1. FIRST SMELL
I gazed blankly out the window as my mother drove me to the airport. The weather was a balmy 75 degrees fahrenheit, which equated to about 23 degrees Celsius, according to the inbuilt calculator in my head. The sky was a perfect cloudless blue -- this was due to the scattering of light in the atmosphere. Thus I was accordingly attired in a sleeveless, white eyelet lace shirt. You may like to think that was all I was wearing, but it wasn't.
I was to stay with my father (Charlie) in the almost never-ceasing, rainy town of Pitchforks. It was a completely selfless move, I thought. This way, my mother could have her fun with her new boyfriend Phil. And my poor abandoned father would have the privilege of having my company for a month or more. There was no other reason why I would ever want to spend time in Pitchforks otherwise.
"Bella," my mother said to me before I boarded the plane. "You don't have to do this." There were her puppy-dog eyes. Maybe I was the reason why my mother decided to leave Charlie and go off gallivanting with another man.
"Well, I am doing this now, and if you were really serious about me staying in Phoenix, you should have locked me in a room and threatened me with starvation," I said firmly before shutting the car door in her face.
"Tell Charlie I said hi," she called out forlornly to me as I walked away. I raised an arm to let her know I'd heard. As I boarded the plane, I mentally said my goodbyes to the sun.
Five hours later, I met Charlie at the airport. Four hours from Phoenix to Cannot-Sea-At-All then one more hour up to Port Angels had prepared me for the mass of clouds and rain as I landed. Now we were in Charlie's cosy police car on the long hour's drive to Pitchforks.
Charlie had been really happy about my staying in Pitchforks, considering my outright declaration of hatred for it. He had organised my enrolment in the local high school and was planning to help me get a car. Nothing screams 'POLICE' louder than the...well, siren of a police car. Maybe he was trying to impress me since my mother was not likely to come crying back to Pitchforks any time soon (not that this town needs any more water than it already has).
He refuses to let me call him anything but 'dad'. I don't see the problem in calling him 'Charlie', but parents will be parents, I suppose. If Leslie in Bridge to Terabithia can, why can't I? (That was the first and last time I ever read a modern classic)
"I found a good car for you, really cheap," Charlie announced as we had loaded my luggage and strapped ourselves in.
For me? That sounded ominous. "What kind of car?" I asked suspiciously.
"A truck -- a Chevy."
Drove my Chevy to the levy, but the levy was dry... The tune played mentally in my head. "Where'd you find it?"
"Bought it from Billy Black down at La Push." La Push. Not only did it have a suggestive name, we weren't allowed to call it an 'Indian' reservation any more. No, it's all about the 'Native Americans' now. Damn natives.
"You remember Billy and his son don't you?" Charlie asked.
"Let's just assume I do," I said.
"He's in a wheelchair now, so he offered to sell me his truck cheap," Charlie said. "It's a bit old but..."
"Alright, alright," I said hastily. "I'll see it when we get there."
We drove in silence for the next half hour.
"How much was the truck?" I said, breaking the silence.
"Well, I kind of already bought it for you. As a homecoming present." He gave me a hopeful sideways look. Talk about subtlety. But, I mused, a free truck!
"You really shouldn't have, dad," I said out loud. I could see he was rather pleased with himself.
"It was nothing," he said modestly.
We returned to sitting in silence. What was there to talk about? The weather? Dreary. My mother? Painful (for him). So we said nothing.
I watched the scenery roll past and turned over idle, academic thoughts. For example, the meaning of the town's name: Pitchforks. 'Pitch' obviously coming from the noun for the black, tar-like substance, but 'forks'...I couldn't draw any relation apart from the obvious. Together, you get an image of a black, pronged weapon. Compared to Phoenix...
"We're here," Charlie announced suddenly.
I blinked. Staring out at the green foliage had temporarily blinded me to any other colour. It was so alien to me after the harsh desert yellows and reds of Phoenix. When my vision returned, I saw that he still lived in the same two-storey house he had bought with my mother. Parked in the driveway was a giant chunk of faded red. Charlie stopped the car and I got out. Upon closer inspection, I guessed that it was the truck Charlie had mentioned. I ran a hand over the bonnet. I was surprised at myself for feeling happy - more happy than I'd felt in the last six hours or so. The truck was perfect. Not very stylish, but it could take on a mass stack on the highway and come out of it with barely a scratch on the hood. Anything that would keep me safe was a plus in my book.
