I sat in the cab of my truck – that I had yet to name, unfortunately – and tapped my fingers against the worn pleather of the steering wheel in time to the staticy song blaring from the radio. Forks High was just as odd as anticipated, an awkward cluster of brick-red buildings as opposed to one big cement block next to a parking lot. Monday, my first day, would officially start in forty-five minutes and I'd yet to actually park. I still had to get my schedule, find my locker, pick a nice mental playlist with which to distract good ol' Eddie, and I was sort of shook up about the whole thing. It made everything real.

I'd gone to school in Forks before, but not this school, not the one from the books, not the one I'd been imagining for literal years as I contemplated time-lines and alternate universes. How was I supposed to get through the day without alerting the Cullens? How could I be sure my one defence, my stupid mental singing, could mask my mind well enough that the fucking mind reader wouldn't see I knew all his terrible, supernatural secrets? There wasn't any way to be sure. I would just have to trust that I could either outsmart a hundred year old sparkly bloodsucker or would be somehow gifted with the same impenetrable mind as OG Bella.

Wearily, with much hesitation, I pulled the handbrake and hopped out of the cab of the truck, backpack slung over my shoulder. Beneath my sneakers the asphalt was damp with a thin layer of slush, not snow, but road-salt and old rain mixed together in a slippery mess. I only slid once, my hands thrown out on either side and pinwheeled around to keep my balance, between my truck and the doors.

A little sign, hung crooked, proclaimed this first building to be the office. A warm blast of air assaulted me when I walked in and my eyes were drawn to a multitude of potted plants hanging, standing, and sitting in various places around the room. Said room was divided by a chest-high counter that spanned three-quarters of the space, with seven battered plastic chairs against the wall on the entrance side and three desks on the other. There was a red-haired woman behind one of the desks, the one to the far left with a novelty beaver pot full of pens on top of it, who looked up as the door clicked shut behind me. Hadn't the secretary Bella met been red-haired, too? Was I doomed to follow her high school experience to the letter?

"Can I help you with something?" She asked, adjusting a pile of folders by her elbow. She had glasses. For some reason, I always expected secretaries to have glasses.

"Ah, yes, I'm Loretta Swan? I'm starting here today."

The woman's eyes, a nice, dark blue, lit up. "LJ, I hardly recognized you, it's so nice to have you back! I know it's been a while, but do you remember me? I'm Andrew's mom, Evelyn Cope."

I did remember her, suddenly. She'd been a few pounds heavier the last time I saw her, but she kept her hair in the same loose bun. Andy Cope was two years older than me, but he was one of those kids who made friends with everybody; we'd met once at the park and that same day I was invited to his birthday party.

"Yeah, yeah I remember," I smiled. We hadn't been close, but Andy had lent me some of his library books when the librarian said I was 'too young' to read the ones I wanted.

"Well come on around and we'll get you all sorted, how about that?" She waved me over and pulled a few papers out of the topmost folder, "I have a schedule and a map with your name on them."

Weaving past the counter, I came to stand in front of her desk and hunched over a bit to watch as she spread the papers out before her. One of them was the map, on which she circled a fuzzy box labelled 'Office' in yellow highlighter. "We're right here, and here is your first class," she drew a line through a cluster of other fuzzy shapes to another box, this one labelled 'Building 3', "English, with Mr. Mason."

I paid close attention as she, in six different highlighter colours, circled my other classes and drew the routes between them and the office. She gestured occasionally towards the other paper – presumably my schedule, though I hadn't gotten a good look at it yet – and told me a bit about what the teachers were like with a little wink. A lot of her information seemed more like gossip than things she should've been telling a student, like how Ms. Howe was seen walking with the shop teacher to his car last week, but I didn't mind in the slightest – I liked being in the know.

"That's everything," Mrs. Cope said, and handed me the map, my schedule, and a pink slip with a smile, "Just have all your teachers sign that pink paper and bring it back at the end of the day, and if you need anything don't hesitate to come ask me, okay?"

I nodded, "Thanks. Tell Andy I said hi, yeah?"

"Will do, hon."

With that she went back to her folders and I left the office, which had been getting little too warm for me and my knit sweater. I carefully avoided the puddles and tiny drifts of slush on my way back to my truck and hopped back up into the cab like I'd had years of practice, tossing my bag onto the passenger seat. I still had a while before class started, so I took the time to examine the map more closely.

