I DO NOT OWN THE TWILIGHT SAGA

A/N: I imagine Cristina Sarakas as Autumn, Michaela Conlin as Angela, and Nancy Kwan as Andrea.

Autumn's P.O.V.

It all starts when my mom convinces me to go to a back to school party that some guy named Bryce Norgay is throwing for the seniors and juniors. Don't ask me how my mother got the info on a high school party, sometimes I don't even think she knows. But then again, it's always been easy for her.

My mother, Angela Lee, had been popular when she was in high school. The kind of popular you'd only expect to see in movies or tv shows where there are cliques and social hierarchies in which the most beautiful people are at the top, while the so called "nerds" and "loners" are at the bottom. My nana religiously showed me photo albums of my mother at several school dances with various boys on her arm, and pictures of her at various sports games as a cheerleader. She'd supposedly had a big group of friends and always went out every Friday night. But she'd lost all of her friends when she got pregnant with me during her junior year of high school.

And as my mom rifles through my new box-sized closet for an outfit for said party, I can tell that she's hoping that I'll get out there and make friends and hopefully comeback with the all the "juicy gossip" about whether or not I'd slept with a hot guy or not. And though my family—I wouldn't really call it a big family, since it's only been Nana, Mom, and I since the day I was conceived—is really close and shares everything with each other, I'm not going to tell her if I have sex. Not to mention Nana, who—even though she left China back in the fifties, leaving behind her very religious parents—is constantly telling me how I needed to save myself for marriage—and not even for a religious reason or anything… or so she claims. She has claimed that since both her and my mother had not waited until marriage—though to be fair, neither of them ever married, and Nana was in her mid-thirties when she'd had my mother—that I have to be the one to break that streak. As if I ever want to get married in the first place. I am happy being single, thank you very much.

"How about this one?" Mom pulls out a sparkly tank top that I think I wore for Halloween one year when my best friend Hannah and I had wanted to dress up as exotic dancers so that both of our grandparents would have aneurysms. I raise my eyebrows as I twirl around in my spinning desk chair.

"Um… Mom, that's my exotic dancer tank top from Halloween." I stop spinning and close my eyes, fighting away dizziness. Twirling around in a spinning chair is like an addiction to me. One day you'll probably see me along with all the people who eat chalk and their own hair and the people who claim that they're in love with their cars on My Strange Addiction.

Mom gives me a look, sighs as loud as she possibly can, and puts the shirt back. She rifles through my closet some more with a look on her face that you usually only see on high schoolers during finals week. I aspire to have that level of concentration during my exams.

Suddenly, her face lights up with excitement as she pulls out a black and white stripped crop top and then hurries over to my dresser, opens the creaky old wooden draw and pulls out a maroon red high-waisted skirt that only just barley goes down past my fingertips, and my black pantyhose. I give out a sarcastic laugh and stand up.

"Absolutely not," I hiss as I take the clothing from her grasp. "Not happening." She gives out a huff in frustration. She usually does that whenever she doesn't get her way, like a teenager. I'm the one who had to raise her these years. If it hadn't been for the fact that I faked sicknesses and broken limbs to get her home when she wanted to stay out partying all night, I'm sure that I would have many more siblings and a mother who had several DUIs under her belt.

"Why not? It's cute!" I roll my eyes at her.

"Because I'm new to town and I don't want their first impression of me to be me looking like I'm easy. If I wear this, they'll be calling me Autumn Slutlee before first period." Now it's her turn to roll her eyes.

"Don't be so dramatic. You'll have the pantyhose on, and I'll even give you my thigh-high boots."

"Oh dear lord," I breathe. "Mom, the thigh-highs will only make it worse." She sits on the bed with a flop and lets out a breath.

"Autumn, please. I want you to have the senior year I never had. You only get one chance at a first impression, and I want you to do it right. I was popular in school, remember? I know how to act and dress."

"Mom, you grew up in the era of shoulder pads and scrunchies, that does not help."

"You are just like your father, you know that? Impossibly thick headed and frustrating." I give her a tired look. Mom met my father in high school. He was the quarterback and she was the head cheerleader, it was like they were expected to be together. They had had big plans to go to prom and college together where they could build a life. But then my mom got pregnant with me during the summer before her junior and his senior year. When word of her pregnancy got out, all of her friends and practically the whole school turned against her. They called her horrid things and taped up pamphlets to planned parenthood to her locker, accusing her of trying to ruin the life of their star quarterback just as his career was pushing off. And when his parents found out, they forbade him from seeing her.

My grandmother had gone over there, planning to use some of her Asian ass kicking roots—not really Asian, more like her parents were more physical when it comes to solving their problems, but that's how she describes it whenever she tells the story—to demand him to support my mother. But it came out that when my parents were dating, my father's parents didn't think anything of it, passing it off as a normal high school/first love relationship that wouldn't last too long. But they put their foot down when my mom got pregnant. His parents turned out to be extremely racist. They didn't want to have "Asian-looking grandchildren." And even though my mom is only half Chinese, she's clearly Asian. After that my dad wasn't a part of the picture.

