Chapter Six

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Renesmee

Port Angeles, Washington: home of—absolutely nothing. Some people would argue that it was a huge step up from living in Juneau, Alaska, but I don't know if I would agree. You see, by moving to Port Angeles, Washington, my family exposed a whole new world to me. A world where parents looked much older than their kids. A world where everybody ate. A world where the majority of people were average-looking. A world which was not my own.

Growing up in seclusion, I had never realized how peculiar my family really was. How could you know that adults were supposed to grow when the only adults you were around never aged a day? How could you know adults were supposed to eat when the only adults you were around never ate a bite? How could you know the general appearance of an ordinary person when the adults you were around were all excruciatingly beautiful? How could you know what you've never seen or even heard of?

Lunch, normally the best part of a teenager's day, was the bane of my existence. For some reason, I chose to sit with the least intellectual people in the entire school—Sarah Smith, Matt Yotzi, Josh Greene, Caitlin Reed, and Rachel Libry, also known as the 'rich kids.' Their clothes, haircuts, and cell phones were only surpassed by their ability to flaunt it all. The only reason they even spoke to me was because they knew my family had money, though I was certain they realized by now that my buying of anything was nothing short of sporadic. I never really cared about my family's wealth: what good was cash when you lived how I did before I moved here—basically in a cult-like kind of seclusion, cut off from the entire world.

As usual, they were busy discussing what they had done over the weekend. Rachel and Sarah had gone shopping. Josh, Matt, and Caitlin had had gone to see a movie. All five of them went to an amusement park. Naturally, I wasn't invited to any of it. It truly didn't bother me though—it was my fault for rebuffing every single invitation they ever gave me. I tried hanging out with other kids outside of school, but I was always dismal. Nobody grew angry with me, however—they just stopped inviting me places. Even hearing them talk about what they had done didn't make me feel left out; I was just grateful to have people to sit with at lunch.

The fact that I did not like to hang out with other kids was definitely a classic example of pure, dreadful irony. If you knew me in Alaska you would know that being a normal teenager was something I always dreamed of, always yearned for. The only ounce of life in the outside world I received was through books—we never watched movies or television. One of my favorite types of books were ones that my parents despised, but allowed me to read anyway—teenage novels. I studied them religiously—how the characters acted, what it was like to in high school, what it was like to actually have friends. I then began secretly obsessing over wanting to be normal, like the characters in the book. However, I still didn't know how far from normal I truly was. I wasn't reading picture books—I had never seen another adult besides my family. The books never outright said that adults were supposed to eat, sleep, and grow older. I still assumed that the only thing that made my family not normal was the fact that we lived apart from everyone else.

So imagine my surprise when my mother told me that we were going to be moving to Port Angeles, Washington. I would be going to a real school and be hanging out with people my own age—something I hadn't done since we had moved to Alaska. During the weeks before the move, I started planning exactly what I was going to do when I finally fulfilled my dream of becoming a normal teenager. My parents encouraged me, telling me how much fun I was going to have hanging out with all of the new friends I was going to make.

I clearly remember that immediately after I moved to Washington, everyone began asking me what it was like to live in Alaska. I would tell them the basics—the temperature, how we dressed, and the different kinds of animals. I would also attempt to explain to them, with little success, that the majority of the population were not Eskimos. But the truth was that those four things were basically all I knew about living there. My life in Alaska was...different, to say the least. I was raised not only by my parents, but by my aunts, uncles, and grandparents as well. And as pathetic as it was, I didn't have any friends. None. But it wasn't my fault—the only people, other than my family, that I socialized with were our close family friends, Tanya, Kate, Carmen, and Eleazar. They weren't related to us, but we were all very close to them. They had many similar characteristics to my family—they didn't eat, they didn't sleep, and they didn't grow older. They also had the same golden eyes, the same pale complexion, and the same cold skin. So naturally, I assumed that all adults held these traits. It wasn't that I was stupid; thanks to my weird cult of a family, I honestly just didn't know.

