FULL SUMMARY:
You know that saying: Everything happens for a reason? What if it were true?
By all rights, Lilianna Howard (Lily) should be dead by now - multiple times over, if truth be told. Yet she's still here. And it's all because of them. Had it not been for His curiosity, she wouldn't have this damned secret - the one that's kept her on the run for years ...
Forced to relocate to small-town Washington, Lily finds herself drawn to Edward - the youngest member of the mysterious, aloof Cullen family. But everything is about to change because she isn't the only one with a secret ...
You know that saying: Curiosity killed the cat ...?
A/N:
I'll be the first to admit that I'm one of those awful, horrible people who doesn't like the character Bella Swan. It's not that she's badly written or wholly un-relatable - quite the opposite. It's just that I'm a mid-twenties, fiercely independent woman who tends toward the more logic-oriented side of the spectrum - often to my own detriment. As such, I've always wondered what it would have been like to have a main character who was not quite so naïve as Bella. Hence this story. I've replaced Bella with a character of my own creation (Lilianna Howard). This story will follow the main plotline of Twilight but through the eyes of someone who has seen far too much and can't rightly be taken for anybody's fool.
DISCLAIMER: First and foremost, I would like to EMPHASIZE that I DO NOT own Twilight - Stephenie Meyer does. Secondly, this fan fiction was written purely for the purpose of entertainment and will not be used for monetary profit. Lastly, I am all for constructive criticism. However, if you're just here to comment on how much you HATE Twilight or that I'm an awful person for replacing Bella, please don't bother.
A/N (Cont.): All translations for non-English portions of the chapter will be included in the Author's Note (A/N) at the end of the chapter (Thanks Serendipity10!)
Chapter 1:
Absently, I stared through the tinted window of the car. Despite the beauty of the lush green landscape racing by, I didn't see it. My mind was elsewhere, in another time and place. All I saw were the faces. Faces of people I had known … some who I had loved. As each flickering image played out before me, my internal dialog sharpened into clarity.
It was just my luck. I'd been happily adjusted and settled into my new home in LA, something I hadn't been able to do for years. I'd been comfortable; that was the problem. My life had never gone smoothly. Turbulent was an understatement. Hell on Earth wasn't much of a stretch at times. One would think that I'd be used to, even expecting, the inevitable fallout … but I never was. I was a classic dreamer. Lost in my own thoughts and hoping for the best despite the painfully recurring pattern.
"How you holdin' up, kid?" His grisly voice broke through my reverie, bringing me back to the real-world. I wanted to scoff at his endearment. Kid? I was old enough to be his grandmother … well age-wise, at least. Physically was another story all together. I hadn't aged in nearly a century. Not since ….
I shrugged and absentmindedly rubbed my fingers over the raised crescent scars on my left wrist. I didn't need to get onto that train of thought right now. It would be a bad idea.
I heard him sigh heavily and grip the steering wheel a little tighter. "Poor kid. Twice in less than five years."
The sudden words shocked me and I let out a soft gasp. I turned toward him with a guarded look. He met my stare for a brief moment then returned his eyes to the road. It took me a long second to understand that he hadn't actually spoken. I quickly turned my face back to the window, hoping that he hadn't seen the widening of my eyes. That hadn't happened to me in a very, very long time. In fact, the last time I could remember having heard someone's thoughts had been over forty years ago … in Italy.
I closed my eyes and quickly focused my mind elsewhere. I really couldn't afford to think about that. It was dangerous and not just because of the ensuing depression but because of the pain. I took a deep calming breath and let it out slowly. When I finally opened my eyes again, the faces were back but they weren't ones I wanted to see. I shook my head slightly from side to side trying to clear it. I couldn't totally erase the memories, but I could manage them, force them into the drawer in the back of my head and lock it up again.
It was the sound of Jason's exasperated sigh that turned the tide of my mental battle, allowing me to shut the drawer and return to the present. For two days, we'd been stuck in the coupe of my father's Porsche on the long scenic drive to rainy depressing Washington. It wouldn't have been so bad if the circumstances hadn't been what they were. I was moving … again. That didn't bother me. I was used to constantly changing locales. When you didn't age, staying in one place for an extended period of time was a bad idea. People noticed.
No, the move wasn't what was bothering me. It was the return of my luck. For most of the last half-century, I had managed to avoid speculation and detection by intermittently posing as a teenage foster child. It was a fairly simple act to keep up, since most people didn't get too attached to me, and I could run off to college and 'lose touch' within a few years after I left their care. It allowed me some freedom as well. College was definitely preferable to high school, but it did tend to cost a lot more. And it was rather a pain to forge high school transcripts every five years or so.
Every plan has a downside, though. Occasionally, a family would adopt me. It was harder, when that happened. It meant I had let down my guard and gotten attached, which was a bad thing. Especially since everyone died eventually. Everyone but me …. Besides, it was harder to just disappear and restart the ruse, when there would be people looking for you.
Stephenie and Alexander Howard had lived in sunny Los Angeles, just two blocks from the beach. He was a plastic surgeon, she was a homemaker. They both were avid philanthropists. They had no children of their own. Instead, they acted as foster parents for troubled teens. That was how they met me. I'd been placed in their care shortly after being processed. I was pretending to be fourteen. They were told I was a runaway.
The first time I laid eyes on Stephenie, I knew I was in trouble. I didn't have a choice but to become attached. Everything about her, from her face to her smooth low voice brought back floods of memories. Memories of someone from long ago. Someone I'd loved and lost. Lost in the most devastating way I could imagine – because of me. My aunt – my real aunt.
I was with the Howards for less than a year, when they decided to adopt me. Despite how happy I was, I knew, somewhere deep down, that I was getting in too deep. I knew that getting so close was going to cause much greater pain in the end, when I had to leave. I'd pictured that end many times in the last year. I'd been with the Howards for just under three years now. I knew from experience that I could only fake being normal for about five years. After that, they noticed that I wasn't aging. And, by the time they realized that, it was past time for me to disappear and start the cycle all over again.
The end I'd been picturing was going to be hard on them. I'd reluctantly been setting the stage and collecting the props for six months. Alex was a car collector. Sports cars, specifically – fast ones. I decided that a car accident would be the most reasonable and thorough end I could provide. So, I bonded with Alex over cars. I liked cars. I didn't necessarily know much about them, but I loved driving fast. Three months ago, I'd managed to talk Alex into buying a Porsche. This was the car I was going to use to stage my accident. That was the plan. I could never have foreseen that it wouldn't be necessary ….
Two weeks ago Alex and Stephenie had decided to go test drive a Mercedes. Alex was thinking of trading in his for a newer model. That morning was one of the few times I decided to sleep in instead of going with them. I remember being a little worried, when they didn't make it home for lunch. It wasn't like them to be gone so long without calling me. I ignored the nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach telling me that something was wrong.
When the doorbell rang, I was a little excited. When Alex had brought home the Porsche, he had rung the bell to get me to the door so I could see the new car in the drive. I assumed that this meant he had gone ahead and upgraded his car. However, I was instantly confused and cautious when I opened the door and saw two police officers.
My parents had been driving south along the Pacific Coast Highway enjoying the mild January weather. A driver going north suffered a heart attack and lost control of his car, which collided head-on with their Mercedes. Both vehicles had been going over sixty miles an hour. No one survived to make it to the hospital.
Their funeral had been a week ago. I vaguely remembered it. The shock of losing them instead of the other way around had sent me into depression. I wasn't used to losing people. I was always the lost, never the loser. I was trapped in my own mind long enough to miss nearly everything that happened afterward. Their lawyer took care of most of the arrangements. I was named as their sole heir. Their possessions were sold with the proceeds placed into a trust fund for me.
I'm not entirely certain why, but I'd insisted on keeping the Porsche. Something about it made me feel connected to them. It hadn't taken much more than an emotional breakdown in the lawyer's office for my demand to be met.
Now, the Porsche and I were off to our new home. Forks, Washington. Alex had grown up in the tiny Olympic Peninsula town. His older sister, Julia Howard, still lived there. She'd been named as my guardian, per the will. In all honesty, I wasn't certain that I would even bother staying there. It was probably a good idea to cut ties with this family now. Before I had the chance to get attached to another member ….
"Did you hear me, Lily?" His voice, louder than normal, startled me.
I hadn't. In fact, I only just realized that we were stopped. I had been remembering. Shaking my head, I quickly looked out the windows to see where we were. A gas station.
"We're here." He was standing outside the car, leaning down to peer in at me through the open door.
I suppressed the grimace that wanted to come to my face. Jason had been Alex's best friend in LA. When I'd insisted on keeping the Porsche and driving it myself to Forks, he'd offered to accompany me. Julia wasn't very good at long car trips, apparently. So, when it was clear I wasn't flying back with her, she'd gone home to get my room ready. They had both been worried about me driving alone through two states. I was only seventeen and I had just lost my parents.
He seemed to be waiting for a response from me, so I nodded my head. My entire body was aching. I wasn't a fan of sitting still for long periods of time. Especially not in a cramped car. When I opened the door and gratefully got out, he straightened up. I didn't turn to look at him. Instead, I carefully stretched my cramped muscles and scanned the area. There wasn't much to see. It was raining … not at all unexpected.
"Lily," I turned and stared at him. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a fifty dollar bill, "Go inside and pay, please. Get us something to drink too."
I took the money and headed toward the entrance to the convenience store. As I reached the glass door, I heard the sound of another car pulling into the pumps. Instinctively, I looked up and caught sight of a shiny silver Volvo idling to the opposite side from my Porsche. It was probably one of the nicer cars in town, but it didn't hold my interest. I continued on my way into the store, heading to the refrigerated display shelves in the back to grab Jason his soda. Automatically, I also grabbed a bottle of water, knowing that he'd comment if I came back without something for myself.
"That car sure is a beaut'." The man behind the counter said as I set down the drinks and money.
"Yeah, she is." I smiled absently to myself. My car was probably the nicest thing he'd ever seen pass through. I doubted very much that people who could afford Porsches came through Forks often.
"Here you go." He handed me the change, his eyes still glued to the window.
Thanking him, I made my way back to the car. Jason was already inside the cab. As I walked, I let my eyes rove over the Volvo on the other side of the pump. It actually was a pretty car. And in very good condition, which surprised me a bit. A movement near the pump caught my attention. I averted my gaze from the car to focus instead on the driver.
He was … beautiful. There was no other way to describe him. He had the kind of face an angel would be jealous of: pale skin, chiseled features, and soft bronze-colored hair. His eyes, which were turned toward the display on the pump, were a strange color – the iris was mostly black, but shot through with very faint streaks of gold.
I had been paying so much attention to his features that the sound of the passenger door of the Porsche opening startled me. I let out an involuntary gasp and tore my eyes away from his face to look toward the sound. I silently scolded myself for being such a ninny and reached out to hold the door open. Just before I went to lower myself in, I let my eyes steal up to the beautiful boy's face again for one last look.
The sound of either the car door or my gasp had gotten his attention. When I brought my eyes back up to his face, he was looking at me. I was totally unprepared for what happened next. Our eyes locked and my breath stuck in my throat. His dark eyes bored into mine, freezing me in place. My mind reeled from the shock and sudden lack of air. I couldn't seem to form a coherent thought … or at least I couldn't understand one. Somewhere, deep down, some part of my mind was screaming at me. But, whatever it was screaming was lost to me. I couldn't comprehend anything but his intense eyes. For a fleeting moment, his reddish brown brows creased downward in a slightly confused look. As though he were expecting something ….
