A/N I don't own Twilight, that's the property of Stephanie Meyer. Anya Simms is all mine.

Chapter 8: More of the Same

APOV

It was now Thursday morning, and I was once again making my way back to the school. I had accepted, for whatever reason—possibly still stuck in some coma-induced, lucid dream-like Odyssey of my own—that the best course of action was to just keep leaning into this strange reality and embrace it for all its quirks.

American Anya did not disappoint. In the garage, I found a box labeled cleaning supplies, and what do you know, this is where she kept some battered overalls, work boots, and plaid button-downs—fitted ones, Thank God! So, I had my hazmat suit of sorts to tackle the mess of the Forks High Library.

Of course, I still ensured that I wore a chic outfit to and from the school, and whenever I had to roam the halls. But in the privacy of my domain, as I had started to think of the library, I donned my battle suit and made war.

Against cobwebs, decades of dirt, and the creeping suspicion that perhaps Anya had been dazzled by the honey-eyed doctor into taking this job.

I found the contract buried in banker boxes at the house labeled files, and to my relief, with the exchange rate, it was a reasonable salary—not hourly, Thank God—that was comparable with other high school librarian wages, according to the US Department of Labor Statistics website.

Still, I wasn't completely convinced as to why Anya would take this post.

In the dreariest, rainiest town in all of continental USA.

Thank you, Ms. Meyer, for drilling that fact into my brain.

It was on my walk after school Monday that it finally dawned on me what was really throwing me for a loop. Yeah, more than the fact I found myself stuck in a fictional book come to life – years ago, I had toyed with the idea of University of Victoria for my master's program, but the week I spent on Vancouver Island in the rain had wreaked pure havoc on my migraines.

There wasn't enough pain medication on the planet to convince me that U Vic was the school for me.

And yet, it rained nearly every day in Forks, and not a damn migraine in sight. American Anya was not cursed with that lovely family quirk. The realization hit me like a ton of bricks—I had been walking around for days without the constant threat of a headache looming over me. It was bizarre, liberating even, and it only added to the surreal nature of my current existence. I couldn't help but jump in the puddles knowing I could enjoy the rain like others do, not be cowering in a dark room praying for sunshine.

Well shit, I was like the vampires, living for the rain. Can a vampire say they are living for something? Existing for rain?

Those thoughts danced in my mind as I continued to splash my way to the grocery store Monday night.

So, here I was, dressed in my battle gear, ready to take on another day of cleaning and organizing the library. The overalls were a bit too big, the boots a bit too heavy – steel toed did seem a bit over the top, but they were more practical than my rain boots. I found myself oddly content, despite the grime and the mess. There was something satisfying about the physical work, about transforming the space little by little.

The rocking soundtrack also helped. I won't lie.

Of course, while I tried to avoid the cafeteria—having finally wised up and brought a lunch from home—it wasn't as easy as I'd hoped. The faculty lounge, for reasons beyond my comprehension, did not have a microwave. Because, of course not. Why would they? Nearly every other staff lunchroom in Canada and no doubt the States had a microwave, but little old Forks High School did not.

Apparently, the teachers were content with sandwiches.

I was not.

So, every lunch, I found myself once more in the cafeteria, standing in line, waiting patiently by the microwave. Mike Newton was always happy to chat with me during these moments, filling the time with his eager chatter. I never hated innate high school gossip more than I did while standing in that line. At least Mike stopped staring at my chest and focused his attention on my face.

And, like clockwork, the honey-coloured five-pack always swanned in, perfectly in sync, gliding across the room with that unnerving grace.

They were the only swans in the building. And that still unnerved me. When the hell was Bella supposed to make her grand entrance? I wondered, my eyes scanning the room each day for any sign of her. But so far, nothing.

My thoughts continued to drift into the ridiculous as I watched them. Ooo, scary, look at those fangs, just all fangey there. I thought, trying not to laugh out loud. I wonder if I should ask if there's any blood pudding on special today?

Mike took my amused look for interest in his chatter so he would continue to prattle on.

And still, no response from the mind reader. Just his continual frustration, his gaze flickering over me with that same unreadable intensity. The empath, though—Jasper—he was a different story. I was confident he was picking up on my amusement because he always had a smile on his face whenever he caught me looking. Yesterday, I even winked at them, because why the hell not?