"Wow, this is amazing, dad! I love it!" Now I wouldn't have to be embarrassed by arriving in a police car at school like some criminal.
"It's nothing," Charlie said gruffly.
It took one trip to move everything from the car to the house. Charlie had prepared my old, childhood room, when I used to stay a few weeks every summer after my parents had divorced. It had a wooden floor, light blue walls and yellow lace curtains over the window. My mother has a penchant for lace (hence the shirt I was wearing). There was a desk in the corner and a rocking chair in the other. I stared out of the window, feeling melancholy. But I wouldn't cry -- crying was for babies. And even though I had literally grown up in this room, I was not a baby anymore.
I would, however, have to contend with sharing the one bathroom with Charlie. That was something the grown-up me shuddered at.
Pitchforks High School has a total of three hundred and fifty-seven students. Plus myself, that was three hundred and fifty-eight. There had been twice that many people in my grade back in Phoenix. Here, everyone knew each other like family. Maybe they were family. They could all be descended from the same ancestor! I would be the random element -- the unknown factor in the equation that would throw all of Nature into chaos. It would have helped if I even vaguely resembled the typical Phonecian (Phoenixian? Is there a word for that?) with tanned skin and a sporty disposition. Instead, I was slender, pale, and quite obviously not an athlete. Sports just weren't my thing.
I took my bag of toiletries and freshened myself up in the bathroom. Preening in front of the mirror, I had to admit that in any other climate I would have looked almost pretty. But in this dull weather? Hideous. I scowled upwards, cursing the clouds.
I'd never fit in with my old school because I was just that different: far prettier than anyone else with an air of aloofness. People then had always stared enviously and whispered behind their hands as I walked past. I was pretty sure they wouldn't now, considering how disgustingly pallid I looked.
I've never really talked to anyone my age. My mother was the only companion for me. Everyone else was beneath my notice. But even with my mother, we were never quite in harmony. It was like I was a completely different species of human. Maybe there was a glitch in my DNA. Maybe I wasn't even human? But the cause didn't matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomorrow, we would see just how these Pitchforks High School students measured up.
It had been raining last night and now the town was blanketed in thick fog. I woke up grumpy and grouchy at not being able to fall asleep properly. How can a girl get her beauty sleep with that infernal pattering on the roof? I made a mental note to ask Charlie if I could move to a bedroom on the ground floor.
Breakfast with Charlie was taken in awkward silence. The only words he spoke to me were "good luck" before he hared off to work. Was there really that much crime in this boring town that he needed to get to work so early? I sat a while longer at the oak table. The chairs were mismatched. The kitchen had a white linoleum floor, contrasting, panelled walls and bright yellow cabinets. My mother painted them yellow some time before I was born in an attempt to create a semblance of brightness in the house -- which obviously failed miserably. Taking a walk through the rooms, I was embarrassed to find Charlie had hung numerous photos from back when he and my mother were together. Somehow he had acquired school photos of me up until last year! I added another mental note to ask him to take them down. It was uncomfortable having your life history displayed so openly on the wall like that. Plus I was reminded of how much he still pined for my mother.
I grabbed my jacket and locked the front door behind me with the key hidden under the eaves before I left for school; that way no one could wander in accidentally and see those shameful pictures. I hurried through the damp to the warmth of my truck. Starting the engine was like detonating a bomb. There was an explosion of sound before it settled to a loud rumble. I revelled in the feeling of ownership for a moment. Breathing deep, I could faintly smell tobacco and gasoline. And peppermint which was most likely used to cover up the former two. Breathing out, I released the brakes and reversed out of the driveway.
Pitchforks High School wasn't hard to find. There was a big sign declaring its name just off the highway, but the copious amount of shrubbery almost caused me to drive right past it. Red-faced, I pulled into the parking lot.
