STORY TRIGGER WARNINGS: These triggers may appear at any time in any part of the story. Please keep these in mind, and if you need specific chapter TWs, let me know. Warnings are: Sexual violence, self harm, suicidal ideation, abuse, panic disorders, PTSD, neglect.
Author's Note: *Here's what you should know before starting this story.*
1. This alters the timeline a little. Bella arrives in late September, just after her 17th birthday, near the beginning of the junior school year. Also-it's a modern timeframe. As in, Bella has a cell phone because it's 2021 and it would be really weird if she didn't, etc.
2. Bella has, like, a personality. I tried to take what little shreds Steph Meyer gave us in the books and take out all her repressed Mormonism and figure out who she is from there. She also has a past-it was always pretty weird to me that Meyer plopped her down randomly in Forks with almost no backstory or ties to her old life.
3. This story does work differently as far as plot points and vampires go. Vampires are still extremely similar, but things like their strength and stamina are brought down to what I consider to be more realistic levels, and while they still don't sleep, there are some other differences which will be explained later in the story. Basically-anything is subject to be changed from canon at any time EXCEPT for the primary couples (ExB, EmxR, JxA, CxEs).
Chapter One: Reboot
I was so relieved when my mother agreed to let me move to Forks. I'd been asking for a few years, but she was keen on keeping me in Phoenix—so when I saw an opportunity to convince her, I took it.
Charlie was ecstatic when I told him, of course. I'd never really clued him in that I was trying to come live with him, since, technically, my mother had primary custody—but Charlie had mentioned many times over the years that Forks was always waiting for me.
It was kind of like a daydream at times. I would think of my strong father, with his bushy moustache and warm smile, living with him in a place I only sort of remembered as a sight but completely remembered as a smell. Sometimes I swear I could smell it when I got a particularly bad pain of wishing to be there—woody, musky, fresh, earthy. All components to Charlie's smell as well, just mix in gun oil and Irish Spring.
Now, sitting in Charlie's cruiser on the way to Forks from the airport in Seattle, I couldn't help but watch expectantly as the earth faded more and more into that green I remembered from those hazy memories, and came to realize that I wasn't lacking in the remembrance at all. It really was just… green.
"You alright, kiddo?" Charlie's voice broke through my reverie and I glanced at him quickly, smiling at him.
"Yeah. It's so green."
Charlie's casual chuckle was like a memory in itself, bringing me back to simpler times. Happier times. "Sure is. Gonna have to get used to that livin' up here." He paused for a moment, glancing at me out of the corner of his eye before turning back to the road. "Be home in about an hour."
Home. We were going home. To the place that Charlie lived, and where I now lived, and we were going to be a family, just him and I and no one else. It sounded almost too good to be true.
The rest of the hour was nearly silent, with only Charlie pointing out the odd bird or, once, a deer poking its head out of the thick forest past the road. "Drive with your brights on at night," he warned me. "Check for the eyes. The light will reflect off the eyes and then you can make sure ya don't hit one when it runs into the street." Of course, I didn't think that would be much of an issue, considering I didn't have a car. But it seemed like good advice. The kind of advice a dad would give his kid.
The white clapboard house was almost exactly as I remembered it, if perhaps needing a bit of a power wash. I had a hazy memory of flowers in a bed under the front window, but there was only mossy grass there now—perhaps something Charlie had gotten rid of after my mother and I left. The gravel crunched under the cruiser's tires as Charlie pulled in. "So…" he said sheepishly. "Home sweet home."
The smile was almost hurting my cheeks. I wasn't used to smiling in the first place, and now… everything was just so overwhelmingly great. "I love it, dad."
The house was almost exactly as I remembered. The rest of my stuff had arrived the day prior, and Charlie, after awkwardly showing me where my room was and pointing out the new queen bed he'd bought to replace the one from when I was a toddler, left me alone to organize in peace. I didn't have that much but I was glad for the alone time to think.
The kitchen was the same yellow it was when I was a kid, if maybe a little faded. The den was identical, the kitchen table the same… everything, even the photos on the mantle, exactly as I remembered. The only difference I could tell was the upgraded television. I'd had to conceal a laugh when I'd spotted it—Charlie definitely seemed like the "beer and sports" type who would need HD picture the second it came on the scene.
