Looking for a Beta!

So I thought I was done with this story, but I decided to come back to it! I have decided that I want to re-write some parts of the story that I've already written. I think this is maybe the second or third time I've tried to do this, but I want to move on with the story so this time so I want to do it right. I'm looking for a beta! I'm not too picky about what kind of experience you might have. I'd rather pick someone who is interested in this kind of story, which actually can be a bit hard to find, so I thought I'd start by asking you readers.

I'm looking for someone to check for basic housekeeping mistakes like grammar and punctuation and the like, as well as be someone I can bounce ideas off of who can also watch for character discrepancies and plot holes. Hopefully this makeshift casting call will help me find the right person, but if not I'll try to find a beta through the lists. PM me if you're interested; I can't wait to get started! If you're not interested I just ask that you please have patience with me and this story. I'm reposting all my chapters with major rewrites so let me know what you think :)

—aybdubs

Disclaimer: I do not own Twilight

"Sorry. Excuse me."

I was sound asleep when a bump and a voice jolted me awake. My eyes snapped open when I realized I was curled up in a small reclined chair that was definitely not the bed I had fallen asleep in the night before.

Where am I? Still half asleep, I stretched out and watched the man who had bumped into me made his way down the aisle and into his own seat a few rows down.

I took in the dozens of closely positioned seats and the loud hum of an engine and realized with a start that I was on an airplane.

A voice came in over the speakers, "We are beginning our decent into Port Angeles. Please fasten your seatbelts and put your trays into the locked and upright position. We we'll be landing in about fifteen minutes."

Um, what? Port Angeles? How had I ended up in an airplane flying into Washington? Ignoring the pilot, I stood up and turned around so that I could see the rest of the people on the flight. My heart sank as I looked from face to face without seeing anyone I recognized.

As I sat back down, the woman in the seat next to me eyed me warily before flipping the page in the magazine she held open on her lap. I leaned over to peer past her and out the window. All I could see were huge masses of trees through a thick layer of clouds and fog.

I leaned back in my seat and closed my eyes. The last thing I remembered was falling asleep in my room at home. In Santa Barbara. California. I definitely didn't remember getting on a plane.

What the hell is going on? I opened my eyes and turned to the woman next to me, "Excuse me?"

She looked up from her magazine and raised her eyebrows at me, "Yes?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, but did you by any chance see me getting on the plane?" I tried to keep my voice even, trying not to sound as desperate as I felt.

"I think so," she said hesitantly, "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I said hastily, "Did you happen to see if I was with anyone?"

She thought for a few seconds. "I don't think so," she answered apologetically. "Sorry."

I frowned, trying to retrace the last thing I remembered doing. "Thanks, sorry to bother you," I said absently.

I started going through my pockets, trying to find something, anything, to clue me in to what was going on, when I realized that the dark green t-shirt, jacket, and jeans I was wearing were definitely not mine.

Ignoring it for the time being, I turned out my pockets. My cell phone was missing, but I found a five dollar bill and a receipt for a coffee shop in the Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport in my back pocket. That's weird.

I looked around the floor and saw a black backpack and a bright red purse. Both were right between my seat and the seat of the woman sitting next to me. She leaned over, moved the backpack up against her seat, and started digging through the purse. Not mine then.

I felt a soft tap on my arm. Turning around, I saw an older woman with short, fluffy white hair in the seat across the aisle from mine.

"I'm sorry for interrupting you, ummm…" She trailed off and looked at me expectantly.

"Jamie. I'm Jamie," I finished, once I realized what she asking.

"Jamie," she said with a smile. "I couldn't help but overhearing and I think I might be of some help."

"Really?"

"I'm fairly certain I saw you saying goodbye to your parents back at security. I couldn't help but notice as I went through," she said with a gentle smile, "Your mother was tearing up and the two of you were promising to write to each other. It was very sweet."

"My parents? Both of them?" My chest constricted painfully. Not possible.

"Yes, dear," she said, concern growing on her face.

"You're the spitting image of your mother," she continued." You have the same lovely hair."

I absently tugged on the ends of the dark brown strands. My mom always dyed her hair; it looked nothing like mine. "You're sure?"

"Very," She was leaning into the aisle now, talking to me in a gentle, but serious tone. "Are you okay, honey?"

"I'm fine," I said quickly.

"Are you sure? You seem out of sorts…"

"I just…no, I'm fine," I said, shaking my head. "I appreciate it through. Thanks for your help."

She nodded and settled back in her seat. But even after I turned away I could see her glancing at me out of the corner of my eye.

I closed my eyes and took some deep breathes. This made no sense. How could I end up on a plane flying to another state and not know how I got there?

