Chapter One- Bella:
I take another long pull from my Sweet & Mild, musing about being a Hobbit. Cigars are one of my many guilty pleasures. Their thick, sweet smoke sometimes just appropriate for the moment. I cross my boots, looking down the tree-covered valley. Fall is easily my favorite time of year. All the oaks and maples and ash trees create a beautiful mosaic with their golden foliage. The air is just crisp enough that I only need a sweater, and warm enough that I will still venture outside. 'I really should be getting back,' I thinking, taking another puff. The glowing tip of the cigar was getting dangerously close to my lips, and I really had to get back home. My off days are too precious to waste.
I slip off the bed of my truck, patting in my jacket for my keys. My truck is my baby. I saved up my lifeguard wages for three summers to purchase the old rust box. It might be an old, beat-up hand-me-down from Old Mr. Black, but it was mine.
The engines coughs to life and I slip back onto the small road I took to get to the top of the valley. This spot is one of my spots. It is where I can read uninterrupted, smoke my cigars, sleep, run- you name it. You see, I am kind of weird. At school, I am the straight A, cheerleader, student council, goofy Isabel. Everyone knows me, not everyone loves me, but I have made a name and an image for myself. I have a lot of friends, some all the way from elementary school and a lot from different clubs. I love being busy.
But I am a so lonely. It is really hard to describe having a lot of friends but feeling like I don't fit in. It could be teen angst, but I think I am different from most of the other high school seniors. Is that why I try to fill my time up with clubs and parties? I get confused, because I like being in clubs and parties. They just aren't really fulfilling. I don't feel like I am accomplishing anything yet in life. Gossiping about homecoming court and spending hours picking our new cheer bows can be really tiring to fake. That's why my off-days are so coveted. I can turn into the Isabel that only I know.
My dad's Crown Victoria sits in front of our tiny log cabin. Sometimes he comes back from the station to grab dinner. I feel guilty that he beat me home. We split up a lot of the chores in our house. I am in charge of feeding Ralph, our extremely bipolar orange tabby.
"Dad! I'm home!" I yell, shucking off my boots and padding towards the kitchen.
"Damnit Bells. Your cat broke my dinner plate because I fed myself first. Can't turn your back when that demon is around," he grumbles, sweeping the pieces into a dustpan.
"Sorry for being late Dad, there was no practice today so I went for a hike. And he is your cat too," I tell him nonchalantly as I pour food into Ralph's bowl.
"Oh, a hike in a cigar shop? At least lie well if you're going to lie to a police officer," he chuckles, brushing his hands off. I head up the loft stairs, where my bedroom and bathroom is. "So it's Friday night, do you have any plans, busy B?"
"I was going to go for a run, then maybe meet up with Jess at the diner after the game," I shout down, lacing up my sneakers.
"I don't understand your lifestyle. You run miles every day, then eat like a linebacker." I could practically hear his head shaking from my room.
"Funny, Dad. I'm a growing girl. I still have a few months until I am 18, so I have to grow as much as possible before my period of growth is done. Eating lots of pancakes is therefore essential."
I jog down the stairs into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water before heading out.
"Wait! Isabel, do you remember Jacob Black? You know, Billy's son?"
"Haven't heard that name in a while, but how could I forget? He is the one that broke my arm in the fourth grade because he made me jump off a swing!"
"If I remember correctly, which I do, he double dog dared you and jumped even though I said not to," He grumbles. "Anyways, Billy said he'll be back in town soon and I thought it would be nice if you hung out with him. Seems like he has been having a pretty hard time lately. Heard he is coming back from bootcamp. His dad said he'd be back in town tomorrow."
"Uh, sure. Sounds good. Depends on the time though. Okay, I gotta go before the sun sets. Have fun at work." I dash out the door. "Have a good time at the game! Go team!" He yells after me. And people wonder where I get my snarky humor. My dad may seem like the stoic and silent type, but at home he will talk my ear off if I let him, and he is sassy to boot. It doesn't help our schedules do not overlap much. His position as Fork's police chief keeps him pretty busy. He is usually home in the morning or late at night, which is usually when I am not home.
I want to go back to My Spot, but it's about a twenty minute drive and I don't want to waste that time (or gas, since I had to save my Pancake Money). As my feet pick up the pace, my mind begins to slow. Running is brutal. It destroys my muscles, makes me sweat profusely and takes my breathe away, but it clears my mind like nothing else. This is also one of the only activities that makes me grateful for the misty air of Forks. My breathe raggedly draws in and out—I really should have thought through smoking a cigar prior to running. Too late now…
I loop through the woods behind my house, a familiar path. I could make it longer, but I don't have a lot of time today. I jog back into my back yard, hands on knees, panting. Now comes the part where I have to rush; I have to shower, put my makeup on, my cheer uniform, go to the game and be peppy for three hours (which is very exhausting) and then I can relax. I'm looking forward to pancakes the most, since our football teams loses more games than they win.
Jacob
I'm not sure what was harder: being away from La Push, or being back. Everything changed for me a year and a half ago. I am not the Quitelite youth I was before- a little bit of a slacker, immature and more than a bit reckless. Now I have to return to the Pack. No more running away.
