We don't own Twilight - SM owns everything but the plot. No copyright infringement is intended.
Before anything else, thanks must go to the usual suspects: karentwilighted and ladyrip for being our amazing and generous betas, LaraIsAwkward for keeping a third pair of eyes on the science, and ilsuocantante for prereading blind and not complaining because we won't explain our devious plans. Kisses to the LoD girls for listening to Em and me ramble on about this thing all the time.
So, after two chapters of scrumptious veggie-scientist Edward, we finally get to meet his girl. Let me tell you, making canon Bella more likable is a tough task...I hope I got it right. Here she is, your Miss America...and I hope I'm doing Em's Edward justice.
Chapter 3: The Twilight Zone
Bella:
I looked terrible in yellow.
I knew it, the pastor knew it, everyone in the rickety white seats knew it ― hell, even Phil knew it, and he was a typical oblivious guy. Everyone but my mother, that is. I didn't really mind ― after all, wasn't it sort of the Maid of Honor's job to look worse than the bride? At least the sleeveless sheath style of the dress flattered my figure. I actually would have worn it again, if the bright, sunny color hadn't made me look as if I was one of the undead.
Phil gave me a soft, apologetic smile as I followed my mother's last bridesmaid, crazy cousin Sally and her giant, obnoxious feathered hair comb down the aisle to take my place just below the makeshift altar. The minister blessed me with a beatific smile, which I politely returned, before turning to show my washed-out face to the modest-sized congregation assembled to witness the nuptials of Renee Swan and Phil Dwyer, minor league ball-player extraordinaire.
My mother, bless her heart, had wanted an outdoor wedding, and who was I to put a damper on the bride-to-be's wishes? So there I stood, my bare feet making divots in the sand-colored strip of carpet where the wedding party stood. Despite my two coats of SPF 60 sunblock, I could feel the hot desert sun beating down on my face and bare shoulders, trying to tan skin that was never meant to spend copious amounts of time in the sun.
I knew I should have insisted on one of those huge, floppy Easter Hats, the kind that ladies always wore to the Kentucky Derby. I already looked like an overgrown participant in one of those beauty pageants for little girls due to my mother's overzealous touch with the eye makeup, so a giant hat couldn't make me look any worse. Plus, I really needed the shade.
Then again, maybe a little sunburn would do me good. It would add a little color to my face.
"Always look on the bright side of life..."
I guessed not even Monty Python was funny when you were baking in the desert sun. It wasn't supposed to be this hot in the beginning of November!
Stifling a sigh, I looked around surreptitiously, only half-listening to the ceremony. I caught a glimpse of Sally's feather contraption and was suddenly reminded of the Dead Parrot sketches. A hiccup of laughter escaped me, but thankfully, no one noticed. I was wrong. Monty Python was always funny.
Maybe that was one of the reasons I had so few friends. People my age rarely watched Monty Python, and it was even rarer that they got the humor. It wasn't comedy fodder for your average seventeen-year-old, that was certain.
Then there was my pale complexion and brown hair. I stood out like a sore thumb among my peers, who all seemed to be genetic descendants of Barbie and Ken and had the intellects to match. My high school was the equivalent of suburbia; perfect boys and girls built from the same model with customized changes, just like the new house Phil and Mom had built a few months ago.
I flew under the radar, and that was just the way I liked it. I stayed out of everyone's way, got good grades, and didn't complain ― out loud, anyway. The stand-up comedian in my brain had quite a few opinions, and most of them were sort of offensive.
"Bella?"
I was snapped out of my wandering thoughts by the anxious whisper of my mother, who was trying to hand me her bouquet.
Great. I'd missed watching her walk down the aisle. Oh, well...that was what wedding pictures were for, right? Taking her bouquet, I gave Renee my "good daughter" smile, and everything was fine again. The stingy desert breeze decided to bless me with a puff of air at that moment, cooling the sweat that was misting on the back of my neck. I had to fight the urge to fan myself with both the bouquets I held in an effort to reproduce the feeling.