Josh's hand waving in my face interrupted my thoughts. "Nessie?"

"Yes?" I asked shyly, surprised he was speaking to me. Usually, everybody just left me alone, consumed in my thoughts and my wishes that I was sure were worn as clear as a stamp on my forehead.

He rolled his eyes in an amused annoyance. "I asked you a question."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't hear you."

"Do you know anything about the new kid?"

"What new kid?" I smiled apologetically, not knowing what he was talking about.

He sighed with frustration. "Him."

I looked over to where he was indicating. Sitting with a horde of football players was a boy, seeming to be one or two years older than me. He looked out of place sitting where he was, but he didn't seem to mind. Though he had a tray of fries in front of him, it appeared that he hadn't eaten much. Only a few times did he say something to his lunch companions, who seemed barley aware that he was sitting there.

And he was absolutely gorgeous. His dark colored hair was the polar opposite of his pale complexion, but complimented it well. It reminded me of Rosalie's skin—absolutely flawless, resembling a marble statue. His tight shirt exposed his sleek muscles—not too bulky, but slim and athletic, flattering his slender build.

As I become conscious of how long I had been staring, I turned back to Josh. "I've…I've never seen him before."

"He's so cute…" Caitlin sighed dreamily.

"He's nothing," Matt said, a hint of jealousy in his voice. He was used to having all of the girls obsess over him.

"He's even paler than you, Cullen," Josh snickered.

I blushed, shying my eyes toward the cold cafeteria tile. "I guess he is."

Caitlin sighed, still gawking at him. "Oh, I can't wait to talk to him. What if we started dating? We would look so cute together!"

"Yeah right! He'd date me over you any day," Rachel laughed, glaring at her 'best friend,' with a look that told the world that she would betray Caitlin for a boy in a heartbeat.

Sarah smirked in her typical condescending fashion. "At least we know one thing—he'll never date Nessie." Even though she was smiling, the cruelty in her voice was as apparent as if she had slapped me in the face.

Of course, lions hunt in pairs when going after the weakest gazelle; Rachel was no nicer. "Yeah she's right. You're so pathetic, Nessie. If he fell for you, you'll give him your heartbreaking 'I don't date' speech, like you do to every poor guy in this school."

"Oh yeah," I replied softly.

"That's pretty mean," Josh snapped.

"You okay, Nessie?" Matt asked sweetly.

I forced a weak but apparent smile on my face, not wanting the girls to get pleasure out of upsetting me. "Yeah, thanks."

Caitlin, Rachel, and Sarah did their trademark unison scowl and immediately began whispering to each other about something, most likely me. I glanced over at the boy again, but quickly spun around when I saw he was looking back. Did he know that we were talking about him? I could feel my face heat up with embarrassment.

"He's staring at us," Caitlin whispered, taking it more as flattery than as being creepy.

"No, he's staring at Nessie," Josh corrected.

Caitlin rolled her eyes and turned back toward Rachel and Sarah, who had not looked up from their cruel conversation about some girl with glasses who sat alone at the end of our table.

I glanced helplessly at Josh. "Why is he staring at me?"

"How am I supposed to know?" A wide grin suddenly appeared on his usually rough face, lighting up his eyes with a boyish excitement. "Want me to go punch him for you?"

"No!" I exclaimed softly.

Caitlin suddenly slammed her hands onto the table, leaning forward so she could whispered to us. "I think he's coming over here!" she squealed.

Feeling my stomach churn, I immediately looked down at my sandwich. I wished more than anything that I could disappear. "Please don't come over, please don't come over, please don't come over," I thought pleadingly.

But, of course, it did no good. "Hello," I heard a deep, perfect voice say.

"Hi," everyone at the table replied. The others began talking again while Caitlin and I looked up at the boy.

Caitlin was the first to speak. "Are you new here?" She giggled, flipping her hair the way those conceited girls in movies did when they flirted with a guy.

"Yeah, first day," he said smoothly. Then to my dismay, he turned to me. "I couldn't help but notice your ring."

