A/N: Hey everyone, I'm going to be updating this fic more often then "Deliverance In Sin" since the idea for this story is more fresh in my mind right now. Don't worry, I'm not giving up on "Deliverance," I'm just more into this idea at the moment. I'll try updating that once a week, maybe on Fridays.. I'm just so eager for this story and all these ideas keep flooding in! Anyway, read, REVIEW, and enjoy!

I hate airports. That's precisely why I'm sitting in one right now. I had about another hour and a half until my flight was scheduled for takeoff. All around me, people were sitting in the passenger area, some bouncing their legs up and down in anxiety, some sleeping. There was even a group of adolescent boys talking rather loudly. Across from me, a mother was giving the baby in her arms a bottle. I almost rolled my eyes as I took in my surroundings.

Yes, I definitely hated airports.

I reached for the bag at my feet and pulled it up to put on my lap. There were two things I was looking for- the first being easy to find. My iPod. My little piece of heaven. Home away from home. Okay that one didn't really fit, but it's the only way to describe how I feel about my square black soul mate. I always said having an iPod is like having a boyfriend, the only better thing about it is if there's something about it that displeases you, you can just hook it up to the computer and take it out.

I know that's going a little too far, but I can't help it.

I unraveled the wire of the earbuds and placed each one snugly in my ears. I scrolled through the artists selections, I suppose it was a little weird for a 17 year old girl to have composers like Tchaikovsky, Vivaldi, Ravel, De Falla, and Schubert dominating over their music player. Then again, I've always found myself weird. A weird girl, going to a weird school, at a weird airport, listening to weird music. Yep, that's me. I settled for Tchaikovsky, playing something at random. I almost snorted at what came on.

Swan Lake.

The irony in that is that Swan is my last name. I suppose I would find that funny. I pressed next on my iPod. I smiled slightly at the next choice. A simple nocturne. I settled back into my seat before putting my iPod onto the seat next to me and shuffled through my bag again. I had to dig around a bit through my disorganization to finally pull out the brochure I had been looking for.

It was a bit tattered, all in my eagerness to read and reread it over and over again. A year ago, if someone had asked me, I'd say going to the Colburn School of Music was a dream that would take me years to achieve. I chose Colburn for a reason, it was the exact opposite of what I have grown up with. I've lived in Forks, Washington my entire life. Colburn is located in the deepest parts of Los Angeles, California. Ah, Forks. Home of constant rain. And constant, well, nothing. Literally. I suppose the only thing worth being thankful for when living in Forks is that it's only an hour away from the nearest commercial city, Port Angeles. I wasn't the little-town type of girl, oh no. My dreams were big, too big for Forks. Colburn is exactly what I needed. And hey, it's always sunny in California, that part certainly was a perk.

But Colburn was a dream all in its own. It wasn't like applying for a regular university or college. Colburn takes only a certain amount of students every semester. There were only 3 cello spots available this coming Fall semester. How I had nabbed one of those positions, I'll never know. I'd auditioned for them 3 times in the past already, they were quite familiar with my face in my pre-screening video. It was quite a boring video actually, I set the camera on my face and introduced myself like I was being interviewed for a job. The only highlight of it was a clip of my last solo performance in high school, kindly added in by my father. That's probably the only reason why they accepted me.

Don't get me wrong, I'd like to think I'm a creative person. I've even got some rondo's and sonata's in my head itching to be jotted down on some staff paper. But they wanted me to talk about me, which is difficult enough for me to say "hello, my name is Bella Swan and I'm a cellist, I'm hoping to get a degree in music and become a famous performer one day" without making myself seem so full of it. No, talking about myself was the last thing I ever wanted to do.

It's hard for me to explain why I love playing cello so much. I started out like other young musicians- on the violin. I never had a knack for it, so my teacher suggested I switch. As soon as I saw the big frame of a cello, I knew I was meant for it. Sure enough, it was the only thing I ever bothered to keep striving for. School didn't matter to me, besides my music classes, but being a musician means that all other subjects come easily as well. The only thing was I never bothered to sit down and figure out my calculus as much as I practiced every night.

It was odd really, for me to be playing an instrument at all; I was known to be really clumsy. To this day, I'd sprained my wrist 4 times- at one point both wrists were sprained together, broken a rib, fractured my legs at least one time each, and I've messed up my ankles so many times, I've lost count. Lucky for me, I've never broken my hand or any fingers. During the times my wrists were clad in restraints, I went crazy. I had 3 weeks of recovery, which meant 3 weeks of not being able to play. It was scary times, especially for my dad.

I inwardly groaned as a thought came into my head. I was so prone to getting hurt, my one fear was that I'd do something stupid and not be able to play at any time during the semester. My first semester at Colburn, the one that was crucial to my studies there. I guess I need to walk around with pillows attached to every limb. I could pass it off as me being precautious and not wanting to break my cello…

A voice over the loudspeaker of the airport broke me out of my thoughts.

"Now boarding, at gate 118, flight 1203 from Seattle, Washington to Los Angeles, California."

"I grabbed my stuff as fast as I could, not even realizing that the hour had passed so quickly. Guess my thoughts really do tend to run away from me sometimes. I snatched up my bag and stuffed the brochure back in. The bag was already light, the only things I decided to carry onboard was my iPod, a book, an extra sweater, which was really stupid since I was leaving the rain not traveling back to it, my flight ticket, a magazine, and the new student papers I had received in the mail a couple weeks ago. My suitcases and cello were already safely (I hope) tucked away on the plane.

I was glad that Charlie only dropped me off at the airport, making our goodbyes as short as possible. I knew that if he were here with me, watching me board the plane, there was a chance he'd start to tear up about how proud he was of me. That was all I needed to hear before stepping onto the plane.

I made my way to the line that was already forming for the flight. About 10 minutes later, the flight attendant finally checked my ID and ticket before giving me one of the halves she'd ripped and smiled at me, wishing me a safe flight. I only smiled back, pretending like I couldn't hear her from the headphones still in my ears. I walked briskly down the weird aisle that led to the plane. Finally, actually being inside of it, I took a right leading to the coach section. I looked around for my seat, row 10 seat J. I crossed my fingers in hopes for an aisle seat.

Row 10 was more in the back of the plane, which took me a while to get to, having to step around people shoving their stuff in the above compartments. I could still hear people chatting around me, babies crying, even though my iPod's volume was at its peak. I sighed, until I finally came to row 10. A wave of relief hit me as seat J stood furthest from the window, or lack thereof. I didn't bother putting my stuff in the box above me.

I took my seat, watching people around me settle in. They all seemed to be rushing, as if the plane was going to take off right this second. I checked the time on my watch- 9:16 AM. We still had 14 minutes until take off.

"'Scuse me, mind if I pass through?" a masculine voice asked me. I looked up to see a middle-aged man, bald on top with glasses smiling at me. He was gesturing to the seat by the window.

"Oh, sure," I said as I slid out of my seat to let him through. He thanked me and I nodded, taking my seat again.

I leaned my head back against the seat, pulling my iPod out of my jean's pocket to switch the song. I scrolled through, until I gave up altogether and pressed shuffle. I didn't bother pressing next, even if the song that came on was starting to get on my nerves.

Speaking of nerves, I think mine were all over the place as I realized that in exactly 3 hours, I'd be landing in good ole sunny California, registering into the school of my dreams. Maybe I was dreaming, it still felt kind of surreal to me. I closed my eyes, all I could do was wait to either wake up or wait for the plane to take off.