I'm tired of the bumps on the road that make the car feel like it's ready to explode.
I have a weak stomach and I will always be the first to admit that, that is if my Mom doesn't do it for me first.
When I was little every movie we saw that had blood, vomit, anything considered even slightly gross my Mom would warn everyone with us that I had a weak tummy. It was always quite humiliating all things considered, but I never fought back because really there was no point - my Mom loved to talk back then, and even now making her shut up would be a task I wouldn't force upon the strongest of men.
Car sickness used to be my specialty, and even though we no longer have to pull over every car ride that's longer than an hour I can still feel the bile rise and fall in the back of my throat from time to time.
This had to be one of my longest car rides - to get from Nevada to Washington it took almost a total of twenty hours.
My Mom, being the impatient person that she always has been, decided that we needed to limit our stops to once every three hours - if you had to pee, you were very close to out of luck. I made a mental note to remind her of that in a week if I were to get a UTI.
Growing up in Nevada was vastly different than Forks, which is where we were headed. Different as in, I'd seen rain maybe less than a hundred times in my life and now I'd be dealing with it on an almost daily basis.
All things considered though, I don't mind the rain. My favorite thing to do during a storm is to sit in a corner close to a window and read a book while my ankles would be snuggled beneath a blanket.
I liked it when it was cold because I liked the process of being warm. Hiding under covers on a chilly night, knowing you were safe from the bitter air so long as you were under a few blankets. I used to use a fan to sleep to simulate a similar effect, but it was never really the same.
My Dad however loved the sun and everything warm. He enjoyed Nevada so much because that let him get on his boat and away from us most days, (and sometimes nights) he would refer to my Mom and I as his two biggest problems. I can remember that when I was younger and he used to say it so that it was like a term of endearment, he would coo it and it felt like there was love in his words.
Now though, there is nothing but resentment at best no matter how hard I have tried to search his voice for any of the previous adoration.
It took my Mom a few years to catch up with what was going on within their marriage, and she was stubborn and adamant that things would work out, like they had last time they had separated.
I was so young the first time maybe seven or eight that I don't remember much from the flings other than they were always the same - short lived and ending in fire.
"We're almost there." My Mom says in a sing-song voice, and I can tell she's trying to hide the pain by using faux excitement. "Ten more minutes and we'll be walking into our new home."
After my Mom caught up to speed with the fact that things were not in fact going to get better between her and my Dad this time around, she decided that a fresh start was the only way to approach things.
And for her, a fresh start meant moving across the country.
Don't mistake me for bitter, in fact I'm the opposite. I have no real interest in Washington, but I could have said the same thing about Nevada believe it or not. I didn't have many friends, some people were nice and others weren't. It was what it was. Indifference is better than excitement, because at least with indifference you don't necessarily face the risk of disappointment.
We pull into a small gravel driveway, just long and wide enough for a single car. The house itself is barely a few feet away from the driveway itself, and it is also small.
The door is painted an off shade of white and the house is painted a deep red - you can tell that it hasn't been redone in a few years since it's a bit chipped. Overall though, it seems inviting - cozy even, the kind of house you'd feel good walking into everyday.
My room is about the size of my Moms, just enough room for my bed, a bookshelf and my CD rack as well as a few other miscellaneous objects. It takes me approximately an hour before everything is in its place, which includes my posters of foreign films and otherwise obscure pop culture things.
The house we shared with my Dad back in Nevada was a four bedroom, one room for my parents, an unfinished room in the basement, my bedroom, and a storage room.
My parents bought the home in their early twenties, back when they thought they would have more kids. My Mom got pregnant a few times, and each time ended in despair. She promised my Dad that she could tell that the next time would be different, but after awhile she stopped conceiving in general and even though she still held out hope, my Dad began to fill the extra bedroom upstairs with items such as his filing cabinet, old lamps and furniture, as well as other things he didn't want to throw away but also didn't want to show case throughout the house.
I still remember the day my Mom found out about him moving things in the room, and that was just day one of when her heart was shattered. He did it a few times after that with different things that he did.
"All settled?" My Mom peaks her head into my room and gives me a small smile.
"Yeah Mom, it didn't take very long at all." I returned the smile.
"I know that this isn't exactly what we had wanted, but it's a cute little place isn't it?" I can feel the embarrassment in her voice.
"Don't talk like that, I love it. It's perfect for us! I know we'll make it more our own over time as well." I feel guilty that she feels guilty, seeing her upset always tugs at my heart a little more than I would like to admit.