I glanced down at the plain band on my finger. It was silver, with a distinct marking at the top. My father had given it to me when I had turned thirteen. "Oh. It was a gift from my father. I think it was his grandfather's."

"I have one just like it. Do you know the history behind it?"

I shook my head and he immediately sat down in the empty chair next to me.

"Well, legend says that during the Civil War, people got worried about mythological creatures—vampires, werewolves, those kinds of things. Some people realized it was a great way to make money. They began making and selling those rings, telling people that a single touch to the skin of a beast would destroy them."

"Really? My father never told me that story." I pulled the ring off my finger to examine-to me, it still appeared plain and ordinary. However, with this history I had just learned of it, it made it seem as if there was something more; it too held secrets. And as with all secrets, I had a yearning in my soul to find out exactly what they were.

"You hold onto that. It's a real treasure." He smiled and I felt my heart flutter.

When I looked up at him, I noticed for the first time his exquisite eyes. Although they were a plain brown color, there was something about them that was absolutely exquisite. They seemed to literally draw me in, making me want to get closer to him just so I could continue looking into them. The ring of the lunch bell brought me back to reality and my cheeks once again flushed with embarrassment when I realized I had been staring.

"What class do you have next?" he asked.

"Honors American history," I groaned. "My least favorite class of the day."

His perfect smile grew. "I have honors history too. Would you like to walk together?"

"Sure," I smiled shyly, picking up my books. "So how has your first day been?"

He laughed, a beautiful sound that caused the girls who were already staring at us to turn to their friends and whisper with a giddy giggle. "Extremely boring. A lot of pointing and staring from the other kids."

"I know how you feel. I was new here last year."

"Really? Where did you move from?"

I sighed. "I'll tell you if you swear not to laugh."

"I won't," he promised.

"Okay, well I came from…" I paused, dreading having to say the final embarrassing word. "…Alaska."

Just as everyone's else in this school, his eyes instantly grew wide. "Are you serious?"

"Oh, please don't make fun of me," I pleaded with a slight giggle. "I hate telling people where I'm from."

"No, no, no, you don't understand. This is so weird: I moved here from Alaska as well."

I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at him. "You're lying."

He laughed and the angelic quality of the sound made me question if I was dreaming. I almost started laughing as well—I had only known this boy for ten minutes and already he was bringing out poetic qualities in me that I didn't even know I had.

"No, I'm serious," he continued forcefully. "I lived in Kotlik."

"I lived in Juneau." I grinned, trying to fight the urge to jump up and down in excitement, something I never typically even think about doing. Finally, I had found someone besides the members of my family who could somewhat relate to me. "So you really moved here from Alaska? That's so weird—two penguin-lovers in the same school."

He raised his eyebrow as amusement washed over his entire face. "Penguin-lover?"

"Ah, they must not know you're from Alaska yet. Brace yourself—you're going to be called penguin-lover, Eskimo, snowman…"

His laugh gave me chills because of how beautiful and perfect it was. I recalled Jacob's laugh, which was big and booming, rough and amazing—not perfect, but that was how laughs were supposed to be.

"Pathetic names, I know," I continued, somehow finding the courage to do so. "You might not want to mention where you're from. They'll basically eat you alive."

He tilted his head at that last part and gave me a questioning expression. Maybe he had never heard of that phrase before.

"My name's Nicholas Hayfield, by the way. Nick, if you prefer." He extended his left hand for some odd reason, but I did not question it-maybe in the part of Alaska he grew up in, that was how a person greeted another.

"I'm Renesmee Cullen." I spoke with a confidence I did not know I had as I extended my left hand as well. "Nessie," I added quickly.

"Renesmee? Renesmee." He spoke my name a few times, getting used to the sound of it. "That's different," he finally said. "Very beautiful."

"It's the combination of my mother's…wait, my mother's mom…no, wait my father's…my mother's dad, Renée…my father's mom Esme…"

He laughed once more. "I think I got it. It's a combination of your mother's mom, Renée and your father's mom, Esme. Right?"