I don't know how long I stood there, staring stupidly at this beautiful boy. To me, it felt like an eternity. Finally, even reluctantly it seemed, his eyes released me. The sudden unexpected rush of air down my throat into my awaiting lungs caused my head to spin slightly. I blinked, dazed and a little disoriented, and finished getting into the car.
I was beyond confused. To my recollection, I had never in my entire life reacted like that to anyone. Sure, there had been times when I had been taken by surprise and had my breath catch when I'd seen a pretty face. But never had I lost that much control and been unable to regain it immediately.
"Hey, are you all right?" I jumped, when I felt Jason's hand touch my shoulder.
"What?" My mind wasn't making sense of the sentence. Of course I wasn't all right. My breathing was accelerated and my heart was practically beating through my chest. And I couldn't even figure out why.
"You look a little flushed … are you okay?"
Flushed? I automatically reached up and placed my right hand against my cheek. It was warm – warmer than normal. "Yeah." That was the most I could pull off. If I said any more my breathlessness would cause him alarm.
I turned back to my window and tried to calm my system down. I took a few deep breaths, mentally counting to ten. Lucky for me, Julia's house was only a few minutes from the gas station. The short trip prevented Jason from launching into a round of twenty-questions regarding my excited state.
My new home was a two-story Colonial with white brick on the bottom level and pale blue siding on the top. There was an intricate glass window in the white front door and two white stone planters with trimmed topiaries on either side of it. The covered porch was fairly shallow, but with enough space for a hanging swing to face out toward the street. Quaint – that was a good description for it.
When I got out of the car, pulling the hood of my black raincoat up, Julia came out of the house to greet us. She was a pretty woman, if a little thin and tall. She looked a lot like Alex had: short black hair, dark brown eyes, and a mischievous quirk to her naturally upturned lips. The similarities didn't stop there. In the limited time I'd known her, I'd come to understand that she shared Alex's generosity, geniality, and compassion. She was a nurse at the local hospital in town. Head nurse, in fact.
When she reached the edge of the covered porch, she cupped her hand over her mouth and called, "Go ahead and pull into the garage, Jason. We can unload the rest from in there."
"Sure thing!" Jason quickly got back into the Porsche and pulled it around the side of the house to the garage entrance.
Being out of the car already, I carefully hurried over the muddy ground to get under cover. Julia was waiting for me. When I finally reached the top step, she extended her arm to wrap it comfortingly around my shoulders. I let her. "Welcome home." She offered me a warm smile and led me through the front door.
"Thanks," I tried to smile back, though I'm not entirely sure I succeeded. My reaction time was still a little off – a result of my recent disorientation.
If she noticed my awkward behavior, she didn't comment. That was one of the nice things about Julia – she wasn't intrusive. She nodded her head at my answer and turned to watch Jason come in the garage door.
"My God!" He exclaimed as he shook the water out of his hair, "I'm surprised you all don't drown up here!"
"Don't be rude." Julia gave him a slightly cross look, which was spoiled entirely when her lip twitched upward into an involuntary smile. "Come on in and dry off. We can wait a little bit to unload the rest of the stuff."
"Naw, I'd rather get it all done with. That way, when I sit down in front of that fireplace to warm up, I don't have to move." He smiled wryly at her and winked.
Suddenly, I felt a little uncomfortable standing there. The interaction between the two of them seemed a bit too intimate for me to be witnessing. Clearing my throat uneasily, I made to walk into the garage. I noticed, from the corner of my eye, that Julia looked a little ruffled after the subtle reminder of my presence. It took only one trip to get my backpack and the remaining two suitcases into my new room.
Neither of them stuck around to help me unpack. I appreciated it, though I feared that part of the motivation was due to them wanting some time to discuss how I was 'holding up'. I knew that, despite her unwillingness to probe too deeply, Julia was curious and a little worried about me. Who wouldn't be? Heck, if I were them, I'd be worried too. As far as they knew, I'd lost both of my families in the last five years. That would be more than enough to send anyone over the edge into crazy-land.
The room wasn't bad. In fact, it was nearly the size of the one I'd had in LA, and painted in the same shade of pale olive. It even had a door that opened directly into the bathroom on the first floor. Julia must have tried her best to make this as familiar to me as possible. She hadn't done much unpacking beyond making up my bed. I was grateful for that – I was a bit nit-picky when it came to how my room was organized. Even so, I didn't have that much to do. I'd only shipped two boxes from LA and had one other suitcase besides the ones I brought with me.
I was fairly exhausted from the long car trip, but I knew I had to unpack at least the most important things right away. Pulling my laptop out of my backpack, I plugged it in, and hooked it up to the phone jack in the wall. I doubted very much that I would be lucky enough to have high-speed wireless internet anywhere in this dismal little town. I would just have to make do with conventional dial-up. I pressed the power button and left it on the desk while flipping open a suitcase and beginning to transfer clothes to the antique wooden dresser.
Once finished, I sat cross-legged on the bed and stared blankly at the walls. My mind wandered aimlessly over anything and everything, not focusing long enough on any one thing specifically. It was a familiar feeling, being aimless. That was a reflection of my entire existence. I wandered. Passing through time with no direction, no connections, no purpose except to exist.
I knew I was being harsh with myself. It wasn't like I'd spent my time doing absolutely nothing worthwhile. I'd done a great many things. I'd travelled the world and studied a plethora of subjects. I'd not been idle. But, somehow, despite all the achievements, I still felt as though my life, in the end, would count for nothing. I was lost. Perhaps even forsaken. Something was wrong with me; had been from the very beginning. That was why they'd sought me out …. But even they couldn't fix me. Couldn't make me fit in.
The soft knock on my door pulled me out of my mental wallowing. "Come in."
Julia cracked the door open and peeked her head in, "Hey, Lily. Are you hungry? Do you want anything to eat?"
I wasn't hungry, but I knew refusing food would only cause her to worry more. I nodded my head and got up off the bed to follow her to the dining room. Jason was already seated at the table. The smell of meatloaf and mashed potatoes filled the little room. My stomach turned a little at the sight of the cooked meat, but I didn't comment. I would eat a little bit … just enough to pacify them both. I wasn't the biggest fan of overly cooked meat. I tended to like my food a little more toward the rare side of the spectrum.
Once the food was served, conversation at the table was limited to compliments. I didn't mind. It was probably better for me not to talk much. The more aloof I stayed, the easier this entire ordeal would be. Either way, I wasn't paying much attention. My mind was occupied with other more pressing matters. Matters like whether or not I was going to stay, where I would go if I didn't, and how soon I could manage leaving. It would be impossible and cruel to leave right away. I wasn't the only one who'd lost my family. Julia had lost her brother. She was grieving too. I would have to stay at least long enough to make her feel as though she'd done all she could for me, even though there really was nothing she could do.
A month at least, maybe closer to the end of the school year. That was the soonest I could leave. Any less time and I risked having a search launched for me. Well, now that that was decided, it was time to start hammering out other issues. Like school … and my car. It was likely a bad idea to drive my Porsche to school here. In LA, the car in the parking lot would not be much of a standout. Here, it would stick out like a sore thumb. And the last thing I wanted to do, while I was here, was stick out. I needed to basically be invisible.
"Hey, Jules," Jason had finished chewing, "I was thinking …."
Julia looked up from her plate, "About?"
"Well, Lily is going to have to drive herself to school each morning, right?"
"Yes, probably. There isn't a bus stop this close."
"Don't you think that car of hers is gonna be a bit much sitting in the school parking lot?" His eyebrows were furrowed together.
"Oh," Her lips pursed a bit as she thought, "I see what you mean."
I was grateful that Jason had brought this up. It meant that I didn't have to. "That's okay, I can just walk. The school isn't that far away." I didn't much relish the idea of slogging to school through the pouring rain and fog, but it was a better alternative than driving my flashy car.
"Hmmm …" Julia tapped one long finger against her lips, "Well, I do have that old T-Bird sitting in the garage …." She turned to me and smiled a little guiltily, "It's not in the best of shape, Lily, but you can drive that, if you want to."
Well, that certainly worked out to my advantage. I wouldn't stick out with my flashy car and I wouldn't have to walk through the water each day. "Sure, if you don't mind."
"Not at all, honey. It's been sitting in there for years. Ever since Alex moved to LA." So, it was Alex's old car. Figures.
"Okay, thanks." I returned my eyes to my half-full plate and continued to scoot the leftover food around. My appetite had not returned with the end of my decision making. I suppose that shouldn't have surprised me. The last few weeks had taken a toll. It would take time – a lot of time – to get back onto a typical schedule.
"Oh, that reminds me," Julia snapped her fingers as she remembered, "I have to take Jason to the airport in Port Angeles tomorrow morning. Will you be all right finding the school and all without me?" She looked a little worried.
"Yeah, I'll be fine." The town wasn't that big. If I couldn't find the school on my own, then I had bigger problems to worry about. Not that I didn't have those hanging over me anyway …. I'd had enough of dinner and conversation. I needed to be alone. All this pretending to be happy and social was wearing on my nerves. I pushed my plate away, "Can I be excused? I'd like to get ready for bed."
"Of course, dear. Let me know, if you need anything."
I nodded my head and left the table. Grabbing my toiletries, I went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water. As I waited for it to reach temperature, I ran a brush through my long dark hair. The tangles were nearly impossible thanks to the time I'd spent sitting in the car. And, on top of that, the humidity in the air was causing my curls to be even more prominent than normal. The spiraling strands hung limply down my back. As I brushed, I made a cursory scan of my reflection in the mirror. Somehow, I almost expected to see some change in it from the last two days. There weren't any. My skin was a pale ivory as always, my features were fixed, and I hadn't aged. Even my eyes, which had always been a peculiar dark shade of hazel, were the same, if perhaps a little fatigued looking. Not a big surprise.
When the mirror began to fog over, I stripped off my crumpled clothes and climbed gratefully into the hot shower. The water felt good against my cool skin. I almost didn't want to get out, when I was finished. But the warmth had made me sleepy. I hadn't really gotten much rest on the trip here. Porsche didn't design their cars with the idea that you'd need to sleep in them.
Without the noise of the running water filling my ears, the house was quiet. I assumed that meant that Julia and Jason had gone to bed. Well, that suited me just fine. I wouldn't have to say goodnight, if they were already asleep.
My room was frigid compared to the sauna of the bathroom. I scrambled, fast as I could, into my pajamas and crawled into bed. Pulling the covers up practically to my nose, I squirmed about trying to find a comfortable position. My wet hair, sprawled haphazardly over the pillows, didn't help the situation. If it was going to stay so cold in this nightmare of a town, then I was going to have to start blow drying my hair after showering. I groaned internally at the thought. Wouldn't that just be so much fun ...
Once I finally got situated into a comfortable position, I closed my eyes and waited for sleep. It didn't come quickly, despite my obvious exhaustion. I wanted to blame the insomnia on something as trivial as the sound of the rain beating against my window. But I knew that wasn't the case. My restlessness had very little, if anything, to do with the weather or the temperature of the room. It had more to do with my personal demons. Sleep was one of the few times, when I could not consciously manage and control the memories. Instead, they controlled me ….
I came awake with a start. The racking gasping sobs ripping themselves up from my chest were muffled into near silence by the pillow I had buried my face into. My body, contorted and sweaty, was engrossingly tangled in the cotton bed-sheets. The dreams had been worse last night … and different. However, the difference, along with the specifics of the night terror, were beyond my remembrance. That was always the way of it. No matter how often I suffered them, the dreams left nothing behind besides the memory of the terror and pain.