Soon, it was time for the rings. I awkwardly looked for a place to set my mother's bouquet, so I could untie Phil's ring from the ribbon that hung from my smaller cluster of blooms. Stupid flowers, I thought. Bouquets really weren't that romantic when you stopped to think about their origins. Back in the Middle Ages, brides carried them to offset their body odor, since most people only bathed once a year. Disgusting. Finally deciding to hold the other bouquet between my knees, I located the end of the ribbon, only to realize there was no ring attached. No. Ring.
Holy. Fucking. Crow.
Yeah, there was an F-bomb in there. I was in a whole lot of trouble, and this situation definitely deserved a little cursing. My knees weakened, sending my mother's very expensive flowers dropping to the ground with a thud. A few petals blew away like tumbleweeds in slow motion. Crap!
"Um, I'm sure it just fell off the ribbon right here," I mumbled, gently righting Renee's flowers at the side of the carpet and laying mine beside them as I dropped to my knees to look for the ring. Not seeing any glinting, practical titanium (what Phil had insisted upon, because it was one of the strongest metals, and that was manly), I glanced up at my mother's frozen face.
If it went in the sand, I'm screwed.
"What do you mean, it fell off?!" Renee hissed, looking around her feet with an interesting combination of shock and rage. At that point, I was pretty sure she was regretting the "no spanking" method of discipline she'd used on me as a child. Every hair on my body stood on end as she glared at me, telling me with her eyes that if I didn't find that ring, I wouldn't live to see eighteen.
I really, really wanted to see eighteen. I'd been acting like an adult for so long, I wondered if it would feel different to actually be one.
Concentrating on the sand just at the back edge of the carpet, I sifted lightly through the sand, very aware that I was on my hands and knees in front of one hundred or so guests. I was practically mooning them...except my rear was clothed.
"I'll find it, Mom, don't worry!" I whispered through clenched teeth, becoming more and more certain I was going to get the "mommy-dearest" treatment of a lifetime if I'd lost the ring. I couldn't tell if my face was turning red or not, because of my potential sunburn. Finally, something hot scorched my palm, and I'd never been happier to receive an injury.
"Got it!" Sighing in relief, I grabbed up the nearly molten titanium, blowing a quick breath over the ring to clear away any sand. That's when the stupid breeze decided to blow again, sending a few grains of sand into my right eye. This just keeps getting better and better. Now I have to spend the rest of the ceremony up here squinting like One-Eyed Willie.
Renee's relief was palpable as I handed over the ring with an apologetic smile and a tiny sniff; the sand was making my eye water. I spent a good ten minutes trying not to conspicuously wipe at my irritated eye. In fact, it was still watering when I signed the marriage certificate, placing my messy scrawl right next to the space for Phil's best man, creepy mustache Johnny. Someone should really tell him the Magnum, P.I. look went out a long time ago.
Eventually, the sand made its way out of my eye, leaving it red and puffy. I did make it through the rest of the festivities with no more mishaps, aside from nearly losing it when my mother gushed about how touching it was that I'd cried during the ceremony. I gave my silly little speech, and since the bride wouldn't let me off the hook ― I loved her too much to disappoint her - I played the dutiful daughter, as ever.
That was me. Dutiful. Responsible. Boring.
Middle aged at seventeen. I'd have to start shopping for a stupid casket when I turned thirty. Sometimes I caught myself daydreaming about a more exciting life. Rather morosely, I often found myself asking, Is this it? Because, really, most of the time my life was the equivalent of a giant dose of horse tranquilizer.
And that was the crux of my issues, wasn't it? I wanted to be Sydney Bristow when I was really Lydia Deetz. "I, myself, am...strange and unusual."
And I really couldn't even claim that, in all truth. I was just a normal girl, even if I was a little shy, and in turn, on the quiet side. Renee was convinced it was social anxiety; after all, I was perfectly fine with my mom and Phil. Crowds weren't exactly my favorite thing, but I tolerated them. It was just hard to be myself when I wasn't exactly sure how I'd be received. And that was pretty normal...right?