"I'm glad you think that honey," she begins to tear up a bit and I pretend not to notice because it's what she would want "I really just came in to see if you needed help with unpacking, but since you've got it all covered I'm going to head to bed. I've got a lot to do tomorrow."
"Goodnight Mom."
"Night kid."
Alone again, and now all I can think of is school the next day.
When I first found out about the move I had contemplated rebranding myself, being the popular girl from blockbuster movies by dying my natural blue-black hair blonde, cropping all my t-shirts, and piercing my belly button with a safety pin. Live life like someone new and see where it would take me.
Inevitably, the idea of doing all that was jarring and I didn't think I would ever actually want to do it. It was just a funny idea to me, how there are so many people in the world and every new place you go you can be a new you and no one there would even notice - they would think you had been like that for your whole life.
The blue-black hair came from my Dad, just like my concave nose with a straight base, and my thin lips. From my Mother I only really inherited her inability to tan and deep brown eyes that I felt sat a little too far back in my head.
I'd never been one to pick out my outfit for the first day of school, especially since it was already the middle of the semester and I didn't feel like so much effort was appropriate, but with nothing else to do I went to my closet and began to look.
I landed on a red button up blouse and a pair of washed-out skinny jeans that became a little baggier over the years that I've had them.
Then, I decided it was time to organize my music collection.
Always above all else I adored music and books and movies. The escapism of it all sometimes felt unhealthy to my parents, but to me it was always just something I enjoyed. I didn't sit in the back of the class and keep my head in a book, or stay in my room all the time to watch Star Trek or anything like that. I just enjoyed the concept of things being different in different worlds. The creativity captivated me.
I organized my Cds by best to worst, the top three albums being ; Funeral by Arcade Fire, Is This It by The Strokes, and Mothertongue by Nico Muhly.
I first heard Arcade Fire when I was in the car with my Dad one day as we were driving to meet my Mom at a restaurant, I remember being automatically hooked. I loved the voice, the instrumentals, all of it.
The lyrics felt so raw that even though I was only around nine at the time, I remember thinking this means something, and it probably means something to others as well.
In bed I lay curled up in the smallest formation of a ball, I try to focus on the rain as it hits my bedroom window that way it can distract me from my ever increasing anxiety about school the next morning...sadly, the rain did little to distract from the whirlpool of thoughts clouding my mind.
I spent so long convincing myself that I wasn't nervous that I hadn't noticed when the warning signs had appeared regarding the seemingly sudden anxiety.
I fell asleep eventually, and when I woke up it was already six AM.
I spent about twenty minutes getting ready before I went down to the kitchen getting ready to eat, but when I opened up the fridge it hit me that we hadn't done any of our grocery shopping yet.
Grumpily I took what was left from my take out last night and ate it as I walked to school.
Every minute of the two mile walk was dreadful, although I did notice something I found rather funny. Back in Nevada the air was sweet - sometimes pungent. It would be hard to describe the scent to anyone, let alone someone who wasn't a foreigner...here though, it smelled of moss, salt water, and seaweed. Very earthy, I don't think I've ever smelled something more natural.
I'd be the first to admit that everything about this place was different - I felt like an outsider looking in, even with my name now on the school's registration and our things unpacked in the house. I felt like a stranger, or like I was on a vacation in some damp green land.
Even when I would close my eyes and try to picture myself back in Nevada it was impossible - the smell of wet trees and the feeling of the rain wetting my scalp would continuously give it away.
When I walk into the school - and I'll admit I feel a bit self absorbed even saying this - I swear I can feel everyone's eyes on me. Like I'm fresh meat waiting to be eaten alive.
There are a few people not even looking in my direction, but for the most part I'm being stared at like an alien. I begin to wonder whether I grew a third eye on the walk here.
A boy with shaggy blonde hair approaches me first, he's smacking his lips and I can tell he is chewing gum. Bubble gum, from the smell of it.
"I'm Andrew." He smiles and reveals two rows of offwhite teeth. He offers his hand out to me and I take it.
"Lonnie."
"Lonnie? I've never met anyone with that name. Is it a nickname?"
"What would it be a nickname for?"I say it in a teasing way, as a joke, but I quickly regret it when I hear how flat the words fall from my mouth - it just seems like I'm being rude now and so to make up for it I fake a sheepish smile.
"Touche." It's quiet for a moment before he speaks up again. "Would you like me to carry your books? I could even take you to your next class."
Luckily for me I had a quick outting - right when he asked, we began to approach the office which is where I was actually headed anyways.
