Once school was over, I began walking toward the parking lot where Angela and I usually met. The cold air nipped at my face, but the sky had cleared, revealing patches of blue amid the usual gray.
I smiled, spotting Angela with her pink frames steaming up as she tried to tame her frizzed ponytail. She fought a losing battle against the damp weather. I watched as she finally gave up, grabbing her glasses and wiping away the fog that had gathered.
"How's it going?" I asked, catching a glimpse of Bella angrily leaving the office and heading to her truck. I shook it off, assuming she was just having a rough time in her last class. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that something significant must have happened to piss her off that badly. I made a mental note to ask her about it the next time I saw her.
"Horrible," Angela mumbled, fixing her glasses on her face before shouldering her backpack. I eyed her warily. It was uncharacteristic for Angela to be pessimistic, but it wasn't uncalled for as she clued me in on her day. We continued our conversation as we walked to our car, the cold wind coming to a stop.
The parking lot was bustling with students eager to get home, cars honking and engines revving. Amid the chaos, I spotted Bella's truck, the engine rumbling loudly as she climbed in and slammed the door. Angela noticed my glance and followed my gaze. "She seemed pretty upset," she remarked.
"Yeah," I nodded. "Something must have really gotten under her skin." We reached Angela's car, and she fumbled with the keys before unlocking the doors.
"Well, at least we can get home and unwind," she said, trying to lift her spirits. "How was your day?"
"Better than yours, it sounds like," I replied with a chuckle, sliding into the passenger seat. "I can't believe Eric took credit for your idea." I was annoyed, not at Eric but more at Angela. I tilted my head, giving her a quick glare. She sighed in defeat; she was seated on her knees in the passenger seat as we waited for Isaac. Angela moved her backpack so she could sit down properly, but I had a feeling it was also to avoid my stare.
"You need to start putting your foot down, Ang," I paused, sitting up and looking ahead. The car was parked in front of our old middle school; the windows fogged up from the cold. I could practically hear her rolling her eyes.
"I'm not a pushover if that's what you're implying. I choose my battles carefully." I shook my head in disagreement, turning on the car as the school's final bell rang, signaling the end of the day for the middle schoolers. The chilly air outside made the car windows fog up even more, creating a cozy, secluded atmosphere inside.
"I know you're not a pushover," I said, my tone softer now. "But sometimes you let people walk all over you, and it's frustrating to watch." Angela huffed, adjusting her glasses and glancing at the door where Isaac would emerge any second.
"It's just easier sometimes, Ellie. Not everyone wants to fight all the time."
"I get that," I replied, watching the middle schoolers spill out of the building, their chatter filling the air. "But standing up for yourself isn't about fighting. It's about making sure people respect you." Angela's eyes met mine, her expression softening.
"You're right," she admitted. "I'll try to speak up more." Before I could respond, Isaac burst out of the school gates, his backpack slung over one shoulder, a wide grin on his face. He spotted us and waved enthusiastically, making a beeline for the car. I watched him wave goodbye to his friends before sprinting toward us. His jacket was off and tied to his backpack—a trend the boys were starting to follow.
I rolled my eyes when he tripped over his own feet. Angela gasped in concern, getting out of the car. Like a mother fussing over a toddler, she cooed over Isaac, checking to ensure he was okay. He swatted her hands away from him as she continued. Isaac blushed, mortified that this was happening in front of his peers.
"Stop," he grumbled, nudging her hands out of his made eye contact; his annoyance still lingered on his face, but his eyes brightened. His smile grew wide, showing off the dimple on his left cheek; ignoring Angela completely, he took off towards the passenger seat. "Eleanor!" he cheered. His hazel eyes looked more green due to the blue thermal he had on, his dark curls sticking to his sweaty forehead.
He ran the few remaining steps to reach me in the car, leaving Angela behind. Ironically, Isaac, whom Angela always doted on, had a favorite twin, and it wasn't her. I sighed, ignoring his millions of questions about our day and whether he could buy ice cream and snacks at the store. I glanced at Angela through the rearview mirror; she looked bitter in the backseat.
"Don't be rude to Ang." I said, starting the engine. "She's had a rough day." He paused, glancing back at her with a hint of guilt.
"Sorry, Ang," he mumbled. Angela forced a small smile, clearly still upset but appreciative of the gesture.
"No worries." We had assumed Isaac's favoritism was a phase, a quirky tendency since he was a baby, always gravitating towards me. I didn't mind; I adored his chubby cheeks and the way his tiny hands clung to me.
Angela, however, was always dumbfounded by why the same affection wasn't shared with her. "We have the same face!" she had complained once when Isaac's wailings turned into screeches, and his chubby arms reached out for me. We were seated on the couch, and Mom had passed Isaac to Angela, who insisted she'd be careful. I bit my lip, trying not to boast about finally being someone's favorite. I took Isaac from Angela and cradled him, lightly poking his nose. His screeching calmed down to heavy breathing as he grabbed a few strands of my hair.