I was pretty happy to spend my time with Mom and Phil, hanging out at the house or, on cooler days, underneath the shade of the only mature tree in the new subdivision. Put me alone in a room with some good music, books or movies, and I was in heaven. We found our routine very comfortable, even if Renee did encourage me to make more friends my own age.
I couldn't help but feel just a tiny bit sad about how my mother described our relationship. She was my best friend, yes, but she was also my mom ― which meant something a little more to me. Sometimes it royally sucked, being the adult, especially when you were only seventeen. Was it selfish to want someone to take care of me for a little while?
However, I considered my life a good one overall. My mom was happy with Phil, who was a really nice guy, and that made me happy. In the first couple months following the wedding, they were so cute together. Phil was perfect for Renee, and he wasn't too bad at the whole stepfather thing, either. He never tried to replace my father and listened when I needed to talk. I wished he'd been around when I was younger.
Thanksgiving came and went with little fanfare. I made dinner, as usual, and the three of us celebrated our new familial status by gorging ourselves on turkey, gravy, stuffing and pie. Lots and lots of pie, since Renee decided she wanted to actually make something. Baking pies with my mother was fun but very messy. However, it was worth every clump of dough I cleaned off the floor and every single spill I wiped up. Dessert was delicious. Mom was a pretty good little baker. The little child in me that had longed for warm, homemade chocolate chip cookies and a cold glass of milk was a bit upset that she'd waited until now to play Suzy Homemaker, but she was easy to ignore when it was obvious my mom was trying.
It was freaking wonderful. Phil was the best stepfather ever. I was really enjoying the "Phil Effect," as I'd taken to calling it, until one mild December afternoon, shortly before school let out for winter break.
That Monday started off great, because Phil had given me his old car as an early Christmas present. It wasn't anything special, just an old Volvo station wagon that had seen better days ― lots of them. But it was a car, and therefore worth its weight in gold to a transportation-less teen like myself.
I pulled into the busy lot at school, parking next to a black sedan with black-tinted windows. As I passed the trunk, I eyed the silver cat symbol that screamed money. It was some type of Jaguar ― one I'd never seen before. Sleek and black, oozing with some kind of weird sex appeal, it didn't look like the typical long and boxy country-club mobile. Jeez. Someone's parents are rich. I wonder if they're new...I'd remember that car if I'd ever seen it before.
School was...school. Not very interesting. The most exciting part of my day was the new car in the parking lot.
I was eternally grateful for the open lunch period. That meant I could escape to the local taqueria with a few other students I often had lunch with. We weren't really great friends; we just banded together in mutual shyness. It worked for all of us. We were in a lot of the same classes, so we all had partners for projects and people who would lend us notes if we missed class. A nice, symbiotic relationship.
The Jaguar was still parked next to Phil's rusty Volvo when school was out.
"It's okay, girl," I murmured to the station wagon, patting the hood gently before I got in. "I hope sitting out here all day with the Daddy Warbucks of cars didn't give you a complex."
It was tempting to wait around until the owner came back; maybe pretend to read a book while scoping out the new kid. I didn't, of course, because that would be pretty rude, and I wouldn't like it very much if I were the one in their shoes. News of any new students would make its way to me eventually, if I was patient.
Taking my time on the drive home and enjoying my new-found mobility, I grabbed a coffee on the way back to help me power through the mountain of trig homework I had to finish. The garage door opener clipped to the visor refused to work, and I heaved myself out of the sagging seat to open the door myself. As I returned to the car to pull it inside, I saw another black sedan drive by, the speed neither too fast nor too slow, but I could have sworn it was the Jag from school.
That was ridiculous, of course. The neighborhood was nice, but not that nice. I must have needed that caffeine more than I'd originally thought, if my eyes were playing tricks on me like that.
The rest of the week went much the same, only I was convinced that silly Jaguar was haunting me. It had been in the parking lot again on Tuesday but was gone when I got out of school, and it didn't return Wednesday morning. I thought that would be the end of it, but I started seeing it near my neighborhood when I was out. Chalking it up to my overactive imagination, I tried to ignore it and went about my week.