There were seven buildings making up the school, including the cafeteria, and they were plotted like someone had thrown darts at the map and decided to build where they landed. There was a note scrawled across the bottom of the map telling me I had to park in the student lot – when had she had the time to write that? I'd been watching her the whole time – and an arrow pointing to an empty space next to the caf.

I threw the truck into first and pulled out of the office lot. Couldn't be breaking any rules on my first day now could I? It was only about a minute before I found the turn and started scanning for an empty spot to park Truckzilla. Was Truckzilla a good name? No, no, too obvious. Scrap that one. I found a space and took it, but kept scanning the other cars as they drove past.

What was it the Cullens drove again? A Buick? It was some nice, tinted, SUV-type car, I was sure of it.

Then I realized what I was doing, how suspicious my thoughts would be, and immediately broke into the chorus of a mid-2000s pop son in my head. With that going, I let myself fall into autopilot. I grabbed my bag and shoved my keys in the side pocket, since my skirt-and-wool tights combo didn't have pockets, but it wasn't until I had to raise a had to shield my eyes from the sun that it dawned on me.

The tune between my ears drifted out and away and I, for the first time that morning, really noticed the weather. It was sunny. Sure, a couple clouds dotted the sky, but nothing like what I'd expected after the rain we'd had all night. How could I have forgotten about the weather?
Kids flocked together on their way to class, sunglasses perched on noses or atop heads, hell, one guy was in a t-shirt, basically ignoring the fact that it was still winter. One boy in a baseball cap shoved his friend, and the friend stole his cap, and they chased each other out of my field of vision. A few people were even smiling, despite it being a Monday morning. They were all basking in the rare showing of sunshine, and I couldn't decide whether the feeling in my gut was disappointment or relief.

Fuck head singing, it was sunny, and sun meant no Cullens.

With my revelation that I wouldn't be facing the Cullens for at least another twenty-four hours, I floated through the first half of the day. I got most of the signatures I needed for my pink paper, though I didn't know what it was for, and introduced myself four times over to classes full of kids who smiled and waved and recognized me either from my past at Forks Elementary or my summertime visits.

English went well. Mr. Mason was genial, if a little dull, and I sat next to Paige Flanagan, a pale girl with a black bob hairstyle who'd been my friend before I moved to Renee-Mom's. We went over the reading list for the semester, a list of old, white, male authors, and I learned I'd have the pleasure of reading Wuthering Heights. I'd never read it and, honestly, I wasn't looking forward to it. In the spare minutes before the bell, Paige re-introduced me to Eric Yorkie – yes, that same Eric – who I'd known from a few summer parties in years past and he helped me parse the directions on my map to end up in art class for second period.

Art was my favourite, not because of anything specific, I just liked to draw. I wasn't very good, I wouldn't be winning any awards or being volunteered for any murals, but Ms. Howe was eccentric and clearly loved her subject, so I was looking forward to picking a topic for the cumulative painting project she told us about. I latched onto Angela Weber, another familiar face, as soon as I saw she was in art with me. We sat together at one of the bench tables and she caught me up on how things were going with her mom, who was six years in remission with breast cancer.

Angie had to run to get to her own English, so she handed me off to Jessica Stanley in the hall after a quick introduction and skedaddled. I only knew of Jessica, I hadn't really talked to her in depth before, and I found out that she was a bit of a gossip. She was harmless, I figured, just had a taste for drama, and she didn't mind when I called her Jess so I counted her towards my friend tally. The two of us had Trig together but she already had a desk partner, so I wound up taking the only empty seat, which was in the back corner with no neighbour.

I didn't mind at all. Alright, maybe I'd mind when I needed help with some of the concepts and couldn't ask a buddy for help, but at the moment, solitude in one class would work for me.

Mr. Varner, the Trig teacher, droned on until the exact moment the bell sounded. As soon as he said we could go I was out of my chair and making a beeline for the door. Math, in any lifetime, was a mortal enemy. So what if I'd managed to memorize my times-tables this time around? Numbers were still the work of the Devil.

"Loretta!" Jess called, "Why are you running?"

"I'm not running, I just have long legs."

She scoffed, "You're telling me."