It took me a long while before I remembered where I was. The feeling of being somewhere unknown only added to my panic. So much so that the realization of my whereabouts didn't completely diminish the surge. With difficulty, and much internal cursing, I disentangled myself from the sheets. The effort helped to calm my breathing and quiet the sobs, though the tears still ran unchecked down my porcelain cheeks. Once free of the bindings, I sat up and wrapped my arms around my knees. Taking deep breaths I made a conscious effort to slow the beating of my heart. The throbbing, pulsing blood echoed like a drum in my ears, drowning out all other sounds.
It took longer than normal to right myself. I attributed that to the change in the dreams. Something about it must have made me even more anxious than usual. After my breathing and heart rate had slowed, I could vaguely make out noises coming from another room. I held my breath and listened carefully, glancing quickly to the clock. It was five in the morning. I wouldn't have expected anyone in the house to be awake at this hour. Being that someone was, I was worried that my waking fit might have attracted attention. Attention and worry that I neither wanted nor needed. Lying about the dreams and the reasons behind them was pretty close to the top of my 'Things-Not-To-Do-List'.
The sounds of someone moving about didn't come any closer. That must have meant I hadn't been loud enough to be heard. I let out a relieved sigh and dropped my head to my knees. At least I had been quiet. That hadn't always been the case. I used to scream myself awake. Scream loud enough to wake neighbors. But that had been years ago. Many years ago.
"Good morning." Julia's voice was quiet but still held a cheerful note.
I heard a grunt and assumed that Jason was his usual chipper self. On the trip from California, I'd always had to drive in the morning. At least, if I'd wanted to get going before eight …. "Is there coffee?"
"Brewing now." A chair scraped loudly along the linoleum floor. "Thanks for coming out, Jason. For bringing her."
"No prob. Least I could do." The chair groaned softly under his weight, "Alex was like a brother to me, too."
"Yeah …."
Careful to make as little noise as possible, I rose from the bed and moved closer to the closed door. I can't say what it was that made me want to eavesdrop, but the compulsion was strong and persistent.
There was a long pause and the sound of a cabinet door being opened and closed. "Hey, Jules …" Another pause, "You're gonna be all right here, right?"
"Sure." The automatic answer came too quickly and told more than was intended. In that single word, I could hear her pain and loss. The hard edges of it grated against my own wounds, making breathing a bit difficult.
"Jules … you know I'm willing to stay, if you need me. You don't have to do this alone. I mean … I know it's just as hard on you as it is on her …."
"I'm fine. You don't need to stay. You've got your job and your friends at home to get back to. It'll be okay." I could almost see the stubborn set of her jaw in the flow of her words. This was going to be even harder than I thought. Her stubbornness was going to present more than a few problems. If she couldn't show how she really felt, how could I be sure when I was going to be able to leave? It wasn't like I could read her mind … not at will.
"Jules …." Jason's voice was pleading.
"I have to go get ready. You'd better pack up. We have to leave in an hour to get you to Port Angeles on time."
At the sound of her footsteps coming closer to my door, I scurried back to bed. I couldn't be sure if she would pass me by or not, but it would be better not to be caught listening. She paused for only the briefest of moments outside my door and then continued up the stairs. On the one hand, I knew I wasn't going to be able to go back to sleep. Even if I could, I probably wouldn't. The dreams might come back. On the other, officially getting up was out of the question. If I went out into the main rooms, I'd have to deal with the farewell scenes. Not my idea of a good morning ritual. So, damned if I did and damned if I didn't, I decided to just lay there in the darkness.
The hour long wait for the house to be empty passed quickly. Despite my self-imposed isolation, I wasn't bored. I had plenty to worry about. Like school …. I'd never fit in. It wasn't from lack of trying. It was from lack of caring. Friends weren't a realistic possibility for someone like me. They were kind of like family – only worse. When you were a foster child, the family you got wasn't your choice. If you were disinterested and stand-offish enough, they tended to leave you be. Friends, however, were typically made because you liked something about them. Which meant you chose them. That choice meant all the difference. It was an attachment. Plain and simple. And attachments were dangerous. They left you vulnerable.
As soon as the door closed behind them, I jumped out of bed. There was just over an hour left before I had to leave for school. My sweat-soaked pajamas and tangled mass of curls meant that I would have to take another shower. Well, at least I could make it a fast one. My hair didn't really have to be dry to go to school. It was only going to get wet as soon as I got outside anyway.
Dripping hair wrapped in a towel, I grabbed whatever clothes were at the top of my drawers and threw them on. At least I had long sleeves. While California was a paradise in summer, spring and parts of fall were abysmal along the coast. The coastal winds were just as effective at chilling to the bone as the ones anywhere else.
Finding socks was my biggest struggle. Somehow, during unpacking what I had, the suitcase containing socks had been misplaced. Fifteen minutes later, I was nearly to the point of giving up and going without them. Though, in the interest of comfort and warm feet, I decided to check one last place. My closet. Of course it was there; crammed in next to the still packed boxes of books and CDs. I must have shoved it in there with everything else at the end of my unpacking efforts the night before.
Finally, dressed and mostly presentable – I still had the towel wrapped securely around my head like a damp turban – I ventured out of my room into the kitchen. I wasn't really a breakfast person but I needed to see if I could find the keys to the T-Bird I would be driving to school. Alex and Stephenie had kept their car keys on a hook near the garage door at home. I hoped that Julia did the same.
Well, there was a set of key hooks by the garage door but, to my dismay, there didn't appear to be any car keys hanging from it. For the briefest of moments, I wondered what I would do, if Julia had misplaced the key to the T-Bird. Driving my car was not a possibility. I glanced up at the clock on the wall and saw that walking would make me late – very late. Wonderful. Today was more than meeting up to my usual luck quota.
Perhaps she'd put it by the front door. Upon entering the living room, I spotted a single white envelope propped up against the phone – my name scrawled across its face. Breathing a sigh of relief, I crossed to the table and picked it up. It had a discernable weight, suggesting that there was more than a note inside. Pulling back the unsealed lip to peer inside, I saw two keys, a folded slip of paper, and a twenty-dollar bill. Taking the note out, I flipped it open and scanned the text:
"Lily,
I didn't have a chance to gas up the car, so I've left some money for you to use. The station is just off the main road, like the school. Please lock up, when you leave. I'll see you later.
Good luck at school,
Julia"
Well, that worked for me. I folded the envelope in half and shoved it into the back pocket of my jeans. My towel-turned-turban was thoroughly soaked, when I removed it from my head and slung it haphazardly over the shower rod. Careful not to yank my hair out from the roots, I pulled a comb quickly through my damp tangled curls. Even if I'd had the time, I was definitely not in the mood to do anything more with the tresses than use a headband to hold them back from my face. It didn't matter what I looked like. It wasn't like I was trying to impress anyone here. The more understated I looked, the less likely I was to draw attention. Presentable as I cared to be, I slipped on my shoes and grabbed my book bag from the desk chair.
Stepping out into the rainy haze was depressing. Though, at least the weather matched my mood. It would have been a bit irritating to have the sun shining brightly on me, when I was still in the mood to grieve. Being rather partial to dry clothes, I quickly locked the knob of the front door and crossed the yard to the storage garage where my incognito vehicle was parked. I nearly shrieked out in frustration, when I reached out to twist the handle only to find it locked. Crap.
Indignant at having to stand out in the rain, I yanked the envelope from my pocket and riffled through its contents looking for a key as I ran back to the porch. I retrieved the smaller key and inserted it into the lock. I growled menacingly under my breath when it wouldn't turn to unlock the door.
Are you serious? I thought as I tried unsuccessfully to force the knob to turn.
Unable to control my temper, I kicked the door jam with my left foot. This couldn't be happening. I hadn't even been here a full day! Breathing slow and deep in an attempt to bring my boiling anger under wraps, I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and forefinger. Gently enough not to damage anything, I removed the useless key from the lock. It wasn't the end of the world. I just needed to look at my options. Option one: I could wait for Julia to get home from the airport. I didn't much like that idea as I would have to wait on the porch. Option two: I could try to break into the house. I quickly discarded that notion, as I didn't think Julia would much appreciate me breaking a window. Option three …. I couldn't think of anything else. The main garage door used an automatic opener, so I couldn't force it to open from the outside.
Involuntarily, my fist clenched around the sharp key in my hand, pricking my fingertips uncomfortably. I was honestly tempted to chuck it off the porch into the mud. As I glared darkly at the inoffensive brass object, something in my brain clicked into place. Glancing up, I stared at the other garage. Perhaps the key wasn't to the house. Maybe it was to the garage. Well, it couldn't hurt to try.
I sprinted back across the wet grass and slid the key smoothly into the locked handle. To my immense relief, the lock turned without protest. Wanting desperately to be out of the drizzling rain, I shoved the door up and hurried inside. The car was black, though the paint was a little faded and spotted with mud. The doors were unlocked. I tossed my bag into the passenger seat and climbed behind the wheel. The seats were covered in worn tan leather, but they were comfortable. The inside was clean. Inserting the key into the ignition, I held my breath and turned it. Considering the way the rest of my morning had been going, I half expected the car to choke and refuse to start. Instead, it growled to life, sounding a bit like a snarling panther. The gas gauge showed I had little more than an eighth of a tank. Good thing Julia had left the money.
As Julia had promised, the gas station was three blocks away just off the main road. It was the same one I'd stopped at the day before. In fact, the same man was behind the counter. I fought back a cringe, when I recognized him. Well, maybe he wouldn't recognize me.
"Hey there. You're the one who was in the Porsche yesterday, right?"
I grimaced – couldn't help it, "Yeah …."
"Not allowed to drive that to school, eh?" He smiled warmly at me, a little too nosey and curious for my taste.
"No." I placed the money on the counter and headed outside to fill up without another word.
Despite my seemingly stubborn insistence to cling to my doomsday attitude, I had to admit that rain in Forks was a little more pleasant than rain in LA. For one thing, there wasn't even a hint of wind to blow the rain askew. The constant drizzle simply fell straight down from the clouds. Moreover, the air held that distinct 'clean' smell that sometimes lacked in the city – probably due to the ever-present pollution. As such, I stood outside of the car as the digital numbers on the pump ticked away.
As I stood there, breathing deeply and trying not to think about the coming day – unsuccessfully, I might add – memories of other first days flitted fitfully through my mind. Some of the worst first days of school I'd ever experienced had been in small towns. Everyone in small town schools had grown up together. They all knew each other's parents – and possibly grandparents. That familiarity tended to cause acceptance issues – not that I ever particularly aimed to be accepted. No, I didn't want to be accepted. I wanted to be ignored. That never happened in small towns. The new student was always a source of curiosity and intrigue at a small school. Even more so, since I would be the new girl from the big city.
Ugh, I thought to myself, I hate school.
When the handle of the pump stopped the flow of gasoline, the noise jerked me out of my reverie. A bit disgruntled at the prospect of school, I yanked the nozzle out of the tank – a bit harder than was necessary – and returned it to its cradle – again, harder than necessary. I climbed behind the wheel and took a deep breath.
I can do this. It's just another high school, just like any other, I assured myself. Absently, I wondered if there was any possibility that I could slip into my first class unnoticed. Doubtful …. Small schools just adored introducing new students to their classmates on the first day.
Grimly determined to get through this day as fast as possible, I pulled back out onto the street. Sadly, I nearly missed the entrance to the parking lot. There was nothing remarkably distinctive about the school to mark it out as what it was. The clustered group of simple red-brick buildings looked similar to many of the others in the town. Only the sign – which was hidden almost fully behind an overgrown hemlock – told me that this was what I was looking for.