My bedroom was bigger than my room in Phoenix, but barer. I didn't think my sparse decorations would fill the space—still modest, but as I'd had no room to really decorate before, I didn't have that much to put around. The bed took up a good portion of the room—a thin black metal headboard with a twisting design like wrought iron, and no footboard. It somehow managed to complement, in an odd, mismatch way, with the white wicker dresser and matching rocking chair. "We can get you a desk if you want," Charlie had grunted when he showed me the room. "Or you can do your homework at the table. Up to you." I'd just smiled and told him the room was great. Because it was. It was perfect. It was home.
A few hours later I was sitting on the couch with my laptop, hooked into Charlie's (terrible) WiFi, while he watched some sports talk show on ESPN. He's said, more than once, that we could watch whatever I wanted, but I was just glad to spend some time being comfortable in our non-interaction in the same room. It was nice. Out of the corner of my eye I caught him glancing at me again and could tell he was about to offer me the remote once more, but he was interrupted by a pounding at the door that made me jump.
"Charlie! Open up! We want to see her!" boomed a deep voice from the direction of the front porch, and I gazed in the direction curiously.
"Oh, uh…" Charlie rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "The Blacks are here. Remember them? Billy and Jacob. Jacob's about—" but he was cut off once more by more pounding.
"I'm comin', I'm comin'," he grumbled, heaving himself out of his chair. I closed my laptop and set it on the coffee table to follow him.
Charlie pulled open the door just as the person was about to knock again, and the boy stumbled into the room from the lack of impact. Unlike me, who would have fallen flat on my face, he managed to catch himself and look up at me with a boyish grin.
"Bella!"
I stiffened for a moment as he pulled me into a hug, his long hair grazing my face and him looming over me, and shoved the impending panic down quickly and, surprisingly, easily. The boy seemed young and safe and smelled like Forks and saltwater, and Charlie was right behind us, and something… something seemed familiar about this.
"Jacob?" I asked softly, pulling a memory from the recesses of my mind. Playing on the beach on a warm summer day, that same friendly grin and russet skin, squealing as the waves came closer to our lopsided sandcastle.
Charlie chuckled as the boy let me go. "Thought you might not remember, kid," he said. "Been a while."
"Too long!" Jacob said eagerly, and opened his mouth again, but Charlie cut him off.
"Boy, did you leave your father out there?"
Jacob's eyes widened and he muttered "shit" under his breath, which made Charlie smack the back of his head as he rushed out the door. Charlie followed, and then so did I, and I walked out into the hazy grey light to see an old man, Native, the same long black hair as Jacob (save a few strands of grey starting to glint in contrast), but with a more leathery, wrinkled complexion. He was sitting in a wheelchair and glaring up at Jacob, then turned to me with a sunny expression.
"You've been missed, Isabella." For some reason the gruff voice and simple words made my heart flutter in happiness. I'd been missed. People had been looking forward to seeing me. The sunshine in his and Jacob's faces was bright enough to make even hazy Forks seem light.
Jacob and Charlie helped Billy, as he'd introduced himself, over the step and into the front door of the house. Charlie called for a pizza—I was excited to start cooking again, but maybe not tonight, my first night at Charlie's house. Billy yelled in to get two as he was ordering and Jake patted his stomach. He was practically salivating.
"Boy's been going through a growth spurt," Billy grunted. "Practically eating us out of house and home."
Jacob, who was settled lazily in the armchair next to his father, elbowed him playfully. "You know you like any excuse to spend extra time fishing, old man." Billy chuckled, but playfully swatted the back of Jake's head.
We waited for the pizza with Billy and Charlie recounting the days of Jacob and I's childhoods, the times we'd spent on the beach together. Any mention of either of our mothers was conspicuously absent, and I didn't push it—I didn't completely remember what had happened to Jacob's mother, but I did know it wasn't like my own parents and didn't want to bring up anything negative. Not now, while I was having such a nice time.
True to Billy's promise, when the pizza's arrived and Charlie paid the driver (a kid that was, apparently, going to be my classmate at Forks High according to my father), Jake grabbed one of the boxes and wolfed down a slice before I had even taken a bite of my own. The pizza was perfectly greasy, still hot, the cheese melting off the sides and the pepperoni just crisping at the edges. It reminded me perfectly of the pizza Renee and I had in New York City when I was 9 and she got the idea to fly to the Big Apple for a long weekend. I hadn't been able to find anything similar in Phoenix, despite its size, and was so happy when I took that first bite that I let out an audible moan.
