*Update Note

This chapter has been fixed by the most amazing beta: SheikahLover

A gigantic thank you to her, by the way. The changes have made a world of difference. Seriously, I cannot express how grateful I am for the changes. *

Chapter One:

Nothing ever made sense in Forks, Washington. That was something Erica was beginning to get used to thinking. All these thoughts stemmed from the strange shirtless boys in La Push, not that she was complaining, to the self-isolated Cullen's. But, it seemed like she was the only one who actually thought that those behaviors were just a tad strange – and by a tad she means a whole gallon in the measuring system. Yet, people didn't bat an eye. Mainly, it was because they're too afraid of them… or enjoying the view – in certain cases. There was no denying the Cullens weren't an ugly sight, and those shirtless men in winter were a nice way to warm up.

Maybe if they were ugly Erica would actually voice her mind's drifting thoughts. But then again Erica had no voice to use.

Born to an older couple as a last thought, when they realized Mrs. Morgan was approaching her forty-second birthday and the gray in her blonde hair was getting too much to ignore, they realized a child was something they would like to try. She was born eight and a half months later with follicles of blonde hair like her mother and eyes that would soon be hazel like her father's eyes. Her parents lived a blissful few months together before realizing something was off with their child. Mr. Morgan, a man three years older than his wife with a bald head, thought the darling baby was just plain dumb when she wouldn't respond to them and would never cry, something her birthing doctor said was perfectly normal. Mrs. Morgan believed the child had inherited her deceased great uncle's condition that was passed down randomly in their genes. A doctor with the last name of Kirk later confirmed that Erica Lynn Morgan was born mute and would likely be for the rest of her life. The medical explanation of it all was lost on her... even to this day.

It didn't really affect Erica much, seeing as her lack of speech had always been there and she didn't have any voice to miss. But she did wish she could hear her voice, sometimes she would pretend she could. But she was content living without the ability to talk. Her mother, however, was devastated that she would never hear the personal words of a seemingly perfect baby. She blamed everything and everyone, ranging from the four door car they owned and drove while she was pregnant to the doctor that confirmed Erica's existence. Erica's father didn't outwardly show his feelings on the subject, always choosing to remain indifferent and placing the silent blame of Erica's condition on his wife's lineage. His personal indifference had been something his wife had loved, but ironically that ended up being the thing that she listed as a reason for divorcing the "unemotional fool."

The divorce also didn't affect Erica. It was also something she had always known that her father lived in Seattle and her mother lived in Washington. The living arrangement never bothered her in the slightest; she didn't know the feeling of having one household. She was familiar and content with knowing she had to go to Seattle on weekends and stay with her father and her stepmother Lidia. The rest of her time was spent living with her mother and their dog Kirby – who, did have to travel with her to each home, and going to school.

When she was younger it was all homeschooling for her, as her mother didn't believe that Erica could survive school on her own without someone holding her hand. Frankly, she had the mentality that Erica could never do anything independently. It was only when her father stepped in was Erica allowed to start ninth grade at the High School near them. The main reason her mother agreed, after a year's worth of arguments, was because her father blurted out that she could "take the stupid dog that ate his ties" and keep the dog permanently to "help Erica adjust smoothly to school." Her father and Kirby never got along, mainly because the dog could reduce the man to a screaming fool until Lidia got home and suggested Erica take Kirby for a walk around the neighborhood. Erica, now that she looked back on it, did do a lot of walking in Seattle.

But now Erica strayed herself back to her current activity: twelfth grade physical education.

Yes, that little blossom of tiny stature and blonde hair was in her last year of school, which had officially begun the day before.

Her feet, covered in old dingy yellow sneakers, walked slowly on the field. Her heels were sore and almost burning, something her calves decided to mimic. Sweat shined on her pale forehead and her skin was blotchy with uneven patches of red. Her hair was sticking where it ended to her jaw, in an unpleasantly wet way. Despite the cold air, even though it was mid-August, but then again it was Forks, the ten minutes of running was already affecting her. She never was a very active person, despite almost four years of the same routine and her mother's own P.E. classes and insistent yoga routines. Erica didn't consider herself physically fit, now that she thought about it. She wasn't completely out of shape, just a bit puffy.

As the gym coach, Coach Clapp, a man with an intimidating height and no hair on his head, looked away, she took the opportunity to lean her sticky hands on her knees and exhale loud breathy bursts of air. Around her, the sound of feet slapping against the field pounded with the throbbing she felt inside her shoes. She was too exhausted to get up from her position, despite being sure it was their coach.

Who spoke wasn't the burly man she that taught this class.

"Eri, are you alright?" Amy Clear, or as Erica liked to say her "self-titled stalker" asked in a high-pitched voice, panting when she came to a stop in front of Erica.

Erica nodded her head, looking down at her knees that were speckled in fair knobby hairs then drifting her glance to the dead patch of grass under her dirty shoes. She lifted a clammy hand up that was clasped tightly in her friends own freckled and equally sweaty one.

"Aye! Morgan!" The coarse voice of their teacher spoke that time, "Stop piggybacking off of Clear and start running!" The sympathy and pity her teachers and students had been showing for the mute girl ran out some time during her junior year. Not that she minded, it was just this particular class that she would like to have an excuse for not being the best in; she wasn't a big fan of being compared to a faster old man named Wilson, that ran every day past the school.

It was amusing, the pity she means, when a new student would treat her like a war worn person with three missing limbs. She could carry her own books and make mute jokes, she just had to write them on paper or let Amy interpret her hand signals.