"No, no," my baby voice came out as if it were second nature. "El doesn't want to smell like baby's breath," I added, gently wiggling his tiny hands from my hair. This caused him to giggle hysterically, prompting Angela to move closer and slowly shift him onto her lap.
Once his chubby fingers were free from my now tangled hair, his focus shifted back to Angela. She gave him a few pecks on his cheeks and bounced him up and down on her lap, hoping to earn some brownie points with the baby. It didn't work. Before Mom could interject, Isaac started to puke on her glasses, cardigan, and down to the new Levi's we had gotten that weekend. My nose twitched as if remembering the pungent smell she gave off. I grimaced at the memory, shifting the gears to drive out of the parking lot.
"Buckle up," I sighed, as Angela settled comfortably in the back while I drove home.
"Can we please stop by the grocery store? Please?" Isaac begged for what seemed like the millionth time. We paused, waiting for the light to turn green, as the rain started to pour more heavily than before.
I shook my head at his request, and Angela explained that there were snacks at home that Mom had hidden in the garage. "What if there isn't?" he complained, kicking his bag that overlapped Angela's. I turned into our neighborhood once it was our turn to go.
"Then I'll take you to the store, and we can grab whatever snack you want." He seemed hopeful with that answer and kept quiet for the rest of the drive. As soon as we parked in the driveway, Isaac sprinted to the front door, slamming the car door on his way out.
"I hate him," Angela muttered, leaning over the passenger seat to grab her backpack. I chuckled as her struggling arms tried to reach for her bag. She huffed, pursing her lips in distaste and concentration.
"Lemme help," I offered, pulling her bag towards her. She gave a quick thanks, checking to make sure her bag was closed before we both left the car. I stumbled into the side of Dad's car, my shoes slipping on the wet ground. My lack of grace failed me once again, and I groaned, rubbing my hip where it had slammed into the metal.
"You okay, El?" Dad's voice cut through the sound of the rain. He stood at the front of the house, holding a huge umbrella open for us. Angela was already huddled under it, shivering from the cold air.
Dad wore his favorite green trench coat, its color standing out against the gray sky. His dark brown hair, peppered with white from old age, added to his distinguished appearance. Despite the passing years, Dad still had an air of charm about him. In his youth, he had been known for his good looks and charisma, evident in his old yearbook photos.
People in town often joked that Forks' notorious minister could have been a model on the side, until Dr. Cullen came along. Dad's popularity might have waned, but he remained unfazed, prioritizing genuine care over superficiality. He was a pillar of the community, though sometimes lacking in assertiveness—a trait Angela seemed to inherit.
Mom, on the other hand, while not as well-known, was considered pretty and accomplished. According to Tia Julia's stories, Mom was a genius who could have attended any Ivy League school. Instead, she chose a local college, fulfilling a promise she and Dad made as childhood friends.
The throbbing pain in my hip brought me back to reality, and I winced, lightly rubbing it to ease the discomfort. Dad leaned down and kissed my forehead, one hand still holding the umbrella and the other gripping my arm to steady me on the icy ground. Angela walked ahead of us, her steps quick and purposeful.
"How was work?" Angela asked, taking off her boots and coat. I quickly unzipped my wet jacket and chucked my shoes to the side. Dad was too focused on closing the umbrella to respond immediately, but eventually, he grunted, "It was good." I hung my coat next to Angela's before heading to the kitchen.
Isaac had already spread his homework across the island counter that overlooked the kitchen. "So, where are these snacks Angie was talkin' about?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly skeptical.
I smiled at him. "The snacks are in the garage, under the hood of the old Impala," I said, grabbing a bottle of grape juice from the fridge and pouring myself a glass. "I saw Mom stash them there with a lock code," I added, taking a sip.
Isaac sighed with frustration, his hazel eyes now a rich golden brown. "I don't know the code to unlock the car." I chuckled, amused by the lengths Mom would go to prevent Isaac from devouring all the snacks in one sitting.
"I'll go grab you something," I offered. I left the used cup in the sink before heading to the garage. I could hear Dad bustling around in the kitchen while Angela was nowhere to be seen. She was likely in our room, already immersed in her homework. The garage was dimly lit and smelled faintly of oil and dust.
I switched on the lights, illuminating the cluttered yet familiar space of the garage. The dark blue Chevy Impala stood out, its surface gleaming from a lack of use. It was Dad's pride and joy, a relic of his youth and a refuge for his "Me time." He would spend hours marveling at the car, reminiscing about his high school days at Forks High School.