Thursday afternoon started out as heaven. Winter break was upon me, I had no homework, and finals were over. Christmas was coming, which meant gift cards for Amazon and iTunes, which equaled a happy Bella. I was looking forward to enjoying the mild December air in the back yard with my friend Jane Austen, no matter how dorky it sounded.
By the time I made it home, however, the sky had darkened with clouds ― thick, low Stratocumulus clouds that threatened rain for the first time in weeks. Of course, it would rain on my first free afternoon when it'd been dry as a bone for months. There was something different in the air as I went to retrieve the mail: humidity. I didn't like it. Not one bit.
Mom was home when I finally made it inside, just as the skies opened with a startling crack of thunder.
"Wow!" I breathed, staring in awe at the downpour outside. Winter storms were rare, but not impossible, and it was raining harder than I'd ever seen before. It added a sort of electricity to the air, aside from the obvious lightning. Something new and exciting, at least if you were safe and cozy indoors. Walking to the sliding-glass door at the other side of the kitchen, I cracked it open to feel the misty breeze.
It was freezing. I immediately tugged the door shut and locked it tight.
Mom and I shared a blanket on the couch in the den, eating Reese's Pieces and watching Queen of the Damned. Renee was a sucker for vampire movies. I didn't mind...I sort of enjoyed seeing Stuart Townsend shirtless.
The storm lost its power eventually, but the rain didn't stop entirely. Phil came straggling in as the credits rolled, and Mom leapt off the couch to help him dry off. I immediately made myself scarce, claiming fatigue and escaping to my room for the night. As I got ready for bed, I discovered it wasn't really a lie, and I fell into bed with a blissful sigh.
~*~
I dreamt I was riding my bike.
It was a warm, sunny day, and I rode down the street on my new bike, fluorescent band-aids decorating my skinned seven-year-old knees. I was feeling a little daring as I reached the end of the block on our quiet little cul-de-sac, deciding Mommy would never know if I rode just a little bit past where she always told me to stop.
The breeze smelled of dusty sand, sunshine, and the smoky scent of barbecue grills wafting from suburban back yards. I rode three or four blocks over before conscience got the better of me and I turned back, heading for home, my little feet pedaling at a guilty pace.
Suddenly, the sun was gone, hidden behind ominous clouds tinged green with menace. I pedaled faster, cutting through yards and alleyways as fat, cold raindrops splattered against my exposed skin. Gusts of air whipped past my face, turning my long hair into soaked ropes that stung as they slapped against my cheeks at the mercy of the swirling wind. Hailstones the size of marbles pelted me, hitting against my fingers and toes, bringing tears to my eyes as my freezing limbs overreacted to the pain.
Someone called my name, the voice distorted by the wind and rain. It seemed to come from all directions, sounding neither male nor female, but resonating with an urgency that spurred me to go faster. Over grass, mud, and gravel I rode, likely leaving ruts in the neighbors' yards, but I didn't care about anything but getting home and into Mommy's warm arms. I didn't care if she made me stay in my room forever ― I just wanted my mom.
A loud crash broke through the cacophony of wind and water. Jerking my head around, I saw a huge tree lying directly across the path I'd just ridden. Without warning, my bike jerked, sending me flying over the handlebars. I landed in a mess of pebbles and mud, the impact knocking the breath from my chest.
In a full panic, I tried to suck in the air I so desperately needed, my vision going black at the edges as I struggled more and more for just one precious breath. Cold enveloped me, sending my stomach plummeting, and suddenly I was flying through the air again. I was exposed to the wind and rain once more, and pressed up against something that sucked every ounce of warmth from me.
"Mommy..." I managed to gasp, prying my eyes open, despite the crippling fear that held me frozen. Shimmering alabaster flashes intermingled with glimpses of cruel ruby and jet black as I blinked upward, fighting the blackness that was steadily increasing by the millisecond. Cold fingers dug into my limbs as the darkness engulfed me, a soft, chilling laugh following me under.
~*~
When I woke the next morning, I staunchly resolved to never eat candy within a few hours of going to bed again. Moms across the US were right; candy really did give you nightmares. Then again, I was sure the storm and the vampire movie didn't help either.
