I'm not certain this can rightly be called "fan fiction" as I am not a particular fan of Twilight. At the same time, however, I am fascinated by it. How can one write as poorly as Stephanie Meyer (subject-verb-object, subject-verb-object, repeat ad nauseum), create a main character who is a plot device rather than a real character (impressively difficult to accomplish in first-person), make one's only real character (Edward) into a terrifying creep - and yet manage to tell such a compellingly romantic story? Because, as a means of inspiring romantic feelings, Twilight somehow does succeed.
I don't know. I'm fascinated.
I owe a debt to a fanfic writer by the name of Alicorn for this. I very much enjoyed Luminosity, however I felt that it inverted one of the primary mistakes made by Meyer - Alicorn's Bella was a real character, but Edward quickly devolved into a plot device. I have tried to avoid that trap with both my leads - how well I have succeeded will be up to the reader to decide.
I.
Even inside the airport, I could feel the difference in the humidity of the air. I shivered in spite of the perfectly regulated temperature. This still seemed like it might be a mistake of enormous proportions - but maybe that was part of the reason I'd done it.
Charlie, my dad, was waiting for me at the terminal exit. "Hi, Bells," he said, using his childhood nickname for me and causing my face to scrunch up in involuntary distaste. He planted a rough kiss on my hair and didn't offer a hug - no surprise there. Emotional situations always made him a little uncomfortable. I wondered if I had inherited that from him honestly or if I had managed to spend enough time in his company to pick it up through upbringing. Probably honestly - I had, after all, mostly been raised by my mom and she was impulsive in the extreme, always letting her feelings run away with her. I found her unspeakably exciting and terrifying all at once.
Actually - given what I knew of Charlie, that was very likely what he had felt around her, too. It was no wonder he wasn't entirely over her.
"Let's head down and grab your bags."
I nodded my assent, and followed him toward the baggage claim.
Outside it was cold and raining - depressing - and Charlie had, predictably, driven his police cruiser. That was uncomfortably conspicuous, but, unless things had changed drastically in the five months since I had last seen him, he didn't own another car.
I let him put my bags in the trunk and hurried into the car. I shouldn't have packed my new down coat in my checked baggage. It was hard to say why I had - maybe my last shred of denial before I actually arrived in the Pacific Northwest and faced the fact that cold and damp would be my new reality. In any case, I wasn't going to stand around in the freezing parking structure rooting through my bags until I found it. That sounded like a recipe for hypothermia.
Charlie shut the trunk and slid into the seat beside me. "How was the trip?" he asked as he backed out of the parking spot.
"Fine. Cramped. There was a screaming baby on both flights. You know - the usual."
I saw one corner of his mouth pull up. That was another thing we shared - our sense of humor. "You hungry?"
"Nah, I had two packages of peanuts and one of pretzels, plus a soda. I might not eat for a day or two."
That pulled an appreciative chuckle out of him. "We can stop wherever you want."
"I'm too tired to make decisions and I don't know Seattle very well. I'll trust your judgment."
"Alright, Bells."
There was nothing more of immediate importance to say, so we lapsed into companionable silence.
Over lunch he told me about the car he'd bought me. "Truck, actually," he corrected himself.
I was touched. I had mentioned wanting a car to him and asked for his help, since he knew infinitely more about the inner workings of engines and what could go wrong with them than I did. He had agreed to keep an eye out for me in his usual non-demonstrative way. This time, it seemed, his manner had concealed more even than it normally did.
"It's old," he warned me. "Probably older than you were thinking of. You remember Billy Black? He can't drive anymore, so I bought his truck from him."
I did remember Billy Black - bronze skin, sharp black eyes and long black hair - but not what he drove. I knew he and Charlie had worked on their cars together sometimes, though, because Charlie had mentioned it a few times. Between that and the fact that Billy had only gotten rid of the truck because he didn't need it anymore - well, it would be nice if repairs didn't drink up all the money I had made babysitting and editing my classmates' papers. With the expense of a car taken care of, I could think of several other things I wanted.