Since I arrived early, only a few cars occupied the lot -- teachers, I presumed. With some trepidation, I gathered my bags and got out of my truck. Then, shutting the door, headed towards what I thought most likely to be the administration building. It was much brighter and warmer than I expected, I noticed with relief. It had a small office, and everything seemed to be decked out in some form of the colour orange, red or brown so that it screamed warmth. On the other hand, I thought, maybe this office feels a little too warm. The only variation in colour was a noticeboard pinned with so many flyers that they overlapped more than twice over.
There was a red-haired (again, red!) woman sitting at a counter, writing busily. The purple T-shirt she wore clashed horribly with the colour scheme. She looked up as I approached.
"Yes, can I help you?"
"I'm Belladonna Swan," I informed her. Immediate awareness lit up the woman's eyes. God, had rumours about me spread already? Were they good or bad? I repressed these thoughts to concentrate on the woman's next words.
"Ah, of course," she said, and immediately began ransacking the drawers and piling copious forms, a map and a timetable into a stack in front of me. Then I tried to keep up with her rapid explanation of the forms, their function, and how to read my timetable and map. She found several highlighters and began colour-coding the sheets so they were a rainbow of colour.
"I hope you enjoy your time here in Pitchforks," she said finally, smiling. I smiled back as best I could, her instructions still whirring in a jumbled mess about my mind, and tottered out of the door clutching my stack of paper.
By now, other students had arrived. I strode with my head held high as best I could while holding my stack. I drew stares as I marched towards the main school building, cutting across a corner of the parking lot. A flash of silver caught my eye. I turned to look. A shiny, new Volvo was parked amongst the other run-down, second-hand vehicles. It stood out painfully, unlike in Phoenix where those sorts of cars were commonplace. I wondered who the rich kid was who could afford such a car as I headed to my first class.
It was a small classroom. Several students hung up their raincoats before entering. I skirted the resultant puddles and handed a slip of paper to the teacher - Mr. Mason, the nameplate said. English teacher. He gawked openly when he saw my name, but signed the slip without a word and handed it back to me. I took a seat at the back of the class, feeling oddly like an attraction at a circus. Eyes constantly peeked backwards to stare at me. I stared haughtily back at them until they turned around.
So far so good, I thought.
The reading list contained books I'd all read before. So I sat bored at my desk, nodding automatically in response as Mr. Mason droned on. The bell finally rang -- a nasal bussing sound -- and I took the opportunity to yawn. A gangly boy with skin problems and oil-black hair leaned across the aisle to talk to me.
"You're Belladonna Swan, aren't you?" Confident and directly to the point.
"Bella," I corrected. Everyone within a three-seat radius turned to look at me.
"Where's your next class?" he asked.
I flipped through my paper stack to my timetable, conveniently right near the bottom. I pulled it out and placed it on top of the rest. "Government with Jefferson in building six."
Those eyes just kept staring. Didn't these people know when to stop?
"I'm headed towards building four. I could show you the way..." More than forward. "I'm Epic. Epic Fail," he added.
He couldn't be more obviously trying to suck up to me with his overly helpful attitude. I smiled at him anyway. "Thanks."
We picked up our jackets and went outside. The rain had started again. Ugh. We would have to walk through that to get to the classroom, it seemed. And was it just my imagination, or were some people walking closer than usual behind me? Were all the people here paedophiles?
"So, this is a lot different than Phoenix, huh?" he asked.
"Very."
"It doesn't rain much there, does it?"
"Three or four times a year."
"Wow, what must that be like?" he wondered.
"Dry," I said dryly.
"You don't look very tan."
"I'm a vampire."
He stared at me apprehensively. Then he laughed. "Nice one," he said. He chuckled the whole way he walked me to the classroom door. "Well, good luck," he said. "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded hopeful.
I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur of dozing, jerking awake, nodding, and dozing again. These classes were way to simple for someone with a genius like mine. I'd covered all these topics back at my old school. I stifled a yawn as the teacher's eyes swept the class I was currently in (trigonometry). Far too easy.