"Please," Mom begs. "Just try it on. If you don't like it, you can wear something else." I huff and curse myself for allowing her to talk me into this mess. In fact, if I wasn't for the look of pure desperation on her face, I'd put everything back, slid into my oldest pair of sweats, and crawl into bed and talk with Hannah about the shit Suzie Carmichael does on a daily basis. But I force myself into the outfit and into the thigh-high heeled black boots, hating every second of it, and then look in the mirror.

My breathing stops for a second. Holy shit. I actually look good. More than good. The skirt hugs my hips and then floats away from my legs; while my shirt makes my 34C cup cleavage look a lot bigger than they actually are. And not to toot my own horn, I look hot. Like one of those popular girls my mom is always so sure I'll become one day. I nod my head.

"Okay," I admit as I run my hands over the clothing. "I admit that it looks good." Mom smiles, happy that she's right.

"You look hot! You'll make friends in no time! Now sit down." I sit down in my twirling chair and position it so that it's right in front of the full length mirror my mom insisted I get from the flea market. I watch our reflection as Mom brushes my hair. My mother is so beautiful that it hurts. She can get any guy she wants if she puts her mind to it. And although we have the same thick, dark brown hair and high cheekbones, we couldn't be more different. While her eyes are a normal sized, almond-shaped dark brown, my eyes are too large for my face and though they have a little bit of exoticness to them, they're a horrible shade that's mixed between yellow and green and can sometimes look like mud brown, that my mom calls hazel. I'm not saying that I'm ugly, trust me I could have it worse, but I don't think I look gorgeous or anything.

When Mom finishes with my hair, having put it in a half-up half-down style, and I allow her to put some mascara and lip gloss on me, I stand up and take a deep breath. Am I really going to do this? I don't usually go to parties, I'd rather stay in and play Monopoly with Nana and watch as she slowly loses her mind while I win. But I guess I'm doing this for my mom. I know that it hurts her that I only have one friend and have never had any sort of boyfriend. I guess I should really try to make some friends this year. Get myself out there and do things.

Mom and I pile into her old gray Toyota and she pulls out of the driveway. We had agreed that she would drive me and then give me money for a cab ride home. She says that she wants to make sure that, if I choose to drink alcohol tonight, that I don't drive home on my own. Apparently, a kid in her class had died from a drunk driving accident her senior year.

The way to Bryce's house is quiet. I don't feel like talking, very much preferring the silence as I look through the window. Forks, Washington is green. A lot greener than my home town of Las Vegas, Nevada. The trees and grass are a vibrant green that reminds me of a rain forest; and I half-expect to see a jaguar or some sort of other dangerous animal run along side our car. But I only see the occasional flash of tan fur and antlers.

Mom, Nana, and I moved to Forks when Nana retired from her job as a high school principle and it eventually got too expensive to live in Vegas. So, we moved here, knowing that the rent is cheaper and that my mom would be able to easily get a job as a nurse at the hospital. It had been a big change. I had to leave behind Hannah, my best friend since pre-k and the only person who can make me laugh so hard I snort. I had to leave my job as a waitress at Denny's, which, to be honest, isn't that much of a loss. And I had to leave behind my childhood bedroom. The bedroom where I had my first sleep over, my first kiss, my first sprained ankle. The place where I "experimented" with Hannah. It was only one kiss, a kiss that automatically made me pull back in disinterest. Don't get me wrong, Hannah is a beautiful girl—with long blonde hair and narrow brown eyes and freckles—but kissing a girl just felt wrong for me. But at least I know. And leaving my childhood home was sad, but also relieving at the same time.

When Mom pulls up to the house, a two-story traditional house with teenagers pouring in and out of the front door. Red solo cups in their hands, and some of them stumble, obviously drunk despite it only being nine o'clock. Mom turns to me and gives me a reassuring smile.

"You'll be fine," she tells me, running her long fingers through my hair. She used to do this to me when I was little, and I have to admit that I love it.

"Not likely. But I hope so," I sigh. She gives me an exasperated look.

"You're the reason I'm going to die early, kid." I smile at her.

"I love you, too." She hands me the money.

"Forever and always." That was a thing Mom, Nana, and I always said to each other after saying "I love you". It just means a lot to us.

"Make friends!" she yells as I climb out of the car. God, could she be anymore embarrassing? It's already bad enough that she drove me. I don't think people my age have been driven to parties by their parents since middle school. I close the door, and watch as she drives away. Okay. This is it. I turn around and smooth down my clothes one more time.

It's now or never.

A/N: What do you guys think? Should I continue? Please review!

~Gina