"Thanks, Dad," I told Charlie sincerely. "I really, really appreciate the gift."
"Sure," he muttered, embarrassed. "How was your Christmas?" he asked, changing the subject quickly.
I refrained from reminding him that I had called him Christmas day to go over precisely that information. "It was fine. Renee mostly got me cold-weather stuff for moving up here, of course, but we had fun shopping together."
"That's good. And how's Phil?" His voice as he asked the question barely hinted at his antipathy.
I pretended not to hear it at all. "He seems happy that Renee is going to be traveling with him, even though he's been trying not to make it obvious. Still trying a little too hard to make sure I like him, maybe. He gave me a boxed hardcover set of Isaac Asimov's Foundation trilogy for Christmas. It's really nice, but I'm not sure it was entirely within his budget, you know?"
Charlie nodded thoughtfully and we finished our lunch without further conversation.
I fell asleep in the car on the way to Forks, which, from my perspective, cut an hour and a half off of a four hour drive. Charlie was smiling at me almost wistfully when I woke up, but looked away quickly when he saw my eyes were open. I yawned and rubbed my eyes to give him a chance to get over his embarrassment, and then stretched as much as my seated position and seatbelt allowed. "I needed that," I told him.
"Yeah, figured," he replied a little more gruffly than usual.
I glanced out the window. The passing scenery was verdant but chilled by the misty rain that never seemed to stop falling around the Puget Sound. I wondered if I could find some way to make peace with that since I would be living here for at least a year and a half. For now, though, it just made me cold, even in the warmed interior of the car. I pulled my gaze back inside and focused on Charlie.
He had a look on his face that said he was thinking hard about something, but there was no use in trying to make him discuss anything before he was ready, so I concentrated on trying to find a radio station that worked out here in the middle of nowhere and waited. "You know, Bells," he said after a few minutes, "there's no college in Forks. Not even a community college."
"I'm aware of that," I assured him. I had done my research before suggesting that I come live with him. Thoroughly.
"You won't be able to graduate early."
I felt a fresh stab of disappointment but shrugged philosophically. "It was only going to be half a year anyway. That means coming to live with you only sets back my plans...what? Five months, maybe? It's fine." I glanced out the window again so that Charlie wouldn't read my true feelings in my face. It wasn't so much the loss of early graduation that depressed me - the truth was that I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life, career-wise, and so going to college early seemed unlikely to gain me anything of value. It was more the incipient suffocating boredom. Forks High School did not have AP classes, a program for gifted students, or ties with any colleges where such students could take accelerated courses.
I dredged up a smile for Charlie's sake. "I'll have lots of free periods. Maybe I'll get started on some writing of my own, or something." My teachers and professors had always praised both my creative and academic writing, but I had never tried to sit down and write something not explicitly for class. The philosopher Soren Kierkegaard had said that idleness was necessary not only for creative endeavors, but for true humanity. Maybe some idleness would turn out to be exactly what I needed.
The light was fading fast as we arrived in Forks - another aspect of the northern climate that I had forgotten about. Though the twilight lingered sweetly during the summer, the extra-short winter days more than compensated for that benefit. Charlie's house - our house, now - was exactly as I remembered. Charlie helped me take my bags upstairs to my room, and then left me alone to settle in. I put away my clothes and what books fit on the small shelf attached to my desk. I hadn't brought many, but several still ended up stacked on top of my nightstand. That was one thing I would like to buy with my saved car money: another shelf. Then maybe my mom could be persuaded to send me a couple more boxes of the the books I had left at home. Small as the room was, there was certainly space for a shelf. I never had bothered to decorate much.