I groaned as I thought about the phone call I was going to have to make as soon as the plane landed.

I took off my seatbelt the moment the plane touched pavement and fidgeted impatiently. As soon as we stopped and were given the okay to disembark, I jumped up from my seat ready to push my way through the other passengers.

"Excuse me. You're forgetting your bag."

I turned and saw the woman I was sharing a row with holding the black backpack out to me.

"My bag?" I took it and opened the front pocket. The contents were completely unfamiliar. I saw a small paperback book, a couple of pens, and a wallet that was definitely not mine.

Disappointed, I bent down to put it back. "I'm sorry, but this isn't mine."

"Are you sure?" she asked me quizzically, "I could have sworn I saw you carry it on."

People began to file down the aisle as I sat down and took out the wallet, looking for a driver's license or an ID of some kind. I found a driver's license but automatically dismissed it. The design was wrong. Definitely not a California license.

Looking it over, I saw it was an Arizona license. I glanced over at the picture and almost dropped it. It was me. But it wasn't me, not really. I didn't recognize the picture or remember taking it. It couldn't be me.

I took it out of its slot and turned it over in my hand, trying to find a fault with it. I pulled my feet up as my seatmate walked past me into the aisle. I slid over into her seat and held the ID up to the light from the window.

I absently glanced over the name. Then looked again. It was made out for Isabella M Swan. 458 Alta Vista Rd, Phoenix, AZ.

I suddenly hit me: I was flying into Port Angeles, Washington.

Are you kidding me!

By now almost everyone but the flight crew was off the plane.

"Is this a joke?" I said softly, looking around. I was talking to no one in particular, and no one answered me.

I looked around and saw the flight attendant smiling as she helped the last passengers get off the plane.I swung the backpack over my shoulder and made my way over to her.

"What is this?" I said, waving the ID in front of her.

"I'm sorry?" she said, eyes widening as she leaned away.

"What do you mean? What's going on?"

"I—I don't understand," she stammered. "Is there a problem?"

I repressed the urge to smack the forced half-smile off her face just as a man came out of the cockpit and walked over to us.

"Is there a problem?" he repeated.

"Are you kidding me? What's going on!?"

Both of them exchanged a quick confused glance before the man spoke again.

"What is the problem, miss?"

"The problem is that someonethinks is funny to stick me on a plane to Washington, with a Bella Swan ID with my picture on it, and no explanations! Like this is Twilight or something!"

"I'm sorry miss, I don't understand."

I eyed both skeptically, "You're kidding."

Both of them looked completely bewildered. Nope. Not kidding.

I tossed the ID back into the backpack and pulled it over my shoulder, shoving my way past them. The plane hadn't attached to a terminal, but instead sat in the middle of a tarmac and a large set of stairs had been moved up to the main door.

It was raining as I made my way down off the plane. I looked past the other passengers greeting family and friends and spotted a pay phone over by a couple of cabs and a police car. I ducked my head and walked over, setting the backpack down on the ground and picking up the receiver.

I held it in my hand for a few seconds. Taking a deep breath, I pressed 0 and held it up to my ear.

"Hello, this is Anne, how may I direct you?"

"Hi," I said, "I'd like to place a collect call to California please."

"Bella!"

I looked over my shoulder and saw a middle aged man with dark hair in a police uniform walking in my direction. My mouth dropped open. No way…

"Ma'am?" The woman on the phone huffed shortly. "Name and phone number of the person you would like to contact?"

"Sorry! Cora Robinson in Santa Barbara. It's the only one listed" I cringed; my mother was going to be furious.

"One moment, please."

"Bella!"

The voice called right behind me. I turned around just in time for a tall man to pull me into a quick one-armed hug.

"It's good to see you Bells," he said, stepping back. "You haven't changed much. How's Renée?"

I stared up at him, eyes wide. It was the cop. He had short, curly brown hair and a mustache to match.

"I'm sorry…what!?"

"Ma'am?" I heard a faint voice from the phone. " Ma'am!"

"Yes?" I answered, still staring.

"I said there's no one listed in that name," she said impatiently. "Would you like to try a different number?"

"Wait, what?" I said. "What do you mean there's no one listed?"

"Bella is everything okay?" the guy said. "Who are you calling?"

I shook my head at him. "Listen, I'm sure you have a really great performance all ready to go, but I'm not interested. I'm just trying to get home."

I looked over his uniform and noticed 'Chief Swan' was stitched onto a patch on it.

"Kudos for attention to detail though," I said, nodding my head at it.

"What?" he asked perplexedly.

"This is just… just give me a second," I said, bringing the phone up to my ear again. "I know she's listed. Will you check again please? Hello?"

She had hung up. I didn't blame her. I frowned as I put the phone back.

