Chapter 3:

Meeting Mike

Once you have listened to the gossip for some time, you will soon feel as if you know everyone, even if you have never met them. - Monica Fairview

BPOV:

I can remember clearly the first time I had ever stepped into Newton's sporting goods store. It was my third day living in Forks and according to Charlie, the entire town now knew my entire life history, including my middle name, my reason for moving and my favorite colour. The latter confused me, seeing as I didn't even know my favorite colour.

It was raining -which was kind of a given in Forks- and I had driven the car that Charlie had gotten for me when he found out I was moving in with him. Well, I say car, I really mean truck. It was a rusted red color and was kind of old, but it had character, and it ran smoothly with a quiet, smooth, cat-like purr. I loved it.

A little before eleven that morning, I pulled up outside the store and I let the engine idle for a second before turning the truck off. I took a deep breath as I reached across the seat and into the glove compartment. Inside sat my freshly printed resume that I was going to give to Mrs. Newton -whom my father says is definitely the more likely of the Newton couple to give me the job.

I leaned back against my seat and with my eyes closed, I took another deep breath. I knew that if Mrs. Newton didn't like me I was screwed in this town.

The advice my father had given before I left the house consisted of him warning me about every town gossip- which, worryingly enough, seemed to be nearly every woman in this town and a few of their husbands. He also felt the need to inform me that I had to be liked by Mrs. Newton if I wanted to be liked by the Stanleys, the Crowleys, the Turners and of course, the Hales. I.e., If Mrs. Newton liked me, then every "rich" person in this tiny town would then approve of me, which meant...well, I wasn't sure what that meant, but apparently it was important.

I opened my eyes again and with one final calming breath, I opened the door of the truck and stepped out. I closed and locked the truck door, and straightened my clothes. Though I had a deep dislike of all things fashion, I had spent longer than usual picking the right outfit to meet any future boss in. I was wearing skinny jeans, some black ballet flats, a red blouse and a black leather jacket. It was stylish, comfy but respectable. There was no fake tan to be seen, unlike every other teenage girl I had seen in town in the few days I had been here and my make-up was minimal. I was dressed for the part. I just had to get the job now.

I pushed open the glass double doors of the warehouse-like store and glanced around. There was aisles of goods, with high shelves and low lights, dangling from the ceiling. The laminate flooring wet and shiny, with a bright yellow sign informing me to have caution while walking as the floor was wet.

Behind the counter stood a tall bottle-blonde woman reading a gossip magazine and calling out orders to someone in who was in the stock room.

"Mike! We need more tents for aisle 4, make sure to get the black ones though, they look better beside the red sleeping bags! And get the size 10 grey hiking boots with the orange accents, they're good sellers! For the love of God, hurry up!" She screamed

I was shocked, evidently she hadn't realised that there was a possible customer inside her store. Shaking my head, I plastered a fake smile on my face and moved forward towards the counter quietly.

The blonde woman, who was easily in her early forties and fighting age by slathering on copious amounts of foundation, bright red lipstick and of course, what could only be fake tan, still hadn't noticed me by the time I had reached the counter.

I delicately cleared my throat, my smile still in place and watched as the woman jumped in response to the noise, looking down at me with big eyes, she blushed and cleared her throat.

"Oh hello dear, how can I help you?" She asked, her voice sickly sweet, nothing like the tone she had used with the person in the stockroom.

"Hi ma'am, I'm looking for Mrs. Newton, I have a resume I'd like to hand in" I replied politely, hoping that the blonde haired, blue eyed boy that had exited the stockroom behind the woman would soon realise he was staring at me and would stop.

"Well, you came to the right place dear, I'm Mrs. Newton. You must be Chief Swan's daughter Isabella! It's nice to finally put a face to the name!" She exclaimed, shaking my hand vigorously.

I smiled politely, my arm quickly getting tired from the handshake which had long ago passed the socially acceptable period of hand shaking, now Mrs. Newton is simply holding my hand. I was kind of uncomfortable, especially when she began to pat the hand she was holding with her other.

She began to question me about my life, how I was liking Forks, why I wanted a job, had I made any friends, did I do any charity work (That one I didn't understand at the time, I now realise she was looking for gossip and was wondering if I was a good person).

After he realised I had noticed his gaze, the blonde teen swaggered up behind and introduced himself.

"Hey, I'm Mike Newton," He smiled and winked behind his mother's back while holding out his hand for me to shake. I awkwardly removed my hand from between Mrs. Newtons and shook Mike's.

An hour later, I left the store with a part-time job, a parting hug from Mrs. Newton and an open invitation for a date with Mike. A date that I was sure I would never feel desperate enough to take.

Not long after Mike introduced himself, Mrs. Newton was called away by a delivery man who needed direction as to where to unload and what not, which left Mike under strict instructions to show me around the store, to get me a T-shirt in my size to wear while working and to make a name badge for me.

Mike took his duties very seriously, he even insisted on pointing out their stacking systems – tents on the bottom, sleeping-bags in the middle, rucksacks on the top, boots have their own section, as does fishing, hunting gear, guns and rifle etc. Although I appreciated Mikes attention to detail, I didn't appreciate the suggestive winks, innuendos, flirting or continuous questioning about boyfriends, dating, and the "type" of guy I usually date.

Unsure about how much of a gossip Mike was, I refrained from telling him that I hadn't dated much in Phoenix and even I didn't know my "type". Instead, I told him that I couldn't go out with him because I didn't know how Charlie would react.

One of the few good things about Charlie being a cop is that he scared away the douches in town from asking me out.

Thankfully, Mike understood completely, but I think his fear of angering the town's Chief of Police had more to do with his understanding than his desperation for a date with me.

Either way, thank you Charlie!