One girl was present in two of my classes, Spanish and trig, and she walked me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was several inches shorter than me, but her wild, curly, dark hair made up for the difference. I nodded politely as she chatted about teachers and classes, but didn't try to interpret what she was saying.
We sat a table full of her friends. I forgot their names as soon as they were introduced. The boys all competed for my attention, while the girls had their heads together, gossiping and giggling to themselves. The boy from English, Epic, waved to me. I waved back politely.
It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious teenagers, that I first saw them.
They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat as possible in the long room. There were five of them -- three boys, two girls. They weren't talking and they weren't eating though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. I stared at them, mesmerised. And inwardly outraged.
For these people -- all five of them -- were chalky pale and had the figures of magazine cover models. How on Earth could they be so pale and yet appear so beautiful? Not even the deep shadows under their eyes could detract from their amazing physique. Everything about them was perfect: their faces, their build, their hair. Most could only dream of ever looking as wonderful as they.
I was angry. Here I was with not only my paleness upstaged, but my beauty as well! I felt like rushing to the nearest bathroom and crying myself out. I resisted. Now was not the time to break down in tears. Seems I would have to get used to holding back from crying.
They were all looking away -- away from each other, away from the students, away from anything in particular as far as I could tell. As I watched, one of the girls rose with her tray and walked away with a quick, graceful lope. I stared in envy as she dumped her tray and glided through the back door faster than I thought was possible.
"Who are they?" I asked the girl in my Spanish and trig classes.
She looked up to see who I meant. As if on cue, the thinner of the group -- boyish with bronze hair -- looked towards us, dark eyes flickering towards my neighbour then to me. Just as quickly, he looked away with an almost bored expression on his face.
"That's Edwill Cull'em, the one who just looked at us. The macho guy is Emwill Cull'em. He's together with that blonde girl, Reolly Pale- they're together, together. And the guy with the blonde hair is Justabit Pale. He's with Alweis Cull'em -- she's the girl who just left. They all live together with Dr. Cull'em and his wife. Foster kids," the girl said under her breath.
Outsiders, I thought. The social rejects. But why? They were so beautiful!
The guy who had looked towards us was carefully pulverising a bagel in his long, pale fingers. His mouth moved quickly, barely opening. I had the feeling that he was communicating with the other three, even though they weren't looking at him.
"It's nice of Dr. Cull'em and his wife to take them all in," I commented, trying to quell ever-rising feelings of jealousy.
"I guess so," the girl -- Jalous, I remembered -- said grudgingly. "I don't think Mrs. Cull'em can have any kids," she said spitefully.
My eyes flickered towards them again. "Have they always lived in Pitchforks?"
"No, they moved down here two years ago from Alostcase," Jalous said in a flat voice, as if this was something I should know already. Instant dislike swept through me for the girl.
I returned to studying the Cull'ems discreetly. The youngest one looked up and met my gaze. This time, he seemed curious. I turned away primly, but I felt as if I could feel his gaze boring into my back.
"Who's the one with the bronze hair again?" I asked.
"That's Edwill. Don't waste your time though. He doesn't date," Jalous sniffed. Clearly he had turned her down at some point.
"Edwill? Date?"
"No, he won't date," Jalous repeated huffily.
I glanced at him again. Maybe it was my imagination, but it seemed like he was smiling too.
Biology was my next class. One of my new 'friends' had that with me. Kindly, she reminded me of her name, 'Anyuuar', and we walked in silence to the classroom. A shy bird she was, it seemed.
When we entered the classroom, Anyuuar immediately headed to one of the black top tables. She had a partner. Everyone did. That left me with only one table... It was Edwill Cull'em's.
I went to hand my slip in to the teacher to sign. As I did, Edwill suddenly stiffened in his seat, glaring at me. His eyes were hostile and furious. I almost tripped -- his eyes were coal black.
Mr. Banner signed my slip, handed me my textbook and sent me off to the last vacant table with a no-nonsense manner. Tentatively, I sat on the empty chair, glancing at him from the corner of my eye. He turned his head away and cupped a hand over his mouth and nose. So I smelt bad to him, did I? Well, if he was going to be this rude... I shifted myself as close to the edge of the table as possible then opened my books and began pointedly ignoring him.