"Got it, sir!" Amy shouted back with the gracefulness of a hog, throwing Erica's arm back at her and running off.

She faltered in step to look back at Erica with a swishing pony tail."See you in Art!"

Erica wasn't that great at many things that much was obvious. Especially in school, though she did have trouble in certain things – like speaking. She barely passed her history, mathematics was laughable, chemistry was a solid B, literature was okay, and P. E. was self-explanatory. Yet, when you left Erica with a canvas, something just clicked. She liked to joke that if she couldn't speak with a mouth she could paint it with a brush, but nobody found it particularly funny… not even Amy.

When fifth period rolled around she was in her favorite place. Away from an overbearing mother, two adults who didn't want her in their Seattle home, a dog that was sadly one of the few people that understood her, and near the smell of paper. She wouldn't admit it, but the smell of paint was nice too; however that led to many concerned glances from both her teacher and the other students.

All she had to do in that class was dribble some paint in a somewhat orderly arrangement. There was no questions concerning the periodic table, neither where there any besting of others. You couldn't exactly say your art style was better than anyone else's as it was all a matter of perspective and preference.

That wasn't to say Erica was actually good at art. In fact she was well aware she was lacking the gentle touch with a paintbrush. But, she could express herself and her feelings didn't tend to be quite gentle themselves. It wasn't like she could yell at a pillow or let out any frustrations, to do that she had to aggressively tap her finger on the table until her mother understood she was upset. Sometimes she liked to breathe out of her nose loudly too. But in art class, all Erica needed to do was stab her paintbrush painfully into paper until she was calm enough to be trusted with a cheap canvas.

Today she was favoring a yellow marker. A happy bright and uplifting shade that she used to draw smears in a pattern on her blank paper.

"Well isn't that, er, orderly?" Amy stated as she loudly sat down at a table shared between the two girls. She pulled out her own art supplies, a charcoal pencil and pad of paper that she had gotten near the door.

'Well, it's hardly chaotic.' Erica wrote down in messy and small writing on an open notebook between the girls. It was her old fashioned way of communicating with others. It saved the school the trouble of hiring an interpreter to follow her around and more humane than forcing the entire faculty to learn sign language.

The girl beside her rolled her eyes, before examining the cover of a magazine with a penguin on it. She held it up along with one that had a picture of another animal.

"What do you think?" She asked, raising an eyebrow impatiently as Erica adding two more smears before looking up.

She took one glance before scribbling one word down and returning to her work, 'Penguin.'

Her yellow was now joined with blue paint on top of it, which kept her constant attention.

Amy sighed next to her, dangling the pencil in her hand. "Well, aren't you talkative today."

Erica gave her a pointed look. 'Ha, ha, ha… Did that take you a while to come up with?'

"Yes, yes it did. In Freshman year I thought it would be insensitive."

For Amy Clear, her pity went away three months after knowing Erica.

It was one of the main reasons why they were still friends.

The history classroom was located near the parking lot, which meant the sounds of cars driving by and horns were all too common. The carpets and white wallpaper seemed to have the smell of exhaust soaked into their fibers. Sixteen students sat at eight double student desks that for the most part were clean. A short and thin man with balding black hair and large brown eyes stood before them, rubbing his dirty wire rimmed glasses on the stomach of his checkered shirt.

"Alright students, let's crack open those history books and start to learn a thing!" He spoke with a loud hoarse voice.

Erica gave a dry look to the overly enthusiastic teacher in front of her. Her speaking notebook was open and pushed to the side to make room for the thick history book with a kiwi on the cover.

"Today we will be doing a paper, the first paper of the year!" The teacher, Mr. Doyle, was walking in front of his desk with large hand gestures. "Can anyone guess?"

Bored glances where exchanged between Amy and Erica, the former adding an exaggerated gesture of vomiting. Other students glanced around neither raising a hand, prompting a disappointed sigh from Mr. Doyle.

"C'mon you guys! Where's the enthusiasm?" He sighed and dropped the large smile at the students blank faces. Erica had to keep an amused smile away. "Alright, the group paper will be on the Confederate Army."

One word in that sentence prompted several hands to fly up into the air.

"Wait, group?" one student with dark red hair, Alicia Parks, asked after her question was selected.

"Well, more like partnership." Their teacher confirmed with a smile, pulling a sheet of paper from his desk. "And, I have the groups paired here."

That prompted a few students to give an annoyed groan. Erica settled for sticking her tongue out at her pouting friend.

Mr. Doyle gave them each a glance before holding his hands up in mock surrender. "Hey, I'm the teacher, which means I get to have some fun with this paper that doesn't only involve grading them."

"Alright," he continued, leaning on the edge of his desk, "Alicia Parks and David Smith."

He continued down that list with several names. "Erica Morgan and Jasper Hale, Felicity Jones and Mia Cooper ..."

A/N: This wasn't going to be an OC pairing but then I remembered the wonderfulness that is Jasper Whitlock.

Sorry if this offends or is annoying you. But, be assured that there will be no Alice bashing or what not. Alice is actually my favorite character. So, naturally, I made her relationship with Jasper to be nonexistent in this fic. She'll probably be given a different mate in place, however.

Disclaimer: Frankly I own nothing besides my brain and currently Amy Clear and Erica Morgan (and parents, Lidia, teachers, dog, etc...). To save time, and people from potential boredom, I will just simply make the statement that I own nothing besides OC's mentioned in this fanfiction. Twilight is not among my possessions.