SOMETHING NEW

Brynn

"Tell me you aren't serious."

After nearly thirteen hours of driving, I had been under some sort of impression that the destination would be worth it. I had seen the beaches a few miles back, had noticed the cute little trails and shops all around, and it had given me a miniscule amount of hope that things might genuinely be better this time around.

This, however, was not what I had in mind.

It was a small bungalow house, a tan color with decorative dark brown boards put in vertically every few feet. The large front porch was painted to match the boards, plants having grown to naturally decorate the wood, foliage and ivy, determined in this cold weather to stay alive, were trimmed to look purposeful- not messy. The windows of the living room were old fashioned, two small rectangles on either side of a longer one with the shutters painted white, which could only leave me hoping for a window seat. I could see a single set of windows for the second floor, already opened with sheer white curtains blowing out of them, like something out of a horror film. It wasn't bad, we had lived in dingy apartments and houses with paint-peeling walls, but my dad had sworn that it would feel like a home. I hadn't ever witnessed what home felt like, moved from town to town and state to state too much to think the word had any verifiable meaning, and so I couldn't feel it now.

Really, I had been thirsting after a new life, I just hadn't expected for my father, James, to decide now was the best time of all to seek that. He received a phone call from a friend, one that I hadn't heard mentioned in years, and suddenly we were up and moving to the Quileute Reservation as if it was our own. I wasn't necessarily upset by it; I didn't have many friends that I was leaving behind, and my love life had been the equivalent to something like NASCAR, going around in circles and never getting anywhere. But, then again, could that really be any different from the average high schooler, the ones that stayed in their hometowns and went to parties every weekend, falling in and out of love, breaking and having broken hearts? My main problem was the fact that we were moving to an area where we really shouldn't be- this wasn't our land to call home. My mother had been of Quileute descent, born and raised on the very ground we stood on now, before meeting James Price, getting knocked up, and skipping town in less than a year. I knew I had the tan skin, the dark features, but there was no mistaking me for being native to the area; I was just as much my dad as my mother.

My father, James, was a tall and white man with salt and pepper hair cut at his ears who liked to pretend he needed glasses despite that they didn't come with a prescription. He had the build of healthy guys in their late thirties, but with a bit more muscle. He was stubborn and hard working, but always gentle when it came to me and what he believed I needed, and when it came down to it, he was all I had in this world. It sounded pathetic, my best friend being my dad, but if people saw it from my perspective I thought they might understand: we moved, we changed, and the only thing we weren't touch and go with were each other.

He had already exited the car, eager to see what the place looked like without a windshield in his way. The smile on his face that was far too big for me to hold on to the little disappointment I had stored in me. It was always the same display; me housing disappointment, my father being the water can that doused any ill feelings I had towards our new situations. This time though, James was looking around and taking deep pulls of the air, as if he had just come back home after a long vacation and had missed that smell.

Maybe it wouldn't be too bad.

"This is home sweet home, Rin," he said, moving towards the U-Haul attached to the back of the truck. "Go inside and check it out, I'm going to start unloading boxes."

I caught the keychain he tossed my way, two golden keys hooked on to a little silver ring, and exhaled before moving towards the front door. The keys weren't a necessity; the door was already unlocked, a little handwritten note left on the porch railing explaining that whoever had been here last wasn't sure if we had a set or not. When I walked inside, the scent of fresh paint and new wood filled my nose instantly as I stepped into the small walkway. It was clear the flooring was new, a light hardwood spreading throughout the entire space, pairing well with the freshly painted beige walls. Furniture had already been put inside; a soft, dark brown sectional pressed against one of the walls, the open side of it letting the light in from the window. My suspicions about a window seat had been correct: the window overlooking the drive was decorated with a white cushion and two pillows pressed against the wall of one side. A simple rectangular coffee table acted as the centerpiece, an entertainment center settled against the wall opposite of the window seat. The hall led to what I assumed was a bedroom and a bathroom.

The glare from the sun on to the TV would be awful, but I decided I would let my dad handle that problem. The thought of him grumbling as he rearranged things almost made me smile.

The kitchen was simple; a dark table paired with matching chairs, the counters all being a light granite color. Tucked to one side of the kitchen, behind the back door, was a set of stairs. I could tell the steps of them were new; the wood silent under my feet as I walked up. The loft it led to was by far my favorite part of the house. The flooring was a darker hardwood, the walls painted the same beige color as downstairs, but the dresser that rested across from the exit, just below the window, was white, matching the paint of the bed stand. The window overlooked the little drive way, and I could see my father had gotten a decent amount of boxes out of the trailer. To the back of the loft was an indentation with a bar running across it, where I could hang my clothes. And just beside that, sliding glass doors that led out to the roof, overlooking the backyard. The glass offered me a good look at myself, and I pursed my lips at the reflection. My dark brown hair was tied up in a bun that was at one point decent, but had slipped into something that resembled a mudslide. My tan skin looked a little lifeless, bags under my almond shaped eyes from switching driving shifts with my father at one in the morning, and they drooped a little, causing my brown eyes to look a little tired, too. I was dressed in simple running shorts and a T-Shirt, discouraged from my father because of the chilly January air, but a requirement for me to get any sleep in the car.

Despite how exhausted I was, I decided then that it really wasn't too bad at all.

