Along with my LOTR story, I've decided to start a Twilight story. I'm not absolutely obsessed like some girls are, but I do love some of the characters, and absolutely fell in love with the world that Stephenie Meyer created, and I decided to add onto it. So, just so everyone knows, everything that appears in the books is all owned by Stephenie Meyer. So, yeah, just about nothing is mine. Here we go.
Rain. Nothing but rain is all I could see, as my mother drove through the thick, slicing rain that was crushing all of Washington. I leaned my forehead against the cool window, all the while feeling my mother's curious eyes glancing at me. She hadn't said a word since she had picked me up from the airport--it was probably because our last meeting hadn't exactly gone very smoothly. We had a lot of bad blood between us, a lot of which I do not to remember. I could still hear the screaming and frustration in my mind; I closed my eyes, taking in a deep breath to try to shove the lump that had formed in my throat back down.
"Where are we?" I asked her, not even bothering to close my eyes. I was wishing that I was still in Cedar, Maine, where I could soak in the sweet, gentle rays of the sun, sitting with my best friend and listening to trashy music that was being blasted on the radio at the local pool. If only I could be there--I was stuck in La Push, Washington now, where my mother lived, as she was a volunteer for the Indian reservation. Basically, she helped the people who were misfortunate enough to need her help--she was just so generous. I rolled my eyes at the thought.
My mother glanced at me, before slowly responding, "We're almost there--it'll probably be another five minutes before we get to the house." She continued to stare at the road, clutching the steering wheel tightly--she always had hated driving in the rain, I remembered. She hesitated before adding, "Tomorrow night, I'm having a few of people over--a woman from my work, and her son. He's about your age." She trailed off, staring at the road and falling back into her thoughts.
I frowned, and shrugged my shoulders, slouching in the passenger seat even more. How could this be happening? Why was I stuck here, with my mother in a rainy, miserable place that I had no desire to be in? Why did my father do this to me--there has to be more of a reason that simply the fact that I supposedly needed a mother to raise me? Couldn't he have just married one of the bimbos he dated for a couple of weeks--they were all stupid, of course, but they could have at least made me laugh. That's more than my mother could ever do. "Whatever," I mumbled, and the rest of the car ride was silent.
When we pulled into the garage, I stepped out of the car and grabbed my duffel bag from the backseat. Mom led me into a quaint-looking kitchen, and brought me to my room. It was a single-story house, with two bedrooms, and I was to stay in the guest bedroom. It was considerably smaller than my own room back home, but I didn't really need too much space. It wasn't like I was going to live there for a very long time--just a couple of months, until my father figured that I was safe enough to return home. Whenever that would be.
I laid down on the thick, scratchy bedspread, feeling tears beginning to streak down my cheeks. At that moment, I was alone--I knew no one in Washington, besides my mother, and I couldn't exactly find that a consolation. I must have fallen asleep at some point, because, it seemed as soon as my eyelids started to droop, my mother was shaking my shoulder, telling me to hurry up and get ready for my first day of school. I groaned and staggered into the bathroom, readying myself for what was probably going to be a terrible day. My dad had practically pulled my arm around my back in order to get me to leave my school--he had gotten sick of the issues that had gone on with me and him, and, basically, shipped me off to Washington to get me out of his hair (although I think he just wanted to be able to bring his slutty girlfriends home without there being a teenager there.
I shut my door and went into the kitchen, where my mother was sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. She looked up and raised her eyebrows at me. I frowned at her and looked down; all I was wearing was a pair of jeans and plain t-shirt--nothing out of the ordinary. Shaking my head, I asked her quietly, "How am I getting to school? You don't expect me to take a bus, do you?"
She smiled tightly at me, before taking a long gulp of coffee. She swirled the contents, before saying, her eyes never leaving her mug, "Take my car today. I'll call your father at work and talk to him about getting you a car so you can drive yourself around. Is that alright with you?" She finally looked up at me, her eyes watching me intently.
I stared at her, completely shocked by her suggestion. This was the last thing that I expected to come out of her mouth--I had thought she would tell me to walk to school, or at least take the bus. Never before had anyone offered to get me a car--my father was too busy with work and his women to care about me actually getting a car. I had my license and all, of course, but had never been able to actually use it. I bit my bottom lip and glanced down at my shoes. "Thanks, Mom," I said softly, and an awkward silence followed. I closed my eyes for a brief second, realizing that it would never be comfortable between us ever again, and then came back to Earth. "Alright, I better go." I grabbed her keys and my bag--an over-used messenger bag that I'd had for years--and practically stumbled out the door.
Hopping into the car, I started it and immediately turned on the heat, blowing on my hands as I waited for the car to heat up. I checked my reflection in the mirror, and sighed softly. I just knew it was not going to be a good day--the first day of school never was. As soon as the car was bearable, I pulled out of the driveway and started out for the school. I remembered passing by the school when my mom had drove me to her house, so it was easy enough to find.
There was a good amount of cars parked in, most of them old and beat-up, as most teenagers cars were. I pulled into the first open spot I found, and took in a deep breath after I turned off the engine of the car. I checked my reflection once more, and pulled the brim of my Red Sox cap down anxiously; I was ready. Pushing open my door, I stepped out of my car and grabbed my bag from my backseat. I watched my feet take each step as I walked up to the school, my schedule clutched in my hands.
I first had to stop into the office, where a round-faced, curly-haired lady gave me a map of the school and an encouraging smile. I gave her a tentative one in return, and turned from her desk and nearly ran into someone that was very sturdy and hard. Nearly stumbling onto my backside, I balanced myself and stared up at a monstrous-looking teenager--the sad thing was that he had to be my age, and he was probably six feet seven and a complete mass of muscle. His deep, dark eyes had a innocence that did not seem to match the rest of him, and made him seem far younger than he actually was. Mumbling an apology to him, I quickly went around him and left, but not before hearing the lady saying, "You should watch where you're going, Jacob."
Almost everyone was in my first class--English--when I walked into there, and they all looked at me curiously. Brushing my fingertips against my hat--trying to find some kind of confidence in myself--I kept my head down and took an empty seat in the back of the room, ignoring the whispers that seemed to follow me. I definitely did not look like everyone else in the room--my unruly auburn hair stood out from all of the brunettes, and I was one of the few people with green eyes in the room. I pulled out my notebook and doodled on the cover, digging my pen so deep into it that I was surely going to break through the plastic. Just as the bell rang, I heard two people practically sprint into the room, and, unable to control myself, I looked up curiously. That was when I saw him.
He was standing next to the giant that I had seen in the main office, and he was somewhat shorter, although not by much. He still was about six feet four, which was not exactly common for boys of about seventeen years old. Black, thick hair fell into his eyes, which were surprisingly a clear shade of blue; it was true that people with dark hair and light eyes always seemed to be the best-looking. I felt my insides squirm when his eyes met mine, and I forced myself to look down at my notebook. That was when I remembered there was only one other empty seat after his friend took his seat next to another tall boy, and that was the one that was right next to me.
Oh no.
So, yeah, that's where I leave you guys. I know, it's a bit of a cliff-hanger, but I just had too. Hope you all like to so far, and I'll try to get another chapter up as soon as possible. Don't forget to review!