I heard a cough to my left and looked over to find Jake looking at me with a look in his eye that I knew all too well. It was only a second, and when it was gone it was replaced by darkened cheeks and downcast eyes, but it was enough to turn my stomach. I swallowed, my throat suddenly dry, and grabbed the can of soda I'd been sipping from to take a large swallow. Charlie and Billy seemed impervious to the interaction and continued chatting about their last fishing trip.
In through the mouth, out through the nose, I thought to myself. I'd learned the breathing trick online, and it usually helped to calm me down. This was no exception. The moment passed, and within a few seconds I was back to hungrily, if not a little warily, chomping down on the cheesy slice in my hands.
"Well, Bells," Charlie sighed an hour later, patting his belly. "I'd better be gettin' Jake and Billy home. You gonna be good to be home alone for a bit?"
I cocked my head to the side and looked at him. "Didn't they drive here?"
Charlie's cheeks flushed pink, and I noticed his penchant for blush must be where I'd gotten mine, as Renee didn't share the trait in the slightest. "Well, uh… Yeah. They were doin' me a favor."
"I don't understand. How is driving here a favor?"
Charlie reached around and rubbed the back of his neck as he spoke his next words: "Well, uh, I kinda bought the truck for you, Bells."
I blinked, vaguely recalling the red truck I'd spotted in the driveway earlier, and then was up out of my seat and bolting for the front door. "You got me a car?" I squealed, and went to yank the door open but, without knowing it stuck, my hand slipped off the bronze knob. I lost my balance and backwards flat onto my ass. "Oof," I groaned, and within a second a russet hand was offered to me and Jacob was pulling me off the ground.
"Same old Bella," he laughed under his breath, yanking the door open for me. I stuck out my tongue at him then rushed outside.
Even in the only the glow of the porch light and reflections of the street light across from Charlie's driveway, the truck seemed to glow red. She had soft curves in her body, unlike boxier modern trucks, and I knew she was old. A gorgeous, if slightly rusted, old Chevy.
"What's her name?" I demanded. Jacob raised his eyebrow at me. "I don't want to change it now, she's too old. She might get confused."
Jacob glanced up at Charlie as he joined us on the porch. "Your daughter's losing it," he said dryly, and Charlie patted me on the shoulder.
"I know it ain't much, kid, but it runs, and it's a tank."
I felt a smile tug at my lips and turned to Charlie and Jacob. Billy was in the doorway, looking up with that same crinkly smile on his face. "I have to name her, since none of you ever thought to do it." I stepped down off the porch (carefully, gripping the railing so Jacob wouldn't have to come to my rescue again) and approached the beast slowly.
"Easy, girl," I mumbled over my breath, running my hand over the rough body and pitted paint. "I think she's a Roxanne," I called back to my dad, and was surprised when I heard a low chuckle right next to me.
"You're a piece of work, Bella," Jacob laughed. I smiled at him, but knew my eyes were wild, trying to contain the brief rush of fear I felt when I realized he'd moved so close without my noticing.
That's pretty much how things go now, and as I said goodbye to Jacob and Billy and told Charlie to be safe, I felt a wave of relief knowing I would be alone for a brief while—followed quickly by guilt that I felt that way. I'd moved to Charlie's house to spend time with him—whatever my other motives were, that was just as true as it had always been. And I was already craving alone time on the first night?!
Needing to somehow express my gratitude and feelings to Charlie, I spun on my heel and resolved to make him dessert. I didn't know exactly how long the drive to and from the Quileute reservation was, but I figured I could at least have something baking by the time he got back, hopefully filling the house with its scent. It never failed to make Renee happy to come home to the smell of chocolate chip cookies; I couldn't imagine that being one of the differences in my parents' relationship.
I took a quick trip upstairs to change into a t-shirt and sweats and grab the wireless speaker I'd brought from Phoenix, assuming (correctly) that Charlie didn't have a bluetooth-compatible sound system (or, likely, any sound system, besides the one built into the TV) in his house. I tripped on the last step on the way down, but caught myself on a railing post, and made a mental note to check with Charlie about when the last time he's checked the strength of his stairs' rail was.
With my baking playlist playing at a comfortable volume, I started scouring Charlie's cabinets, and was horrified to find… well, mostly a whole lot of nothing. How was this man alive? Cooking wasn't something I minded, and, in fact, I quite liked it, and cooking for my father seemed like a fair way to contribute to the household. I couldn't imagine Charlie being picky… Renee, for all her fad diets, was an incredibly picky eater who I could rarely get to branch out. This could be a fun time to experiment with my culinary creativity.