By the time I had finally left the house to meet with my father, there were two other men there helping him carry things to the house. They were both tall with dark features and shortly clipped hair and tan skin, all a dead giveaway that they were locals on the reservation. The men were both dressed in basketball shorts and decided to skip the shirt, something I tried not to notice for longer than would be acceptable. Was it at all acceptable to ogle shirtless men in my driveway? It was growing deeper into cold weather, winter just around the corner, and yet they were shirtless? I was suddenly self conscious about my hair, reaching up to try to reshape it casually as I approached.

The men watched me walk towards them, both wearing friendly smiles on their faces. "Look alright?" One called out as he set down yet another box near the porch, causing James to step out of the U Haul to look at me as well.

I smiled politely, leaning a shoulder against the truck. "It's actually pretty great, I was a little worried at first."

James rolled his eyes to both of the guys. "Rin, this is Sam and Jared, they helped patch this baby up for us. Boys, this is my daughter, Brynn."

I offered a tight lipped smile, feeling guilty for openly expressing my worries about the house. It was just my luck, trying to joke around about my house looking a little rough to the exact guys who tried to prevent that problem. I had that problem often, saying exactly what didn't need to be said. "I- uh. It's really nice, the paint and the new floors. How long did this take you?"

"Not very," Jared said, a proud smile on his face as he shrugged, bracing his arm on the truck and letting the muscle in his bicep bulge a bit more than the action called for. He was smug, proud of the work he did despite what I had said, and it eased my guilt just a pinch.

"Mostly thanks to Paul, though," Sam laughed. "He's got a problem with competing with himself on every little thing he does. He took out all of the previous dressers and tables, put some homemade ones in for you guys."

At that, my eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding," I said, looking back at the house with a new tilt to my head. It was hard to imagine one man being able to carve, sand, and paint all the edges and curves of the furniture up in my room. I could always admire a good artist, and whoever Paul was, he was making chairs and tables that looked like they came straight out of Ikea, even better. My head turned back to the guys slowly, my smile a little softer now, a little more open. "You'll have to thank him for me, I was expecting to have to spend a fortune on my bedroom."

I stepped out of the way as my dad walked by with a large box. "You guys hungry? We've got pizza on the way," he offered over his shoulder, and I watched as the two guys exchanged a look.

"We've got to get back; I'm sure Emily's got dinner waiting, and Jared has school tomorrow." Sam ruffled Jared's hair, who ducked away a second too late. I was just distracted by the fact that one of them was in school still. Were they not in their twenties?

True to their word, they didn't stick around for longer than a goodbye once everything was unloaded and most things were set up. They had been good company though, bantering with one another and able to handle it when I joined in, even occasionally dishing it back. It took some of the weight off of my shoulders about being in a new place and once again not knowing anyone; you would think that after doing it so often, I would find it easier and easier each time. Usually that was true, but I felt the need to talk with Sam and Jared as if putting myself out there this time would be worth it. My father had said over and over that this would be home for them, that there would be no moving after this, and maybe that was why I felt the pull towards making new friends. Maybe these ones would last.

That brought up the next hurtle: school. Dad always tried to convince me that I needed to give the area a few days before rushing in, to ease into it. It didn't work. Before we had even made it to Seattle, I had him on the phone with the Quileute Tribal School, figuring out when I could show up and what credits I would need to complete my junior year sufficiently. I hadn't been surprised by the situation; he always tried to get me to cut herself some slack, but I was relentless, preferred to take the leaps before they took me, and that meant diving into a new high school before I had time to make myself anxious about it.

We talked about it over pizza. "Are you sure about Wednesday? You still have unpacking to do, you need to explore La Push more," dad was saying, dabbing at his mouth as he watched a black-eyed Dean Winchester beat the brakes off of some guy.

"Positive. If I don't do it now, I will freak myself out and try to do homeschool again. Remember homeschool?" I was in the window seat, feet kicked up, picking up fallen banana peppers and putting them back on my pizza slice. Weird combo, but if you heard the rest of what went on it, you wouldn't stick around.

He laughed, nodding his head at the memory. "I never thought a kid could go that stir crazy. Was good for your training, though. Don't think you've missed a shot since."

Ah, yes. Training. James Price had taken to teaching his daughter archery and fighting since I could remember. He never said why, and I never asked after the first few shut downs; it was something to do, afterall. During homeschool, I would be finished with my assignments far too early and left with the entire rest of my day to do nothing, so I spent it on target practice and learning new moves that dad hadn't taught me yet, sometimes he hadn't even heard of them. It was nice to be teaching him something every now and then.

"I'm going down to Billy Blacks tomorrow, got some stuff he wants me to help out with. You want to come out? Jacob might be there, could show you around a little bit." Billy Black was the reason we were here now, why we packed up our belongings and left the chill of Nowhere Town, Indiana to instead plummet into the deep blue of the Pacific Northwest.

"Yeah, that sounds fun," I said, uncommitted. We ate the rest of our pizza in silence, the sounds of Supernatural filling the gap for us.

It was only nine by time I was making my way towards the staircase, so exhausted by the driving and moving in that I didn't even bother flipping on the TV before face-planting into the bed. My dad had long since past out on the couch downstairs, so there was no reason to force myself to stay up longer than I wanted to. On my side, I pressed my fingertip to my lips before pressing it into the glass of a picture frame on my bedside table, my mother's face momentarily being covered. It was a photo of my mother and father at the beach, his hands placed protectively on her swollen stomach as they cheesed at the camera. I hadn't ever met my mother, didn't know her from a stranger on the street, but the amount of love I felt whenever I looked at that photo told me enough.

"Welcome home, mom," I whispered, before turning my back on the photo and giving in to the pull of sleep.