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Our Not So Little Girl

Bella

I packed my bags slowly, folding my clothes meticulously. I didn't need Renée on my case demanding why the branded clothes she had bought for me were crumpled up. Hah. If only she knew I was planning to ditch the expensive threads in favor for plain clothes once I was on the plane. I couldn't stand the attention the designer clothes brought. It was as bad as screaming out Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star in the middle of the airport, if not worse. Don't get me wrong. I loved my mother dearly, but sometimes, her concepts of 'cool' were just…not.

Why was I such a pushover? If I had just stood up to Renée, just this once, I would be on the way to Jacksonville with my harebrained mother and Phil, her new beau. I would be relaxing on a nice lounge chair with the sun tanning my paler-than-pale skin, giving me a crass sunburn, but still. But no. Since I had the guts of a mouse, I would be on a plane to Port Angeles, a little tourist trap, where I would then meet my father who would bring me to a place wetter than the ocean itself.

But despite my qualms, I knew I had to go. Renée and Phil needed to spend some quality time together. Their first honeymoon was cut short due to a volcano eruption warning-honestly, who in the world chooses to have a honeymoon near one of the most active volcano in the world?-and quality time wasn't about to happen if I kept hanging around them like a moth near a light. Which was why I now needed to go to the small town of Forks.

Charlie was a sweet, considerate man who had passed on several distinguishing qualities to me-the albino-like skin, for one, and the easy blushes-but I hated going to Forks. I despised Forks. And not just because of the daily showers, either. I despised Forks because once, long ago, I had lived there. Before The Divorce. The big split.

I was born in Forks, a few months after the holy matrimony of Charlie and Renée Swan, the joining of two souls, aka the big wedding. It was actually a shotgun wedding. Apparently my mum and dad had gotten in some play while they were dating and when Renée found out they just had to get married even though my grandparents would be furious. Which they were. Renée's parents promptly disowned her. Grandma Swan, though, was understanding enough, considering she had married Grandpa under similar circumstances.

I hated Forks because, once, I had a sister there.

Her name was Renesmee. She was a year younger than me. She looked almost exactly like me except that she had inherited Renée's skin instead, making her look like a tan version of me. Also, her hair was straight as a pin. We were extremely close. We ate together, walked together, and played together.

Charlie and Renée's marriage lasted four years despite Renée's dislike for Forks and its rain. I was slightly older than four then, and Renesmee was three. One night, Renée got into a huge fight with Charlie for some absurd reason. They had a huge blow-up over it and two hours after that, Renée stormed out of the house, bags in one hand and me in the other. I was screaming, wanting Renesmee to come along to wherever we were going, but Renée told me she would fetch Renesmee later.

She never did fetch Renesmee. Sometimes I wondered if she ever truly loved Renesmee. She always seemed to favor me more, dressing me up in designer baby togs and the works. Renesmee never minded. She thought parents loved their kids equally. I did, too, until Renée failed to take Renesmee with her.

Three years later, I was living in Phoenix with Renée, a single mum, in a shabby apartment that was infected with termites and all sorts of assorted beetles. I was terrified of the house though Renée kept telling me to suck it up. I knew she hated the place too but she was just too proud to admit that she had really messed it up this time.

I was seven then when Charlie suddenly called home. It was strange, since Charlie only called every Tuesdays and Fridays. Even then he refused to speak to Renée, only talking to me if I answered the phone and hanging up if it wasn't me that answered. Charlie called on a Wednesday, and when Renée picked up, they spoke to each other in hushed tones. I was puzzled as to who the person Renée was talking to was.

Renée handed me the phone then, and I realized it was Charlie. He was crying. That shocked me. He told me, very quietly, that Nessie had been attacked by a deranged dog and was in the hospital in a coma. I was terrified.

I kept begging Renée to let us visit, just this once, but Renée kept telling me she was broke and couldn't afford it. I told her to ask Charlie to pay, but she refused to risk her pride for her daughter. I couldn't believe it.

A week later, it was Monday and Charlie called to tell us Renesmee had died and he was flying us home.