I briefly considered a trip to the market to get groceries upon seeing that Charlie has almost none of the ingredients for cookies. But that wouldn't work; he hadn't actually given me the keys to Roxanne yet. I'd have to make do. I took quick stock and briefly feared that I wouldn't have enough to put anything together at all, but when I spotted the vanilla extract next to the vegetable oil and the milk and eggs in the fridge, I got an idea together.
It wasn't until I was getting a pot out of the cupboard that anything felt out of place. There was a beat of silence as my playlist switched from one song to another. I had just knocked a majority of the pots and pans out of the cupboard and was staring at them, confused, trying to figure out how exactly I had managed that, when I heard something. It was faint. If it weren't for the fact that in the same moment the hair on my neck and arms shot straight up, I would have dismissed it immediately. But there it was, just for a moment—the faintest of scrapes, like a window closing upstairs.
Before I could even comprehend what it was I had heard, a soulful guitar medley began flowing from my speaker, and the same fear that had made my nerves go briefly into overdrive subsided.
Damn it, Bella, I chastised myself. Paranoid, much? But my self-loathing, too, was gone quickly, and I was left only disappointed in my own reaction.
"You're better than this," I muttered to myself, closing my eyes and digging my nails into the palms of my hands. "You're better than this. You're better than this. You're better than this." It had become my mantra—something that I didn't even fully believe, but that worked just as well as anything I'd tried to calm me down when I started to hate myself. And it worked—a second later I opened my eyes and calmly began reorganizing Charlie's cluttered pots-and-pans collection. Did I really just become that freaked out over a freaking squirrel? I rolled my eyes and smiled grimly to myself, then began humming along with the tune the man on my speakers was crooning, and quickly got back into my cooking.
I was just doling the rice pudding into four individual ramekins when Charlie came back through the door. "Perfect timing!" I called, hearing him kick off his boots at the door. He poked his head in.
"Smells incredible in here, Bells," he grunted. I couldn't help but giggle—his nose was turned up as if trying to detect the source of the smell like a trained dog.
"Rice puddings. I made some extra for tomorrow. Interested in a late night snack before bed?"
It took no more convincing than that—Charlie scarfed down his rice pudding in record time, and when he looked longingly at the remaining ramekins, I assured him that it was quite rich for me and I certainly wouldn't be having my second one tomorrow, and if he would go ahead and eat it, it would be less to have to put away. That took no further convincing, either.
Charlie had finished two of the puddings by the time I was finishing my first, and had the remaining serving covered and in the fridge and the dishes nearly done when I came to deposit my own ramekin with the rest of the mussed dishes. "You don't have to do that," I protested when I saw him with a sponge, and he just turned to me and raised an eyebrow.
"I know how to wash a dish, Bells," he said, turning back to what he did. "And you made this. Delicious by the way—you're a great cook, kid." He gave me a smile, the one that brought a little bit of the light back to his face that I knew must have been what attracted my mother to him in the first place, and I smiled back.
"Thanks, dad."
He grunted. "You should get to bed, kiddo. It's almost 11. Gotta get to the DMV bright and early tomorrow."
I blinked. "Why?"
He turned off the water and turned to me, picking up a dish towel and starting on the pot that had simmered the rice pudding. "Get your license changed over. We can switch the car over to your name, too, if you want to, or keep it in mine. Don't matter to me either way."
I shrugged. "I'm fine keeping it in your name."
He nodded and opened the cupboard to put the pot away. He paused for a minute, looking at the reorganized stacks of cooking implements, glanced at me briefly, then seemed to just shrug and found the right spot for the pot to fit.
Before he went back to start drying the rest of the dishes, Charlie stood in front of me for a minute. He looked awkward, but not insincere. "Uh, I'm really glad you're here, Bella," he said finally, pulling me into a hug.
I froze briefly. Even if I wasn't a freak about being touched, Charlie's action would have surprised me; he wasn't what I would call an outwardly affectionate man. That much I knew from even my limited time spent around him. The softness of his flannel under my cheek felt nice though, and I found myself hugging him back without consciously wrapping my arms around him.
"I'm glad to be here, dad."