The moment had been priceless. Edward's brow furrowed even deeper, his frustration practically radiating off him, while Jasper's smile widened ever so slightly. Emmett had noticed too, nudging Rosalie, who rolled her eyes with a look of disdain that was almost too perfect.

Alice merely ignored me.

But that was the thing—none of it felt real. It was like I was living in a surreal version of high school, where vampires roamed the cafeteria, and I was the only one in on the joke.

Thursday, while waiting for my lunch to heat up, Mike chatting away about some school event or another, I couldn't help but glance over at the Cullens' table. They were all there, as usual, seated with their trays untouched, making polite conversation among themselves. But I could feel the tension in the air, especially from Edward, who looked like he was about one cryptic comment away from losing it.

Well, if I'm going to be stuck in this strange reality, I thought, I might as well have some fun with it.

The microwave beeped, signaling that my lunch was ready. I gave Mike a quick nod of thanks and turned on my heel toward the door, ready to retreat to the peace of my domain. But not before catching Jasper's eye again. This time, I didn't wink, but I did give him a little nod, acknowledging the unspoken understanding between us as I hummed a few bars of Paradise By the Dashboard Light.

Let them wonder, I mused, a small smile tugging at my lips as I walked away. If I was going to be part of their world, I might as well enjoy the game. Note to self: find a vampire-esque rock song to sing tomorrow—just because why the hell not?

And here I was, Friday morning, still no derelict truck in the parking lot, another swanless day. Well, not completely swanless—there were still five of them prowling around. Do they prowl? I wondered, glancing around the lot. But as I looked to the far side, something caught my eye—two more glaringly empty spots: no silver Volvo and no Jeep.

Those little shits, skipping school. While it rains.

Hunh.

At my mid-morning coffee break, the pieces started to fall into place. I spotted a few pale-looking kids huddled outside the nursing station, looking faint. I paused, curiosity piqued, and the nurse caught my eye.

"Blood testing in science class," she explained when she noticed me staring.

Ahh right, I thought, a knowing smile creeping onto my face. Probably not wise for a pack of vamps to be let loose when that's happening. "Poor things, hope you're stocked up on orange juice!" I responded to her before I continued on my way to the faculty lounge.

The mind reader I was confident was pissed off at me. The empath was amused. But the psychic. She was the wild card of the bunch. Was she keeping an eye on me, metaphorically speaking, or was it just my imagination? During my brief glimpses of her during the noon hour hell that was the high school cafeteria, she never had that telltale blank look on her face—the one that would indicate she was deep in a vision. She always seemed pretty even keeled and happy, her arms interlaced with Jasper's. Right, her mate, I reminded myself, but that didn't stop me from noticing the way she'd occasionally slide her eyes over to her broody brother, Eddie boy. It made me wonder if there was more to the story—something unspoken, something I wasn't quite privy to.

Staring out of my newly washed windows in the library courtesy of yours truly – moi! – note to self: find out when janitorial staff last crossed the threshold of the library – watching the rain drizzle down the panes, my mind wandered back to our book club discussions. I remembered how Lisette played devil's advocate, arguing that the mind reader and the psychic were better suited for each other, leaving the human for the empath. It had sparked an interesting debate, and honestly, I'd always thought Jasper was the hotter one—more complex, with a darker edge. Who doesn't love a true bad boy? Most of us conceded that Meyer had done him a huge disservice by leaving too few breadcrumbs for the readers to follow.

Was Lisette right? I wondered. Did Meyer get it wrong? The looks I'd noticed between Alice and Edward—were they not concern, but more likely annoyed? Was she irritated at having to pretend to be dating Jasper when, in reality, she was… boinking her fake brother?

The thought was too convoluted that it made my head hurt. Here I was stuck in what seemed like a fictional world, contemplating whether fictional characters were living a fiction within their own fictional existence. It was a headache in the making, layers upon layers of intrigue and deception that felt almost too convoluted to untangle.

See what I mean – a Gordian Knot of convulsion.

But then again, this was Forks, and nothing here seemed to be as simple as it appeared on the surface. Maybe, I mused, rubbing my temples, it's better not to dig too deep. After all, even fictional characters deserve their privacy.

I chuckled at the ridiculousness of it all, pushing the thought aside. For now, I'd focus on what I could control—like finishing the library's transformation. The rest? I'd figure that out as I went along. Oh and of course, plan a little mischief. Monday was gonna be the shit!