One of the buildings, which was relatively close to the edge of the parking lot, was poorly labeled 'Front Office'. Since I had neither my schedule nor knowledge of where my classes were, I figured I was expected to report there – just like a prisoner at bed check. The rest of the lot was mostly populated – stopping for gas had taken longer than I thought. As such, I decided that I didn't want to park over in the student area only to have to walk through the dripping rain and crowds of curious teenagers just to get to the office. So I simply parked in one of the available spots in front of the building. It was probably off limits to students, but what were they going to do, tow me?
Even though I knew it could make me late, I decided to check my phone. There wouldn't be any messages from friends in LA – I hadn't had any. No, the notices and emails on my phone were from my brokers. I had more than a few spread throughout the world under various names. The money invested in those stocks is what I used to sustain me in between bouts as a foster child. I figured it was a good time to check some balances, since I would soon be needing to draw funds. As I skimmed through the most recent notices, I grumbled silently to myself. The stock market wasn't doing so well right now, which meant that I wasn't making much. As I scanned the amounts and did some quick calculations in my head, I groaned internally. There had never been much in those accounts – a few thousand dollars here and there – but I had been hoping for some more gains. The amount that was in there would hold me comfortably for around two years – barely enough time in between bouts.
Well, this was what I got for checking my accounts. If I wanted good news, I should have skimmed the CNN headlines ….
Instead of sitting there pondering my financial future, I switched my phone to silent mode and shoved it into my backpack. Then, sliding the strap over my arm, I opened the car door and emerged into the hazy wetness. I hurried over the narrow shrubbery-lined stone path and through the glass door into the office.
I sucked in a deep breath as soon as I walked into the tiny, hot little room. Being in here was like reliving a flashback in a sitcom – a really bad seventies flashback. There was a claustrophobically small area set up as a waiting room – the three folding metal chairs crammed into the space would afford little, if any, leg room for occupants. As usual, a long, waist-level counter split the remainder of the room in half; the top of which was cluttered with a plethora of wire-framed baskets filled almost to bursting with various forms. The orange-flecked commercial-grade carpet was worn nearly to the point of visible shabbiness. The walls were … that must have been pale cream at some point … plastered with flyers and notices – many of which were outdated – and bordered at the top with a very seventies set of colored bands in olive green and orange – to match the carpet, of course. There were three normal-sized desks crammed into the undersized space behind the counter and a door leading, presumably, to the principal's office. Another door, standing just to the right of the long counter, was labeled 'Nurse'. Moreover, in addition to the already overstuffed feeling enforced by the present furniture, there were plants in large pots all over the place – like a poor imitation of the perpetual greenery outside.
Behind the counter, sitting at one of the desks and staring intently at an enormous CRT screen, was a woman with straight-from-the-box curly red hair, thick glasses, and a purple tee shirt worn over jeans. I immediately felt overdressed. In LA, you didn't wear shabby clothes to school. Even the kids attempting a 'grunge' look wore high-grade clothes. The principal and many of the teachers wore suits to work. My current wardrobe reflected this attitude. Very few things in it did not bear some form of designer label and even the smallest item in it would cost twice what this woman's entire outfit would tally to.
Great, I thought sarcastically. Yet something else that is going to stand out.
Despite the time I'd spent standing in front of the counter, the woman seemed not to notice my presence. I didn't particularly feel like walking into my first class late – even with an office-written excuse, so I quite deliberately cleared my throat.
The woman looked up, a little perplexed, and focused her small brown eyes on me.
I smiled a little, trying to seem both shy and nervous, "Excuse me, I'm Lilianna Howard."
Recognition flickered in her eyes for a brief moment before a warm, welcoming smile spread across her face.
Great, I was not only known but also a subject of note here. That probably meant that my teachers would have been briefed on my situation.
"Oh, yes. Hello, dear. Welcome to Forks High School. I'm Mrs. Cope." She got up from behind her monstrous computer screen and swerved through the furniture to reach the counter opposite me. "Let me get you your schedule …."
She riffled through a precariously angled stack of papers for a few moments before forcibly yanking several pieces out from the middle.
"Here we are." She handed me the schedule, "Oh, you'll be needing a map as well." She turned and snatched up a piece of paper from the top of a nearby pile.
For the next several minutes, she kindly explained my schedule and highlighted the best routes to each of my classes for me. I was grateful that I wouldn't have to walk around with the map plastered to the front of my face all day.
Once the topic of my schedule and routes had been thoroughly exhausted, she handed me a small slip of paper, "Now, you'll need to get this signed by all of your teachers today. You can bring it in after school or tomorrow morning. Your teachers have your books and they'll let you know of anything you need to do. Do you have any other questions?"
"No, ma'am. Thank you." I smiled shyly again and gathered the papers together.
"All right, dear. You have a good day and I hope you like it here."
I was in a hurry at this point to get to my first class. If I was lucky, I could be there before the tardy bell rang.
There were very few students out in the grounds this close to class time. I followed a couple unisex black raincoats through the door into my first class. They paused momentarily to hang their dripping coats on a row of hooks by the door. I copied them as soon as there was space available and then made my way over to the teacher's desk.
Mr. Mason – according to the prominent nameplate on his desk – looked a little perplexed when I quietly introduced myself and handed him the form he needed to sign. The tardy bell rang as he applied his signature to the slip and handed me two books – one a classic thick-covered and worn textbook and the other a small paperback copy of Wuthering Heights – and a single page syllabus. To my great relief, he didn't bother introducing me to the class. Instead, he directed me to a seat in the back of the room and went back to studying the sheets of paper in front of him – graded quizzes, it looked like.
As was to be expected, nearly every single eye in the classroom followed my quiet procession. I did my best to ignore the stares and get to my seat without tripping over the numerous haphazardly strewn backpacks lying hither and thither in the aisle.
I dropped gratefully into my seat just as the teacher stood to begin the lesson.
I only half-listened to his monotonic lecture as I skimmed over the reading list provided on the back of the syllabus. The typical fare was there: Chaucer, Faulkner, Austen, Bronte, Shakespeare …. I had read everything on the list so many times that I didn't care to keep track anymore. Though, what I could have expected from a junior-level English class that would be a challenge was beyond me.
I took a deep calming breath as I schooled my brief irritation. There really was nothing that I could do about the curriculum and I knew it. However, I wasn't looking forward to sitting through another round of repetitious lectures.
Even so, I forced myself to pay at least a little attention to the teacher's prattling. I would be sorry, if I didn't.
The hour passed quickly, thankfully. I quietly packed up my bag at the end, intent on hurrying to my next class.
"Hi. You must be Lilianna Howard."
I looked up to see a tall gangly teenage boy with acne and oil-slick black hair smiling sheepishly at me.
"It's Lily," I corrected automatically. When I had taken this name, I'd done so with the intent of being called by the proper full name. However, Stephenie had quickly nicknamed me 'Lily' and, being unable to refuse her anything, the moniker had stuck.
He held out his hand to shake mine, "Oh, okay. Nice to meet you, Lily. My name is Eric. Eric Yorkie."
I eyed his hand dubiously for a quick second before deciding that it would be unduly rude to refuse to shake it. So, with a grudging effort, I took his hand, gave it a brief squeeze, and withdrew. "Hi."
"What's your next class?"
My god! I thought, Is everyone here going to be this nosey?
I riffled through my backpack until I came up with my schedule. "Government with Jefferson," I said.
"Ah, that's in building six. I'm headed toward building four. I could show you the way, if you want."
"Uh … sure." I couldn't exactly refuse. Yet again, common courtesy stayed my irritation. He was the overly-friendly chess club type. I could tell that he was going to be a constant nuisance.
I finished packing my bag and went to retrieve my jacket. He followed suit. We proceeded out into the drizzling weather and he continued to prattle away.
"So, you're from LA, huh?"
"Yeah."
"So, what's it like?"
"Uh …." I wasn't exactly sure what this child meant. "It's a lot bigger … doesn't rain as much there."
"Wow. What must that be like?"
He seemed to mean it as a rhetorical question, but I answered nonetheless.
"Sunny."
"You don't look all that tan …," he said, rather unsubtly.
I quickly schooled my face so that none of the outrage showed. Of course I wasn't tanned! You had to be able to change to get a tan! Instead of lashing out at this insignificant boy with the injured rage I'd been harboring for decades, I took a deep breath and carefully moderated my tone.
"Yeah, well, maybe that's why they kicked me out."
I meant the statement to come through as indignant as well as condescending, but apparently my skills weren't with me today. He simply looked confused.
"I thought …."
We reached building six at that moment which abruptly ended the round of twenty-questions. I couldn't have been more relieved. With sudden revulsion, I realized that the remainder of my day was going to follow along the same track. I had hoped for anonymity but what I got was notoriety.
"Thanks. I need to get inside," I said curtly.
"Uh, sure. Well … good luck. Maybe we'll have some other classes together."
He actually looked hopeful!
I smiled in as detached and mundanely polite a way as I could manage and hurried inside the door. Why was it that I always got exactly the opposite of what I wanted? Even if I had been a normal teenager, I can't imagine that I would have welcomed attentions from that boy. Needy and prying weren't exactly on the top of my list of favorite attributes.
Government passed in the same way as English before it. The subject was familiar … boring. This teacher, too, refrained from making a spectacle of me in front of my peers.
When the bell rang, my impromptu and unwelcome escort morphed to include two new members – a boy and a girl. Beyond the common courtesy of answering their ever-probing questions and quietly correcting them on the usage of my nickname, I paid them little attention. It seemed no matter what I wanted I was bound to have some level of social interaction at this school. I suppose I should have expected that, what with a staggeringly small student population of only three-hundred and fifty-seven – fifty-eight including myself.
Unfortunately, my luck returned with a vengeance in Trigonometry. The teacher insisted on me introducing myself to the class and telling them a little about myself. I growled internally as I stood in front of the class and uttered a few generic words of introduction. I did my best to appear shy but I fear that my underlying irritation twisted my tone more toward the disinterested portion of the spectrum. I suppose that worked, either way. The teacher, dissatisfied with my curt introduction asked me a few questions. I answered them as briefly as I could manage, blushing now out of anger rather than feigned embarrassment.
As soon as he was done parading me around in front of the other students, he directed me to a seat in the second row. I took it reluctantly, knowing that I was in for a rough semester with this teacher. For some reason, he had decided to dislike me immediately.
In an attempt to placate him, I dutifully took notes and did my best to look both attentive and engrossed. Most teachers appreciated that. They thought that their subject was the most important one in a student's curriculum and welcomed students who shared their passion. It wasn't like I was trying to be noticed or singled out by this man, but it would make everything a little easier if he didn't absolutely despise me.
My next class – French with Madame Goldfarb – was going to be my least favorite this year, and I knew it. I always despised my language courses but French most of all – probably because I had actually grown up speaking the language. High school language courses were always taught by people who could only barely pass for fluent in any country where the language was spoken nationally. I had yet to come across a public school foreign language teacher whose pronunciation and grasp of the language they taught would be sufficient for conversing with a native speaker.
My trek cross-campus toward Building One was populated with the usual smattering of curious students who happened to be brave enough to approach me. So, yet again, I did a round of moniker corrections and very vague polite chitchat. I couldn't – had I even wanted to – remember any of their names. It didn't matter, anyway. Soon enough, most of these people would get over the novelty of a new student and I wouldn't have to converse with any of them again.
Mme Goldfarb was a squat portly woman with short graying blonde hair, flat blue eyes and the most hideous Boston accent I had ever encountered – and I had even lived in Boston. For some reason – well beyond my understanding – I decided to 'cut to the chase' with this teacher. Normally, I disguised my proficiency in a language from my teachers. It made them notice me less. I presume my rash behavior was the result of a lingering resentment at the trigonometry teacher for having insisted making an exhibition of me last hour. Nevertheless, I knew better and should have refrained from doing as I did.
