I never wanted to move. Phoenix, Arizona had always been my home. Well….it had been my home since my parents divorced and Mom got custody of me. Six months of my life had been spent in the dark, rainy, dreary and atrocious town of Forks, Washington. It was a stupid little place constantly covered by an ugly gray, wool blanket of rain and cold. Two things I detested; even as a child I dreaded the once in a full moon visits to Forks to see my Aunts. I always wanted the Sun and warmth. Just like my mother. Which is why, it was beyond my comprehension why in the world she would choose to return to that town? Especially because on January 3rd, seventeen and a half years ago she had vowed to my father she'd never return to this place. She stuck to her words even when difficult. For example, twelve years ago when my father had sent her a letter, pleading and begging her to let him see me just once. My mom had replied with a bitter and unsympathetic 'no'. But I guess with all his contacts he found mom's number and everyday bombarded her voicemail with heart-wrenching messages. He would cry and beg me to visit him. Mom never let me. I didn't even know how my dad looked or anything else about him. I really couldn't care less about that man though; according to the little info my Aunts (his own sisters) gave me, he was unworthy of forgiveness for whatever he did.

"Bella, Honey! Are you ready?" Mom hollered from the driveway. I was sitting, well standing in my old room just taking it all in. I usually wasn't a crier, but I couldn't help let a warm tear leak out my big, green eyes. I would miss Phoenix. I moved over to the window and saw my mom standing by our dark blue Mercedes Benz C300. It was shocking…she looked really, truly happy. I hadn't seen her truthfully happy since her second boyfriend proposed to her. The slight wrinkles on her fair forty-two year old face were invisible. Even though her green eyes were hidden behind large, black Dior sunglasses, I could tell they were probably dancing with joy. Her short, curly orange hair was in a messy bun and she was wearing blue sweat shorts, a white fitted tank top and a gray hoody.

"Yeah!" I replied and glanced at my slight reflection on the window. Did I mention that today would also be my first day of school at the rotten highschool? That was why my bright, fiery hair was in a Dutch braid with two accents that reached my waist. I was wearing a light pink chiffon button-down floral tanktop with pin tucking at the front. I think the little shades of red brought my hair nice attention. I decided to wear clean white skinny jeans and floral high wedges with it. I wanted to make the look simple, therefore I choice a couple of pink, white and floral bangles to wear with my key shaped pendant necklace. I slowly sauntered outside about to make my life hell….

Chapter 1:

"Good luck!" my mother cheerfully cried out as she dropped me off in Forks parking lot. I internally snorted. Good luck tended to avoid me in a thirty mile radius. I made an effort to atleast half smile at my mom as she sped away.

Looking in the Forks High parking lot I could see numerous kids. Some were tall and slender, short and chubby etc. I didn't see a single redhead like me though. I gathered all the courage I could muster and at a turtle's pace walked towards a small door that read 'Main Office'. I could already tell this school was a hundred times smaller than my previous. The stupid school looked like twelve three bedroom houses smashed together. Keeping my down I reached the main office.

"My name is Isabella Rose-Marie Dwyer. It's my first day here. I ne-" I began to give details to the receptionist seated at the small circular plastic table. She was African America with short black hair and big, almond shaped brown eyes. She was probably in her forties. Her outfit immediately made me feel overdressed. She had on a green striped top and blue jeans with dark lipstick.

"I know. We were expecting you. Here is your time table and the school map." She happily stated. Then she took a bright pink highlighter and highlighted the best ways to my classes. Along with all that she handed me a manila folder with paperwork and pink slip for my teachers to initial or sign. By the time she was done speaking, the gawky bell rung piercingly indicating the start of first hour. I weakly thanked the receptionist, Ms. Andrea, as I learned and commenced to pace to Mrs. Moline's Spanish class. Even though I attempted to walk fast, I still made it to class late. I opened the wood door and saw all the kids with their heads down working on a textbook assignment. I let the door click behind me and went the teacher and introduced myself. She smiled and in turn embarrassed me in front of the whole class.

"Clase esta chica es nuestro nueva estudiante, Isabella Rose- Marie Dwyer. Por favor, darle la bienvenida." She rapidly said in an accent.

Just as I turned to face the class, I saw two hateful black eyes glaring at me…..