purples. The host family had to guarantee that a YA student would have her own room. I couldn't believe that this one was so tiny. But that was typical for the French who lived in the cities. Small houses or apartments were all this city of over two million people could find room for. Two million. I could barely comprehend that number. My hometown bragged a population of three-thousand-five hundred and thirty-two.

This small home had several balconies. Even my room had a balcony. I imagined a romantic French guy climbing the tree outside my room, clambering over the railing of the balcony, and reciting poetry.

Okay, so I was getting a little carried away, but it was hard not to! My bedroom had a canopied bed-so romantic! Even the poster of the Backstreet Boys on the wall sent my romantic yearnings into overdrive. I had a small desk where I'd already set up my laptop computer so I could easily email my friends.

My very own room. Back at home in Forks, I had to share my room with my younger sister. That hadn't always been the case. Before my parents got divorced, I had my own room, but everything changed with the divorce. My parents had to sell our family home in order to buy two houses-one small one for my mom, my sister, and me and an even smaller one for my dad. I resented the divorce sometimes, felt like my parents should have tried harder to keep us together as a family. I thought of all the things we'd have if they'd pooled their money instead of having to purchase two of everything: house, furniture, appliances.

Their divorce had also added to the stress of my getting into the YA program. I'd ask Mom for permission to apply to the program, and she'd tell me to discuss it with my father. Before the divorce, she always called him "your dad." After the divorce, he became "your father." So unfriendly sounding.

When I'd asked my dad about being in the YA program, he'd tell me to talk to my mother. Same things. Before the divorce, he called her "your mom." Then she became "your mother."

They weren't outwardly mean to each other, and I wasn't irreversibly scarred by the divorce or anything, but those small things told me they weren't in love anymore. And that sorta hurt sometimes.

I was a big believer in love. My first foray into the experience had been with Jacob Black, and it had been a disaster. I think I wanted to be in love so badly that I convinced myself he was the one, and he out to be such a jerk. The final straw had been dumped in my lap the day after Valentine's Day, when he brought me a red-heart-shaped box of chocolates. I'm a sucker for chocolate, especially when it comes in a heart-shaped box with a plastic rose glued on top. But knowing that he waited until the after Valentine's Day so he could get it half price made me feel…well, unloved. I figured if you cared about someone, you didn't skimp on the things that counted-like making her feel special.

But Jake was out of my life now, and Paris was in, and with this city came the opportunity to meet, date, and fall in love with a romantic guy. I knew our time would come to an end when I had to return home after I completed my year abroad.

But until that final moment came, I would know what it was like to be loved and romanced. To have someone who was willing to pay full price for my chocolate. I could hardly wait to meet Mr. Romantic.

But before I meet the perfect guy, I had to get down to the tedious task of unpacking my clothes.

A knock sounded, and I was grateful for the reprieve. I hurried across the room and opened the door.

My host sister, Alice Renee Hale-Trouvel, stood in the doorway.

"How's it going?" she asked with a wonderful French accent.

"Très bien," I responded. Very well. I hadn't taken two years of French at Forks High for nothing.

Alice laughed. She had short, spiky black hair and dancing blue eyes. "You can practice your French on me, and I'll practice my English on you."

I sagged and smiled wearily. "I'm really too tired to concentrate on French tonight. I wish I'd had a few days to adjust before school started." But a few more days might have just made me more nervous. Besides, I'd enjoyed the layover in London., Angela, Rosalie, her host brother, Emmett, and I had gone to the Tower of London. And Rosalie had really needed the support of friends when she realized that Emmett was such a huge guy and the attraction she had to him. I was still a little worried about her. She had this crazy notion that she wanted into turn Princess Di while she was in London—instead of just being wonderful herself.

"I haven't even started to unpack," I explained to Alice. "I was too busy admiring the spectacular view through my window."

"Do you have a like this from your bedroom at home?" she asked in halting English.

"Are you kidding? I asked "Trees, sky, and street lights— that's about all you can see from my window."

"I thought you would see eagles and things like that," she murmured, stepping farther into the room.

"Nope, just lots of trees and rain." I said smiling warmly.

"I must go there someday," she said wistfully.

"Sure. When you visit, you can stay with me," I offered.

I walked to the bed and opened my suitcase.

Alice squealed and pulled out one of my denim vests. It had ropes embroidered along the front.

"How cute!" she exclaimed. "A cowboy would wear this."

"I have a lot of western-looking clothes, I told her. "You can wear that one."

Her blue eyes grew really large. "Really?" She hugged the denim to her chest. "Merci! But I have nothing to let you wear."

I raised my brows. "Not true. I've been drooling over that miniskirt since I met you at the airport."

"This old thing?" she asked.

This old thing as she called it, was a deep emerald green skirt that stopped at midthigh. Very chic! I had a lime green sweater that would be perfect with it. Back in Forks, I'd be wearing jeans to class, but here the weather was a bit warmer than I was used to.

"Could you teach me how you tie that scarf around my neck?" I inquired. I had been admiring that fashion statement as well.

Alice touched the silk at her throat as if incredibly surprised. I worked part-time in a clothing store, and I figured I should really know how to add the little touches to items of clothing that made them seem so unique, but I'd never mastered it. Whenever I tried something, the bow or the knot always looked askew.

"Oui. I can teach you," she assured me, her eyes alight. She quickly untied the scarf and slid it from around her neck. "Come to the mirror."

I hurried to the dresser and stood before the mirror, which only showed me from the waist up. I could get my unpacking done later!

Alice and I were almost the same height and build, but I was a little bit taller than her. She slipped the scarf around my neck, and tied with a tiny knot, and stepped back. "Bon."

Oh, it was très bon. With the knot in the side of my throat and the ends flowing over my shoulder, I looked sophisticated. "This is wonderful! Do it more slowly so I can watch."

Laughing, she untied the scarf and started over.

She tugged on one end of the scarf. "This end goes on bottom, this end on top. The one on the top goes over the one on the bottom. Otherwise they both stick up like a bad-hair day."

I giggled. I'd been so afraid that I wouldn't have anything in common with my host sister, and here we were, discussing fashion accessories. She taught me several different ways to arrange the scarf. It was so exciting. Sometimes I even looked like a model.

"This will help me so much," I murmured, studying my stylish reflection in the mirror.

Alice wrinkled her brow. "Help you what?"

I hadn't planned to bare my soul so soon, but I felt incredibly comfortable around Alice. I spun around and met her gaze. "If I tell you, you have to promise not to laugh."

She pressed her palm over her heart. "I promise."

End Notes:

So what do you think so far? Don't worry! Edward makes his appearance soon!

Oh and reviews would be awesome!

Translations:

Très bien= very well

Merci=Thank You

Oui=Yes

Bon=Good

très bon=Very good

foie gras= fattened duck liver. I've had this, and let me tell you, if your aren't use to French cuisine, it can be a bit weird tasting, along with the snails! Which by the way, tastes like a balloon unless you eat it with a garlic butter sauce!