I slowed down and we fell into step with each other. She didn't look anything like that actress, the Cup Song one; she had olive skin and wild, dark curls that added about two inches to her height, though she was still an inch shorter than me.

"How are you wearing a skirt?" Her mouth was pulled in a bit of a grimace, and, ah, there's the judgemental side, "It's freezing."

I bent my leg and lifted it to tug briefly at the thick wool of my tights, saying, "These are really warm, and besides, I like how this sweater and this skirt look together." I felt nice in the clothes I was wearing, and that was the only point to it.

Out of the corner of my eye I could've sworn I saw her roll her eyes. I held back a small sigh – maybe I wouldn't count her as too close a friend if she would be like that. I didn't want to get on too high of a horse, though, God knows I wasn't a saint.

Jess shook her head and tucked a curl behind her ear, "Whatever. You do look cute, though, so I guess you're on the right track."

I laughed, "Thanks."

"Anyway, do you wanna get together and go over the stuff for the Trig quiz sometime? I can help you catch up on some of the formulas, if you need help."

That was mildly unexpected. I blinked owlishly at her for a moment, then said, "Yes, please! Tonight or- oof!"

She grabbed my wrist lightly and tugged me back a few steps. I was about to ask, but then I saw the sign on the door that proclaimed the room we stood in front of to be Mrs. Goff's Spanish class. "Thanks," I grinned.

"Don't worry about it."

We filed in, us and a couple other students, one of whom was Paige. She walked ahead and waved me over to two empty desks on the side of the room. I looked back, to see if Jess would mind me leaving, but the shorter girl was already off talking to a boy with spiky blond hair. Wait, blond spikes, would that be, uh, Mike? I waved halfheartedly in Jessica's general direction and made a 'one minute' motion to Paige with my hand.

Mrs. Goff was an older woman with greying hair and a stern pinch to her face, and when I went up to her to ask her to sign my paper, she stopped me before the first syllable was even out of my mouth. She pointed to the whiteboard, and there, written in sharp cursive was, SOLO ESPAÑOL. I ended up stumbling through five or six fragmented sentences, first to get her to sign the damn paper, but then again to introduce myself to the class. Everyone I made eye contact with sent me looks of sympathy, likely understanding my mortification. I wasn't horrible at Spanish, but I was nowhere near fluent; I just needed another language credit. It wasn't my fault – I took French the first time I had to learn a language.

Introduction done, Mrs. Goff handed me my paper and sent me off towards where Paige was not-so-subtly waving. I ate up the distance between us and plopped down in the empty seat next to her, pulling my things out of my backpack and setting them up on the desk. Paige elbowed me lightly and waggled her fingers in a silly wave. I waved back.

At the front of the room, the teacher cleared her throat and began to explain, in Spanish, what we would be doing in class. We were meant to hold a conversation in Spanish for the first few minutes, apparently, and then we'd get some worksheets. She held a whiteboard marker like a riding crop and started to walk and down the aisles, shushing anyone who spoke in English where she could hear.

Paige asked my how my weekend was in Spanish, but took her pen and scrawled a note on a loose piece of paper from my binder. Why were you talking to Jessica Stanley?

I told her it went well, that I ate pizza, and replied, Angela introduced us, she walked me to Trig.

Watch out for her, Paige continued, she's kind of two fa-

Someone cleared their throat, loudly, right behind me. It was Mrs. Goff, looking pointedly between us and the scribbling we were doing in my binder, and I whipped the cover closed before she could get any funny ideas, like reading what we wrote aloud.

"Lo siento, Señora Goff," Paige and I murmured in unison.

The woman quirked a brow, wagged her whiteboard marker in our direction, and went back to the front of the room to critique what was probably a cacophony of horrible Spanish. Luckily, she didn't say a word about what she may or may not have read on our page. I did not want to deal with a hurt or annoyed Jessica, especially when I had already decided to give her the benefit of the doubt.

I met Paige's gaze and she grinned. I looked pointedly in Mrs. Goff's direction and tried to hide the twitch of my own lip, though I don't think I succeeded.

Lunch was heaven sent, a reprieve after an hour or so of the stilted Spanish phrases and needling questions from Paige about Jessica. We exchanged phone numbers, she promised to eat with me the next day, and she was gone.