The Impala had been his first car, a project he had poured his heart into until the engine gave out years ago. Replacing it would have plunged our family into debt, so the car remained, a testament to dreams deferred. Dad had installed a code lock under the driver's side handle to prevent us from messing with it. It was an unspoken rule to never touch the car.
I checked to see if the car was still locked. It was. I pressed the code and opened the door, the familiar scent of old leather wafting out. Glancing at the front, I noticed the snacks in an open box on the back seat. I reached for Isaac's favorite chips, grabbing three bags before carefully closing the door.'This should keep him full until Mom comes home,'I thought, making my way back toward the house.
As I turned, my foot collided painfully with Isaac's skateboard, which was carelessly left out. "You've gotta be kidding me!" I groaned, dropping the chips and clutching my throbbing toe. I sat on the ground, wincing, and examined the damage. Thankfully, there was no blood or bruising, just the persistent throb of pain.
I rubbed my foot some more, chanting, "Sana sana colita de rana." A childish rhyme our mother would whisper into our ears as she rubbed the pain away. Flexing my toes in front of me, I noticed the boxes behind my foot. Right in front of the skateboard were Grandma's old boxes, the same ones Mom was trying her best to get rid of before Dad noticed them.
I bit my lip, knowing Mom would kill me if she caught me going through them. However, at this moment, I didn't care nor give her potential angry reaction a second thought. I licked my lips before checking each box for the journals I knew were in there. After rummaging through two of the smaller boxes, I found them.
They were covered by an old lace tablecloth that Grandma had sewn during her free time. I smiled at the memory before gently pulling out the journals. They were smaller than usual built-up journals but thick and filled with written stories and thoughts. I couldn't stop the grin from spreading as my fingers tingled with the excitement of reading what Grandma had written. I shoved two journals under my arms before grabbing Isaac's snacks.
I could hear Dad rummaging around near the garage door entrance. I did my best to cover the boxes and ensure they looked identical to when Mom placed them there. I rushed to the door before Dad took notice as he opened it.
"Oh my goodness! El!" he shouted, startled. "I thought you were upstairs with Ang!" He accused.
I smiled apologetically, showing him the snacks. "Isaac doesn't know the code to the car and has been wanting a snack," I explained.
Dad gave me a stern look, his brown eyes cold with suspicion, but he nodded anyway. I smiled again, passing him and heading into the kitchen. Isaac's eyes lit up when he saw the snacks. "Thanks, El," he said, already tearing into a bag of chips.
"No problem," I replied, ruffling his hair affectionately. "Just don't eat them all at once." I could hear Dad still rummaging in the garage, looking for something, as Angela emerged from our room, her face a mix of concentration and relief.
"Got your snacks?" she asked Isaac, who nodded enthusiastically with a mouthful of chips.
"El's the best," he mumbled between bites, making me smile. Angela rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her grin.
"Well, I'm glad someone's happy," she said, plopping down on a stool beside Isaac. "Now, let's see if you can finish that homework before dinner."
I escaped to my room before either of them noticed the journals I had just taken. Once in my room, I closed the door softly and sat on my bed, my heart racing with anticipation. I carefully opened one of the journals, the faint scent of old paper wafting up. Grandma's elegant handwriting filled the pages, each word a window into her thoughts and stories.
I was lost in her world, transported back to a time when she was my age, dealing with her own set of challenges and dreams. The rain continued to pour outside, creating a soothing backdrop as I delved deeper into the journal.
I could hear Angela and Isaac's muffled voices downstairs, but for now, it was just me and Grandma. Her stories were a connection to a past that felt both distant and intimately close. She talked about her start with witchcraft, her entries often jumping in time, with some missing as if writing daily had not been a consistent habit. One entry would describe her experiences at thirteen, while the next might find her at sixteen, older but grappling with the same gifts.
These gifts she mentioned in every entry seemed to grow and develop in ways she had no control over, with no actual solution in sight. Her words painted vivid pictures of her young life. I read about the day she discovered her abilities. Her handwriting became more hurried, almost frantic, as she described what had happened. She was fourteen and had vivid dreams that she believed were visions of the future.
As the entries continued, so did her confusing writings. Everything was jumbled and incoherent. However, I was stubborn and knew I could figure out what she was trying to say. As I delved into the next journal, I began to feel as if the journals didn't belong to Grandma but someone else - like a distant relative or something. Never once had Grandma mentioned dreams of the future or anything related to such. Right? I questioned myself.
I felt a dreadful chill down my spine, as if I had the answer right at the tip of my tongue but couldn't quite form the words. I yawned, finishing both journals but feeling more confused than ever. I winced as the light hit my eyes, causing me to groan from the sudden attack.'I'm so screwed,' the realization slapping me in the face. I had stayed up all night.