It's Time

Chapter 2

Disclaimer: All things Twilight belong solely to Stephenie Meyer. No copyright infringement is intended.

I arrived in Farmington on a rainy Saturday afternoon. After collecting my luggage, I walked through the station. Charlie had told me I needed to take a cab to the school and had given me fare, but I had never gotten a taxi on my own before, and I was unsure of what to do. As I tried to find help, something unexpected caught my eye.

Just like in the movies, a formally dressed driver was standing in the lobby of the station. He was wearing a tailored black suit, gloves, and a chauffeur's cap. He looked out-of-place among the casually attired crowd at the small town depot.

The driver held a sign, which had my name along with Miss Porter's School written across it in bold, dark letters. Once I got over my initial shock and indicated who I was, he rushed over to retrieve my bag and led me to his awaiting car.

The car was not a limo, but it was the fanciest one I had ever ridden in. I immediately burrowed into its soft, leather seats, and was contented to relax and enjoy the passing scenery. Farmington was small, yet charming. Its streets were lined with quaint, one of a kind shops, not the chain stores I frequented in Chicago. I looked forward to returning and exploring what each had to offer.

The driver interrupted my observations and asked me if my trip had been pleasant; I shrugged my shoulders acknowledging it was uneventful. Feeling obligated to take part in a conversation, I inquired if he picked up students regularly for the school.

"Oh, no, Miss," he replied. "I don't work for the school. I was only hired to deliver you."

Deliver me? What a strange way to phrase it, I thought to myself.

I had assumed the school had sent the driver and wondered if Charlie had a change of heart and arranged for the ride but quickly dismissed the thought knowing the cost was way out of his budget.

As I was preparing to ask who had hired him, the driver suddenly stopped the car and announced we had arrived.

When he opened my door, I saw a woman standing on the sidewalk as if she were awaiting my arrival.

"Isabella, welcome to Miss Porter's! We're so excited you're here." The lady gushed as she strode over to where I stood. "I'm Mrs. Meyer, the Headmistress of the School."

She gave me an overview of what to expect over the following few days before a young girl interrupted us who was then introduced as my tour guide, Jessica Stanley. She was a sophomore with dull brown hair that curled about her face like a laurel wreath.

"I will leave you in Miss Stanley's capable hands, but if you need anything at all, call me. Anytime. Okay?" She gave my arm a short squeeze as she handed me her card and then turned to enter the admissions building.

Jessica gaped at me wide-eyed; I was confused by her expression.

"Do you know Mrs. Meyer personally or something?" she finally asked, her eyes still bugged.

"Umm, no. Why?"

"She never mingles with the students, and she practically hugged you! And, is that her phone number?" she exclaimed pointing to the card clutched in my hand.

I read the card. "I guess."

Jessica still looked bewildered but sighed. "Huh, I guess there's a first for everything. Now, what's your dorm assignment?"

When Jessica discovered I had been assigned to The Brick House, her displeasure was evident. With her fists balled up at her sides, she stomped toward a large, two-story brick building with a wrap-around porch and stately red door that was flanked by two boxwood topiaries. It looked to be most likely a historic structure.

"Most of us simply call it 'Brick,' and it's rare for an eighth-grader to be placed into this dorm, you know," Jessica explained, as she popped her gum. "There's a huge waiting list, and it's usually reserved for upperclassmen. Jackie O lived here during her time at Miss Porter's, so it obviously has the nicest rooms."

She was right; my new room was nice, more than nice. A beige, wool rug covered what appeared to be original hardwood floors. It had pale yellow walls, a garden view, and even a window seat, which would be the perfect spot to curl up and read a book.

Jessica eyed me speculatively as if I were keeping a dark secret. She asked again for my last name, and I envisioned the gears in her brain turning, trying to solve the great mystery of how I had landed such a coveted space.

I was still trying to figure out how I had ended up at the upscale boarding school, let alone, in that particular dorm. Jessica's puzzle would remain unsolved, however, because I sure as heck didn't have any rich or famous relatives.

The door flew open, ending Jessica's nosy interrogation; an enormous, intimidating man entered, carrying six suitcases, followed by an exquisite woman with bright blue eyes and sleek, jet black hair.

"Thanks, Benjamin. Can you get the Louis Vuitton trunk next?" she asked before giving a dismissive wave of her hand. Smiling at Jessica and me, she observed, "One of you must be Alice's roommate! I'm her mother, Carmen." She then turned toward the door as if she expected her daughter to enter the room at that exact moment.

As I was opening my mouth to reply, I was suddenly overtaken by what I could only describe as a tiny force of nature. My new roommate had darted into the room and engulfed me in a tight embrace.

"This is her, Mama, am I right?" She peered up at me questioningly before her mouth turned into a grin. "I can already tell we'll be the best of friends."

