By the time the sun rose the next morning, Jake was packed. He hopped into his father's truck. Starting the engine, he helped his father get out of his wheelchair and into the truck. Throwing the bags in the back, he zoomed out of the driveway. His jaw was set, and he refused to talk to Billy. Billy, sensing his son's bad mood, stared out the window as Forks whizzed by.
If only Jake knew . . . but he couldn't ever know that they had moved for him, to get away from Edward . . . and Bella. Jacob drove fiercely, barely acknowledging the fact that he was going double the speed limit.
His father had told him that they were moving to some place called Heatherton. Jake despised the name. Well, he would have despised any name, but this one especially. It sounded like a place where you went when you were retired! He was sixteen, for crying out loud!
"Jake, it's a lovely town! Tons of people live there your age! Don't worry," Billy slapped him on the shoulder. But Jake was sulking, and he wouldn't give his father any reason to think that he was even kind of okay with this. Billy sighed and turned back to the window, settling in for a long ride.
An hour or so later, they reached the town. It was pretty, Jake had to admit. Its houses were painted tastefully, and there gardens were well groomed. The only thing missing was the sunshine. He cracked a smile. "So, old man? Did we just move from the rainiest town in the whole damn country just to move back into the rain? What about California, or something?" Billy looked at him, surprised. He hadn't spoken the entire ride, and now he was making a joke. This was good news, Billy thought.
"Turn here," Billy instructed. Jake screeched around the corner. "Okay . . . the green house . . ." Jake looked, and . . . ah ha! There was a square house-, painted forest green, sitting halfway down the road. Jake stopped the truck and jumped out, keys in hand.
Hurrying over to Billy's side, he helped his father get into his wheel chair. Eh slung the bags over his back, and wheeled Billy to the door. "Should I knock?" he wondered.
"No, no, just go in!" Jake turned the handle. It was unlocked, and swung open easily.
Inside, it was dark. Jake fumbled for the light switch. Flicking it on, the room was illuminated with light. Couches, chairs, tables, they were still here. That's why his father hadn't brought a moving truck, they weren't bringing any furniture. Why? Jake thought.
Wheeling Billy into the kitchen, he opened a cupboard. They were, unsurprisingly, bare. "Jake, you should go get some rest. School starts tomorrow," Billy told his son. Jacob rolled his eyes.
"Just another thing to look forward to." He did what his father told him, bringing his bag. His room, his father had informed him, was upstairs. Taking the stairs two at a time, he found what he was looking for.
A door to a small room was slightly ajar. Jake wandered inside. The room had a large window and a bed, as well as a dresser and a lamp. A desk sat in the corner of the room. With a sigh, Jake threw his backpack onto his bed.
School: it could be alright, couldn't it?
Wrong.