Chapter 1

Wind blew my hair as I rode, stuffed between a bunch of fragile moving boxes and carry-ons, in the back seat of my father's bright red convertible for the last time. I enjoyed the feel of the sun, warming my fair skin- it was as though the sun had come out just to say goodbye to us. I knew I wouldn't be seeing much of it at our destination, on the La Push reservation, my father's hometown. The thought depressed me, and I shoved it out of my head. No need for those thoughts. There were more important things to think about. Like how I was going to survive without my best friends, Ellie and Sarah. Or how my dog, Casey would survive the trip in the moving van. Or when my brother Charlie would come back from Iraq.

Up in the front, I heard my brother's name, and I tuned in to the conversation between Alex and my father.
"…between this tour and the next one, he'll be gone for at least 10 months," Alex was telling my father.

"He must be off on something awfully important I was never out for this long in a row." His voice seemed indifferent, but it didn't fool me: I knew there was something brewing beneath the surface. Pride, most likely. My dad was thrilled to have a son that could follow in his footsteps.

"Well, if what he said last night is true…"

"Charlie called last night?" I broke in, excited from hearing the news. As soon as the words were out, I bit my lip and kicked myself for speaking as the two voices in the front seat fell silent. I could taste my father's disapproval from the backseat. It wasn't a conversation that I was meant to have paid attention to, let alone respond to. Military life was supposed to be foreign to me- for my "own good". I simply figured he was trying to forget the shame of having a daughter who could not go into his division of the Corps.

We never go out as a family…I consider this a good thing. Because everytime we do, I am confronted with the same ridiculous notions that my father seems to carry about the female "Place in life". If one can't go in to the Corps, after all, they are useless. They cannot protect their country, and certainly wouldn't die for it. Therefore, they should not be allowed to express their opinions about anything, particularly political. IF they don't care enough to sacrifice themselves for it, then clearly they can't have any.

At school, when I'm around my friends or even my brother, I'm quite outspoken. But once my father comes home, my life becomes a completely different picture. It's not as though he's ever outwardly mean or cruel…he certainly would never lay a hand on me- but it's absolutely stifling. His presence waters me down. I suppose I must be genetically programmed to try and please him or something, because every time he enters the room, I try to become the perfect daughter. Some might call it fear. I call it love.

And I know he loves me. At least, I know he tries his hardest to. It really isn't his fault; despite his qualms at having a daughter, I'm sure he could have managed it if my mother hadn't died while giving birth to me.

Alex barley remembers her too. Charlie filled me in on some details of her before her death, and the rest I've filled in myself. I know she was smart- her Harvard diploma told me that. Summa Cum Laude graduate. And she went for my father.

According to Charlie, my father used to listen to her. He remembers falling asleep to the sound of an intense political debate between the two. And while she was around, the food was incredible. Apparently she worked as a part time chef while my siblings were growing up (why she did that with a Harvard diploma, I still don't know), and meals were comparable to a 5 star restaurant. But it was my father who always packed school lunches. He put in just as much effort as she did.

I know he must have loved her very, very much. My grandfather was even stricter than my father (hardly seems possible) and to coax him out of such an environment must have been a daunting task. Still, somehow she managed. It's something I still have no idea how to do.

I've tried my hardest to make up for her as best I can. I have flawless grades at school, I cook dinner for him and my brother, I do the laundry and I keep the house in spotless order. And I know he really tries to appreciate it. It's just not in his nature to truly express his feelings, particularly to someone who has, albeit unintentionally, hurt him.

I was careful to keep quiet for the rest of the drive. I sat in the backseat without moving until my brother came around and let me out. I took his hand, and, once on my feet, straighten my sundress so that it hit my knees. All I carried was a purse: I knew any effort made to carry the boxes would result in another awkward silence and a painfully disapproving look.

I kept my eyes downcast, feeling as though I were stuck in an Austen novel. All they had to do was stick me in a corset. I smiled occasionally, at the nice man who bought my father's car, at the ticket teller, at the kind security man who checked my passport and gave me a wink. As we walked, I counted the seconds until I'd be out of his sight and finally able to relax again. The number was dismal, and I was glad

On the plane, I amused myself by reading a magazine, thankful that we all had different seats. Still, I wished I were closer to Alex- I really, really wanted to hear what Charlie had to say about Iraq.

It was a long, long flight. Still, it did not seem nearly as long as the drive to La Push- or perhaps that was just because I felt so anxious about getting acquainted to our new little town. I wanted to see the work that was cut out for me, what needed to be cleaned, washed. I wanted to see the room that, according to our real estate lady "was suited for me". Most of all, I wanted to see Casey, who had already arrived.