I nodded slowly, wanting to die. For the third time since I had gazed upon Nick, I felt the blood run to my cheeks, turning them a betraying shade of scarlet red which let the whole world know that I was embarrassed. Why couldn't I explain anything without sounding ridiculous?

However, his intriguing smile made me forget what had just happened. "That explains the uniqueness of it. Renesmee. Nessie," he corrected. "I like it."

We reached history class just as the tardy bell rang. I quickly took my seat and Nicholas sat in the empty chair next to me. I smiled shyly; I liked Nicholas a lot. He had the potential to be my only real friend in the entire school.

Class was long and boring, as usual. When the final bell of the day rang, it felt as if I could not get out of the room fast enough. I waited outside of the door for Nicholas, who was talking with the teacher about the course.

When he came out of the classroom, he looked surprised to see me. "Thanks for waiting."

"No problem. So how do you like Mr. Opal?" I asked him as we started walking in the now deserted hallway.

"He's okay. Better than a lot of the teachers I have."

"Which are?"

He rattled off his other seven teachers and I gave him advice on some of them. He not only listened politely to what I had to say, he seemed engrossed.

He suddenly stopped walking and looked at me. "Hey, Nessie, I was wondering: did you want to go to the library to study? I really need help catching up in history. I've taken the class before at my other school, but I can't remember half of the stuff you guys have been learning."

"Sure, I can help you. I just need to call my parents."

"Thanks—I really appreciate it. I have to go to my locker. Meet you here in five minutes?"

I nodded before he scurried back inside. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed my father's number, praying that I wouldn't have to go into a fifteen minute interrogation session.

"Hi, Ness," he answered.

"Hey, Dad. I was wondering if I can go to the library to study."

"By yourself?"

And there it began—why couldn't he just give me an answer without having to ask a million questions?

"Well, no. With my friend…"

"Who is your friend?" he asked suspiciously.

"He's just this kid..."

"He?" he interrupted.

I sighed. "Yes, Dad, he's this kid in my history class. He just moved here and he needs some help catching up."

"Alright…" he acquiesced. "Be back by six."

"Thanks. I love you."

"Love you too, Ness."

Nick returned to me a few minutes later. As pathetic as it was, I analyzed his every god-like step. His walk was slow and perfect—he had the perfect posture, the prefect stride, the perfect everything.

"Did they say yes?" he asked as he reached me.

I nodded, unable to speak for I was still in awe that he was talking to me. I felt out of place standing next to him, as if he was too beautiful to even have average eyes gaze upon him. I found myself smiling at this—I had never felt this way about anyone. When I first moved to Washington, a bunch of guys had asked me out, but I had never felt like any of them were right for me. But with Nick—there was just something about him that made him completely irresistible.

He grinned, probably noticing that I was staring again. Only this time, I didn't care. I wanted him to know that I was looking at him. I wanted him to see what was in my eyes; infatuation that I knew I could not break even if he decided I was not the girl for him.

"Should you drive or should I?" he asked, gazing into my eyes as if he really didn't know what he had just asked.

I smiled shyly at the attention, looking down at the ground as my hair fell past my cheeks. "Well, I guess you. I only have my permit."

"Really? What grade are you in?"

"Junior; I'm seventeen. I hadn't gotten my permit until a few months ago. What grade are you in?"

"Senior."

"Lucky. You graduate soon."

He laughed as we started walking outside into yet another dismal day. "I guess. I don't really know what I want to do after high school though. My parents want me to be a doctor, but I don't know if that's what I really want. I mean, I want to make them happy but…"

"Oh," I said simply, not being able to relate to this. I had never really considered what I wanted to do after graduation, nor did my parents ever bring it up.

"What about you? Do your parents want you to be anything in particular?"

"Not really," I admitted with a slight shrug.

"So they're the kind of parents that say 'be whatever you want to be' and other things such as that?"