In a bit of a temper and with very little patience for niceties and decorum, I walked directly over to the teacher – who was in the middle of a conversation with another student at the time. I cleared my throat in a very assertive manner.
Mme Goldfarb's tiny matte blue eyes widened for the briefest of moments – as though shocked that anyone would be so rude as to interrupt her conversation – and then narrowed in irritation. "Excusez-moi, mais j'étais au milieu d'une conversation."
Her accent was so atrocious that I very nearly laughed at her. I could tell, from her tone, that she had meant to put me at a disadvantage by speaking quickly in a language she was sure no student would be fluent in.
Instead, I pressed my advantage. "Oui, je peux voir. Je suis Lilianna Howard. On m'a dit de me présenter et de vous faire signer ce formulaire."
My accent and pronunciation were perfect, as I knew she could hear. Furthermore, from the widening of her eyes, I could tell that she was impressed by my grasp of the language.
Her mouth worked silently for a few seconds as she processed what I said. Apparently, I'd flustered her enough, because she switched to English, "I see. You are my new student? Julia's niece?"
For some reason, I just wanted to best this inconsequential woman at something. My own native tongue seemed a good topic. Therefore, with smugness and a very Parisian contempt leaking liberally from my voice, I answered her in French. "Oui, je le suis."
"I see ...," her face – which had started out so superior and confident – now resembled little more than a stoic mask of confused irritation. "Have you studied elsewhere? Or have you been to France?"
"Oui." Let her think of that what she will.
"Well … good. You may collect your form at the end of class." She took the piece of paper I proffered, "Please take your seat."
Looking at her slightly perplexed facial expression, my smugness faded away to be replaced by shame. I knew better than this. Showing off to this woman for no other reason than to make myself superior was a childish thing to do. I had somehow justified my response as just desserts for her initial low assessment of my worth, but it made me no better than her. Furthermore, it was bound to spawn consequences; unfortunate ones.
I decided that I needed to get my books, sit down, and shut up. If I had not managed to make this woman hate me already, then it was more fortune than I had a right to.
As she took her place behind her desk, she made an offhanded gesture to indicate a stack of items at the edge.
"Your books, Miss Howard."
"Thank you." I took them, gratefully, and scurried to the back of the room to find a seat. Maybe if I could get out of this woman's regular line of sight, I could fade from her mind as well.
As I had already blown my cover for this class, I didn't bother taking notes. Instead, I spent the full hour contemplating my own stupidity. I paid no attention to the rest of the students at all – they didn't matter in the least. I now had much bigger problems. As the saying goes: Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned; and I had definitely given this teacher a reason to feel scorned.
I hadn't been keeping good track of the lesson, so I was surprised to hear my name called – rather loudly. It took me a second to realize that the teacher was introducing me to the class. Everyone had turned to look at me, their faces expectant.
What did I miss? I tried to scan through my memory quickly, but I hadn't caught whatever had preceded my name.
"Pardonnez-moi, madame." I blushed in embarrassment and irritation. This was my just desserts. I should have been paying at least a modicum of attention. "Qu'avez-vous dit?" I hated having to ask this woman to repeat herself.
She smiled in a smugly superior way. "Will you please come up here and introduce yourself? Tell us a bit about yourself: where you came from, why you moved to Forks."
Now this was tacky, and she knew it. She was not only trying to make a spectacle of me, she was intentionally trying to cause me emotional harm. She knew damn well why I had moved to Forks. All of the teachers here did.
I gave her a glare that would have done Medusa proud.
For the briefest of moments, her expression faltered. Then, her smug resolve returned and she motioned me up to the front of the class.
I stood stiffly, my movements forced and far less coordinated than normal. I could feel them, the traitor tears, beginning to coalesce in my eyes. I tried to keep my eyes wide, knowing that doing so would help little in stymieing them and would add only to an appearance of despair or fright on my face. There was little I could do about the waterworks. My temper and my tear ducts were hardwired together within my head.
It seemed an eternity before I reached the front of the classroom. I could feel each and every pair of eyes on me. I could feel their curiosity, their judgment of me. Normally, this wouldn't have bothered me. However, I despised letting others see me cry. Their assessments of me would include this embarrassing weakness. They would jump to the worst conclusions, no doubt. None of them understood – or even cared to try.
As I came level with her, I increased the severity of my glare at this venomous spiteful harpy. Something about my expression – or the intensity of it – caused her sallow skin to pale ever so slightly. That gave me some small measure of pleasure.
Taking a deep breath and squaring my shoulders, I turned to face the class. There were only twenty-two students seated at the uncomfortable little desks. I did my best to avoid their eyes. It would make this whole ordeal go better.
"I'm Lily Howard. I moved here from LA just yesterday." I paused, hoping that she would let bygones be bygones.
She didn't.
"And what brings you here to Forks?" Her smile was sickeningly sweet, inquisitive, and entirely fake.
My wet eyes suddenly itched. I blinked them quickly a few times. I couldn't believe she was making me do this.
"I moved here to live with my aunt," the words came out clipped.
"Oh, and why is that?"
My vision was swimming – the edges blurred and taking on a distinct reddish tone. Before I could bring myself to simply snap out an answer, my eyes were suddenly filled with unbidden images. I had not been at the accident, but my imagination, nevertheless, could more than compensate for the lack of actual witness. As a result, I could see the twisted broken metal of their once pristine Mercedes, the ballooned expanse of activated airbags ….
I couldn't breathe. My throat, which had been only tense in the beginning, seized up and halted the flow of air to my lungs. I could hear the thunder of blood pounding out a less and less steady rhythm in my ears. My fingertips tingled painfully; protesting the decreased level of oxygen in my bloodstream.
I couldn't get rid of the images. I was trying – desperately. On one level, I knew that this evil gargoyle of a woman and her gaggle of overly curious minions were awaiting an answer. On another, I was waging a losing battle within my own head. I was scrambling furiously within my own mind to beat back these false, lying images. But my efforts were being thwarted by my own subconscious. As fast as I was brushing the terrifying visions aside, my imagination was pumping out new ones – more gruesome than the last.
I gritted my teeth in a futile effort to put more force behind my mental fortifications – not that the action would produce any results whatsoever.
"Miss Howard?"
"I ... my …." I couldn't get much more out. I wanted to. It felt as though if I could only speak the words that hurt on a level so intense they would surely rip my body asunder, then these deceitful hallucinations would cease. Then my mind would be mine again.
"Is something the matter, dear?" I registered a heightened level of concern in her wheedling nasal voice. It was genuine. I must look more a mess on the outside than I felt I did.
"I … No, I'm fine." The answer was automatic – having been bred to familiarity over the decades. This mundane normal response did something for me. Physically, I had not had enough air to finish the statement. However, the fact that I had had to say this repeatedly for long, long years had ingrained the need to finish the statement. So, in order to do so, my body had taken a much-needed breath.
With that fresh burst of air, my mind began to calm. The images were not gone, but I could see through them … past them now. Sensation was slowly returning. I could feel again the tingling of my fingertips, but I now recognized the cause stemmed from the stiff clenching of my fists and my nails digging painfully into my palm. Through effort I managed to loosen my grip.
As I did so, I took a cursory scan of my surroundings. Not much registered. I noted the renovated expression of concern and chagrin on the teacher's rotund face and the overall general expectancy on those of the students – all save one. My eyes passed over her only briefly but, even in that brevity, I noticed her. Something about the contrast of shortly cropped jet black hair, extremely pale skin and eyes nearly the same color black as her hair caught my attention.
Deliberately, carefully, I drew another breath through clenched teeth. I'd had enough of this charade – and more than enough of this teacher. Prudently, I weighed my words before allowing them to pass my lips. "My aunt took me in after the accident." I closed my eyes, vainly desperate to escape the looks of feigned compassion and understanding on the faces around me.
"Oh … I see." The woman had the nerve to attempt surprise.
I opened my eyes and glared into hers. "May I be excused?"
"Uh … yes, of course." She bent quickly over the edge of her desk, snatched the form I cared so little about that I'd forgotten it, signed it with an overly opulent flourish of her pen, and handed it to me.
I used as much control as I could manage but still ripped the edge of the form when I took it from her. What I wanted more than anything at this particular moment was to run —to abandon this school and its herd of lackluster denizens, go back to Julia's house, gather what belongings mattered, get in the Porsche, and go.
The bell tolled – the nasal buzzing only vaguely registering over my irritated outrage – as I returned to my appointed desk to retrieve my backpack. In spite of my frantic need to get the Hell out of this classroom, I couldn't compose myself enough to make a quick escape. Instead, my hands – which now bore the reddened, half-crescent indents from my nails – fumbled causing me to nearly drop my books more than once before I managed to shove them into the confines of the black canvas bag.
When I finally straightened to leave, the classroom was empty. Perhaps my clumsiness-induced delay had been providential in some way. At least I would not have students attempting to catch up with me seeking an elaboration on my terse answer regarding the accident.
I had absolutely no interest in food but avoiding the cafeteria after that embarrassing display in the French room might be a bit too conspicuous. So, with heavy feet, I angled toward the long low building which was being swarmed by hungry teenagers. When I walked in, I took a quick appraisal of my surroundings – an old habit stemming from harder times. There were maybe one-hundred and fifty children in the narrow rectangular room crammed with round picnic-esque tables. A metal counter filled with steaming pans of whatever concoctions were being served took up half of one of the long walls. Two workers stood behind it wielding large metal spoons meant – presumably – to serve the food to the passing students.
Just inside the doorway was another counter – much smaller and holding an antiquated cash register manned by a skinny woman with stringy blonde hair. A metal rolling cart stacked precariously with plastic plates and individually-wrapped sporks was positioned behind her. The smell of the food nearly made me ill. School food had always been unbearable. However, my bad mood made the fare seem even worse than normal. As I stood in line behind a couple of babbling girls – freshman, most likely – I spied something that looked to be a little more promising. Just past the end of the hot food station was a lonely and sad looking rolling cart with a meager assortment of vegetables. That must be the salad bar.
Once through the line, I walked right past the heap of steaming offerings toward the greenery. There wasn't much there, but at least I knew that nothing here would be more than it appeared. I didn't have food allergies, per se, but there were some things that I just could not stomach. I filled the little plate I'd been given with a little of everything and then turned to find a table to sit at.
"Lily!"
My eyes sought out the person who had called me.
I recognized the girl who had spoken – though I couldn't remember her name, even had I cared to. She had been in my Trigonometry class, the period before. She was quite petite with wildly curly dark brown hair which made up for some of the height lacking in her physique.
"Come sit with us."
She was standing next to a nearly full table of students. Even when I nodded assent, she continued to stand and wave me over. It looked to me as though she was using inviting me to sit with her as an excuse to get attention from everyone in the cafeteria. That didn't endear her to me in the slightest, but at least I knew that she was more than likely to attempt to pull attention onto herself at the table. That might provide somewhat of a breather for me.
As soon as I was seated, she proceeded to go through a round of introductions. At least she used the correct name. I immediately forgot all of their names as soon as they left her mouth. It didn't really matter all that much, anyway. When she launched into a brief biography of me – despite my presence – I tuned her out and let my eyes wander. I wasn't looking for somewhere else to sit. I was scoping the exits.
This side of the cafeteria was packed nearly full – that made sense, given the proximity of the food and entrance – while the density of populated tables dwindled the further into the room one went. Even so, there were only a handful of empty tables. The odd thing, however, was the location of a majority of these unpopulated tables.
