A/N: Anyone want to beta for me? My sister used to, but she's a college student who doesn't have time to edit my fanfiction. Your help would be greatly appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight; if I did I'd have ended with Eclipse (Speaking of which, this story pretty much ignores Breaking Dawn.)

I sat on my bed, stunned. Somewhere in the back of my mind I registered the fact that I'd dropped the phone. It looked sort of sad, sitting by itself on the light brown carpeting.

The shock slowly faded away; it morphed into confusion. I must have heard wrong.

My hand reached out, almost without my permission and grabbed the phone up off the floor. I told it to replay the message and listened again as this Emily woman yelled at my father. When it was over I replayed it again. I listened to it five and a half times before the phone died.

As I sat, listening to an ancient voicemail over and over my mind flitted through emotions, like looking for a number in a phonebook, searching out the one that fit.

And somewhere near the end of the fourth replay I found it; the right emotion.

Anger.

By the time the phone died I was shaking slightly.

I knew I didn't have the full story, I knew I was jumping to conclusions; I didn't particularly care.

I was being lied to, about what I could not be sure. – that's sort of the point of lying though, isn't it? - But there was defiantly lying going on.

I was not just door-slamming-music-blaring mad. I was throwing-things-punching-people mad, maybe even figure-out-where-to-hide-the-body-later mad. I wasn't the kind of person who usually got mad. Sarcastic, all the time, bitchy, sure; sometimes even laconic. But I didn't usually have a temper.

It was liberating.

I stood up and stomped to my door, barely stopping to fling it open. The handle smashed into the wall of the hallway outside of my room. It left a large, round hole in the drywall.

I couldn't have cared less.

"What the hell, Dad?" I screeched, storming down the stairs.

I remembered that he wasn't home.

Damn it! A fight sounded fantastic.

I sat on the bottom step, fuming. I forced myself to remember that I didn't have all the facts.

"Screw not having the facts! I can find something." I yelled, shocking even myself. I had not intended to say it out loud.

I thought back to the message, back to what the woman – Emily, I supposed – had said… Or, more acuratly, yelled.

'Turn that Honda around and bring Claire back to La Push!'

Hmm, La Push. I had absolutely no clue where, what or who that was.

I stomped back up to my room. There is something therapeutic about stomping.

Once in my room I flipped open my laptop and Googled 'La Push.' I blushed slightly as I sifted through a few slightly dirty looking results. Then I found something. La Push, WA, just northwest of Seattle.

Washington? Huh.

'Bring Claire back to La Push!'

Back to La Push?

You know that feeling you get when one and one are making three? Well, at that moment one and one were making purple.

I got a sudden idea. I ran to my dad's office.

I flipped through probably 95 different papers before I found what I'm looking for; my birth certificate.

I had never really looked at it before. It did not leave his hand when we needed it to get my driver's license. He said he didn't trust me not to lose it.

Maybe trust wasn't the reason.

Although from another perspective, maybe it was.

And there it was, directly under 'Name: Claire Nina Michaels.'

'Birthplace: Olympic Medical Center, Port Angeles, WA.'

It's amazing that my head wasn't on fire; this amount of anger should cause flames.

Really big flames, we're talking blow torch, not butane lighter.

I took a long, deep breath, blinking away angry tears.

I slammed the door of the cabinet I had been sifting through, probably a little too hard. It shook, but didn't fall over, it was a little with cathartic.

I ran back to my room and flopped down on my bed.

I turned to my laptop; the browser still showed the Google search results for 'La Push.' I clicked the link to switch to Google maps. I typed my address furiously and hit enter. A line appeared on my screen, connecting La Push to Omaha.

1,867 miles

Estimated Drive Time: 32 hours.

I quickly jotted down the directions on an empty take out box, the only paper-like product within arm's reach.

I jumped off my bed and took the distance to my closet in three strides. It took me less than 5 minutes to find a large duffle bag.

I got it the year I went to summer camp. I hadn't used it since, but it's not like duffle bags expire.

I grabbed a small selection of clothing; mostly jeans and tank tops. They all fit into the duffle bag with a bunch of room to spare. I threw in a few books and all my necessary electronics (camera, cell phone, iPod, and laptop) along with their respective chargers. I picked the ancient cell phone up off the floor and tossed it into the bag… Just in case.

Just in case, what? What use could I have for a dead cell?

I couldn't come up with an answer, but I left the phone in my bag anyway.

I grabbed a box from the top shelf of my book case. It contained all the money I got for graduation. (I had, after all, technically already graduated, all I would be missing was the last two weeks of school, you know, the ones where you don' really do much.) It wasn't a lot of money, but probably enough to pay for food and gas… I hoped.

I stopped by the bathroom on my way downstairs and threw the necessary toiletries into my bag, pausing to put my toothbrush in a plastic bag – it doesn't matter how much of a hurry you're in, throwing your toothbrush in with everything else is gross.

You wouldn't brush your teeth with dirt and lint, would you?

When I took a moment to glance down at my watch, I realized that I had only been home for a little over 20 minutes; it felt like so much longer.

I ran out the door and threw my bag into the trunk of my car, along with a pillow and blanket. Who knew if I'd have enough money to pay for hotels?

The last thing I did before I left the house was write a quick note for my dad.

Dad,

I scratched it out and started again

Greg,

I scratched that out too.

Dad,

I've gone on a trip. I don't know how long I'll be gone. I have my cell in case of emergencies. Don't try to drag me home, I'll be 18 by the time you find me.

-Claire.

In my mind I debated writing another, slightly nicer note, but decided against it.

My note was as civil as he deserved after lying to me for years.

I locked the door behind me and climbed into my car.

The adrenaline was still pulsing through my veins; I took a shuddering breath to calm myself and turned my attention to starting my car.

The idea of just up and driving to La Push, in search of people I couldn't even remember, who might very well have moved away by now was crazy.

Just crazy enough to work

A/N: This chapter was very filler-ey. The juicy stuff will come soon, but it won't be good if you don't have to work for it.

Reviews are like oranges: Hard to get (you know, all the effort of pealing them) but totally worth the work.