I'd arrived in Forks on a Wednesday. Charlie and I spent my first two real days in town running errands—the DMV, the high school to register me, the grocery, the diner. Saturday night we went to La Push for a cookout, where Billy grilled hot dogs and burgers on a grill that, apparently, Jacob had modified to be at the right height for Billy's wheelchair and to be completely operable from his level. I was impressed. For a kid younger than me, he certainly seemed handy—and it was a little touching to see him use his talent to help his father. Sunday, Charlie went fishing. This was apparently a normal occurrence. He sheepishly admitted to me that he was gone before sunrise most weekend mornings to get out on the lake with Billy. He seemed almost guilty about his indulgence. I scoffed.
"Don't you go changing everything just because I'm here," I'd told him. "Go fishing!" So he did, touting a surprised but pleased smile at my response. Why he would have thought I would object to his fishing trips was a mystery to me.
I spent that afternoon scrubbing down the bathroom. It wasn't disgusting or anything, but it was pretty obvious it had only been cared for by a bachelor. Luckily I'd grabbed a few cleaning products at the surprisingly well-stocked Thriftway—Charlie had looked surprised and then sheepish when he asked if he has glass cleaner, and admitted he used multi-purpose spray for everything. I'd just rolled my eyes and stocked the cart with everything I'd need.
It wasn't like I minded doing the cooking and cleaning. It wasn't like Charlie was horrible at cleaning, anyway, and he always did the dishes after I cooked, which was something Renee had occasionally promised to do but never actually got around to. Still, I was having an internal battle about this being some kind of gender-roles bullshit until realizing that it was exactly my situation with Renee, and it wasn't something that Charlie was foisting on me—it was just a compatible way for us to reside in the same space, and my anxiety about whatever kind of social statement I might be making started to ebb. The bathroom was almost clean, anyway, so it's not like my thought process meant anything, but it did make my heart happy to see the gleam on the silver rim of the medicine cabinet's mirror after a good polish with the glass cleaner.
Besides, I'd spent last time cleaning since moving in with Charlie than I had in some single days living with Renee. I loved my mother, but she had an incredible penchant for making a mess and "getting distracted" before being able to clean it up herself. In fact, now that the bathroom was clean except for the Drain-O sitting in the sink drain for the next 20 minutes until I flushed it out, and I found myself with even more free time—something I hoped to relish before starting at my new school the next morning and potentially finding myself inundated with homework. Starting at a new school at the end of September wasn't exactly ideal, but it beat the alternative.
When Charlie returned mid-afternoon from his fishing trip, I was curled up on the living room couch in the fuzzy socks that Renee had tearfully given me when I left, saying I'd need them in the Forks weather, and halfway through yet another re-read of Little Women. Sure, maybe a little young for me, but it had always been a comfort book for me—a world I was able to completely immerse myself in, even feel the sunlight on my face as I watched the girls stride down the street from my perch on the words of each sentence. Charlie trudged upstairs to take a shower, and when he came back down in a fresh flannel and with dripping hair he mumbled a thank you for my cleaning, then something about replacing the bulbs in my truck before I drove to school in the morning.
"She has a name," I reminded him, getting up and stretching. I left the book turned over and open to my page on the coffee table—this edition was far past any concern that I had about the binding's quality.
Charlie rolled his eyes, but his bushy moustache twitched, and I knew he was holding back a smile. "Fine. I need to go change the bulbs in the brake lights in Roxanne. That better?"
"Much," I said happily. "What would you like for dinner? I'll go ahead and get it started."
He blinked at me once, then realization dawned on his face. "Oh, yeah, Bells, I brought dinner," he grunted, gesturing through the archway to the kitchen table, where a greasy white paper bag sat. "Stop at this place on the way home from the lake on Sundays, they filet the fish and fry it up for me."
"Oh," I said skeptically. "Okay… what kind of fish?"
He rolled his eyes. "Trout. You've had it before. You liked it."
I glanced down and smiled to myself at how happy Charlie had unintentionally made me with his comment. Sometimes it was easy to forget that this was the same man who I'd spent summer with. It was easy, at times, to think of Charlie more like a stranger who was responsible for me than as a father, considering our relationship over the past decade-plus, but moment like this—reminders that I was his daughter, and he was my father—were sacred to me.
"Okay. Sounds good. I'll, um, heat it up in the oven while you're doing that, and make a salad to go with it."
