I didn't give her much of a chance to explain. I was angry, beyond angry. I had kicked her out of my room, almost having to throw her out as she protested and pleaded in an almost annoying way. She was kicking me out of her house, plain and simple.

When she figured out I wasn't listening to her, all she did was throw a plane packet on the bed and told me my plane was at 8:30 tomorrow morning. I ignored her and began to pull a suitcase from my bed.

Packing was tedious, but it at least kept my mind of things I'd rather not think about, but they still crept into my mind occasionally, filling my mind with more anger and worries.

I was moving in with a man who didn't give a stuff about me, moving to the very same town my mom had run away from 16 years earlier. I probably wouldn't fit into this dull, small town. A young rebellious girl was supposed to live in the big city, it was unnatural to ship me off in the middle of the semester when all my friends where here.

Friends?

What Friends Bella, You're the most unsociable bitch I've ever been the subconscious of.

Okay, so maybe not friends as such, more mechanics and acquaintances and enemies.

Oh my god... did they even have a race track? What about my car?

I thought and worried about this until Phil called up for dinner. I was still annoyed at them both, but it was hard to stay mad at Phil, because he is just this likable guy. I asked him about my car when my mom was out of the room, and he told me it had been confiscated and impounded, and possibly crushed, but that he had a court date set for him and my mom to go about getting it back.

I thanked him, and with a small smile, went off to bed, crashing instantly after setting my alarm clock for 6:00.

The plane ride wasn't bad since I had my iPod, and music filled my ears for most of the 3 and a half hour journey.

I had worn the only warm think I owned, black skinny jeans a black sweater and cropped leather jacket, and I was still chilly, as we descended onto the runway, the air got colder.

The pilot spoke before letting us off, stating that it was around 21 degrees and that coats and sweaters would be needed. (Ok, In the UK, 21 degrees in rather warm :S Why is it considered cold in Forks?)

The airport was packed in Port Angeles, the nearest airport to Forks, with people huddled in thick coats and sweaters, and parka's and I could see from the baggage claim that it was pouring down outside, typical weather for this part of America. Waiting for my luggage took forever, but finally I found my two suitcases and my backpack and looked around.

I followed people through the airport, seeing they were walking, albeit slowly, to the exit where family members and friends would probably be waiting for them.

Haha. Little Dilemma, I had no idea what my daddy looked like.

There were people everywhere; the airport was packed for it being so small, and people where greeting family members with hugs and pleasant words, and people holding signs high in the air to grab people's attention.

I looked at each of the signs, till I found one with "Miss Isabella Swan" written in messy handwriting, and looked at the man holding the sign.

He was tall with dark scruffy hair and moustache, with deep brown eyes and wearing a cop uniform. He wore an anxious expression on his face as he searched the crowds coming from the departures doors, looking for me. I picked up the suitcases I had dropped when I was looking, and dragged them through the throng of people, stopping in front of the man with my name card.

He looked astonished, as though I had crawled out from the ground claiming I was coming from China. He struggled with his words, opening and closing his mouth before getting something unoriginal, albeit successful.

"Isabella?" He said as his eyes trailed around my face, recognition colouring his features. His eyes stopped on the cut above my eyebrow, which I had tried to conceal with makeup. Apparently it had come off since this morning. He also looked at my piercings with disdain, and I felt the urge to stick my tongue out at him and show him my tongue ring, but I didn't.

"Bella," I corrected, "I like to be called Bella." I told him as he took one of the suitcases from my hand and grabbed the backpack of my back before I could protest.

"Oh," He coughed slightly, "Bella then, how was your flight?"

Oh god, the dreaded small talk. I rolled my eyes underneath my bangs.

"Fine." I simply said, because it was true.

We were at the car now, a Cop car, an ugly thing which looked like it had been around since the 60's. It was embarrassing to look at and even more embarrassing to ride in, and I cringed as I got in the front seat.

The ride to Forks from the airport took about 40 minutes. Charlie turned the poor radio on 15 minutes into the journey as neither of us had anything to say. I was surprised this machine had a radio actually.

Several times Charlie had opened his mouth to say something, I could see him debating to talk out of the corner of my eye, but he kept quiet and so did I, opting to put my earphones in my ears and look out of the window.

We passed a lot of green forest and trees and eventually, a sign welcoming us to Forks.

There wasn't much in the town of Forks, just as Mom had once told me. A diner stood on the corner of the main town, and outdoor camping store, and several other little town stores. I wondered where the nearest car dealership was, I desperately needed a car till mine could be shipped over. I dreaded thinking about being taken to school in this thing.

Charlie stopped the car outside a quaint little detached house, with forests looming over the back of it and lots of overgrown plants in the front yard. The dirty white paint on the porch was peeling, and in need of redecoration. I grabbed one of my suitcases out of the back of the car and Charlie grabbed the others and we trailed inside the house.

It was moderately clean, considering the only person who lived there was my dad, and he showed me round the small house; the living room with the huge TV and well used sofa, the kitchen painted bright yellow and an overflowing jar of cash on top of the fridge labelled "Grocery money" and lots of take-away wrappers near the back door. He showed me upstairs to the only bathroom, which didn't have a bath, only a shower, and walking past his door to my room at the end of the landing.

The room was painted purple, with purple bed sheets and lamps on the bedside table. There was an old looking computer monitor on a desk near the window and a set or drawers and a closet.

Charlie cleared his throat behind me. "I'll, uh, leave you to it. I'll order pizza for dinner." With that he walked out and I set my suitcases on the bed, and looked around the room; it seriously needed redecorating.

A good thing about Charlie,

He didn't hover.