Thank you all for the warm welcome back, I missed you all!
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chapter two.
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You don't see your dad enough to feel at ease with him when he picks you up from the airport in Seattle, and he doesn't seem to know what to say to you. It's not like the long weekends you meet up for in various places around the country, the novelty of being somewhere new enough to give you a point of conversation. No, now it's just the two of you in his car for three hours, an entire school year ahead of you, living in the house in which you spent the first ten years of your life.
Your dad is trying–he's asking you how you've been, how you liked St. Louis, if you've picked any colleges out yet.
You answer him the best you can, your anxiety pacing inside of you like a restless animal. Maybe this was a mistake, but it's too late now. You made such a big deal about finishing high school in one place. You threw such a fit about the prospect of living in the rusted out school bus your mom finally bought after years of talking about it.
You wanted to feel normal.
"Your boxes came yesterday," your dad tells you. "I already moved them up to your room."
"Thank you," you say, your voice soft. It cost you two paychecks to ship your stuff to Forks. An entire month of making sandwiches in a strip mall.
You got the job to start saving up for school, but ended up spending most of it on things like groceries and gas for the old Honda you shared with your mom. You can't remember where your childhood home is in relation to the high school–you don't know if you can walk or if there's a bus or if your dad will take you. The not knowing is making your heart race.
You could simply ask him but the thought of doing that makes your heart race, too.
He is your dad but he has been so far away for so long that his presence isn't comforting like your mom's is.
You wonder if that will change, and how long it will take.
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On Friday, everyone seems abuzz with gossip about the Swan girl, who is apparently set to start on Monday, but Edward ignores it. He sits through his classes, leg bouncing impatiently for the day to be over. It's not that he dislikes school exactly, he just can't stand being inside with the stale air and overwhelming smell of disinfectant. The constant hum of chatter makes him twitchy. He'd much rather take his books and sit outside alone, even if it is starting to rain.
He hates that he has to learn about physics and government and calculus. He likes English okay, but the best parts of his day are his two study halls, which he signed up for instead of an arts elective.
Jasper, his only friend aside from Alice, is in his afternoon study hall. Sometimes they sign out and say they're going to the library, but instead sneak off campus and smoke in the woods. The study hall advisor never says anything about it–Mr. Cross is edging his way to retirement–or the grave–whatever comes first. Edward's pretty sure Cross isn't even really aware of the class anyway, too busy with his large print crossword puzzles to notice if Edward and Jasper come back at all. Days they skip are Edward's favorite. Any day without gym is a good one.
Today, the two of them sign out and make their way to their usual spot–a boulder behind some pine trees at the edge of campus, totally hidden from view. Once they're situated, Edward pulls out the plastic film canister he keeps a little bit of weed in and Jasper takes some to roll a perfect joint. He treats it like an art–and Edward is always impressed with the result.
He feels better now, out in the clean, cool air, just high enough that everything feels soft around the edges.
"Fuck, I can't wait for graduation," Jasper exhales with a cloud of smoke. Edward nods in agreement. "I just want out of this place."
Edward considers this. Does he want out? He'd love to not be in high school anymore but he's got nothing against Forks itself. It's probably different for Jasper because he's been here all his life. Edward thinks about his life before Forks, in Chicago. Would he want to go back there when the time comes? His mom isn't there anymore, so probably not. He'd love to get some land and close himself off from the world–it doesn't matter where he is, just as long as no one bothers him.
"...no one will shut up about it, ya know?" Jasper is saying, taking another hit.
"What? Sorry," Edward apologizes, having not heard a word Jasper's said for who knows how long. That's the thing he likes most about Jasper–he doesn't mind carrying the entire conversation.
"Just that no one will stop talking about Bella Swan."
"What's the big deal about her?" Edward asks, reaching for the joint.
"I have no idea. She was nice enough back then,I guess. I just don't see why everyone's so worked up, she wasn't really friends with anyone here."
"Except for Alice apparently," Edward adds. Jasper's eyes widen in recognition.
"Oh yeah–they were like, super close, weren't they? I hope she's not getting her hopes up–Jessica Stanley won't shut the fuck up about how they're going to be best friends."
Edward scowls. Fucking Jessica Stanley is the fakest person he's ever met and is the bane of Alice's existence.
Of course Jessica wants to lay claim to the shiny new toy–she'll get attention by association.
As the hour draws to a close, Edward decides to skip last period and go home. He doesn't think he'll be able to do whatever bullshit sport they're doing in the gym in his current state–besides, he has some harvesting to do.
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The trick is to wait until the leaves start to yellow and curl, when the plants are so top heavy they start to bend. He's got plants in a variety of growth stages so that he's got at least a couple flowering at all times. He doesn't grow a ton, but it's enough to keep up with demand from his peers. He sets to work cutting the plants and washing them in a bucket. While they're still wet, he trims off the larger leaves. He likes this part of the process, gathering the fruits of his labor. It doesn't matter if it's weed or tomatoes, the satisfaction is the same. His mind slows down while he works, that ever-present feeling under his skin softens and quiets and he feels like he can breathe.
He'll have to wait until he gets home tonight to move the still damp buds inside to the attic. The greenhouse is too humid to dry everything in and it takes like a week to do. No one goes to the attic, there's nothing up there–not even a real floor, just insulation and wooden beams. It takes some balance, but it's the perfect place. The biggest plus is that there's an access point in his closet, so no one notices his comings and goings.
He has a few hours until tonight's party and Esme is cooking something in the crock pot that is making the whole house smell like garlic, so it's a good time to gather what's already dried from his last harvest from the attic and start weighing and bagging.
It's entirely possible that his aunt and uncle know what he's up to, but for now, they've been letting slide.
He really isn't going to question it.
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