"What's wrong, Bella? Is everything okay?" 'Charlie' stepped forward and picked up the backpack.

"Look, I'm fine. I just really don't want to deal with this. I'm as big a fan as the next person, but this is getting ridiculous."

"I don't understand, Bella," he said hesitantly, still holding the bag. "Are you ready to get going?"

"You're supposed to pick me up?" I asked, startled. "And take me where?"

"Home, of course," he said, his eyes widening in surprise. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"No offense, but I don't really know you," I said, taking a step away from him. "Why would I go with you?"

His mouth dipped into a badly concealed frown. "I don't understand," he said. "You asked to come here."

"No! No, I didn't." I said firmly. "I don't know what I'm doing here!"

"You don't?" 'Charlie' said seriously, eyebrows raised. "Maybe you should call your mother…"

"That's what I'm trying to do," I said exasperatedly. "The number won't go through."

"Why don't we go back to the house," the man said. "I think I have her new number somewhere and you can call her on the home phone."

I stood my ground. "No way. I'm going home—wait, what new number? You have my mom's number?"

He nodded.

"Let's go get your bags," he said when I didn't move after a few seconds.

He walked over to the large mound of luggage that was pilling up near the plane.

I stood unmoving by the phone as he flipped through tags until he had pulled out a matching set of black bags and carried them back over. He opened the trunk of the police car and put them in.

I walked over as he opened the passenger door and put the backpack on the seat. "Ready?" he asked, holding the door.

"You have a police car?" I said, inspecting it through the door. It looked as legit as any I'd ever seen; barred backseat windows and full radio unit included.

"Of course, it comes with the job," he said with a small smile. His smile faded when I didn't smile back. "I'm sorry. I really thought this was what you wanted. We'll go straight to the house and you can call your mom and see about getting a flight back."

"Thank you." He looked so heartbroken it took a conscious effort not to feel guilty.

I got in and I clicked in the seat belt as 'Charlie' walked around and slid in behind the wheel. I was peeling off my jacket when I noticed 'Charlie' staring at my hand.

"What happened to you?"

I clenched my hand into a fist, hiding the scar that went from the side of my wrist to top of my palm.

"It's nothing. Can we get going?" I said, pulling the jacket back on and tucking my hand into the pocket.

He looked like he wanted to say something else but I purposefully turned to face the window.

"Sure." He started the car and pulled away.

I kept quiet for the rest of the drive. I guess I may have scared 'Charlie' off, because he kept quiet also. Even though he didn't say anything, I could see him out of the corner of my eye giving me worried sidelong glances. I stared resolutely out of the window and tried to ignore him. I spent the drive watching rain splatter against the glass and trees fly by the window. The longer we drove the more uneasy I felt.

After about hour, we drove past a sign that said: Welcome to Forks!

I sat up straighter. "Are we really in Forks?" I asked curiously.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I know it's been a few years, but don't you recognize it?"

I shook my head. We sped past house after house, none of them particularly big or imposing. It was all very woodsy obviously. Lots and lots of trees. Some of the buildings sort of reminded me of the cabins from a summer camp I used to go to when I was a kid.

We drove down an almost empty highway, and eventually pulled up to a small white house with an old red truck sitting at the curb.

I shook my head, staring at my hands. This is way past getting ridiculous.

"That truck was for you Bells," Charlie said sheepishly. He gestured to it as he got out of the car, "If you want it, I mean. I got it off Billy Black from down in La Push. He's in a wheelchair now—"

"Please don't."

'Charlie' looked hurt, and I had a hard time not letting it get to me. This guy was good.

We made our way into the house, and 'Charlie' set my suitcases by the stairs.

We stood awkwardly for a few seconds. He ran a hand through his hair and gestured to a doorway to my left. "Let me get you that number."

"Sounds good."

I followed him into what turned out to be the kitchen. The accuracy to the books was uncanny; things were just what I pictured they would be. The walls were pale yellow and there was a little table next to the end of the counter that stretched around two sides of the room. If I wasn't so unnerved, I might've been able to appreciate how cool it was.

I sat down at the table while 'Charlie' rummaged through some drawers under the counter.

"Here it is," he said, handing me a little scrap of paper with some numbers on it. "Phone's in the same place. I'll give you some privacy." He hesitated for a second, then patted my shoulder and left the room.

I looked at the numbers he gave me again, but something about them didn't sit right, though I couldn't place the reasoning behind my uneasiness.

I didn't recognize the area code. It definitely wasn't from Santa Barbara.

I got up and went to the wall phone next to another door that led to a yard in the back of the house. I punched in my mom's old number rather than the one 'Charlie' gave me. I waited for the ring but instead got an automated message.

