Disclaimer: SM owns. Take that as you want.
March, 2012
~7~
The weekend flies by with questions remaining unanswered. I comprehend that someone threatened my mother. That someone threatened her using me. Since the photographs were taken a couple of months before she left, I can't help but think that they may be the reason.
I know I can't tell Dad about the photos. First of all, a home in which Renee isn't mentioned is a happy home. Furthermore, Dad is already protective enough. A man who has seen as much tragedy, hatred, and horror as he has can't help but be. If he saw these photos of me I'm pretty sure I'd be on lockdown, sent to Albuquerque to live with some distant relative.
The one person I desperately want share this all-consuming knowledge with is Alice. Of course, Alice volunteering in a remote Guatemalan village means she is inaccessible for another five months. She left last July, a few weeks after her graduation, and never looked back. I haven't been able to speak to her since.
Jasper took her departure the hardest. He knew that with graduation she would likely leave to attend college, and he was okay with that. But Guatemala didn't figure into his plans at all. My input, how as her best friend I didn't dissuade her from going but supported her decision despite my selfish thoughts, wasn't what Jasper expected either.
No wonder he hates me.
~SW~
While Dad works on Sunday, I excavate our house for anything of Mom's that could help me understand what the hell she was up to. There is nothing. I come to the conclusion that either she brought anything significant with her, or that the photographs were the only things that were of importance in this mystery.
School on Monday sees me in the principal's office.
"Bella, some of the teachers are saying you are losing focus in their class. That you are not engaged. Now, you are an excellent student, and your grades are very high…"
They better be. I'm working my ass off to get the Cullen Scholarship. And maybe I'm not "engaged" because most of the time I know more about the topic than the teacher does!
"…But it would be nice if you could show some interest. This is why I think you should take Journalism. The third semester just began, so it wouldn't be a big deal to switch. I don't think you can get away without being active in that class."
Mr. Brady looks pleased with himself, a smug grin hinting at the corners of his mouth.
I sigh, thank him for his help, and depart. I know all too well the students in the journalism class. The East-Enders. The richest of the rich. The ones whose parents can afford to have cooks and maids. The ones who have indoor swimming pools at their homes. Even though they can afford Ivy League schools, it doesn't mean they still don't need to pad their applications with accounts of working on the student newspaper. Thus Journalism class.
Oh, joy.