"They're not really like that either. We don't really talk about those kinds of things, the future and everything."

He sighed. "Now that would be nice. I wish I could go one day without them saying something about grades or college or a job," he stopped, a small smile on his face. I tore my gaze from his perfect face, suddenly realizing that we were at his parking spot. I gasped as I looked to what we stopped in front of. In the spot was his car—or rather, his motorcycle.

"Wow," was all I could manage to say.

"Do you like it? It's brand new," he said, walking around the gleaming bike to examine it.

"Wow," I repeated. "It's amazing."

"Would your parents mind if you rode on it?" he asked, continuing to admire his prized possession as his eyes gleamed with excitement. It was as if he had just gotten it that minute—what was it with guys and motorcycles? He bent down to the ground, examining the bottom of the machine without pressing his fingers to it.

"Of course, but that's why I'm not going to tell them."

He frowned, glancing up at me, his eyes somehow more beautiful than before. I think it was because one tiny ray of sunlight had escaped from the gray prison it was constantly entrapped in. "Are you sure? I don't want you to get in trouble."

"Do you have an extra helmet?"

"Yeah." He pulled one out of the box on the back of the bike. "Here are some gloves too-it's going to be a pretty cold ride."

"Thanks," I said, grabbing both of the objects he held in his hand. He jumped on the motorcycle, or death-machine as my father would call it, and I slid on after him, wrapping my gloved hands around his waist.

He around turned to look at me. "Ready?"

I nodded reluctantly. Maybe this was not such a good idea. I had never been on a motorcycle before…

But he sped off before I could contemplate the negatives of the situation I was currently in. The feeling was amazing. We were speeding past cars, easily moving around them. I wished I could take my helmet off and feel the wind through my hair, but I thought better of it; if I were to be caught by my father and he found out that I failed to wear a helmet, I would be wishing that I had died in a motorcycle accident.

"This is amazing!" I shrieked above the wind.

He laughed, which I could still hear, even with the blowing wind. I let out a disappointed sigh when we finally reached the library; I did not want the ride to end. I jumped off, shaking with excitement.

"That was the coolest thing I have ever done in my life."

"You really don't get out much, do you, Nessie?"

I smiled shyly as I took off the helmet and gloves. "Not really."

"Well, so you don't get grounded forever, take a shower right when you get home before your parents notice the gasoline smell."

"Will do."

As he looked at me and smiled, I felt my heart flutter again. He probably thought I was such a loser; he rode on motorcycles all day long while I sat at home and watched reruns of 'I Love Lucy' with my mother. Maybe I wouldn't have a friend after all. I was sure he would abandon me once he figured out how incredibly boring I was.

"How did you know how to get here?" I whispered as we walked into the library.

"I used to visit this town every year. My grandpa had a condo here."

"Oh, I bet that was fun to stay in, with the rain and constant clouds."

"Yes," he whispered, as if he had not picked up on my sarcasm. When we reached a table, he quickly stepped in front of me, pulling my chair out before I sat down.

"Thank you," I said, trying to hide the shock in my voice. It wasn't everyday that you met a guy with actual manners—something my parents had instilled in me since the day I was born.

I pulled my books out of my messenger bag and began flipping through my notes, explaining each page to him thoroughly.

"What does that say?" he asked, pointing to one of the sentences. As he pulled away, his hand brushed the side of my arm, sending a tingle down my spine.

I almost squealed with delight. Our hands touched!

Wait. Our hands touched.

Cold. His hand was ice cold. Pale skin, beautiful eyes, cold body temperature. There was no way...

Or was there?

No. There was no way.

I firmly decided to ignore these facts and for once pretend that I was not completely insane.

"Are you okay?" He stared at me, apparently concerned.

I quickly snapped back into reality. "What? Oh yeah I'm fine." I continued explaining everything to him, unsuccessfully trying to not think about what I had just realized.

Pale skin.

Beautiful eyes.

Cold body temperature.

There was something strange going on, and I was never more determined to find out what it was.