I remember the funeral vaguely. I remember a white coffin with gold embellishments, incredibly small and elegant. I don't know if I ever looked inside. I don't think I would have held myself together if I saw Nessie looking ravaged and pale. But then again, wouldn't it be worse if I saw her pretty and smiling, the way she always was? As if nothing had changed. As if she had merely picked up and left us. Left Forks, left Charlie, left Renée…left me.

Renée told me she was in a better place. And as I grew, I realized that the 'better place' was hopefully up there and not from the opposite direction. But even now I can't help hoping that just maybe the better place was in Mexico or Jamaica, and one day I'd see her again.

I sat down on the edge of my bed, the folded clothes forgotten. A single salty tear streaked down my cheek. I missed Renesmee, more than I missed anything else in the world.

In Phoenix I had a reputation for being the girl. The flirt, the playgirl. I was going to change all that. I had lived behind the mask too long. There was something about living behind someone you're not that's very reassuring. Like you could create the perfect illusion and nobody could find the cracks. That was my illusion. The perfect flirt. Some illusion that was. I always had a few people gossiping about my bitchiness.

I was tired of looking for love in all the wrong places. I didn't need a man to validate myself. Nessie was looking out for me, and that was all I needed. As long as I never forgot her, she would be telling me what to do and protecting me from all the right dangers.

What better place to remake myself than in Forks? A new place, a new start. And who knew? Maybe I would like it better than I anticipated. Though if it rained more than one time a day I would kill myself.

"Bella? You done up there?" Renée's soft, dreamy voice floated up the stairs.

"Yeah, coming," I shouted back. I stood up and looked around. The room was bare. Everything heavy and I insisted on bringing had long been shipped to Forks. Only my excruciatingly light luggage was left. I only had two medium-sized duffel bags. I didn't exactly have a whole closetful of clothes I could pack, and hopefully I would never have enough clothes to fill more than three bags. (AN: hah! Wait till she meets Alice.)

I hoisted the bags over my shoulder and took a quick check in the mirror. I was wearing jeans, a tee and a simple but efficient jacket. No need to dress up if the clothes were going to be ruined by rain anyway. I headed down the stairs carefully-my clumsiness was heightened when I was carrying heavy objects-and dumped the bags out near the car.

Phil was lounging on top of the car, lying on the boot like one of those bikini models you see for cheesy calendars. Only in this case, instead of a bikini-clad Brazilian model with tan skin and gorgeous eyes, it was Phil, a minor-league baseball player with messy blonde hair, blue eyes and a tendency to impersonate the most random people. I liked him. He was sensible enough to keep Renée out of trouble. At least he never left his keys in the salad, unlike a certain person.

He grinned at me, flashing perfect teeth save one tiny chipped tooth he had earned by somehow knocking himself in the jaw while pitching. And they called me clumsy. "Hey, there, Bells. Big day, huh?" he greeted me. I smiled.

"No kidding," I answered, leaning down to retie my laces. Phil adjusted his baseball cap to a jauntier angle.

"I'm going to miss you, kiddo," he said nonchalantly. "It's sure going to be boring without someone to catch when she trips." I straightened up and scowled at him.

"You have Mom," I pointed out. "That's a big enough responsibility."

"True, true," Phil conceded, smirking at me. "But you're the main course. How can someone fall while standing perfectly still, anyway?"

I laughed. "Takes a lot of skill," I said in mock authority. "And I should know, I have enough skill to not just injure myself but a load of people along with me. The FBI should hire me. Forget guns, I could probably take down hundreds of people if they arm me with a baseball bat."

Phil laughed boisterously as Renée came huffing out of the house, holding the keys in one hand. I squinted at her. "Mom? Why are the keys coated in mayonnaise?"

"Don't ask," she warned, sliding into the passenger seat. Phil laughed, getting off the car and chucked my bags into the backseat, not bothering to open the boot.

"Take care of that one," I told him, a lump rising in my throat. He patted my back and opened the door for me with a flourish.

"I will," he reassured me before walking over to the driver's side. Renée was spouting nonsense about plane regulations and weight of luggage as Phil assured her that my bags barely weighed half of her.

I stared out the window, watching the familiar Phoenix landscape flash by. This was my home. Could I really uproot and leave it, just like that? Was I capable of that?

The answer was pretty clear. Yes. Yes, I could, and I had to.

I sighed. Forks had better have some interesting people.