On the extreme opposite side of the room, nestled into the far corner, was one occupied table where sat a handful of people I only saw from the corner of my eye. The next inhabited table was two spaces away from the corner one. In fact, there seemed to be a barrier – a shield, if you will – of empty tables between the peopled tables and that single corner table. It was almost like everyone else didn't want to sit near those people.
I didn't understand this. In a school with such a staggeringly small population, this level of segregation seemed out of place. What could make these annoyingly inquisitive adolescents shun someone?
In all honestly, I shouldn't have cared. But curiosity got the better of me. So, in the interest of quenching this thirst for understanding, I looked at the people sitting alone in their isolated sanctuary.
I tried to be circumspect about examining them. After all, staring at complete strangers only invited them to stare back. Instead of looking directly at them, I began observation over the top of the apple I was peeling the produce sticker off of.
There were five of them. There was a tray of untouched food sitting in front of each one, though they were neither talking nor eating. For a wonder they weren't gawking at me like the rest of the populace. In fact, they seemed to be looking away – away from each other, away from the other students, away from anything and everything as far as I could tell. As my eyes rose from the table to their faces, time seemed to stop. I could hear the flow of air into my lungs, the thud of blood in my ears. Everything else faded away.
Of the five, three were male and two female. While none of them shared features, there was still something similar about them.
The most prominent of the group were seated in the two chairs directly in my line of sight – a boy and a girl. My eyes were first drawn to the girl. Tall, blonde, and enviably statuesque – as though she had been sculpted as a rival for Aphrodite. It was a ridiculous emotion – after all, most beautiful faces were little more than that – but I couldn't help feeling a surge of jealousy. No one had the right to be so beautiful. Beauty like that was reserved for the realm of fantasy and imagination. The boy – though he seemed to hardly fit the stereotype – next to her was as masculine as she was feminine. His arms and torso – which were the only portions of his physique visible – were muscled far beyond those of any adolescent I had ever encountered. Muscles like that were typically the result of serious training or obsession. His curly black hair was cut short and seemed almost out of place when compared to the overt masculinity of his form.
A movement from one of the others drew my attention. The blond boy – who still looked less a child than many of the others in the room – had shifted slightly to watch a girl who was standing at the closest end of the next occupied table. He was leaner than his burly companion and yet he still conveyed the impression of strength – though lithely so, as opposed to the brutish representation of his friend. I watched him stare coldly at the little blonde girl a few feet away from him. Something about that look seemed odd, familiar. As though I'd seen it before …
A little unnerved by his expression, I let my gaze wander over his shoulder to the other girl. I recognized her. She was the pixie-like, disinterested girl from my French class. Now that I had the opportunity to actually examine her, I realized that she, too, was beautiful – though not nearly as stunning as her blonde counterpart. She was small – much smaller than the others seated with her. Even her features – though sharp and elfin in presentation – were small. More so than any of her cohorts, she radiated a childlike manifestation.
I continued to stare at the tiny girl for a long moment. Something about the extremity of her coloring drew my attention. As I did so, I attempted to analyze the root of the strange similarity I felt between each of them. Their faces, while entirely different in shape and feature, were stunningly gorgeous. They were, by far, the most beautiful people I had seen in a long time. In fact, I was not sure I had seen faces this perfect except in paintings or in heavily-modified magazines.
Suddenly, as I briefly scanned the faces of the four I'd already examined, I recognized the source of the similarity I noticed. Every single one of them was the same exact shade of pale white. The shock of this made me glance around my own table at the faces of the students I was ignoring. I wanted to be sure that the pallor was not something shared by a majority of the population in this dank, dark corner of the world. No, it wasn't. The palest person here was me, and I knew exactly why I had pasty-white skin ….
I glanced back up at the impish girl from my French class and then to her beautiful blonde companion. Now that I was being fully observant, I noticed that there were other similarities. They all had very dark eyes – almost black, even from this distance. Moreover, they had dark shadows under their midnight eyes – shadows reminiscent of sleepless nights or nearly-healed bruises. That disconcerting pigmentation was the only one to be seen on their faces. The rest of their skin – save a small beauty mark on the blonde girl's face – was perfectly flawless.
Another movement – a kick aimed at the blond boy from the one I had yet to scrutinize – drew my eyes to the remaining member of the isolated cloister. I only saw his profile, as his seat was angled mostly away from me. He was glaring somewhat condescendingly at the blond boy across from him and a frown seemed to touch the corner of his mouth. I felt a vague confusion as I attempted to assess his face. He wasn't oriented so that my analysis was easy and yet I felt as though there was something very familiar about him. His carelessly disarrayed hair had a strange reddish-brown tint under the florescent lighting – almost as though the locks were on fire. He had the same pale complexion as the others. His eyes were not turned toward me, so I could not be sure of their coloring. However, I felt that they, too, must share the same dark shade. He was visibly younger than the others – his frame appeared almost lanky in comparison – more boyish, though he too didn't seem as young as the others here.
When the skinny small girl rose with her tray – completely untouched, as far as I could see – I quickly lowered my gaze. I didn't wish to get caught ogling them – especially since they were being polite enough not to ogle me. Even so, I watched her from beneath the shelter of my eyelashes. She moved quickly, with a grace that seemed more fitting for a dancer or runway model. She had dumped her tray and flitted out the door into the misting rain faster than I would have thought possible – she had not appeared flustered or agitated.
My eyes darted back to the others as soon as she was out of sight. They still sat, unmoving and ostensibly uncaring.
"What are you staring at?"
I jumped. The diminutive, curly-haired girl from earlier was looking between me and the table of perfect, unchanging people.
"I … Nothing." I tried to look as though I had been doing nothing more than inspecting the peel of my apple.
She giggled, rather loudly. She stole a quick glance toward the far corner and leaned closer to me.
"Those are the Cullens."
She motioned with her chin and I allowed myself to glance toward them.
As my eyes found the table, he looked at her – the boyish one who I hadn't gotten to examine closely. He looked at my neighbor for only the most fleeting of seconds and then flickered his glance to mine.
Even before his dark eyes met mine, I had recognized him. The boy from the gas station. I had tried, futilely to look away before he caught me staring. Nevertheless, I had been slower than him.
Regardless of prior experience, I was still caught entirely off guard when his deep eyes bore into mine. Even from across the crowded lunchroom, I could clearly see them – the iris held no hint of gold today. Once more, my throat ceased all passage of oxygen and my mind went dim. I hadn't anticipated experiencing this phenomenon again – especially since the shock of first sight had been overcome.
Unlike the last time, his eyes seemed to release me sooner – or perhaps I maintained some recognition of time on this occasion. I could feel the flush of embarrassment and confusion warm my face. Much like the last time, his tentative gaze had revealed no glimmer of interest. The cursory glance had reminded me of the involuntary response someone had when their name was called. But he couldn't have heard her all the way across the cafeteria ….
My neighbor giggled again – this time in embarrassment – and lowered her eyes to the table. I did likewise.
"That's Edward and Emmett Cullen. And Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left was Alice Cullen. They all live together with Doctor Cullen and his wife," she said this under her breath, as though imparting some deep and disturbing secret. Through my own chagrin and confusion, I recognized a subtle change in the tenor of her voice when she said the first name.
I turned my face toward her, as though I was engrossed in her revelations. Surreptitiously, I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy. He was looking determinedly down at his tray. His pale hands were busy picking a bagel to pieces – none of which he ate. As I looked, it seemed as though his mouth was moving very fast yet his perfectly shaped lips were barely open. None of those seated at his table were paying him any attention, and yet I felt that he was speaking to them under his breath. Much like my neighbor was doing to me.
Emmett? Rosalie? I had heard the name Edward a few times throughout the years – though not recently. Jasper wasn't common, but it had always been a southern name. I had never met a Rosalie in my life. In fact, I couldn't even remember a fictional character with that name. I glanced at the beautiful blonde for an instant. Maybe it's a family name …?
I returned my gaze to my neighbor's face.
She sighed – as though in feigned despair, "They are great eye candy but don't waste your time." She gave me a significant look, "They're all together."
Whatever she meant went completely over my head, "Together?"
"Yeah! Emmett and Rosalie and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together!"
Ah, now I understood. She meant that they were coupled. The tone of her voice conveyed her opinion of that fact. From a current-times standpoint, I could see the sense of her condemnation. However, I had come from a time when marrying your distant cousin wasn't unheard of.
I glanced back at the isolated table, "They don't look related …"
"Oh, they're not. Doctor Cullen is really young – in his twenties or early thirties. They're all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister – twins, the blondes – and they're foster children."
I scrutinized the faces of the two blondes once again. "They look a bit too old to be foster children." I should know ….
"They are now. Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen. But they've been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She's their aunt or something like that."
My heart skipped a beat.
Their aunt.
Before I could stop myself, my heart went out to the Hale twins and their aunt, Mrs. Cullen. I knew something of having to be raised by in-laws. My aunt had been the kindest, most understanding person in the entire world. I felt a little jealous of them as well. At least their aunt was around to raise them until they were of age …
Something on my face must have tipped my neighbor off that I was not handling the topic well.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing. I'm fine." I could hear the lie clear in my voice.
"Wha … oh." Her cheeks reddened. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to … I mean …."
I shook my head and lowered my eyes to the table. I could feel the faint prickle of tears trying to worm their way out. I didn't want to deal with that.
When I raised my eyes back from the tabletop, I noticed the uncomfortable look on the curly-girl's face. She was nervously twirling a clump of her hair between her thumb and forefinger. Trying to cause as little drama as possible, I smiled weakly at her and inclined my head toward the distant table, "Are they new? They don't seem to have many friends ..."
"No. They just moved down two years ago from somewhere in Alaska."
Ah, newcomers – just like me. I peeked again at the people I seemed to share so much in common with.
My eyes raked over the angelic features of the stunning blonde girl again. However, I couldn't keep them there. She was, by far, the most noticeable of the remaining quartet – dressed to impress and carrying herself like she knew everyone was eyeing her – but, for some unexplainable reason, I felt drawn to the boy I'd seen at the gas station. It was likely a case of unsatisfied curiosity – I still didn't know why I reacted to him like I did.
His eyes were on me when I finally met them. Unlike the last two times, there was a hint of interest in his expression … expectation. I'd seen a shadow of this look at the pumps, but I'd been so flustered that I hadn't had time to process its cause.
I felt my eyes widen as I realized that he'd seen me staring at his sister. I dropped my eyes quickly, knowing that my cheeks were crimson with barely-restrained embarrassment. What was I doing? I'd just given him a very good reason to start staring at me!
I quietly continued to chastise myself until I heard my neighbor sniff loudly. Wondering what could cause this I glanced to her face and saw she was watching the far table from the corner of her eye. I peeked again and saw that the boy was still staring at me.
Crap.
I couldn't tell for certain, since I was trying not to be noticed, but I think he saw my quick glimpse. I was pretty sure I knew which one he was – seeing as how the burly brunette was sitting closer to the perfect blonde than he was – but I thought I would make sure. "Which one is the reddish-haired boy?" I placed my right hand against my neck, causing my hair to fan out between my face and his – at least it would provide some minor cover.
"That would be Edward – he's gorgeous, obviously. But, like I said, don't bother. He doesn't date. Apparently, none of the girls here are good looking enough for him." Her tone made it very clear that she was harboring some resentment on this front – meaning she'd asked and he'd turned her down.
I tried not to smirk or look back at him – I only succeeded on the first count.
He wasn't looking at me anymore, his face angled down as though he were reading the tabletop. Even so, from the faint crook at the corner of his mouth, it appeared as though he were smiling. I wondered what the joke was – couldn't help it. His grin – though mostly obscured from my line of sight – was contagious in its own appealing way.
Eye candy, indeed.