I walked to the cafeteria on my own, since Paige had run off to meet her boyfriend in the parking lot and Jess had walked off with her seat partner before I could wave her down. I stood in the doorway and examined my seating options. Angela and Jessica were sitting together at the end of one table with a few other people, two boys and a girl, though they hadn't noticed me yet. Kids I knew by sight but not by name were sat sporadically around the remaining tables, talking with their friends and eating their lunches. I had packed some food so I wouldn't have to buy anything, a plastic bag with two pizza slices wrapped in tinfoil clutched in my hands.

In the very centre of the caf, positioned just out of the sunlight that spilled in through the windows, was one completely empty table. I knew, from a movie scene flashed behind my eyes, that the Cullens sat there, and two options lay in my future. One, I could turn to the right, catch Angie's attention, and sit with the people I knew; or two, I could go straight, sit at that empty table, and have a reason to talk to the Cullens when they next showed up.

I still didn't know if I wanted them to notice me or not, not really.

Fortunately, the choice was made for me when Angela looked up and waved me over. A space was made for me between herself and Eric Yorkie for me to squeeze into. I tucked my bag underneath the bench, set my lunch down, and took a moment to brush my hair back over my shoulders to keep it out of my face.

"Thanks," I said.

Angela smiled at me, "Oh don't thank us, we wanted you to sit with us anyway."

Eric turned to me, "Hey Etta, how were the rest of your classes?"

"They were okay," I answered as I unwrapped my pizza slices, "Spanish and Trig were a bit of a drag, but that's just cos I'm kind of dumb."

He looked offended on my behalf, "Don't say that! I don't think you're dumb."

I laughed, and the second boy – the one from Spanish with blond, spiky hair – reached across the table to offer me his hand. "I'm Mike Newton," he told me as I shook his outstretched hand, "I think we were in seventh grade together? I'm not really sure, but you're familiar. Ah, not in a creepy way, or anything, not like-"

Jessica cut him off, "Of course she remembers you, Mike."

I didn't, but made a small noise of agreement anyway.

"Sorry for ditching you in Spanish," Jess said, "but me and Carrie – you know Carrie Ward, right? – were oral partners earlier in the year and we just sit together, y'know?"

I, on the other hand, did know Carrie Ward. Her dad owned the laundromat off Main Street.

After introductions were given all around and I'd learned the third girl was named Lauren Mallory, Jess began to spin a tale of epic proportions of which I was the star. She explained, mostly to the other occupants of the table, how she had shown me around during Trig and how we were meeting up later – and wasn't that so good of her, to help me study? Lauren appeared indifferent, while Mike and Eric nodded along.

When a small lull opened in her monologue, I gestured to what I'd assumed to be the Cullens' table and asked, "So, what's with that empty table over there?" I needed an excuse to know about them, an excuse to know their names, in case I slipped up. I would definitely slip up.

Jess got this look on her face, like the pieces of a diabolical plan had just fallen into place, and she leaned closer, "That's where the Cullens sit." She nearly whispered, and then left her sentence trailing, broadcasting how she wanted me to ask.

I caved, "Who are the Cullens?"

Eric sighed and I heard him mutter, "Here we go."

"They're this big family that moved down from Alaska, like, two years ago," she said, her voice a conspiratorial hiss, "Five of them, plus mom and dad, and they're all gorgeous. Literally, they look like supermodels, but they act like they're better than everyone and never talk to other people. They're weird."

"Weird how?"

"Besides not talking to anyone?" she made it sound like I was an idiot, "Well, two of them are dating."

I paused, letting that sink in. Not because it was shocking, but because she had clearly forgotten to tell me they were foster kids and that was a crucial part of the story. Another thing – only two of them? What about the two others who were meant to be together?

Angela butted in then with a frown, "They're all foster kids, Etta, so it's nothing bad. Only two are really related, and those aren't the two that are, y'know..."

"It's still weird!" Jess scoffed.

I couldn't help but agree. I knew they weren't actually foster kids, that they hadn't actually spent any of their formative years together, but for part of their cover it was really conspicuous. I wasn't a psychologist or a social worker, but I couldn't believe the foster system would be okay with something like that happening. Then again, what did I know. Still, for a family that wanted to blend in so badly it was odd they wouldn't consider the rumours that would follow that kind of relationship.

Instead of commenting on that train of thought I took a bite of my pizza.