After shaking off the residual weirdness left by the the nightmare, I spent Friday morning at the library, thoroughly enjoying the peace and quiet and the shelves lined with books that surrounded me. I only left when someone else discovered the quiet little nook I'd claimed ― I was very serious about my library space. When my solitude was no more, I dog-eared my place before closing the worn copy of Galapagos. I felt a little guilty for folding the edges, but I couldn't find my bookmark. Gathering the stack of books and my backpack, I took them to the check-out counter, receiving a strange look from the guy at the desk as he eyed my selections.
I sighed softly, wondering what was so weird about a teenage girl reading Vonnegut. Oh, well...just another checkmark under the "strange" column for Bella Swan.
A very tall, dark-haired man was leaving the mailbox bank as I approached. I tried not to stare, I really did, but there was something about him that was eerily familiar. Pale skin, even paler than mine, stood out starkly in this sunny city, so I knew he couldn't have been living here long ― unless he was a pale freak like me. Shiny black hair fell over the expensive sunglasses that covered his eyes, but they were nothing unusual ― I'd neglected to take my own off after the sun had disappeared behind the cloud cover. He was gone when I turned back toward the house, and I forgot about him.
I tripped over the threshold when I came through the door from the garage, making my usual racket. Unlike yesterday, no one was home to greet me, but that was perfectly fine. Entertaining myself had always been a special talent of mine. During this time of day, Phil was usually at the gym or the training field, and Mom was at her class of the month ― this time, I think it was yoga.
I shuffled to the refrigerator and poured a glass of milk, as I was a firm believer in warding off Osteoporosis while I could ― my bones were breakable enough as it was. Though I generally disliked milk as a beverage unless cookies were involved, I made myself do it because it was the smart thing to do. Luck wasn't usually on my side, so I ate pretty healthily just to offset the injuries I received on a somewhat regular basis.
I pondered what to do first as I wandered absently to the family room, torn between an afternoon with Vonnegut in my room or a nice couch session between me and the television. I was on break...who said I couldn't do both? Making a quick detour, I stopped by my bedroom to put on some comfy clothes and grab my iPod.
Adding the music was a very bad idea, in hindsight. A very, very bad idea.
The sight that awaited me as I strolled innocently into the family room was something that no amount of therapy would ever cure ― seeing one's parents...in flagrante delicto.
That was the day I decided to move to Forks.
~*~
I didn't tell Renee at first. I didn't want her to feel bad...even though she had to know I'd be scarred for life. Charlie, my dad, was ecstatic when I asked if I could move in with him. Well, ecstatic for him... It had actually been more like "It will be good to see you, Bells. I'm looking forward to it."
Dad was my kind of person ― two hours later, I had a one-way ticket to Seattle and a room full of stuff to pack. He promised to enroll me in school the following Monday, providing the move was okay with my mother. I had one major thing left on my checklist ― telling Renee. Phil already knew, and he had promised to back me up if my mom got too upset.
"Mom, you and Phil need some time by yourselves," I explained, looking away for a second as I tried to fight the blush that crept into my face at the indirect reference. Okay, so far, this isn't going well. "Charlie's up there all alone, and I'd like to spend some time with him before I go to college." There, that's better!
"He's your father, Bella, don't call him Charlie," was the first thing she said. I waited for the rest to sink in, but only a small frown crossed her face before she seemed to relax. "I think that's a very nice idea. Phil and I will miss you, of course, but it will do you good to get to know your father."
"Yeah, Bella. I think it would be good for you," Phil agreed with a cheesy, conspiratorial wink.
I gaped at Renee in shock, having to remind myself to close my mouth. Huh. That certainly wasn't what I'd been expecting. Was I in the Twilight Zone? I'd expected a little more protest than this. A petty little part of me was a bit miffed, but I was getting what I wanted and wouldn't complain. Since she was being so agreeable, I decided to test out her new-found permissiveness.
"Do you think I could drive? You know, since I just got the station wagon, and I could fit everything inside," I chattered, starting to get my hopes up that they'd actually let me do it. "Then we wouldn't have to pay to have my things shipped to Forks."
