"But, Mom!" I cried, standing by the kitchen table.
"Renesmee," she warned. "You said you were bored around the house, so I enrolled you in the school here. There're no ifs, ands, or buts about it. And you will go. If you don't, I'll know." My mom leaned against the counter.
Even with her hair disheveled and her clothes ill fit, my mom still pulled off the super model look. Who knew? Maybe some huge fashion designer would see her and viola! a new fashion line would be born. I giggled a little on the inside at the thought of all the snobby looking girls I'd seen out and about wearing super loose T-shirts and pants that were a couple sizes too large.
My mom dressed like this so as not to call attention to herself. Apparently, that didn't work out too well. When my mom received her paycheck and we went to the local mall to shop, I noticed tons of men – young and old alike – checking her out with mouths gaping.
I laughed, remembering some of their expressions. My mom, who wasn't aware of my lapse in attention, snapped her molten gold eyes at me.
"And what is so funny, Renesmee? Could it possibly be that you're having to do something in your life?"
"No. I just thought of something from the other day." Usually, my mom wasn't so grumpy, but she had recently been fired from her job at a major publishing company. No doubt from the made-up complaints invented by the other female employees.
"Well, anyways, you start school this Monday. It's a good thing you inherited your father's smarts, because you're going into 10th grade. Sophomore classes can be pretty hard, especially math…or at least it was for me," she said, smiling. "That should give us a good three years here, unless you grow again."
I sighed. Hopefully, I wouldn't have another growth spurt. I haven't had one in six years. That may sound weird, seeing as I'm supposed to be 15 years old. Technically, I'm only 13. Well, the thing is, I'm half vampire. My mom – Isabella Swan, or more commonly known as Bella – was human when she and my vampire dad, er, "made" me. When my mom found out she was pregnant, she grew really worried.
She soon decided that she had to run away to keep me. This was because although my father loved my mother dearly, he would kill me to protect my mom's life. She left a note saying that she loved him and that she was sorry she had to leave and that she would find a way to tell him why.
Luckily, my father had been elsewhere on the island hunting when my mom was supposedly sleeping. She took the boat that they had taken to their honeymooning island, knowing that although he could swim for hours and didn't need to breathe, my dad might appreciate the extra boat tied to the floating dock. The mainlanders might be a little confused and/or worried – depending on what legends they believed - at an extremely pale man stepping out of the ocean, dripping wet. This wouldn't have been so bad if there was at least an island nearby. Their island had been several hours out to sea.
As happy as I was to be here and with my mom, I wished I could have met my father. He sounded like a great guy and he had great taste in music. I must have inherited that trait from him.
That wasn't the only thing I got from him. My burnt bronze hair must have come from him. I know this because, in the few times I had met my mom's parents, I'd noticed that neither of them had this unusual shade. In fact, I'm pretty sure I'm the only person (I use that term loosely) with the color. It seems the only thing I got from my mom's dad was curliness of my hair. That, and also an every-other-month card asking us to come visit.
Another trait that I inherited is my mom's brown eyes. I know I said that they were golden, but they were a pretty warm brown when she was human. My skin tone is a very pale color, almost alabaster. The only thing that keeps me from looking like either (a) sick or (b) a full-blood vampire is the rose color of my cheeks. Unlike my mother, who told me that she used to have an almost permanent blush, mine is a subtle sweep across my cheekbones. Renee, my grandmother, always tells me how beautiful I am, and how much I take after my parents.
All of a sudden, as my train of thought leaves the station, I notice my mom gazing sadly out of the window. I sigh and look at the calendar that we had stuck to the refrigerator. Just as I thought, it was near the end of June. The end of my mother's marriage to my father. As far as I knew, my mom had never officially divorced him. But I consider not seeing your spouse for nigh 15 years a divorce or at least a separation. She didn't wear her ring either; it reminded her too much of him.
"Nessie?" my mom inquired, turning back in my direction. "I need to go hunting tonight, so I trust you to not throw any wild parties or anything." A slight smile appeared on her face.
The smile was infectious. Grinning I answered, "Of course, Mom. I'm sooo going to throw a party for people I don't even know. I'm not like other teenagers."
"No, I guess you're not like other girls." With that, my mom left the house. I heard her start her ancient red Chevy after a few tries. She loved that truck to death. As much as I tried to convince her to get a newer, trustworthier vehicle, she vehemently argued with something like: "It's the most trustworthy truck I know of! Been going since the 50s!" I heard the truck growl and pull out of the driveway. My stomach answered the growl and I headed to the fridge.