Carmen chuckled at her daughter's antics before apologizing. "Please forgive Alice. She is excitable and has been looking forward to meeting you."

I bit my lip in nervousness and quietly introduced myself to them.

Jessica made her goodbyes soon after learning Alice was also an eighth grader and muttering something about life not being fair.

Alice and I chatted while Carmen organized the closet. Well, Alice did most of the talking while I observed the similarities in her appearance with that of her mother. She, too, had jet-black hair and blue eyes, but was shorter in stature, even more, petite than my own five-feet-three inches. She was a classic beauty, and it was clear from her designer luggage and clothing; her family was affluent.

The longer I looked at Alice, the more familiar she seemed. I was busy trying to determine why when a deep, masculine voice suspended my train of thought.

"Alice, I thought I told you to bring something with you before you left the car!"

I turned my head to view the owner of the unfamiliar voice. As soon as I saw his face, my chest tightened with fear as my mind returned to the Easter afternoon at our small kitchen table in Chicago. Charlie had shown me a mug shot of this man.

He was Eleazar Cullen and my new roommate, Alice, was his daughter.

Two weeks after moving into the dorm and beginning my classes, Charlie had still not returned any of my calls. I was beyond terrified. I was living with the daughter of a known criminal, and even worse, Alice and her parents were practically demanding that I spend the upcoming long weekend at their home.

Terrifying scenarios filled my mind of what would occur once they removed me from the safety of the school. Would they keep me a prisoner in their home? Would they demand a ransom for my return? Would they kill me?

I needed a plan.

When Friday arrived, I stayed in bed instead of getting ready for my classes. I told Alice I felt like I was coming down with a "small bug" and needed to stay on campus for the weekend. Her disappointment was so evident that I felt a bit guilty for letting her down. Excited about having me visit her home, she had talked of little else the past week.

Even though she was a Cullen, Alice had only been kind and generous. I sincerely doubted she knew about her family's criminal connections and it was becoming increasingly difficult to hold their corrupt ways against her.

I was dumbfounded when Eleazar and Carmen arrived at our dorm room later that afternoon armed with a care package and were accompanied by their personal physician, Dr. Gerandy. Even more disconcerting, they appeared genuinely concerned about my well-being.

Alice's mother fretted over me as soon as they walked through the door. She immediately tucked me into my bed covering me with a soft cashmere throw, which she pulled from the care package Eleazar had carried in when they had first arrived.

"My poor, little passerotta," she cooed, as she gently ran her hand across my forehead and through my hair.

I wasn't entirely sure what she had said because part seemed to be in Italian, but she had seemed sincerely distressed that I was ill.

"She doesn't feel warm," she sighed in relief, gazing up at her husband, "but Dr. Gerandy will let us know for sure."

Dr. Gerandy, an older man who had a comb-over and a warm smile, completed his examination. He announced that I was not in "any imminent danger" and more than likely, just suffering from a mild case of homesickness.

"Oh, thank goodness!" Carmen rejoiced, before turning and giving me an endearing hug. "Isabella, are you missing home?"

Knowing my fake sickness had been debunked, I had no choice but respond, "Yes, this is my first time away from Chicago and my father."

I remained in her arms as she offered comfort by whispering soothing words as she lightly stroked my shoulder-length hair.

Enjoying the rare moment of motherly affection, I almost missed the conversation Eleazar was having on his cell phone.

"Edward, she's fine ... of course, I brought a doctor ... yes, yes ... just homesick ... we will stay overnight just in case ... I promise ... goodbye."

Eleazar swiftly put away his phone and gave Carmen an exasperated look. In an attempt to change the subject, he rubbed his stomach and exclaimed, "I don't know about everyone else, but I'm getting hungry! Ali, where should we order food from?"

Alice squealed when she realized her parents would stay over for the night and gave restaurant suggestions.

As they discussed food options, my mind was still focused on Eleazer's phone call. He had said the name Edward. He couldn't have meant Edward Cullen - right? If so, why would he care if I was sick or not?

More confused than ever, I closed my eyes and pretended to go asleep.

AN:

Thanks to Sunflowerfran for your amazing and generous spirit. 3

Gabby1017, your advice and kind words are such an inspiration.

By the way, check out her stories! You won't be disappointed. (id: 2439511)

To my readers, your support has meant so much. I appreciate all of you.

Story Bits and Pieces:

Bella is in Grade 8 at the beginning of this story, but in real life, Miss Porter's Boarding School is for grades 9-12.

The Brick House is an actual dormitory at Miss Porter's Boarding School, and Jacqueline Bouvier Kennedy Onassis lived in it during her time at the school.

*Passerotta - Little Sparrow