The fish wasn't half bad, and when Charlie excused himself to watch a football game after quickly washing our plates, I decided to hang out on the couch and continue my reading.
During a commercial a while later, Charlie grunted, and I looked up. He was looking at me. "I, uh, put some money on your student account, for lunches and stuff. So when you get your ID, don't worry about having to put anything on it." I smiled. I had $40 in my wallet earmarked for my student account, but Charlie seemed pleased with himself for remembering. I wondered if there was somewhere in town I could go to buy him a gift. I scanned the room—his style seemed to be heavy on forests and fishing vibes, and I figured it would be easy to find something.
"Thanks, dad. I really appreciate it."
He only nodded in reply and turned back to the TV, but I noticed his smile. I looked back down at my book, but couldn't focus on the words for a minute. I wasn't used to being taken care of. Renee did her best, but her adventurous spirit meant she didn't really have the attention span to make sure there was lunch money in my backpack or the electric bill had been paid. I didn't mind taking care of Renee—I really didn't—but I couldn't help but feel relief that she would be able to move on in her new life without worrying about me.
I left for school a half hour before Charlie said I would have to in order to arrive on time. Knowing my luck, I was completely liable to get into a car accident on my first morning, so I drove slowly the whole time, listening to my phone's automated instructions carefully and apparently incurring the wrath of some early-morning Forks commuters.
When I finally found the parking spot assigned to me in the parking lot and maneuvered the beast in between the seemingly unusually narrow yellow lines, it was starting to lightly rain. I grabbed my bag and rushed into the school, praying my hair wouldn't start to frizz before I was under cover, and managed to make it all the way inside before I felt my feet start to slip out from under me when I stepped off the mat in the school's foyer.
I was flat on my back before I realized it, gazing up at the paneled ceiling in brief confusion. "Aw, geez," I heard from my left, and then a pair of blue eyes and floppy blonde hair was peering down at me instead of the ceiling tiles. "Hey, are you okay? It gets crazy slippery in here. I keep telling Mrs. Cope that we need another mat out here but she says they're not in the budget or whatever. Do you need some help?" This was all said in one breath, in just enough time for me to get myself sitting up and take a quick assessment of my body. Finding nothing hurting, I heaved myself to my feet and looked at the blonde boy. I could feel my cheeks flooding with heat—so typical of me to enter my first day at a new school by falling flat on my ass. So much for starting over.
"I'm, um, fine," I mumbled. "Sorry."
"Don't apologize!" The boy smiled, revealing dimples that accentuated his acute case of babyface. Seriously—despite being a good four inches taller than me and definitely more muscular, his face game him the appearance of an overgrown fifth grader. I almost felt bad for him. "Hey, I don't think we've met. I'm Mike Newton. You new or something? I thought I knew everyone in school."
I'd started nodding when he asked if I was new, and I took the hand he offered me to shake. "I'm Bella. Bella Swan."
"Swan?" Mike Newton's blue eyes widened. "Oh. You're Chief Swan's daughter!"
"Um, yeah," I said skeptically. "You know my dad."
Mike nodded. "I mean, I'm not a criminal or anything. Everyone known Chief Swan. Everyone's been talking about you coming to live with him." I stared at him—I hadn't even known it was happening until just over a week ago. I guess what they say about word travelling in a small town was true. "You're kinda famous around here, Bella," Mike said, leaning towards me and winking. "Need any help finding your first class?"
I glanced down at the school schedule I'd printed on Charlie's black-and-white printer and put in the front of my binder for safekeeping. "Um. I don't know. I have to get my ID from the office first." Mike nodded and moved as if to put his hand on my shoulder. I jumped back, somehow managing not to catch my shoe on the rug—he looked confused for a moment, but the smile was back almost immediately.
"Well, hey, I got some time. My mom dropped me off crazy early because her car's in the shop so she's using mine." He rolled his eyes. "I mean, that's my car! I need it. Man, I bet you never have to deal with that, huh? Since your dad drives a police cruiser, right? Anyway, how about I wait for you here and I'll help you find your first class?"
"Uhm—uh, sure," I stammered, looking at the boy cautiously. Apparently I had underestimated the friendliness of the Forks townspeople.
"Great!"
I scuffled off into the front office that I had visited last week with Charlie to find the kindly secretary, Mrs. Cope, on the phone.
