Well here is the thrid chapter took me a while but it's here. I don't own anything even slightly realted to this story, it all belongs to the author Stephenie Meyers.

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He still lived in the small, two-bedroom house that he'd bought with my mom in their early marriage years. Those were the only kind pf days their marriage had – early ones. The front of the house did change since I've been here; the house looked like it had just been repainted. And there, parked on the street in front of the house was my new er... well you couldn't really call it new, truck. It was faded blue color that looked kinda gray, with big, rounded fenders and a bulbous cab. To my surprise, I loved the thing. I didn't know if it would run or not, but, I could see myself driving it. Plus, it was one of those solid iron affairs that never gets damaged – the kind you see at an accident, paint perfect, and surrounded by what was left of the unlucky car that hit the it. "Wow, Dad, I love it! Thanks!" Now my horrific day tomorrow at school seemed a little less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the option of either walking 2 miles to school in the rain none the less, or getting drove in a cop car. "I'm glad you like it," Charlie said gruffly, embarrassed again. I t took only one trip to get all of my so called luggage upstairs. I got the west bedroom that had a huge window the faced the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. The dark wooden floors, the light purple walls, the peaked ceiling, the blued laced curtains around the window – these were all a part of my childhood. The only changes Charlie had ever made were switching the crib for the bed and adding a computer desk as I grew. The desk now held a second-hand computer, with the phone line for modem stapled along the floor to the nearest jack. This was a stipulation from my mother, so that we could stay in touch easily. The white rocking chair from my baby days was still in the farthest corner from the door.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that concept. One of the more positive things about Charlie is that he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack scarce wardrobe and let me settle in, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not have to smile and look pleased at where I was; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at rain pouring down from the sky, like it was crying for me as I let few tears escape my eyes. I wasn't in the mood to go on a real crying fit. I would save that for tonight, when I could think about the comings of tomorrow. Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven -- wait, scratch that -- three hundred and fifty-eight students; there were at least seven hundred alone in my junior class back home. All the kids here grew up together, their grandparents had grown up together. I would be the new girl – not that it bothered me – from the big city, a curiosity or maybe a freak. Maybe, if I even resembled somebody that looked liked they lived in Phoenix all their life, this may have been a tad easier. But, physically, I'd never fit in anywhere. I didn't want to be the tan,sporty, blond, that was a volleyball player or even a cheerleader – anything that had to do with the valley of the sun.

Instead I was an ivory-skinned, without even a pour excuse of red eyed or red hair, despite all the sun there. I had always skinny, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't have the coordination to play sports without tripping over my own feet – and harming both myself and anybody even near me. If you really think about it, it's a pity excuse but, as my mom said I'm a hazard to myself and others. When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag full of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after a day of traveling. I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the light, but I already looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin was pretty – it was acne free and a pretty white color – it looked even prettier if I had a little color but, I had no color here, so, I would have to deal. Facing my reflection in the mirror I forced to make myself believe I would find a group of friends in the 300 some kids here. I never really had any friends in Phoenix . Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the world differently through my eyes, than the rest of the world saw it. But, that is in the past, tomorrow would be a new beginning for me, and with that I went to bed. I didn't sleep well at all that night, even after I was done crying over Phoenix. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind against my window that just wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded dark blue quilt over my head, then later added the pillow,too. But my brain wouldn't let me sleep until sometime after midnight, when the rain finally stopped and settled into a drizzle.

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage of clouds and fog. Breakfast with Charlie was an awkward experience. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me half the time. Charlie left first, off to the police station that was literally his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchenette, with the dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed, not that I expected it to be. My mother had painted those cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. Over the small fire-place – if you could call it a fireplace – in the adjoining handkerchief-sized living room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were embarrassing to look at, I wasn't exactly what you would call photogenic – I wold have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them somewhere else. It was impossible, being in this house, not realizing that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my jacket – which was a positive because it was black and it didn't look like those embarrassing rain coats – and headed out into the rain. It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that was always under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was a little unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck as I wanted to; I was in a hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair underneath my hood. Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up, but the dark upholstered seats still smelled faintly of cigarettes, gas, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly roaring to life then idling at maximum volume. Well, the truck is old it was bound to have at east one major flaw. The radio worked, as an added plus that surprised me. Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been here before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school of any sort; only the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with gray-colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see it's size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-like fences, the metal detectors? I parked in front of the first building, which had a little sign over the door reading FRONT OFFICE. No one was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot.

