My throat was dry and my hands were shaky when I walked down the hall of the airport. Don't overreact, I told myself.
But meeting your new family for the first time tends to be a kind of stressing experience, I dare say. So no overreaction. Yet.
My parents died in a car accident about three weeks ago, and I had no relatives in my home country, Belgium. Actually, I thought I had no relatives at all, but I was wrong about that. It appeared my dad had a brother. A brother he never told me about, he never talked to, that had gone living in another continent. That lived in Forks.
So that's where I was now. Searching my unknown uncle.
"Excuse me, missis, are you Eli Tsana?"
"Yes."
"Hello, I am here to bring you to your new home." The man shyly smiled to me. He had a kind appearance, but seemed awkward with conversation. "Can I take your bags?"
"Um, no it's okay, I've got them." The man started walking, and I followed.
"Excuse me," I said, almost running to keep up. "Who are you?"
"Oh, I'm sorry. My name is Charlie Swann, I'm the head of police. Your uncle's car is broken so he asked me to pick you up."
He stopped at a car and opened the door. A police cruiser.
"Cool," I whispered. Charlie shrugged.
We sat in the car in silence. I watched out of the window, the rain covered the glass with little water drops. After a while I was bored and asked the best question I could think of.
"What kind of man is my uncle?"
Charlie looked embarrassed. "I don't exactly know him well. But I'm sure he'll be nice to you."
Well that was an encouraging answer. Especially with that pitying look in his eyes.
I was so damn screwed.
"So you come from Belgium, right?" he asked, obviously trying to avoid questions about my new home.
"Yes, I do." I didn't want to tell him what happened. I had told that story to many times already, and every time again it made me relive the moments. And that was the last thing I wanted.
"What did you do back there? For school I mean." Unexpected question.
"I was at a music school, actually. But I guess you don't have that in Forks." I couldn't help it, I sounded so despising at that last word.
Charlie grinned. "It's not that bad, you know. However, we don't have a music school. What instrument do you play?"
I thought that was pretty obvious, with the violin that I was holding closely between my legs now.
"When people take violins with them when they move, it often means they play the violin."
"Yeah, well, guess I didn't notice it." He looked so uncomfortable I laughed.
"Don't worry," I told him. "Happens all the time. And if you really want to know; I sing and play the piano as well, so actually it was a good question."
"How nice!" he said. "A real musician."
The rest of the drive we were silent. I had to admit I was rather curious about it. This new-home thing, I mean. I know I was supposed to be depressed and revolted and all that stuff, at least that's what people expected of me.
That's why I had to leave. I liked my town. I loved my school, and all the people in it. But I couldn't stay there. Since my parents died, now one dared laugh with me near, and they looked so strange when I was my loud and happy self that I felt myself forced to be sad. And that was so not me.
That doesn't mean that I didn't miss my parents, or that I wasn't sad. It was just that I remembered what they used to tell me: live your life, honey. Do it for us.
So I did. Wouldn't it be stupid to waste my life crying for them? I'm sure they wouldn't like that.
Charlie pulled the car over and stopped. "Here we are," he stated. I felt a pang of fear in my heart. I took my bags and violins and took a closer look to the house. The garden was neglected; the grass was high and there were herbs everywhere. The house itself was small and boring.
"Will you come with me?" I asked Charlie. I was sure I would never dare go in there on my own.
"Sure, kid," he answered, and walked to the door. He knocked loudly. We heard stumbles and a loud curse inside, and then the door was opened.
Charlie pushed me forward. "Hello sir," I said. "I am Eli Tsana. You must be my uncle?"
I reached out my hand. The ugly, fat man looked at it but made no movement to touch it, as if I was dirty or something.
"Yeah, I know," he said. "Come in."
I shot a glance at Charlie, imploring him for help, but what could he do? He gave me a supportive nod and then the door was closed.
"Bring those stuff of you to your room. On the first floor, second door to the right." I moved towards the stairs, but he stopped me.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing at my violin.
"A bomb," I joked. No reaction. I sighed. "It's my violin. I'm a musician." My uncle narrowed his gaze.
"No noise in my house, if I ever see it again I'll break it."
My mouth fell open. Hold your tongue now, I said to myself. Don't start with trouble.
So I just nodded and went to my room, where I hid my dear little violin under the bed. The room was small and dusty, barely any light fell through the window.
I hated this house already. If school wasn't any more interesting, there was going to be a serious problem.
So this is the first chapter! Please review, tell me if I do something wrong or if you have ideas or anything... Next chapter could be coming any day now.