So I'm rewriting Twilight. The chapter breaks won't follow the story chapter breaks, mostly because I want to update near-daily and can only stomach two thousand words or so at a time. But anyway.
The drive to the airport was quiet. My mother sat in the passenger seat, one arm hanging out the open window, the watercolor tattoo on her forearm gleaming all the colors of the rainbow in the bright sunlight. I was staring out my own window, examining the blue sky and saying my goodbyes. My outfit was simple but effective; a tight top, pair of cut-off jean shorts, and a high ponytail. I'd fumble around in the airport bathroom desperately trying to put on more clothes - and possibly break my neck when turbulence hit - in order to show skin one last time. Goodbye, Phoenix. A metaphorical tear trailed down my cheek.
When the plane landed, I'd be thrust into a small town where the sun never shone. Such an act would be noble, even heroic, if I hadn't been doing so purely as a form of escape. Mom had a penchant for flighty relationships with straight-edge men - she'd divorced my father and left before I could remember. The trend continued when she married Phil.
Phil made my mom happy, so I wasn't going to complain about my new stepfather to her face. But he was young enough to be my older brother, clean-shaven, and also happened to be an evangelist preacher. Mom tried out churches and guys like she tried skydiving, rock climbing, and tanning booths - quickly and without attachment.
Unwilling to count down the days until the end of the honeymoon phase and the start of the nuclear meltdown, I'd decided to go live with Charlie (Dad) in Forks. Charlie was a middle-aged police chief who fit every stereotypical definition of an American man. He ate at diners and fell asleep nightly in front of the television with a beer in hand, some sports game playing softly in the background. But he was blessedly single, and he minded his own business, and I got along with him well enough. So that was the best bet for now.
Even though the thought of leaving Phoenix behind made me want to jump out of the passenger side of the car, roll a few times like an action hero, and then throw up the awesome McDonald's meal I'd had earlier.
"Bella, you don't have to go."
"I know." We were at the airport now, and I leaned over to peck Mom on the cheek as she pulled into a parking space. "But it'll be fun!"
"Right. A party," she replied, rolling her eyes.
The flight from Phoenix to Seattle lasted four hours. During that time, I managed to get the email address of the female flight attendant, shimmy into a denim jacket, and knock my head against the door of the bathroom hard enough that I was worried I'd given myself a concussion. (I gave up on putting on proper pants then, and instead pretended that I always rocked the short shorts queer pansexual look in the freezing cold.)
From Seattle, there was a shorter connecting flight to Port Angeles. Charlie met me at the airport, enveloping me in a hug before taking my suitcase. What a gentleman.
"It's good to see you again, Bells."
"You too."
"Aren't you cold?"
"Um. Yes. Let's not talk about my fashion choices right now."
He grinned and shook his head, exiting into the parking garage. From here I could see that it was drizzling lightly, nothing like the rain in Seattle.
"Is that a new nose piercing?"
"Uh, the jewelry is new, but the piercing is not."
"Oh."
And then we didn't talk much for the entire ride home. To say sitting in a car with Charlie was awkward would be an understatement. Neither of us had the father-daughter conversation down. I probably looked like I was being arrested. I shifted to put my very not-handcuffed hands in full view of any passersby.
When we pulled into the driveway, an unfamiliar Chevrolet truck was sitting in the driveway. Splattered with mud, paint chipped, dented in a few places, the first thought that came to my mind was, It's got character.
I raised an eyebrow. "Do you have company over?"
"No." Charlie was struggling to keep a straight face. I could see him chewing on the inside of his cheek to keep from beaming. "It's yours."
I blinked. "Mine?"
"I bought it from Billy Black down at the reservation. Got it really cheap, but it's rugged. It'll last through any winter. And it, uh, it made me think of you."
"Because it's old and beat-up?"
"No, no!" He flushed. "Because..."
"Because it has character. I'm just kidding, Dad."
He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, and then stepped out of the car. "So does that mean you like it?" he asked. I was strongly reminded of a little kid trying to impress his parents.
"Hmm." I climbed out of the car and examined the truck. It demanded to be painted bright purple. With hideous neon green racing stripes. Yes. The orange had to go. "I love it."
"Really?"
"Yeah. It's great!" I chewed on the inside of my own cheek to keep my expression relatively neutral. "Thanks!"
"No problem." He rubbed the back of his neck, rocking back on his heels.
Charlie brought my suitcase upstairs and then disappeared. He'd made a habit of sticking around unnecessarily as little as possible, ever since my fourteen-year-old self had anxiously told him, "Dad, I need some space, I have to go to the bathroom and change my tampon."
Of course, I could have left the tampon part out, but the one sentence had had the kind of long-lasting effect that presidents and peace negotiators could only dream of.
I busied myself unpacking for a few minutes. The suitcase was relatively small. Most of my clothes weren't suitable for Forks, and so I'd had to leave them behind. Halfway through hanging up my clothes, I took a break to flop on the bed with a small groan. Tomorrow would be my first day at high school.
Correction: Tomorrow would be my first day at a small town high school in which everybody knew everybody and girls with nose and eyebrow piercings and undercuts were probably not the Norm. My Phoenix school had had over three thousand students, all mingling and milling around together. I'd started a club for queer kids. I'd pissed off a lot of straight allies by denying them entrance. I'd gotten in trouble with the administration for a 'lack of inclusion' and fought them on it and won.
Somehow I didn't quite envision that happening here. Though the only tastes I'd had of small town schools were in media and horror stories, I assumed they were pretty accurate. After all, a town this dreary had to have people who were made of homogenous soup.