I did my best to keep my face pointing toward one of the kids at my table. The easiest to watch was a shy dark-haired girl with glasses. She would meet my eyes only long enough to answer or ask a question and then resume her downward gaze. I liked this about her. I appreciated that she was trying to give me my space, even if only out of her own discomfort.
I continued picking at the apple in my hands for the rest of the lunch period. I managed – though only just – to keep my eyes on the adolescents at my own table. I did make a slip when the remaining four muses at the distant table took their leave of the cafeteria. I couldn't help watching them – specifically the boy who caused such different reactions from me. So little nowadays was even notable – I told myself that this was why I was interested. This focused concentration didn't much improve my mood.
I was grateful when the bell finally rang – the questions had started straying toward the more personal end of the spectrum where I was unwilling to go. As soon as the others began fumbling around their chairs for discarded backpacks, I very pointedly attached myself to the shy dark-haired girl. I figured her presence in my retinue would provide some relief on a social level. She smiled meekly and asked where my next class was. It turned out that we both had biology the next hour. This made me a little happier – if I could sit with her, I wouldn't have to worry about chitchatting all the time.
The others in the group – seeing I was already occupied with talking to the quiet one – filtered off in groups of two and three toward their classrooms. None of them accompanied our quiet procession. She didn't ask questions or chatter. She was content merely to be a silent guide.
The drizzle was beginning to turn more determined as we meandered to the building where science classes were held. The room looked much as I expected – two columns of five black-topped lab tables, two uncomfortable backless stools in front of each, and another longer table at one end where the teacher lectured and did demonstrations. The room even smelled familiar – faint traces of formaldehyde, burned rubber, and the sharp aroma of spilled acid. I glanced around at the tables trying to figure out which seats were open – only two seats were unoccupied. The shy girl smiled goodbye and went to sit down. That left only one – third row, left column, closest to the windows.
Even from behind, I couldn't mistake who the lone occupant was. I doubted another person in the entire state had that same shade of bronze in their hair or the equally nonchalant manner of styling it. Edward Cullen. At first, I was a little apprehensive about sitting beside him all year – would that not provide him ample opportunity to scrutinize my every action? Then again … would that not also provide me liberty to study him? Maybe discernment of his mysterious allure could occupy some of the dreary time spent in this room ….
Instead of standing at the back of the room like a dunce, I worked my way up the center aisle. As I passed, I could almost feel the tremor of excitement ripple through the students. This scrutiny might have bothered me, if I hadn't been intent on watching the Cullen boy as I passed. His strange eyes had been on me off and on during lunch. I clearly remembered the peculiar anticipatory expression on his face the last time our eyes had met. I understood curiosity – my own got the better of me more often than not – but for some reason I couldn't quite identify I didn't think that mere curiosity had been the leading contributor to his look.
As I drew abreast of him, I let my gaze roam over his visage – starting from his hands resting on a pile of textbooks and working up to his face. I felt the current from the heater ruffle my hair, the welcome warmth caressing the right side of my face.
The look on Edward Cullen's face would have been comical, if it hadn't been so severe. His mouth was compressed into a tight line and his jaw appeared clenched shut. His nose was wrinkled – as though he had smelled something unpleasant – and his eyes were narrowed. Even in my wildest imaginings, I couldn't have pictured his Rembrandtian face capable of being so arranged. The few times I'd gotten a good look, it was true he'd been mostly stoic. The quirking smile I thought I'd witnessed during lunchtime fit. This harshness didn't.
However, despite the awkward twist of his features, I wasn't even tempted to laugh. His eyes, dark and fathomless, were locked onto mine. The anger and revulsion burning unrestrained inside the midnight depths brought me pause. What had been the cause of this? Surely my cursory examination hadn't overstepped the lines of propriety. I'd received much more insulting assessments over the years. Certainly I wasn't the first individual he'd encountered who'd admired his physical attributes ….
Nevertheless, his gaze unnerved me. I quickly dropped my eyes from his and proceeded down the aisle toward the teacher's desk. I could feel the warmth flooding my cheeks. It wasn't embarrassment, per se. It was more that I was angry with myself. I hadn't even spoken to this boy and I'd already strayed enough from my usual behavior to alienate him. Moreover, I shouldn't be appreciating him like that. He was young enough to be my great-grandchild! When this thought registered, I could have jumped off a cliff I was so mortified with myself. Instead, I stumbled over the strap of someone's bag and had to catch myself on the edge of another table.
The teacher – a middle-aged man with olive skin and a generous mouth – smiled warmly at me when I reached him. He made no fuss about me whatsoever, which I appreciated immensely. He signed the form, handed me a textbook, and directed me to the only available seat without any nonsense about introductions.
Still somewhat disconcerted with my own issues, I kept my eyes on the floor as I walked back to Edward Cullen's table. When I arrived, I couldn't bring myself to meet his gaze – I was still too embarrassed at what I'd subjected him to. I slipped my bag to the floor and slid onto the stool without raising my eyes. The teacher began his lecture as soon as I was seated. Recognizing the material – Cellular Anatomy – I flipped open the textbook to the table of contents, scanned the list until I found the corresponding chapter, and riffled through the intervening pages until I found the material.
Even though I was trying not to watch, I could see him from the corner of my eye. He was still sitting in the same position he had been when we'd locked gazes earlier – right hand clenched into a fist on his leg, left hand out of sight under the table, back rigidly straight, and face angled minutely in my direction. I knew my face was still confused and flushed. I could feel my eyebrows pulling together in the center – something they did whenever I was out of sorts. In an attempt to conceal my embarrassment, I maneuvered my shoulder so that my hair fell over it between us, creating a fluid wall of dark loose curls.
This limited seclusion helped me to focus a little. As I followed along in the chapter – something I didn't need to do but found comforting at the moment – the flush faded from my face. The embarrassment faded to be replaced, again, by curiosity. There was no way I could have been so rude as to cause this boy's temperament. So, what had? Had someone else said or done something before I'd entered? Perhaps I hadn't been the intended recipient of his impressive glare.
Sometime around the half-way point in the lecture, my curiosity had reached a peak. I was certain – at least mostly – that the Cullen boy's mood hadn't been a result of my assessment. However, I had this nagging suspicion – probably just a need to be masochistic – that I was the cause. After arguing with myself for a good long while, I decided to take another peek at him. His reaction would solve my internal debate.
I tried to be covert – shifting my position as though I were uncomfortable. The first thing I noticed as soon as my shield of hair was out of the way was his tense posture. His right hand was still pulled into a fist on his leg. The already pale knuckles were whiter, as though he were expending unusual force to keep his fist clenched. Moreover, his forearms – visible because the sleeves of his pale grey shirt were pushed up to his elbows – were rigid with strain. The muscles – which were more prominent than I had first perceived when his brothers had been present – stood out in stark contrast against the skin. As I rolled my eyes upward to his face, I registered the presence of a thick black leather wristband on his right arm which bore a silver family crest.
Eventually, my eyes found his face. I half-expected – hoped – to see that he was focusing on the teacher's lecture. I wanted him to be oblivious to my scrutiny. I wanted the reasonable voice in my head to be right. Unfortunately, I wasn't that lucky. Edward Cullen's oddly intense eyes were still locked on me. His face hadn't relaxed and the roiling aggression was still there. From the severity of the look, I got the distinct impression that he hadn't taken his eyes off me since I'd sat down.
What in the world is his problem? I thought bitterly.
My temper wasn't something I had very good control of. Subsequently, I felt my own irritation beginning to rise. His expression was still severe enough that I didn't feel comfortable either ridiculing him or expressing this new exasperation. I pressed my lips into a tight line to keep from verbally confronting him and turned my face back to the front of the room. I was fairly certain I was beet red again but I didn't care. The look on my face was unambiguous. It would be plain that I was annoyed.
I held my back ramrod straight, chin high, and eyes glued to the chalkboard. For the remainder of the hour long class, I refused to look back at the uncouth child next to me. If he had some problem with me, that was his own concern. I didn't need to worry about it.
As soon as the bell tolled, Edward Cullen was out of his seat and moving for the door faster than any other student. I tried not to watch, but couldn't help catching a glimpse. His abrupt departure added to my annoyance. He hadn't even had the courage to confront me.
As I unceremoniously flung my things into my bag, I heard someone approach. At first, I froze. Maybe I'd spoken too soon. Perhaps Mr. Cullen had the audacity to face me after all.
"Hi, you're Lilianna, right?"
The voice didn't match what I'd envisioned as Edward's. It was a little too high pitched. It took a split second for me to realize that someone else was talking to me.
I looked up and saw a baby-faced blond boy standing next to my table.
Great … another one.
"Lily, actually," I corrected.
"Oh, okay," he stuck out his hand for me to shake, "I'm Mike Newton."
I took his hand, "Pleasure."
"Need help finding your next class?" He seemed hopeful.
"I have gym, actually. I think I can find it." I hoped this would discourage him from escorting me.
"Me too." He smiled.
Great. I smiled noncommittally and slung my bag over my shoulder.
He followed me out of the room, "So, did you stab Edward Cullen with a pencil or something? I've never seen him act like that."
"Who?" I decided to play stupid. I knew exactly who he was talking about, but it would appear better if I pretended to be ignorant.
"Edward Cullen. The guy who sat next to you."
"Oh. I didn't really even notice him, so I don't think I did anything to him …" Okay, this was a lie, but at least it made me seem less culpable for his actions.
Mike smiled, "Really? If I'd been lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you."
Ugh. I tried to smile again. Was this ever going to stop? What was it with boys in this town? The ones in LA had caught on a lot quicker than these ones did … hadn't they?
Gym went about as expected. The teacher – Coach Clapp – was exactly what I expected he would be. Overweight, boisterous, and totally unable to participate in the activities he set for his students. He found me a uniform but didn't make me dress out for the class. I didn't honestly care one way or another. Volleyball wasn't my favorite sport so I was content to sit on the bleachers and watch the multiple games going throughout the gym. Guessing, by the lack of skill, that Forks High School didn't have a Volleyball team.
I was humming quietly to myself, paying almost no attention to my surroundings, when I heard my name called – my full name. I groaned and looked around. Coach Clapp was standing next to another student and motioning me over. The girl wasn't dressed out, so I assumed she wasn't a member of my PE class.
I made my way around the outskirts of the basketball court toward them – I didn't much want to catch a volleyball with the side of my head.
The Coach addressed the girl, "This is Lilianna Howard."
"Lily," I corrected automatically, though not loudly. I didn't think he cared one bit.
"Here," the girl proffered a folded slip of paper.
"Um, thanks …" From the general size and shape, I assumed this was a note from the front office. Most schools used these to get messages to students.
I unfolded the sheet and read it as the girl turned and walked off, "Please come to Front Office after school to collect house key."
Oh. I had completely forgotten that I didn't have a key to the house. The minor aggravation from this morning seemed weeks old. Judging from the time, I reckoned that Julia had run the key down during one of her breaks at work.
"You can go now, if you want. The bell will ring in a minute or two anyway." The Coach intoned from over my shoulder.
I looked up at him, indignant at his rudeness. Just because he was taller than I didn't give him permission to read over my shoulder. Instead of launching into a tirade – which I was sorely tempted to do – I simply nodded curtly and went to collect my things from the bleachers.
I rummaged through the contents looking for the attendance slip I had to turn in anyway. At least this saved me a trip tomorrow morning. I finally found the sheet at the bottom of my bag. It was a bit rumpled from having several textbooks resting on it but that didn't matter. I pulled the hood of my jacket up before stepping out into the deluge – okay, it wasn't deluging … but still.