Phil and Renee frowned as a unit, which I would have thought was really cute, if it hadn't been directed at me.
"I don't know, Bella," Phil started, rubbing his chin as he thought for a moment. "That car's got a lot of miles on it. I'm not sure it would make it all the way up to Washington."
"No, Bella, definitely not. I'm not letting my baby drive halfway across the country by herself," Renee stated with a decisive shake of her head. I was always her baby when I wanted to do something she didn't think was safe.
"Oh, well, it was worth a shot," I mumbled, shrugging.
"Well, we need to talk to your father, I guess," she began, turning around and walking off right in the middle of her sentence. I had to follow her to let her know it was already taken care of. That got a little rise out of her, but she was over her pique in no time. At least some things never changed. I would definitely miss her, but I could get used to living with someone who wasn't so flighty. Charlie was stable and practical. This would be a good move for me.
It would.
~*~
I only thought I saw the black Jag once more after that. My remaining time in Phoenix flew by in a holiday rush of shopping, packing, and organizing. I was now the proud owner of a brand new, waterproof parka and a pair of wellies since my mother insisted that all it ever did in Forks was rain. My bags were filled with new, warm clothes, and I still had more to pack. Maybe Mom was feeling a little guilty at how easily she'd agreed to let me go. However, the more thermal shirts and hooded sweatshirts I packed away, the less enthusiastic I was to see my new home.
I hated rain. I was like my mother in that way; that was why we lived in the desert. But every time I tried to change my mind and stay in Phoenix, I was reminded of the Incident That Shall Never Be Mentioned, and I was ready to get the heck out of there.
Christmas was fairly uneventful. Mom fussed over me because I'd be leaving in four days. School began the Monday after New Year's Day, and I didn't want to draw more attention to myself as the new kid by starting late.
I had to suppress a smile at my gift, a small digital camera and a photo album. She probably wanted me to send her the silly thing after I filled it with pictures.
"Thank you, Mom," I said, hugging her tightly. "You, too, Phil." I squeaked out as he gave me one of his rib-cracking hugs.
"You're going to break her, Phil!" Renee laughed, taking my camera and taking a few quick pictures of us as I nearly suffocated. I eyed her after Phil let me go, raising my eyebrow. She shrugged. "I put the batteries in before I wrapped it. It's Christmas! People take pictures on Christmas."
"It's okay, Mom. I just wish you'd warn me. Christmas morning pictures in pajamas are only cute when you're a little kid."
"Bella, you will always be cute to me. And you'll always be my little girl," she finished, tucking a lock of hair behind my ear. A watery smile appeared on her face. "I'm going to miss you, Baby."
"I'll miss you, too," I said, past the growing lump in my throat. "I can stay, Mom..."
She stared at me for a minute, a glazed look in her eye, before something cleared in a split second. "No, honey, you need to spend this time with your father. I've had you for seventeen years. I think it's time I learned to share," she said with a sad little laugh. Phil patted her shoulder gently before leaving the room, giving us a little time alone.
"Well, okay, then...we're not going to cry, right?" I stated with a resolute nod. Renee nodded back, and we both shared a laugh. "Now, what are we going to do with this camera and the rest of this beautiful, sunny day?"
"We're going to stay in, of course, and watch the all-day marathon of A Christmas Story, just like always!" She was grinning now, and the moment was forgotten.
We spent the day in our pajamas, watching movies and taking pictures. We had breakfast for dinner, just like we did every year. All in all, it was a really good Christmas, and I hoped it set the tone for the year ahead.
I only had to adjust to a new school, new home, new climate, and an essentially new parent. How hard could it be?
Do you like? Y/Y? Then let us know! We need validation and want your comments! The next chapter will be more of Bella - and they'll finally meet! We know that's what you're all salivating for.
One last thing - Echoes and I are judges in the Fun With Your Clothes On Contest. That's right, we want your dry humps, your leg hitches, your jizz-in-my-pants moments. Contest is open for submission now. For full details, see the contest profile at http://www(dot)fanfiction(dot)net/u/2291087/