"Awe thanks, but I'm actually headed to the office. Gotta pick up my schedule."
"Oh. Well, alright...maybe we'll have a class together later." He flashes another goofy grin and waits for me to walk inside the office.
It smells like a hospital room, or when you're at the dentists. I wait for my turn in line which is coming up quickly, and to settle my nerves I take a mint out of the bowl on the desk and pop it in my mouth.
"You must be Lonnie," a plump woman with gray hair cut to her ears smiles as me and her green eyes crinkle at the sides "it's not often we get new students here," she walks over to a filing cabinet and begins to shuffle around some papers "very rare actually - I haven't had a new student enrolled here in God knows how long...well, other than the freshman of course. Bella Swan must've been the last."
"Oh. Does she still go here? I ask hopefully even though I think I know the answer to that by the way the receptionist emphasised the fact that it was a long time.
"Oh no dear, she must've graduated years ago. She has a daughter who goes here now." The woman snortles a bit.
"That must have been over fifteen years ago at least then…" I'm saying it more to myself than to her but she responds anyway.
"Well, the daughter is adopted. She's only a few years younger than Bella herself. Always was a weird bunch - very charming husband though." She has a hint of a smile on her face at that point and suddenly I'm uncomfortable. "Oh! Here we go dear." The woman hands me a small stack of papers and I look them over.
I'm not disappointed with my classes, but I am disappointed about the fact that I'm now late to my first hour which is English.
I think about the girl Bella some more, and wonder how her first day had gone - if she was as nervous as I was, or whether she took it all in stride. It would've been nice to see how she had adjusted here, which is why I had hoped she hadn't yet graduated.
When I walk into the class, my teacher, Ms. Kirsten gives me a look of annoyance. She has blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail and a pair of rectangular glasses sitting on the middle bridge of her nose, they fall down her face a little further as she tilts her head down to look at me from a stereotypical 'are you kidding me?' look.
Despite the look, she actually doesn't say anything about my tardiness and instead points me to an empty seat next to a girl with a mess of curly blonde hair that frames her oval face.
I sit down and the blonde girl smiles at me and gives me a little wave, I return the smile.
After Ms. Kirsten finishes reading a page out of a book I read back in seventh grade (Of Mice And Men) she tells us we can start our homework early. She brings me a worksheet with an essay question on it and all the guidelines as well as a copy of the book.
"I'm Darby." The blonde girl speaks.
"I'm Lonnie."
"I know- not in a weird way or anything obviously, but everyone knows who you are here. You've been like a small-time celebrity for the last week ever since the teachers told us...it's crazy seeing a new face, the last time I met a new classmate was back in first grade. It was a kid named George, he only stayed until the end of the school year because his parents were in the army."
She spoke so fast I Could barely keep up, I could tell she was welcoming - but also on the overwelcoming side. The very over welcoming side.
"Wow," I chuckle because I don't know what else to do. "It's hard to imagine so many people know who I am when I don't know any of them."
"Kinda cool though, you're popular without even trying." She smiles but I can tell it's on the faker side this time.
"I guess. Popularity never interested me much."
The girl - Darby - nods her head slowly and we stay quiet for a moment before she speaks up again.
"Well, it sucks I'm not your normal seat partner. You actually sit next to someone else - she's not here today so I took her spot since it's closer to the heater."
"Oh that sucks." I say it but only half mean it - she seems very sweet, if not a little jealous, but I don't think I'd ever get anything done in class with her talking.
"Yeah. The girl you sit by is kind of weird honestly. Her name is Renesmee."
"Renesmee?"
"Yeah, Renesmee Cullen. Both her parents went here when they were younger and I guess they were just as weird. The Cullens are all extremely gorgeous but something just isn't right about them." Darby picks up her pencil and begins to doodle on her loose leaf paper. "I mean, her parents are only in their early twenties and they already have a daughter only a few years younger than them? It's so weird. She's adopted or whatever but still."
"Yeah, weird."
It doesn't take me long to connect the dots before I realize that Renesmee is the daughter of Bella, the girl I talked to the receptionist about earlier.
"How long has she been here since?" I ask.
"Since freshman year but I guess she's lived in Forks her entire life - was home schooled or something."
I hated to admit how curious I was about this girl - that I was already wondering about someone I hadn't even met. Darby said it out of rudeness, but she definitely wasn't wrong when she said it was a weird situation.
I pushed the thought to the back of my brain, and began to work on my essay hoping I hadn't forgotten the key parts of the story after years of not reading it.