ONE
I wasn't a morning person- at all.
I loved my bed, and the mere thought of having to leave my comforter brought a tight pain in my chest. Mom had left for work at six, and like any morning before she left to open up the shop, she'd come into my room and unlatch my window, letting in an icy draft. This, according to Mom, was her not-so-secret method of being sure I would wake up, and go to school.
It was cruel.
Because realistically, I knew she did it just to piss me off, plus making me catch a cold. Miss Camryn Kota, Academy Award Winner for the best academic attendance of the whole student body of La Push Reservation High School, would never miss a day off school. Even when I dislocated my knee last summer, I walked back in to English Lit the very next day with my crutches.
Despite my longing for sleep, I clambered out, having a quick shower before putting on some ripped skinny jeans and a grey sweater. Breakfast consisted of cornflakes and a re-run episode of Baby Daddy before I towed on my converse, grabbed my backpack and camera, making my way to school.
The bus drive to school was short, cutting across the sharp highways which were secluded between the forests. It was beautiful really. I take the bus to school in the morning, but I would always walk home, taking a detour through the woods. It was a sedative scenery, the only sounds coming from the cool breeze and hidden wildlife. The only giveaway of civilization was the distant hum of passing vehicles on the freeway.
I had resided in La Push my whole 16 years. Dahlia Kota, my Mother, is Quileute herself, and had lived on the reservation her whole life also. She had met my anonymous Father while working at the Bar and Grill in Forks, producing me 6 months into their relationship. My Dad had been from Forks, and had just finished his Senior Year, about to attend NYU.
My Mom said it was love-at-first-sight. . .
Until he left town and declared he wanted nothing to do with his unborn child.
Consequently, my Father had left my Mom with a broken heart and a baby due within 7 months' time.
Mom had never lied to me or 'sugar coat' anything. She had told me, since the tender age of 4 when I asked for the very first time, where my Daddy was. She had not seen him since he fled town nearly 5 years before, and the only information she had of his whereabouts was from when she overheard customers talking at the Bar and Grill not long after my birth. Apparently, he was still attending NYU and was engaged, but not once had he tried to make contact.
Now, as I stepped off the bus and made my way to tutor, I felt a hand grab hold of my forearm.
"Camy!" My best friend, Erica, hung onto me like a flea, smiling broadly.
"Hey, you," I grinned back at her, looping are arms together as we walked to tutor.
Erica Nokitos had been my best friend since she punched my bully in the face back in 2nd Grade, and ever since we have been inseparable. We seemed to be very compatible- her being the poised, outgoing, extrovert and me being the inaudible, wary introvert.
She spoke for me when I couldn't.
"So, next Saturday," Erica began, giving a cheeky smile. I ogled at her suspiciously, "There's this bonfire, at First Beach. I was speaking to- oh, you remember Embry? Embry Call? So he told me that they're arranging a party at First Beach. They'll be a bonfire, few booze-"
I stopped walking and un-linked our arms, spinning around to face her.
"I'm not going-" I start.
"Hold on, Missy," Erica puts her hands on her hips, pursing her mouth attempting to look stern. "As soon as I mentioned drinks, I knew you would say no. So I'm willing to compromise because I love you." She supposed, a sweet grin pulling her lips apart. So manipulative.
I squint at her cautiously, "What are you suggesting?" I feign amusement.
"Well, I was thinking, if I promise we only go for a couple of hours, 4 tops, and that I won't drink, will you go with me?" She queries, tucking a strand of black hair behind her ear.
"And besides," Erica continues, "you could bring your camera! You could get some awesome shots, with the cliffs and all. What do you say?" Wickedly, she pouts her full lips, widening her dusky eyes for effect.
Oh, for goodness sake.
"Fine." I sigh, earning me a squeal and a hug which nearly knocks me over into the lockers.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Erica cries, skipping all the way to tutor.
Third period was the highlight of my day- English Lit was one of my preferred subjects aside from Art. And though we were learning Shakespeare, and analyzing one of my favorite plays, it wasn't the only purpose the lesson always made my blood pressure sky-rocket and pulse accelerate.
Paul Clearwater.
He had always been a fantasy of mine. Well, a distant fantasy.
We had never conversed with one another, apart from my dreams where I had the confidence to do so. Paul and the other 'La Push crew', as me and Erica so artfully labelled them, were superior to everybody. And not just in the surroundings of High School, but La Push and even Forks in general. They were at the top of the hierarchy of aiders, protectors and absolute attractiveness.
It was pitiful really.
I don't even think Paul knew my name, which was saying something considering the minuscule populace of residents in the Reservation- everybody knew everybody.
Paul had been in my English Lit class since the beginning of Junior Year, where he sat opposite me in the back row, where I gawked at him for the whole hour.
However, when 11.00 came around this morning, Paul wasn't in his customary chair.
Disappointment was an understatement.
Ironically, even though I enjoyed English Lit, I couldn't seem to concentrate without Paul being there, which didn't make any sought of logic as when Paul was there, I never seemed to focus on my work anyhow.
I felt distressed. This period was my one and only lesson where I could appreciate Paul's beauty at a close distance.
God, I needed help.
And fast. This petty crush was going to be my downfall.
When the final bell rang for the end of the school day, I sighed with relief. Ever since third period, I lacked energy and was barked at by Mr. Cirling twice in Calculus because of my dreamy state. It was eerie how just because I hadn't laid eyes on Paul this morning, I couldn't seem to function properly. Although, his absence got me thinking: Paul rarely had time off school. Like me, he had excellent attendance, and he seemed perfectly fine when I saw him the week before. Sue Clearwater had raised him well.
With that thought in mind, I ambled past the school bus stops where students packed on in line. A clearing just on the opposite side of the street, lead a direct path into the woods, the trail taking me almost under an hour to get home. Erica had once came with me down this route before, the whole way moaning about how she was going to suffer from blisters the next day.
That was the first and only time she ever walked with me again.
Strolling deeper into the clearing, I clutched my camera out of my bag and slung the strap around my neck.
Photography had always been a passion of mine. When I was younger, Mom would buy me disposable cameras and I would go with her to her florist shop and take pictures of the flower adornments.
Walking along, I took shots here and there, stopping once and a while, pointing my Canon to the sky where tree branches would get caught within the sun rays. It was little sights like these which made a perfect shot, what some people seemed to miss.
Not 40 minutes later, I ended up at another clearing which lead to a gravel lane passing my house, a slight drizzle starting to fall.
I make a run for it before I soak through, but didn't take two steps until my face planted with the grass my knee scraping on the bark under my legs.
"Shit," I mumble curses to myself as I lug myself up and pick up my bag.
Grrrr.
I swing violently to my left and shiver not from the cold, but from the noise coming from the swath of ferns, huddled in the clearing.
"What. The. Hell." I whisper, taking tentative steps back.
That noise was anything but the wind. It was so feral, animalistic. And only meters away from me.
Bears weren't rare for the surrounding Forks reservation, but they would never come close to the more public parts of the forests where more people ventured . . .
Grrrr.
I don't look behind me as I pelt towards my street. Erica wouldn't have to kill me herself, if I was already mulled by a bear before the party.
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