My impatience did no good, however: it took a long time for the cheap rental my father had gotten for "quite a deal" to get there. Exhausted from the plane trip, I began to nod off against the window, hoping that no one would notice.

Luckily, my father was so concerned with getting the items in the house that he let me sleep for a long while in the car. It was just as well: he would not have let me help anyway. I got out of the car, a shiver making its way through my body as the cold air and colder mist hit my bare shoulders. "I'm definitely not in Florida anymore…"

Still, the cool temperature and perspiration did not persuade me to join my family inside. I was mostly curious about the surrounding area- the yard, the woods and water behind it. I'd heard that we were on the Pacific coast. I was not so naïve to expect once of my beautiful, warm Florida beaches: I knew that here it would be rockier, denser, colder. A beach is a beach, I reminded myself. At least I would find myself near the ocean. I would have gone crazy without some small, sandy reminder of home.

I heard some distant voices, and realized that the moving people were leaving- the house had finally been set up. As I began to make my way back into the house, Alex came out. When he saw me, his face grew concerned. "What are you doing out here? In the middle of January? It's freezing! In the 40s, according to Dad. Here," he removed his own coat and placed it over my shoulders. "We put your clothes in your room…they're still in boxes, but I've only put the winter boxes up there. Make sure you find something warmer. I can't have my baby sister dying of hypothermia. I'll need someone to torment in high school"

I gave him a playful shove. "Oh shush. Come tomorrow, I'll be the most popular girl in school, and YOU, my friend, will be begging to sit with me at lunch."
"Oh right? Who would ever wanna sit with you? My skinny, blonde sister. You do realize that we are going to a predominantly Native American highschool?" He nudged me, tugging at my long, blonde hair, "We'll stand out like sore thumbs"

I rolled my eyes, unwilling to admit that his words had actually sent a tremor of fear throughout me. I really didn't know what to expect here. I knew that I'd stand out: I definitely took after my mother, way more so than my father. I was short: he was tall. I had much lighter skin. I was blonde, and his hair was nearly black. I had green eyes, and his were brown. The only thing that marked me as his daughter, besides our fairly similar facial features, was a birthmark on my shoulder.

I wondered if this would make it hard to make friends here. From the pictures, nearly everyone took after my father's Native American heritage. Despite my proud talk, I'd always tried to stay invisible until I met a couple of friends. Didn't look like I'd be able to pull that one off.

"I'm going to change…" I mumbled, brushing past my brother into the new house.

Finding my new room wasn't exactly hard- it was, after all, the only room with small pink and yellow flowers adorning the walls. My father had set up a canopy bed for me, and the crisp white covering fluttered slightly as a breeze snuck in through my open window. Cursing the frigid air, I hurried across the room to close the window at fault: my hands shook as I pushed the yellow frame down, shutting it with a loud 'Crash'. Then, just for good measure, I closed the other one as well- I did not want to freeze to death in my own room.

Having ensured my own survival, I scanned the room quickly. The furniture was all there, but it was not my furniture, and definitely not the same items I had brought from home. The room looked like a New England bed and breakfast, or country inn- definitely not my style. The only thing I recognized from my old house was my mother's quilt and the boxes that carried my clothes, keepsakes and other essentials.

I heard paws behind me, and my face lit up as a turned around, "CASEY!" I didn't care that my shout shook the house. I didn't care that my father was probably trying to sleep, or that Alex would come up to quiet me. I threw myself at her, burying my face into her chocolate coat.

"Jeez, I missed you more than you know." Her tail thumped, and I felt comforted by the motion- she must have missed me too! I pulled back, and her intelligent eyes stared at me, "Yeah I know, what a trip right? Least you got to stay with your feet firmly on the ground and movers who must have been at least SOMEWHAT more normal than my father. They probably fed you treat after treat huh?"

At the word "treat", Casey sat up. I'd forgotten she still knew that word. "Ok, ok" I muttered, motioning for her to follow me. I could unpack later.

In the sunny yellow kitchen I found that my brother had already unpacked the dog's food. Instead of giving her a bone, I filled her bowl with food, "Dessert after dinner." I told her, placing it on the floor next to her bed.

At that point, Alex came back in the room, "Well, I didn't get any dessert, but will this do?"

I turned, a bit startled, to see him holding a pizza.

"Dad says he'll give us money to go food shopping tomorrow. In the meantime, I figured that this would tide us over."

I grinned at him, "You're the best".

He nudged me, "I know."