Ch. 1 Too tired to Cry

Starting your first day in Forks High school is nothing intimidating. In my life, I had been faced with things (an still am) that made me tremble. This was a no brainier. My small stone cottage with its thatched roof, crooked steps and peeling paint was a few miles out of town. A place where only my Dad and I lived, much to my dismay.
I had been with my Dad since my mother was murdered, I was six. It was really nothing to me now; it had been too long ago. I could not even remember back that far, but it did upset me not remembering how she laughed. My father had been the main suspect; I had never understood the reason for that until I was 11, but now it makes perfect sense why. Living in a house with a 50-year-old man, you learn a lot about them. Many of the things I wished I never known; how many woman he brought home a night, how much alcohol went in and out of his system, it all was not very pleasant. He was a large man, often very intimidating. Black hair, large muscles and an unpleasant face he only showed very little of the monster he was.
My appearance according to my father was almost an exact replica of my mother. Besides my eyes: I had my Dads dazzling reddish yellow, oddly sinister, glowing eyes. My doe like appearance was often dazed looking my eyes almost too big for my face. Dark curled lashes, spot-like freckles, small oval face, and tiny mouth with red lips, slightly on the pale side for someone who had lived in the sun her whole life. I had short hair and was small in stature only 5'2, a bit on the thin side but still have boobs and a butt. Small feet and tiny hands: I reeked of a small girl, I always caught at least a little attention.
Nevertheless, none of that stopped me from being the rebel. Back home I had the rep for being someone no one knew, I never let anyone in, and for that no one noticed me in my school. That is maybe part of the reason for moving here in the middle of October. My Dad for once was displaying a streak of good parenting wanted me to get to know human beings. Hence my reason here.
However, I could not help feel that there was something wrong with this town. Of course, the environment could be the cause for that. All the fog and rain was comforting, as I had not a problem with the cold, it did not bother me. In fact, it was oddly comforting, safe somehow. The few cars we passed on the way there were going extremely slow, great, just great. As we entered the town limit, we were pulled over by none other then the sheriff: Chief Charlie Swan.
I had heard the sirens before my father so I was able to point them out before this turned into a chase. I had no idea how he pulled us over with a moving truck behind us but he still managed. His police cruiser was no different from any other I had ever seen.
He walked slowly, dragging his boots against the pavement. His shoulders sagging, eyes tired and obviously in bad health. I wondered how he was even up to walking the ten feet from his car to my Dads Chevy. He managed and knocked on the window, which my Dad proceeded to roll down.
"What's the problem officer?" My Dads innocent voice was easy enough for me to see through, his normally low growl like voice now slightly higher and much more tensed. My Dad obviously knew that he had been going twenty miles over the speed limit; he was in too much of a rush to get out of the rain.
The tired police officer looked into the loaded car packed with things ranging from half-empty condiment bottles to an old dusty vacuum cleaner. His eyes widening as his eyes rested on me for I was sure no one who had looked like me had passed through here in a while. Tight skinny jeans, battered tank top, faded 1950's army jacket and Jack Purcell's I bet I dressed nothing like the people around here. My hair cropped short went in every direction with dozens of different tones of my original hair color; though I dyed it so many times, I think I forgot the color. Sandy blonde, dark black even flaming red was weaved in through the thousands of layers. My makeup was always dark, heavy with lots of balck eyeliner, eyeshadow and masscara, making my doe like eyes appear even larger.
"Well, I guess I am your welcome wagon to Forks. I'm Charlie Swan the Sheriff." I had not noticed but when he was this close he looked like he had not slept in weeks, I was tempted to walk him home through the rain.
My father put up a big smile he obviously thought that this tired old man could do no damage to his ego. And held out his hand." Bert Ives, But I am afraid that I will not be staying long. My company could be moving anytime." Despite everything, I knew about my father I found myself hoping that he would not be caught in his little white lie.
But it seemed that fate wasn't in our favor because Charlie spoke again." Really? Have I heard of it?" I dimly noticed that he seemed to perk up at the thought of more people coming to this dismal city.
My incredibly smart father decided to end the lie there." Well it's a small company; I don't think you would have heard of it." Moreover, with a smile my father brought a close to the subject.
"But why was it that I was pulled over Sheriff?" I noticed that he cautiously brought out the subject of getting a ticket. We did not have enough money to pay for one.
"Oh, well I thought I could leave you with a warning. You know because you are just moving here. Do not go over the speed limit with all if this rain, it is dangerous." Through the thick depression that seemed to have its hold on the police officer, I noticed the fatherly tone in his voice, one that my father never had, under any circumstances. I suddenly wondered if he had any kids.
"Well, that sounds good to me officer. It will not happen again." My Dad was glad that he was getting off so easy.
"I will keep you to your word. Have a good day." he stumbled away after that. It seemed ominous to me. This man had so many things going on in his life it was brutally obvious. It was now obvious, oh course I had noticed it before that but this town had the feel of tragedy. And as I watched Charlie Swan got into his car I knew someone did die, I just did not know whom.
If I had been driving this would not have happened. I was beginning to have second thoughts; in a small town like this, everyone was bound to know. Which I was sure only made it worse. Right now, all I wanted was my car. However, as it was I couldn't get to it. My baby was being towed behind the moving truck. I wanted to drive but I had learned years ago never to argue with my Dad.
My car was everything to me. It was where I had seated myself everyday at lunch since I got it; I was there when I cried over ex-boyfriends and among other things my Dad. Its hard blue paint was scratched and dented, its upulstairy stained and faded, but I loved it. It was there when no one else was, my best friend.
I never had very many friends, I was too afraid of that. I really did not want anyone knowing anything about me. I was scared that they would start feeling sorry for me, if it was one thing I didn't want it was pity. I had decided years ago that I would not be what everyone else was. They all were semi-happy, colored-coded preppy-poster-people. And you know what; those were the masks they wore. My mask was different, it was blank. I had kept my face so void of emotion that soon I was sure that it would stay that way. It was not something I was afraid of however.
There was one thing in was sure of. And that was that here it would be no different. I was used to being ignored; I had no problem with it until a random guy stared at me on the street when I was eleven. That was when it started. I had gone through puberty early, my body changing faster than I wanted. But now I could not deny that I got the stares of a lot of the male population. This is why I hated moving. Every time I moved to a new area, I caught the attention of almost every human male of the vicinity. Much to my dislike. And for that reason, many started to hate me right away. Mostly girls, whose boyfriends stared for a little too long.
And I knew what was going to happen again, and I accepted it. At least to some extent.
However there were things that bugged me. My name before I changed it was one. I had never wanted my Dad's name, but through tradition, it was what I got. I was all too happy when I turned 18 last April. Immediately I went to court to change it. Ives was just not a name I wanted. However, I had liked the meaning behind it and I thought: why not? For some reason it was often said that my small name did nothing for me. But it was my first name that I kept, one last dedication to my mother. But I knew it didn't fit my personality, not that I really cared about my personality enough to show it to anyone, but it did not fit my appearance either. My name is Sam Archer. Plain and simple.