I came downstairs after I had finished unpacking and Charlie took me out to the garage to show me the truck he'd bought for me. It was, he informed me, from the late 50s or early 60s and in good working order, though it could probably use a new paint job. I found the hulking, red, slightly rusted vehicle unexpectedly endearing. It reminded me of some character in a book: self-consciously shy, but too conspicuous to remain unnoticed - Boo from To Kill a Mockingbird, perhaps.
Charlie gave me the key and opened the garage door so that I could take my new truck for a test drive. The engine roared immediately to life and I patted the dash sympathetically. "You're never going to blend in sounding like that," I told it. "But I'm sure you're very likable. I already like you."
It handled well considering that it was older than my parents and didn't have power steering. Billy seemed to have taken good care of it. "I'll take good care of you, too," I promised in a whisper before hopping out of the cab. Living with Charlie would help with that, and maybe I could spend some of my newly-acquired free time to learn to do some of the caring myself. I had never been interested in engines, but I had also never given them a shot. Coordination wasn't necessary for changing oil and all that, I didn't think. At least I hoped not.
"What do you think?" Charlie asked me, his nervousness showing in the tightness around his eyes.
I grinned at him. "It's the best. I love it - really. I guess it'll probably take more upkeep than something newer, but maybe you and I could work on that together. You know - so that I can take it with me when I go to college."
I could tell he was pleased, even though he just said, "Sure, Bells." Charlie and I shared plenty of personality traits, but not many interests. Learning how to take care of my truck might be worth it just for the father-daughter bonding possibilities.
"Now - should I ask what you have that I could make for dinner, or should I just assume I need to go to the store?"
"You don't have to cook," Charlie protested. "You've been traveling all day. We can order a pizza or something."
I waved that away. "Dad, I like cooking." It was a good thing, too - or maybe I'd made a virtue of necessity. My mom also liked cooking - unfortunately she wasn't much good at it. I let her help, but I had been orchestrating our shared meals since I was about ten. "What do you want to eat this week?" I asked him, leading the way into the house. Soup sounded like a good way to ward off the chill, and if I made a nice, big pot I wouldn't have to cook every night, and Charlie wouldn't worry about it as much.
Even if I hadn't liked cooking, it seemed like a good distraction for the evening. As much thought as I had given to the academics involved in changing schools, I had tried to avoid giving the social realities too much consideration. On the whole, I thought the change would mostly be positive. I only had a couple of people I considered friends back in Phoenix - girls who were also part of the accelerated program I had been enrolled in. They weren't profoundly deep relationships, mostly we talked about homework and commiserated over the fact that we all appeared to be invisible to the local male population, but I had found their companionship comforting. Though I had their emails and had promised to write, I didn't expect our rather tenuous ties to weather my move very well.
In Forks I would be more visible - much more visible. As anxiety-inducing as that thought was, it was also rather attractive. I knew very well that I was no beauty. The best that could be said of me was probably "pretty," and "generically pretty" would likely be more accurate. Brown hair, brown eyes, pale skin, passable features, average height, not overweight, but not model-thin, either - that basically summed me up. I had been practically invisible in Phoenix, occluded by prettier girls, louder girls, more socially graceful girls. It wasn't like I was angling to be the most popular person in school now that I was in Forks, but I thought I might not mind having a larger circle of friends and maybe even getting asked out on a date or two. I was a little wary of serious romance - as I was of most commitments and the feelings that led to them - but a few dates, maybe a casual relationship...that seemed like it might help me work up to the more serious kinds of relationships that usually began forming in college.
Other people couldn't be entirely planned for, though, and I didn't want to come across as stiff or artificial on my first day, so I was trying really hard not to overthink the social stuff.
Charlie and I made up a list of groceries for the week, and I climbed into my truck again to do the shopping. Though Charlie offered to come along and help me, I knew there had to be some sporting event or other on TV that he was missing. Anyway, grocery shopping was hardly a two-person endeavor. I told him to relax and promised to be back soon.
It wasn't such a bad introduction to my new life in Forks. If I was making a mistake, it wasn't the boring kind so far.