"I am so sorry to hear that, Mrs. Cullen," she said as I walked in and stood patiently a few steps away from the desk. She gave me an apologetic smile, which I returned with a smile of my own that hopefully assured her I didn't mind the delay. "No, don't you worry, I'll tell his teachers... Alright. Tell him to fell better... You have a good day now." She replaced the handset and looked up at me, folding her fingers together on top of her desk. "Good morning, Isabella," she said.
"Good morning. And it's just Bella," I replied, tugging on my bag's strap absently.
Mrs. Cope nodded and began rummaging for something on her cluttered desktop. "Hold on just a second dear, I swear I had your ID here a moment ago… Ah! Here it is." She held up a small card triumphantly. "It's a very cute photo, dear."
My cheeks heated for the second time in just a few minutes as I took it. I glanced at it and grimaced—I did not agree with her assessment. My hair had been frizzing out of control from the rain, and my cheeks were flushed from the chill. I wish I'd been able to take a moment before taking the photo, but the man taking it was apparently an IT teacher and had to get to a class. I shoved it into my jeans pocket.
"So that will help you get into the school's electric locks if you have permissions after-hours. The school doors lock at four, but you can use your card to get in until six to…" I zoned out a little as she droned on about the benefits of my student ID and glanced back down at my schedule. English. Mr. Mason. Room 338. I repeated that in my head, suddenly nervous to accidentally walk into the wrong room and be known as the girl who can't walk on her own two feet and the girl who can't even read room numbers.
My eyes suddenly widened and I looked up, hyper-aware that Mrs. Cope's gravelly voice was no longer filling the room. She was looking at me expectantly. "Oh, um… I'm so sorry, what was that?"
"I just asked if you had a copy of your schedule, dear," she repeated pleasantly. I nodded and held up the binder cover. "Alright. Well, the numbering is pretty self-explanatory. The first letter of the room number is the floor. The gym is down at the back of the school—it's kind of hard to find, but I'm sure someone will show you the way, honey," she said sympathetically. I gave her a weak smile in return.
After assuring her that I would come straight down to her if I needed anything, I left the office to find Mike Newton leaning against the wall, waiting for me. He pushed off and beamed as I approached. "Where to?" he asked, and I showed him my schedule.
I felt embarrassingly out of shape as we climbed the two staircases to the third floor. Luckily, Mike spent the entire climb rambling about different amenities in the school and pointing out the posters brightly proclaiming that the Homecoming theme was "Harvest Square-dance," whatever that might entail, and I was glad I was behind him and he couldn't see the grimace on my face as he raved about the planning committee's progress.
Room 338 was right next to the staircase that Mike had brought me up, and I stood awkwardly at the doorway, trying to figure out if I was supposed to thank Mike for the directions, or maybe ask a polite follow-up to his ramblings.
"Hey, I think my buddy Eric is in this class," he said suddenly. "Can't miss him. I'll let him know you're cool, Bella." He winked again—something that I was starting to understand he thought was attractive—and gave me a smile like he was doing me a favor. I tried to smile back, but my muscles felt strained and awkward.
"Mr. Newton! Aren't you supposed to be in morning detention in the library, young man?" Mike winced at the shrill voice coming from behind me.
"Yes, Mrs. Mason, but you see, I was just showing our new student to her classroom," he said sheepishly. "I'll be going right now." He gave me a pointed look. "I'll see you at lunch, Bella."
I could tell right away that Mrs. Mason was an old-fashioned badass, and when she assigned me a seat in the back of the classroom, I was so thrilled I could have kissed her feet. "Would you like to introduce yourself to the class?" she asked me quietly as I stood at her desk, waiting for her to dismiss me to my seat.
"I would rather not, if you don't mind," I said quietly. She nodded. Despite her sharp glasses and firm, old-lady hairstyle, her smile was legitimate and kind.
I took my seat as students were beginning to stream in. After opening my binder and taking out a pen, I started doodling, trying to keep myself from being noticed. It wasn't necessarily that I was adverse to making friends here in Forks… I was just so unused to being around people that didn't already know they didn't want to be friends with me that I wasn't quite sure how to put myself out there. Maybe after a few weeks I would just naturally assimilate and wake up knowing who I would be eating lunch with. Although, Mike had mentioned lunch. I wasn't sure how I felt about that yet, considering the whole "detention" thing, but I wasn't about to turn down the offer yet.