The class seemed to drag on for an eternity. What's worse was that I already knew everything that was being taught. I doodled absently in my work book. All the while, I could feel hostility emanating from him.
The bell finally signalled the period's end. In one fluid movement, Edwill Cull'em had risen from his seat and swept out of the classroom in a clearly thunderous mood. I stared after him, bewildered, confused and angry. Then I stuffed my books in my bag forcefully, for once not heeding the curious glances I attracted.
"Aren't you Belladonna Swan?" a male voice asked.
I looked up to see a cute, baby-faced boy; his pale blond hair carefully gelled into orderly spikes, smiling at me in a friendly way. Not another 'helpful' guy... I smiled as best I could while continuing to slap my sheets into a neat stack.
"Bella," I corrected him.
"I'm Minor Karacter. Um, do you need any help finding your next class?"
"I'm headed to the gym. I think I can find it on my own."
"That's my next class, too." He seemed thrilled. Was he that eager to be near me? Just how many perverts can a town this small hold? On second thoughts, I didn't think I wanted to know the answer to that question.
He walked with me to the gym, just like Epic had. Like Jalous, he chattered on aimlessly to me while I nodded and pretended to listen.
"So, what happened to Edwill Cull'em? You stab him with a pencil or what?" Minor asked.
All at once, my irritation returned to me at full force.
"That guy!" I said in a low, angry voice. "I never want to see him again!"
Minor looked a little taken aback. "Did he do something? He looked pretty angry though..."
"I hate him!" I swore, and stomped towards the gym. Minor hurried to keep up with me.
In PE, I had a chance to vent all my frustration in a game of volleyball. Fortunately for the other team, I was bad enough that many of my shots went wide. But after seeing how morose I was during the game, most of my classmates avoided me -- not exactly how I had wanted my first day at school to be like.
The final bell rang at last. I gathered my mountain of paperwork and tottered outside where the rain had stopped but the wind blew strongly. It felt refreshing after a hard session of PE, but it also chilled me to the bone.
When I walked into that warm office, I almost went right back out.
Edwill Cull'em stood at the desk in front of me. I recognised him from his tousled bronze hair. He didn't appear to notice my entrance. I stood quietly against the wall and waited for him to finish his business. I glared at his back the whole time.
He was arguing with the receptionist in a low, smooth voice. My ever-turned-for-gossip ears quickly picked up on their conversation. He was trying to trade his Biology classes with another subject. Any subject.
I couldn't believe my ears. Was this about me? Could it really be all because of me? How could he possibly hate someone so much after merely sitting with them for one hour? It had to be more than just the way I smelled. Surreptitiously, I took a quick sniff of my hair. Strawberry -- the scent of my favourite shampoo. I knew I hadn't farted, so I was sure it wasn't that (a girl as beautiful and sophisticated as me is above such vulgar activities). Maybe he hated strawberries then. An allergy? No, it couldn't have been. What exactly did Edwill find so disgusting about my smell?
The door opened and was accompanied by a frigid wind. The girl who came in merely stepped inside to place a form inside on of the wire baskets and walked out. Cull'em stiffened and turned towards me. His dark eyes burned with barely suppressed loathing, yet they somehow made me feel far more chilled than the wind had. He turned back to the receptionist.
"Never mind, then," he said hastily in a voice like velvet. "I can see that it's impossible. Thank you so much for your help." And he turned on his heel without another look at me, and disappeared through the door.
If looks could kill, he would be a mass murderer, I thought, narrowing my eyes at his retreating back. I approached the desk, fixed a friendlier look on my face and held out my slip.
"How did your first day go, my dear?" the receptionist enquired.
"Splendid," I said, with not a trace of sarcasm. She smiled benignly.
When I got to my truck, it was one of the last cars in the lot. I got in and sat in the driver's seat for a few moments, hands clenched on the wheel, simmering. My anger kept me impervious to the cold for a while, but eventually I had to start the engine and turn the heater on. The ignition roared to life as I turned the key. I drove back to Charlie's house, fighting the compulsion to step on the accelerator and flatten every car in front of me.