"Come on," Jess went on, "You can't think it's not weird."

"What are their names?" I asked, hoping to get my excuse.

Angela shot a look towards Jess over her glasses and turned to me, "Rosalie and Jasper Hale are biological siblings, twins, and the other three are Emmett, Alice, and Edward Cullen." Jess cleared her throat, loudly, and Angie pursed her lips, "Rosalie and Emmett are the ones dating."

Not Jasper and Alice? I felt creeping tendrils of unease spread up my back. What was going on? If that stupid book was wrong about something as simple as their relationship status, what else could it be wrong about? So many other things were the same, I told myself, so it couldn't possibly matter. The doubt was still there, along with a bunch of frantic questions. What if Edward wasn't a broody, bronze-haired menace? What if they all snacked on little kids every meal of the day? What if they weren't even va-

No, don't think the v word, not at Forks High.

Everyone at the table was sort of quiet after that. We made headway on our lunches and broke off into smaller conversations; Eric and Mike talked about some beach trip they were planning, while Lauren told me her mom was on the force with my dad and he'd been talking about my coming home for months. Apparently, she said, Charlie-Dad had been waffling on my welcome home present for weeks before settling on Billy Black's old truck.

"Mom said he asked everyone at the station for ideas," Lauren went on, "She suggested he take you out shooting but he didn't go for it."

I pulled a thoughtful expression. Learning to shoot wouldn't protect me from anything supernatural, but it would be fun. I resolved to look into it later.

Jessica got up and walked her tray over to the garbage to dispose of the remains of her tuna sandwich, and when she got back she scooted in between Eric and me. Eric and Mike got up after that, said their goodbyes and each gave me a little wave, then went over to another table across the cafeteria where a bunch of other boys were calling them.

I looked at the clock on the wall and saw we had ten minutes left before I had to get to my next class. I was about to get up and head out to Biology early, maybe see if I could score a corner seat like in Trig, but Jess piped up before I could make a move.

"I heard," she started, actually taking a moment to look over her shoulder at the Cullens empty table as if they could hear her, "that Mrs. Cullen can't have kids, that's why she and the doctor took in so many fosters. It makes sense, you know, why else would such a young couple want a bunch of teenagers?"

I understood, in that moment, why Bella had been so dismissive of all her friends. Jessica, at least, was becoming unbearable with her criticisms. Sure, I could gossip with the best of them, but there was a colder, meaner edge to her comment about Esme, and I didn't like it.

"What, do you think that's a problem?" I asked sharply.

Jess paused, "What?"

"That she can't have kids, if it's even true. Does that make her less of a person? Does that somehow invalidate what they're doing for those kids?"

"Uh, no?" That tone, the one that implied I was stupid, was back in her voice, "I'm only saying, again, it's weird. I bet they get money from the government for taking care of that many foster kids."

I pushed the bench slowly out from the table and grabbed my backpack. I crumpled my lunch wrappers in one hand, stood up, and scowled at Jessica."That's really shitty of you to say, Jess," I told her, then left. I could hear her sputtering behind me, but I didn't look back as I dumped my garbage and headed out the cafeteria doors. I'd talk to her again tomorrow, maybe, but I could only listen to so much in one day. I wasn't even sure why it bothered me so much.

Map pulled out of the front pocket of my bag I bowed my head over it and followed the highlighter marks to my Biology classroom. The path led me outside twice, and I took a deep breath of the crisp, fresh air when I had the chance. Suddenly, I was very glad Edward wasn't in school today, moreso than before, because with how I was feeling I didn't think I could handle a standoff like the one he and Bella had. I didn't even know if I would smell delicious or not, but I was glad I didn't have to find out that second. Just thinking about it made the hair raise on my arms and I crossed my fingers that, somehow, I was a shield just like Bella – it would make my life so much easier.

AN: I have no beta, so if you see a spelling or grammatical error, if you don't mind, please tell me about it. I proofread these myself, but sometimes stuff escapes me. Please tell me what you think! Of Loretta, of the pacing, of how I characterised the few friends I had her talk to, anything! I love hearing what you guys think. Thanks for reading, thank you to everyone who has favourited and followed this story, and especially thank you to orchidluv, ElysiumPhoenix, and Missymissy87 for reviewing (since the last time I posted and thanked people). Hope everyone is having a good week.