I was about to be proved wrong.
After a few glorious minutes of moping, I finished the unpacking and moved my makeup and hair junk into the bathroom. The one bathroom. Charlie's fear of tampons would surely come to a head in this very spot.
I blinked at myself in the mirror, a necessary narrative device. The nose piercing Charlie had commented on earlier was a light blue stud, just small enough to be nearly unnoticeable until a person was up close. There were three ear piercings and an additional bar in my eyebrow. Depending on what side I parted my hair to, I went from Innocent Schoolgirl to Punk Chick.
Most of my appearance was based on my own boredom rather than any attempts to intimidate. And the need to broadcast "I'm here, I'm queer, and I'm ready to fuck shit up" to anybody who passed. How else would I find friends I could put up with?
Although to be honest, I'd never gotten along particularly well with anybody. It wasn't born of animosity; I just didn't know how to talk to people. Sick of being the quiet perceived-as-gay girl in the back of the classroom, I decided to become someone else instead. Looking like a loner makes actually being a loner less painful.
The house was stifling in the morning. Charlie left early, so I did too. After all, how better to fit the weird new kid trope than by loitering in front of the school a half hour before the bell rung?
Forks High School was built more like a friendly neighborhood than a prison, a fact which I found startling. Apparently violence wasn't such a problem here. In retrospect that shouldn't have been so surprising, given that there were four police officers to the entire town. Honestly, it would make an excellent starting point for a serial killer. Hmm. I'd have to file that away for future career prospects.
One of the homely neighborhood buildings was labeled 'OFFICE'. Feeling that was as good a place to start as any, I parked and stepped inside. After all, there was no use loitering in front of one of the buildings if I didn't even know which building I was loitering in front of. Duh.
A woman with red hair was sitting behind a long desk. She blinked at me for a moment when I entered. I reminded myself that I was too punk rock to care.
"May I help you?"
"I'm Isabella Swan?" It came out sounding like a question. "I need my class schedule and, um, preferably a map."
"Oh!" Ah yes. That Isabella Swan. "Here, I have everything right here."
She slid a folder across the table, flipping it open so I could see the schedule and the map. Then she explained said schedule and said map, closed the folder, smiled, and said, "I love your hair."
I smiled back at her and went to find my way to my first class. Loitering in front of the buildings seemed like a bad plan. I'd forgotten about the constant rain.
Instead, I could loiter and look sullen in the back of my English classroom. Much better option.
Even that plan was cut short, though. By the time I'd found a new parking place and picked my way to the room, other students were arriving. I closed my eyes and straightened my shoulders, putting on my best Do Not Give A Shit look. Then I ~glided~ into the class, told the teacher my name, flipped my hair to hide the flush at his disapproving glare, and flopped into a seat in the back. Too punk rock to care, Bella. Too punk rock to care.
Due in part to a sleepless night before, I dozed through most of the class, only waking to correctly answer a question Mr. Disapproving snapped at me. He seemed taken aback. It was about as satisfying as I figured my day was going to get.
At the end of class, a boy leaned over and asked if I was Isabella Swan. The look on his face was probably meant to be helpful, but screamed virgin brony. I politely answered his questions, let him show me to my next class, and then got the fuck out of dodge.
The next few classes passed uneventfully. The same cute, pretty girl sat next to me in two of them. She introduced herself with a bubbly, "Hi, I'm Jessica, you must be Bella, I'm part of our school's GSA and you should totally come to a meeting sometime, I've heard all about you, wow, haha, yeah hey, I'm the B in LGBT and it's really great to finally meet you!"
She was enthusiastic enough to make the day a little better. Apparently people in Forks had to make their own sunshine. That was the cheesiest thing I had ever thought in my entire life, and I will vehemently deny anybody who attributes it to me.
Jessica invited me to sit with her friends at lunch, other members of the school's GSA. I was too focused on the cafeteria food to concentrate much on the conversation. What kind of meat was in this burger? Had something simply crawled into it and died? Was a sloppy joe really made of sloppy men named Joe? These were questions that haunted me. I'd have enough time to get to know the other kids in the future. The sloppy joe, though. The sloppy joe enigma may never again present itself in such a poetic fashion.
When I finally glanced up from my possibly-cannibalistic burger, I caught sight of five of the prettiest people I'd ever seen in my life.
There were three boys and two girls (or at least, three male-presenting people and two female-presenting people). One of the assumed-boys resembled a hot lumberjack. Another had blonde curls that would be more appropriate ringing an angel's asshole, and the third had hair the color of a penny. Meanwhile, the girls looked respectively like an airbrushed Swedish supermodel and a flitting fairy princess.
I immediately hated them and also wanted to ask the girls for makeup tips.
"Who are those bastards?" I said idly, pointing a fork in their direction. "They're gorgeous. I want to kill them."
As if on cue, Penny Head turned and locked eyes with me, flashing me a grin. My first instinct was to look away, but I stared defiantly back. I am so punk rock.
"Those are the Cullens," Jessica whispered, as if divulging a dark secret. "Left to right, you've got Emmett, Jasper, Edward, Rosalie, and Alice. They don't talk to people. They're all, like..."
"Adopted polyamorous incestuous weird-ass queer people who'd be great in our group if they weren't so creepy?" one of the other girls at the table helpfully offered.
"Yeah. That."
"Oh. Huh." I chewed thoughtfully on a forkful of sloppy joe. "I still want to kill them. There Can Only Be One."
They just stared at me.
It was going to be a long year.