We're sorry, but the call cannot be completed as dialed.

I took a deep breath and put the number in again.

We're sorry, but the call cannot be completed as dialed.

I shook my head in disgust, irritated that my mom had changed her number and hadn't told me.

I dialed my home number next. Three times.

We're sorry, but the call cannot be completed as dialed.

It didn't work. An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach as I tried my friends, my grandmother, my Uncle Shane; any number I could think of.

We're sorry, but the call cannot be completed as dialed.

We're sorry, but the call cannot be completed as dialed.

We're sorry, but the call cannot be completed as dialed.

I slid to the floor and the phone clattered against the wall as it fell from my hand and dangled from its cord. How could none of them work? What was going on?

The little scrap of paper was still clutched in my hand. I stood up shakily and read the numbers off one by one as I typed them in.

I held my breath as I finally heard a ring tone.

"Hello?" The woman's voice was light and cheerful. And totally unfamiliar.

My mouth felt dry all of a sudden. "Hi. Sorry, I actually think I have the wrong number. Who is this?" My voice came out a bit raspy.

"This is Renée Dwyer. Who is this?"

My hand tightened around the phone. "Renée?"

"Bella? Honey, is that you?"

I choked and slammed the phone down. Why had she recognized my voice? My vision swam a bit and I fought a sudden wave of nausea.

"Bella? Are you okay?"

Charlie came dashing in and held my arm to steady me.

"When you said you would help me get a flight back, you meant Phoenix didn't you?" I said, looking at him.

"Of course," he said, brow furrowed in concern. "Did you talk to your mom? Do you still want to go back?"

I shook my head. "No. No…I…I don't want to go to Phoenix. I need a minute to…think…alone. Please."

He held my arm and gently guided me back out of the kitchen. "Why don't you go up to your room and lay down for a while," he said.

I stumbled up the stairs and into the first room I found. A bedroom.

I sat on the bed up against the left wall, pulling my legs up and hugging my knees to my chest.

The room was exactly like Bella's in the books. The walls were light blue and there was a window that looked out over the front yard of the house. The bed had a light purple quilt on it and there was a rocking chair in the corner as well as a desk with an old computer on it.

The computer.I lurched forward and turned it on, staring unblinkingly at the screen as it booted up.

When it was finally ready, I realized that not only was the computer ancient, but it needed dial up to connect to the internet. I vaguely remembered having a computer like it when I was a kid, but it still took me ages to figure out how to get it connected.

When it was finally ready, I brought up Yahoo, tapping my fingers on the mouse as I waited for it to load.

When I was finally able to try signing into my email, a message appeared telling me my email address didn't exist. I hit the desk in frustration.

Heart pounding, I went to the Google home page and typed in Twilight reenactment groups.

I lost track of time as I clicked on link after link. Not one of the results had anything to do with the books.

I typed in Twilight: Stephanie Meyer.

The top results were for a Dr. Meyer somewhere in Colorado and a web page for some random girl's blog.

My head swam as I sat frozen, staring at the screen. How was that possible? Twilight is one of the most popular things in the world right now. It should have millions of hits.

I went over and sat on the bed with my head between my knees. Gone. It was all gone. I didn't know what to do.

As I looked around the room in a daze, I spotted something on the walls that made me jump to my feet so fast that I stumbled and had to stop and steady myself.

There were pictures of me. There were enough them to cover a whole portion of the wall. I saw school pictures of me from when I was younger as well as much more recent ones. Like the one on the driver's license, I didn't recognize myself in any of them.

There were more too. There were pictures of me with 'Charlie', pictures of me with other kids, and a few pictures of me with a short woman with wavy brown hair and blue eyes. She looked kind of like me. Same build, same nose and mouth. We were even smiling kind of the same.

I reached forward and pulled the picture off the wall. It was me from maybe two or three years ago; I looked about fourteen or fifteen. We were hugging each other, smiling.

I took it out of its frame and flipped it over. Bella and Renée, 2002. The frame fell out of my hand and clattered to the floor.

I couldn't stay there. I felt the sudden urge to run far far away.

I fled downstairs and out the front door. It had gotten dark while I was inside. As I looked down the street, empty as far as I could see, I never felt more alone. I felt stranded and alone; with nowhere to go. I had no money, no car, and I couldn't contact anyone I knew.

I went back into the house. All the lights were out; I hadn't noticed on my way out. 'Charlie' must've gone to bed. I felt along the wall for a switch but couldn't find one. I stumbled in the dark until my shins bumped into something hard. I felt around and found a couch. I was in the living room.

I sat down on the couch and curled up on my side. I took deep, even breaths and tried to clear my head.

Review please!