Just an Ordinary Day

Flashback

18 months… and 7 days prior to the events of Twilight

My alarm clock chirped annoyingly. Sunshine spilled in through the crack in my musty pink curtains. I sat up rubbing the sleep from my eye, gazing around my room. I hadn't changed a bit in ten years… except for the girl living in it. Frankly, it was downright embarrassing.

On one wall, in large cursive letters, Bella was spelled out. Surrounding it was a movie poster for Beauty and the Beast, as well as several pictures of the characters from the mover. Below that on a shelf was a fake, dusty rose in a plastic vase. When I was young I thought I was a genius for tearing off a few of the fake petals and scattering around the base of the vase. Around that were six photos-each a picture from Halloween- of me dressed as Belle (my mom thought it was funny play on my name). Unfortunately, each year I used the exact same costume, only it was altered to fit me. The result was sad and a grave contrast between the costume and the wide, toothy grin on my face in each picture.

The wall with my window and bed was covered with faded magazine clippings of all the places I wanted to visit- including such modern thrills as the Berlin wall. The pink frilly curtains reflected my personality when I was 6 and Renee's personality throughout her entire existence.

On the opposite wall was my bookshelf, the best part of my room. Books were my only and best friends, my faithful, unwavering companions through good times and bad, through thick and thin.

No matter how sad it was to look around my room, it didn't matter if it was outdated or embarrassing. Only two people had ever seen it- Renee and myself. Not even my father had seen it, but I couldn't fault him for that. Renee was the one who packed up and took me from Forks, and Charlie had let her, because he would do anything to make her happy.

Sighing I rolled out of bed. I walked out into the bathroom. When I turned on the shower, I heard Renee turn over in bed. At least it sounded like she was alone. Her latest boyfriend was the worst in awhile and that was saying something.

As I got into the shower and sudsed shampoo into my hair I thought that Renee had acted younger, the older she got. Accordingly so her men were always younger that her.

Renee had just past her 37th birthday and, as a birthday present to herself, had started dating a guy that was more pig than man. I was only 16 and it took no more scrutinizing to figure out that he was always either drunk, high, stone, or some combination of the three. I made a game out of guessing whenever he came over, and that was almost every day.

Jake (or as I more affectionately called his- Pig-man) was a 22-year-old college drop out. He worked the night shift in a quiky mart in the most prestigious slum in town (not as good as it sounds). So he spent most of his days at our small house. I had never met someone who took the expression "what's mine is yours" so literally. I had started pad-locking the door to my room (he had already made several advances on me, I didn't need him pawing around my room, too).

I decided to stop thinking about this as it was really starting to put a downer on my day. Stepping out of the shower I sprinted to my room after wrapping myself in a towel (even if it didn't sound like he was there, I wasn't taking any chances). I dressed for school in board shorts and a black baby doll t-shirt with a white musical note on the front and a trevelcleff (pardon my spelling) on the back. As I slung my bag over my shoulder to leave, I stuffed my feet into a pair of air walks. I cracked the door to Renee's room open to speak to her.

"Mom, it's 8:00" I informed her,

"Do you want a ride to school?" her voice was muffled slightly as her face was pressed into her pillow,

"I don't think I have time," I told her honestly, although there was no point in responding to her question as she was already snoring again.

I grabbed a granola bar on my way out the door, holding it in my mouth as I wound a hair tie around my ponytail. It swung around my waist as I walked, munching on my chewy bar.

It took about a half-an hour to walk to school and I knew if I didn't get out of the sun fast I would start to burn, so I hid under the safety of a large tree. I pulled out my battered copy of Wuthering Heights. I had read it about fifty times, but I was rereading it for my APEL (AP English literature) class. I was absorbed in one of my favorite parts, and, oblivious to the world around me, didn't notice when it was swooped out of my hands by Barbie #8 (I'm sure they all have names but it's just easier this way. I didn't even bother keeping track of which number each one was so I just picked a number that fit my fancy).

"Oh…I was hoping for a journal," she said deflated. She pouted sticking out her lower lip, thick with sparkle lip gloss (I could almost smell the flavor of it), switching her hips making her too-short-for-school-rules-but-not-too-short-for-anyone-to-bother-caring skirt look even shorter.

"May I have my book back, please?" I asked calmly,

"Nah, I want to look at… Southern Weights," she said with a mocking smile. That, mixed with the pure, concentrated dose of stupid her comment just administered, made it so you could almost feel your IQ plummeting.

"Wow. I mean I knew you weren't exactly the sharpest knife in the block, but I thought at least reading was within your limited arsenal of intellectual weapons," I said, all the a pleasant smile on my pale face.

"I wouldn't be talking considering half the words you just used aren't even in the dictionary," she countered, a triumphant smirk on her fake and bake face.

I had my mouth open to tell her it was pretty hard to look up words in the dictionary when you have trouble naming all of the vowels when Danielle Farth sauntered over to where we were verbally sparring.

Oh sh. Danielle was the most popular boy in school (not that that means any more to me that if he had invented styrofoam (I mean no disrespect to the inventor of styrofoam)) and his presence there could only make things worse.

To my surprise he snatched Wuthering Heights away from #8 and tossed it to me. By some rare miracle I caught it, stunned.

"Don't be mean, May," he told #8 (apparently she does have a name… who knew?)

"Why do you care about that?" she asked incredulously, pointing to me.

I was kind of interested in the question, too. No one really paid any attention to me, especially not Danielle Farth. I was confused.

"Hey, being a superhero means protecting everyone, even nerds," he said grinning,

"You are so kind," she gushed as she clung to his arm.

He looked over his shoulder at me as the walked away, and, smiling, winked.

"Thank you" I mouthed to him.

My classes past uneventfully. Other than being ridiculed for being smart, pale, and clumsy, no one really noticed me. But I found that to be more boon than curse.

When I got home, I knew something was wrong.