1.

My step-father (or was he called my ex step-father now?) drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down, the warm breeze coming in. I closed my eyes soaking in the sun while I still could.

I frowned at that thought. There would be no warm breeze where I was headed. I glanced down at my parka. I was headed to Forks, a small rainy town.

My mother's hometown, a town my mother escaped from when I was only a few months old. It was this town that I'd been spending a month every summer.

For a month's vacation it wasn't so bad, I liked my dad, which was the whole reason I went to Forks, but living there? I couldn't really picture it, I loved Phoenix, the heat of the sun, the bustling city, and my friends, but after what had happened I couldn't stay.

I made my decision to go shortly after the funeral. I turned to Phil as he tightened his hands on the steering wheel, his mouth set in a deep frown. He had taken it a lot harder than I had when my mom died.

He turned to look at me, he attempted a smile but it had come out as a grimace instead.

I smiled back, the corners of my mouth forming the smile I had practiced in front of the mirror for hours.

"Anabelle," He said to me before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this. It'll be hard but we could figure it out."

I smiled again. "It's okay, Phil." I said, "This is better for the both of us."

He stared at me for a minute, a strange look crossing his face. He was probably remembering my mom; I looked a lot like her. He smiled then. "You take care of yourself." He said, patting my arm awkwardly.

I nodded. "I will."

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

I nodded again. "Don't worry about me, Phil, I'll be fine."

I turned away for the last time, and got on the plane.

It was a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive to Forks. Flying wasn't so bad, the flight attendants were nice enough, the food was acceptable; what worried me though was the car ride with my dad. I hadn't seen him in a year. I couldn't after my mom got sick.

My dad was heartbroken when he heard the news about my mom's death. It only made sense he never really got over her and when I told him about my decision to come live with him he couldn't hide his excitement. He'd already gotten me registered at a local high school and picked a car out for me.

It was going to be hard, but I was glad that my dad was trying to make it easier for me. When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. A forecast I was going to have to get used to. But there was something nice about it. Not something I was used to, but I've never been the type to be all gloom and doom about change in my life.

My dad was waiting next to his police cruiser looking a little out of place in his crisp uniform. My father was the Police Chief in Forks, a position he took very seriously.

I could see his smile under the black umbrella that covered his other features in shadow as I walked up to him, already wearing the parka. He gave me an awkward one-armed hug, balancing the umbrella in his left hand.

"It's good to see you, Ana." He said smiling. "How are you holding up?"

"Good." I replied, smiling back.

"Good," He echoed as he took my bag from me. "Anything else?"

I shook my head, it was kind of strange to see that after living in Phoenix for so many years I was only left with a single suitcase. The nice thing about packing light though was that it fit nicely into the trunk of the cruiser.

"I found a good car for you." He announced when we were strapped in.

"What kind of car?" I asked.

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

"Where'd you find it?" I asked fiddling with the controls in the car, the heater not blasting as hot as I would have liked. Hopefully I'd get used to the cold soon, but right then my fingers were about to fall off.

"Do you remember Billy Black down as La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.

I thought for a moment before shaking my head. "No."

"He used to go hunting with us during the summer."

I shook my head again, "Maybe if I see him."

"He's in a wheelchair now," I looked at him startled as he continued, "so he can't drive anymore, and he offered to sell it to me for a reasonable price."

I nodded. "How'd he..?"

My dad stared straight ahead, "It wasn't an accident in the car if that's what you're asking."

My eyes grew wide. "No, no. I was just wondering." I replied embarrassed. "I didn't think it had anything to do with the car..." I stopped talking before I could embarrass myself further, choosing instead to stare ahead of me.

We grew quiet for a moment before I broke the silence. "What year is it?" I could see from his change of expression that this was a question he was hoping I wouldn't ask.

"Billy did a lot of work on the engine- so technically, it's just a few years old."

I squinted suspiciously at him. "When did he buy it?"

"'84, I believe."

"New or used?"

"Uhm, well, it was new before he bought it back in the sixties or fifties." He admitted sheepishly.

I groaned. "Dad...I don't know anything about cars. If anything went wrong I wouldn't be able to afford the repairs."

"Really, Ana, would I buy something that I didn't trust would be safe?" He asked, watching me from the corner of his eye.

I looked away, "I guess not." I said shrugging.

"Anyways, I already bought it."

"You didn't have to." I replied, a slow smile creeping on my face. "But thanks."

"I don't mind. I want you to be happy here." He was looking ahead at the road when he said this. My dad, like me, wasn't great at expressing himself. So it meant that much more that he tried, something that made me feel warm inside.

We became quiet once again as we stared out the windows in silence. The clouds above were shaped like strange beasts, hanging heavy over the trees. In some circumstances you could call this type of weather gloomy but there was no denying that it was beautiful.

It seemed like the whole town was green, from the trees hanging with canopies of moss, to the dewy grass, and the vines that clung onto signs like so many hands. With all that green, it was hard to hate Forks even with the cold and endless rain.

There was a mysticism to the look of the place. A part of it had never left the ancient past. Even now, in a modern vehicle, on modern roads, I half-expected to see the same things the Native Americans of the past had once seen as they hunted in these same woods.

Eventually we made it to the small two-bedroom house my dad called home. He'd bought the house with my mom when they had first gotten married. There, parked on the street in front of the house was the truck. It was a faded red color, with big, rounded fenders and a large cab. To my surprise, I actually kind of already loved it.

"Wow, Dad." I said not being able to contain my delight.

He chuckled. "You dare to doubt me?"

I laughed. "No, I wouldn't dare."

I lugged my carry on up the stairs to my bedroom that faced the front yard, giving me a nice view of the quiet street. The room had belonged to me since I was born. The floors were wood, and the walls were a light blue, it had a peaked ceiling and yellow lace curtains around the window. My dad had attempted to clean it up a little and added a desk with a secondhand computer propped on top of it.

One of the best things about my dad is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, something that would have been difficult for my mother. A tear escaped my eye as the thought of my mother crossed my mind. I wiped it away forcefully before opting to sit on the edge of the bed and stare out at the window, letting just a few more tears escape.

I forced myself to think of other things like the incredible feat that was High School. Forks High School- according to the school website it had a total of three hundred and fifty-seven-fifty-eight if I included myself- students; there were more than seven hundred people in my Junior class back at home. Another thing that bothered me, everyone here grew up together, heck, even their grandparents had been potty trained together.

And here I was, a new girl from the big city. I brushed my brown hair back from my eyes and let out a long sigh.

I went back to putting my clothes in the old pine dresser before heading to the shower to wash off the layer of tiredness that came with traveling. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed out tangles from my damp hair. I smiled, a desperate attempt to cheer myself up.

After the shower I headed to bed. Once my head hit the pillow, the tears that hadn't come out earlier now streamed out. I cried a long time before turning in my bed and closing my eyes, sniffling, and feeling sorry for myself.

A forceful gust hit the window causing it to shake, and surprising me in the process. I laughed at myself in the dark room. It's just the wind. I assured myself.

I pulled the faded old quilt blanket over my head, trying to muffle the sounds of rain and wind. Somehow the sounds still penetrated the quilt like some kind of magic spell. So I did what any sane person would do. I found the NyQuil in the secret medicine cabinet, shotgunned a whole bunch and passed out with no memory of what I did afterwards. When I woke up, I found myself in an elaborate fortress of blankets and pillows.

And that was my start in Forks.