I stepped unwillingly out of the warm truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark hedges. I took a deep breath before I opened the door. Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, blue-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of different colored papers and brightly colored flyers taped to their fronts. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt. The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?" "I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light in her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last. "Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me. She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoper, just like Charlie, that I would like it here in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could. When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that most of the cars were older like mine – although I really wouldn't have minded – nothing flashy. At home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neighborhoods that were included in the Paradise Valley District. It was common to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot. I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize it. I stuffed everything in a bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a nervous breath. I can do this. No one was going to bite me. I finally exhaled not noticing I was holding my breath, and stepped out of the truck. I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My black coat didn't stand out surprisingly. Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large white "3" was painted on a black square in the east corner. I felt quite comfortable as I approached the door. I was relaxed as I followed two unisex rain-coats through the door. The classroom was small. The people in front of me stopped just inside the door to hang up their coats on a long row of hooks, I copied them. They were two girls, one porcelain-colored blond, the other also pale like me, with light brown hair.

I took the slip up to the teacher, a tall , balding man whose desk had a nameplate identifying him as Mr. Mason. He gawked at me when he saw my name – to be expected. He sent me to an empty desk at the back of the class without introductions. As I sat down I could feel my classmates staring at, and instead of looking back at them I kept my eyes trained on the reading list Mr. Mason had given me. It was really easy: Brontë, Shekespeare, Chaucer, Faulkner. I'd already read everything. That was comforting...and boring – fun. I wondered if my mom would send me my folder of old essays, or if she would think that was cheating. I went through different arguments with her in my head and not really paying attention, while the teacher droned on. When the bell rang, a really annoying nasal buzzing sound, a gangly boy with perfect skin and hair as black as an oil slick – not to mention good looking – leaned across the aisle to talk to me. "You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?' He looked kinda like the overly helpful , chess club type. "Bella," I corrected. Everyone within a three seat radius turned to look at me. "Where's your next class?" he asked. I had to check in my bag. "Um, Government, with Jefferson, in building 6." There was nowhere to look without meeting curious eyes. "I'm headed toward building 4, I could show you the way..." Definitely over-helpful. "I'm Eric," he added. I smiled tentatively. "Thanks." We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I was getting annoyed. "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. "Sunny," I told him. "You don't look very tan." "My mother is part albino." He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm. We walked back around the cafeteria, to the south buildings by the gym. Eric walked right to the door, though it was clearly marked. "Well, good luck," he said as I touched the handle. "Maybe we'll have more classes together." He sounded hopeful. I smiled at him vaguely and went inside.

The rest of the morning passed in about the same manner. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered a little and tripped over my own feet on the way to my seat. After two classes, I started to recognize several of the faces in each class. There was always someone braver than the rest, who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I was liking Forks. I was being diplomatic, but mostly I lied...a lot. At least I never needed the stupid map. One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was tiny, several inches shorter than my five foot four inches, but her wildly curly dark hair made up a lot of the difference between our heights. I couldn't remember her name, so I smiled and nodded as she prattled about teachers and classes. I didn't try to keep up. We sat at the end of a full table with several of her friends, who she introduced to me. I forgot all their names as soon as she spoke them. They seemed impressed by her bravery in speaking to me. The boy from English, Eric, waved at me from across the room. It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with seven curious strangers, that I first saw them...

Fourth chapter should be out some time today.... please R&R.. i would also like to thank Emmett's Sex toy that i never got to thank in the second chapter for the idea to make Bella more confident. Thanks again i really appreciate it.... ^_^

Kiyomi