As soon as I walked into the tiny claustrophobic room, I was tempted to turn around and walk right back out – house key or not. The secretary was leaning against her side of the counter and talking – in a vaguely flustered manner – with Edward Cullen. His back was to me so I assumed he wasn't aware of my presence – the bell had rung just as I entered. Experiencing another bout of this child's temper was one of the last things I wanted to do right now. I was already irritated with the boys in this town, the teachers, and the weather. I didn't need to compound my bad mood.
I tittered just inside the door, trying to decide whether or not to simply leave. I had a car and the keys to the garage …. Briefly, I considered how long it would be before Julia made it home. I could go to the hospital and try to get her key from her, but then she'd ask why I hadn't gotten the one at the school office. That was a conversation I was more than willing to miss. I grumbled internally as I moved out of the doorway and leaned against the wall. Being in a warm house was much preferable to sitting in a car all afternoon.
Even as aggravated with this pretty boy as I was, I couldn't help admiring him. His reddish-brown hair was sprinkled here and there with glistening water drops and his skin had a faint luminescence to it under the florescent lights. I tried not to listen, but I couldn't help catching snippets of his argument with the woman. His voice was low – both in tone and volume – and quite attractive. He had a way of pronouncing his words that most people lacked anymore.
From these pieces, I gathered that Edward Cullen was attempting to change his schedule. The specifics of this change revolved around our sixth-hour Biology class. The secretary was trying to be helpful – it was obvious she found him attractive – but couldn't seem to understand why he was so desperate to get out of the single course. As I tried to ignore this, my temper began to rise again.
What is it with this boy? I re-evaluated my former opinion of the people here at Forks – specifically Curly. Perhaps they had good reason to shun the Cullen family. If Edward were any representation of his family, I could understand why they were so isolated. After all, it wasn't like I'd said anything to him to cause this attitude. And, considering I'd showered this morning, I knew I didn't smell offensive.
I hadn't been in the room long before another student – a blonde girl – ducked inside only long enough to deposit a slip of paper into one of the wire-framed baskets on the counter. The breeze that accompanied her was cold and damp, carrying the clean smell of rain into the tiny office.
As I had been waiting for him to finish his absurd vie for freedom, I'd been watching Edward's back. Before the door had opened, he'd been fairly relaxed, leaning casually against the counter and toward the plump receptionist. His hand had been animated as he talked – something most people did. However, as soon as the other student had swept in, Edward's posture had stiffened. He turned slowly to glare at me, his hand frozen above the countertop.
That same repulsed, angry expression that had marred his features in the biology room was still there. In fact, it seemed to have a hint of irritation as well.
I'd had enough. How dare this little boy treat me in this manner! Meaning to express my own irritation and anger, I squared my shoulders, lifted my chin in defiance of his dirty look, and raised an eyebrow at him. The look could be considered nothing less than haughty indignance and condescension. Through it I meant to convey how little I cared for his attitude or for him, in general.
We stood there, glaring dolefully at one another for a few seconds. I half-expected his expression to falter when confronted with my own practiced one. However, my look seemed to have no affect on him whatsoever. He continued to stare daggers back at me.
As I registered this, it confused me. I had yet to meet anyone who'd been unaffected by a glare from me. I'd had generations to master it. I resolved to continue the glare until he broke away. I wasn't going to give him the benefit of having me shy away first.
I locked my gaze on his and – for the first time since we'd encountered one another – managed to keep complete control over myself. My temper was so firmly set that my mind had no room to dawdle with whatever it was that happened before.
As I stared, I caught a slight shift in the emotions behind his onyx eyes. The revulsion and anger morphed to hatred. In less than a millisecond, my own resolve waivered. Suddenly, over the internal dialogue I'd been carrying on, I became aware of the warning bells clanging loudly inside me. I could feel the familiar thrill of adrenaline coursing through my system, causing my heart rate to accelerate, my muscles to tense, my mind to focus on the alarms ringing within it. My breath caught as I realized that my 'fight-or-flight' instinct had been triggered. Being who I was – and having experienced everything I had – my instinct always leaned toward flight.
My mind, now clear of the former bravado, focused on the hatred now simmering in Edward Cullen's threatening eyes. Counterproductively, this analysis caused my knees to lock in place. I was firmly set to run, but physically unable to do so.
His hand – hovering inches over the counter – twitched ever so slightly toward the secretary. I recognized hesitancy in the movement – as though he had to exert severe control in order to maintain his position. Then, displaying the same strangely forced hesitancy, he lowered his hand to his side. He turned back to the red-haired woman.
"Never mind, then. I can see it's impossible. Thank you so much for your time." His voice was low, controlled, and carried a thick undertone of menace.
If I hadn't been so locked in my own rising panic, I would have found the woman's expression amusing. Before Edward had noticed me, she'd been flustered and unknowingly flirtatious. Now, his voice had made an impact. Her eyes fluttered blinkingly and her mouth turned down at the corners.
Without another word, Edward swept out of the office. I felt my heart skip a beat when he passed close by me. For a fleeting second, I had been sure he wasn't going to leave. I was sure he was going to do … what? Something else, I was sure. But I didn't know what that was.
"I can help you now, dear."
I jumped – quite visibly – until I registered that the secretary had addressed me.
I'm not sure what impression I left the woman with. I'm not even sure what I said. All I know is that before five minutes were gone, I gained the house key, lost the attendance slip, and was bolting for my car. I had the hardest time getting the key into the ignition. My hands were so shaky I wasn't sure I could actually drive. The warning bells inside my head had turned to a chorus of shrieking sirens.
Despite all this, I made it back to Julia's house in one piece. I deposited the T-Bird into the extra garage – leaving the keys in the car – and raced into the house. I moved like a whirlwind when I reached my room. My laptop, a change of clothes, and Steph's jewelry box were in my backpack in record time. I didn't bother packing anything else. Everything else could be replaced.
Every nerve in my body, every instinct I had was telling me to run. I didn't take the time to think it through. I'd learned, over the years, to listen to that sixth sense whenever it decided to speak up. I wasn't about to start arguing with it now.
I flung my bag into the passenger seat of the Porsche and was heading out of town less than fifteen minutes after school had gotten out. I didn't know where I was going. As far as I was concerned, anywhere was better than here. When I reached the interstate, I turned south. I could stop off in LA to raid one of my safety deposit boxes. That would give me enough money to get somewhere else.
The ragged, gasping breaths had slowly dissipated over the course of the two and a half hour drive to Portland. Even so, my face was in no fit condition to be seen – near hyperventilation having drained most of the pallor. I pulled off the highway and slowed my hundred-mile-an-hour speed to a reasonable in-city pace. I wasn't familiar with the route from here to … wherever I was going to go. I didn't want to end up stranded on the side of the road with an empty tank. That might cause a full-on panic attack. I had nothing even resembling a plan. I was running because that's what my body was telling me to do. Now that I was a goodly distance from Forks, it was time to evaluate my options.
If I kept this steady pace, I would reach LA sometime in the early morning. The bank wouldn't be open until nine, meaning I would need to find a place to stay until I could get at my deposit box. I would probably need some sleep as well. I hadn't gotten much the night before and my excited condition would not lend itself well to driving for more than the fourteen hours I would be on the road today. I could rent a hotel room for the day, but I disliked the fact that I would have to use my current ID and name to check in. I wouldn't have access to my other IDs until I'd been to the bank. I could try sleeping in my car … but that could end disastrously – my car was a prime target for theft.
The keys hanging from the ignition brushed my leg as I turned off into a gas station. This drew my attention to the myriad of little metal objects hanging there. As I pulled in front of the pump, I recognized one of the keys. It went to Alex and Steph's house in LA. I knew the property hadn't been sold – the lawyer had ensured me I would be informed of the sale. There was still furniture in it, as those items not already claimed by the family had been listed with the house. Technically, the house belonged to me. Therefore, I could reasonably crash there for the night. No one would be able to kick me out and I wouldn't run the risk of leaving behind a paper trail.
I didn't stand outside the car while the pump worked. Instead, I reached over and dug the cell phone out of my bag. I wasn't expecting any messages, so the flashing notice in the upper-left corner of the screen surprised me. I scanned through the call list and didn't recognize the number. According to my phone, the number was based in Forks. I didn't understand who could have called me from there. I hadn't given my phone number to anyone from school and Julia was still at work.
I almost didn't check the message. I almost reasoned that, since I was running for good, I would have to get a new number – a new account. I didn't need to be traceable. Solid as this logic was, I was not a logical creature. I was only human … sort of. I wanted to know who'd called. If I knew that, then perhaps I'd know who to be careful of in the future. It was the responsible thing to do.
The pump stopped outside and I quickly returned it to its cradle. Not wanting to block the pump any longer than I had to, I pulled around to the side of the convenience station and parked. I hit the speed dial on my phone, typed in my password, and listened.
Julia's voice came on the line, "Hey, Lily. It's Julia. I was just hoping to chat with you while I'm eating lunch. Look, I'm sorry I forgot to leave you the house key this morning, hun. I really hope Mrs. Cope got it to you before you left school. If not, and you get this, go ahead and go over to Chief Swan's house – he's our neighbor to the left. He has a key and can let you in." There was a brief pause, "Anyway, I just wanted to make sure you were okay. How'd your first day go – other than the missing key …," a soft chuckle that was stunted. "Well, I better not use up your answering machine. I'll see you when I get home at about nine tonight. Make sure and do your homework. There's leftover meatloaf in the fridge, if you get hungry. You can also order a pizza, if you want – just tell them to put it on my account; they know me. I love you. See you later."
Instantly, I felt like the poorest excuse for a living organism that there could possibly be. In all my self-absorbed panicky haste, I had completely forgotten about Julia. Though her tone hadn't been distraught, I could hear the force behind the lightness. Julia had been calling to check on me. It had probably worried her stiff that I hadn't answered my phone. In the last few weeks, I'm sure she'd grown nervous about not knowing where her people were. How could I add to that worry? She'd been more than generous with me and this whole messed up situation. I didn't have the right to worry her further. I didn't have the right to simply up and disappear yet. She needed some time to recover from the loss of her brother before she had to go through another tragedy. If she made it home after work and found me missing, it would kill her.
Before I'd made a conscious decision, I'd turned the car over and angled back toward the northern entrance to the interstate. I wasn't going to be responsible for another person's death, if I could help it. Especially not someone who'd taken me in when they didn't have to.
I was back in Forks by eight-fifteen. The nervous alarming feeling hadn't disappeared but had, instead, been temporarily overshadowed by my resolve not to be the death of Julia Howard. When she got home, I'd warmed some meatloaf for her and was sitting at the kitchen table – every inch the attentive niece.
We chatted a bit about my day – mostly I lied about it being pleasant. I didn't mention the Cullens. She hadn't asked for a thorough account, but I could tell she was pleased that I was sharing – as I said, she wasn't intrusive. Once she finished dinner, I excused myself to do homework and get ready for bed. The homework was minimal and I hardly needed to expend any mental energy to do it. Getting ready for bed is what took the longest. I dithered as I went about getting my pajamas and toiletries together. Considering the fright I'd already experienced today, I wasn't looking forward to surrendering to sleep.
A/N: Thanks for reading! I'd really appreciate reviews.
Translations:
Excusez-moi, mais j'étais au milieu d'une conversation - Excuse me, but I was in the middle of a conversation.
Oui, je peux voir. Je suis Lilianna Howard. On m'a dit de me présenter et de vous faire signer ce formulaire - Yes, I can see. I'm Lilianna Howard. I was told to introduce myself and make you sign this form.
Oui, je le suis - Yes, I am.
Pardonnez-moi, madame - Excuse me, ma'am.
Qu'avez-vous dit - What did you say.