Eric Yorkie was waiting for me in the doorway after I assured Mrs. Mason that I'd already read The Awakening and would therefore be able to catch up to the rest of the class after just a quick skim. I was trying to remember where my copy was when an arm darted out in front of me, and I looked up, startled, at a boy who may have had some very nice features under an unfortunate blanket of acne.
"Eric Yorkie," he said simply as I glanced again at the arm not blocking me from my next destination. Government. Mr. Jefferson. Room 304. Government. Mr. Jefferson. Room 304. "Mike told me you were cool, Bella, but he failed to mention how absolutely gorgeous you are." He smiled, and I felt kind of bad—I'm sure he intended it to come off as sweet and charming, but all it really succeeded in was creeping me out.
"I… Um…" I stuttered. My cheeks felt hot again, and I closed my eyes, mentally berating myself. God, Bella! Say something! This is the second time today you've come off like an idiot in front of a new classmate—pull yourself together! I shook my head and reopened my eyes with a nervous smile. "Thanks."
Mike appeared then, and I was a little relieved when he steered me away from Eric, insisting on walking me to Government—which, apparently, we had together. It went that way after Gov as well, me balancing a thick textbook emblazoned "U.S. Government: History and Theory" and trying desperately not to drop it, and him rambling again, this time about a girl named Jessica Stanley who, according to a group chat that was apparently trying to find people in each class of mine since Mike had seen my schedule, had Trigonometry and Spanish with me over the next two periods. I was scarlet when Mike scurried away after seeing the glare from the teacher in the doorway—was that what the students of Forks High considered a welcoming committee? I shook it off, figuring that it was just a product of small-town life to have the citizens overly-curious about the Chief of Police's formerly-estranged daughter.
The glaring teacher turned out to be altogether unpleasant, and insisted I stand and introduce myself to the class. I answered his questions as shortly as possible until he got the message and let me sit, passing a text back to my desk. The curly-haired girl next to me was practically buzzing, and the whole class could hear her stage whisper as she introduced herself as Jessica Stanley. Mr. Varner only rolled his eyes.
The Forks High Experience was pretty monotonous until lunch. Jessica talked the whole way through the lunch line—she seemed to have very similar traits to Mike, as far as her penchant for both talking and subject matter went. The homecoming dance was still two weeks away, but by the way people were talking, you would think it was tomorrow.
We got all the way through the line, paid, and sat our trays down at the table Jessica led me to before I had to utter anything other than an "Uh huh" or a "I'm sure" or simply nod. Mike Newton and his buddy Eric were already at the table, both with brown bag lunches in front of them. Mike was tossing grapes in the air and Eric was trying to catch them. They were cheering for a completed toss when we slid into the plastic seats.
"Hey, Bella," Mike said excitedly, then turned his attention to Jessica and started rapidly shooting off questions about the planning committee for homecoming, which I devised the two of the were on together—which, hopefully, explained their unusual excitement about it.
I made the mistake of glancing over at Eric as I nibbled on what was allegedly a chicken quesadilla. He took this as opportunity to have a conversation, and was just starting to tell me about the best and worst teachers at the school when something in the corner of my eye caught my attention.
Standing near a table in the corner and looking incredibly out of place with the orange plastic lunch tray she held gingerly was the single most beautiful woman I have ever seen. I don't mean the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen in real life, either—she surpassed any model or actress that I could think of by an unfair margin. Her face was perfectly symmetrical, her blonde hair falling in long waves around her shoulder, and she wore an all white-and-grey outfit that would have looked ridiculous on most people but somehow made her look even more like a model than she already did. As she perched lightly on one of the chairs at the table, I noticed for the first time that she was with three others. A giant of a man with cut cheekbones, slight stubble, and brown curls sat directly to her side, looking far more involved with her than with the food he'd brought with him, though she simply scrolled her phone. Across from them, a tiny sprite of a girl with a black pixie cut sat in the face of a long-haired blonde boy who managed to pull the look off far better than Mike Newton—probably because, instead of making him look more like a child, the blonde shag combined with his sharp features and lean muscle made him look more rustic-chic than tween pop idol.
"Who the fuck are they?" I half whispered, my gaze affixed to the strange group. Though they all looked markedly different, they shared one trait (besides, apparently, ridiculous, ethereal beauty)—perfect, ivory white skin.
"The Chief's daughter swears!" I heard Mike whoop, but I was focused on Jessica, who was following my line of sight.
"Oh, them," she said understandingly, as if a light had just clicked on in my head. "Those are the Cullens."