Summary : There are three things Dakota believes with absolute certainty. The first, that no matter how religious she tries to be, no amount of prayer will make money rain from the sky. The second, that imperfection can be as much of a blessing as perfection can be a curse. And finally, the third, that if resurrection and/or reincarnation were plausible then surely, she'd end up somewhere better than an impoverished middle-class family in central America.
What were the chances of being reborn, or waking in a foreign body, somewhere worse than her overbearingly controlling grandmother's home?
"I know what you are." She whispers, wrapping her arms around her torso. The needles of fear, of anxiety, and apprehension poking and prodding. Silent warnings to not speak, to not tell him what he already knows she knows.
"Do you?" Jasper asks, mere feet from her. If he reached out, he could easily wrap his hands around her throat.
Dakota doesn't need to see the tension coiling within him. She can feel it. This man isn't as good as he pretended to be when it comes to concealing and manipulating his own emotions.
"Yes." Rain pelts them. Soaking through the dress he'd hours ago complemented.
Chapter One
Forks, Washington, is a dreary and unremarkable little thing. It's overly green, too suburban, and home to an unsurprisingly large number of simple-minded fools. Dakota didn't need to be mistaken as a tourist to know this. She didn't need to read the Washington, Forks pamphlet either.
Just knowing that the town has a pamphlet speaks volumes.
Forks is the sort of po-dunk nowhere that grows on you like some obnoxious weed. A very wet and clingy weed that restricts weekend privileges because of nosy neighbors, deprives a growing body the proper eight hours of sleep because of a blue-collared uncle, and the sanity of mind because one peculiar family decides they must move to her neck of the woods.
It shouldn't have shocked Dakota how easy loving the town and its people could be.
"What is a weed but something whose virtues have yet to be found?"
Unknown
Seconds before Uncle Callan chased her from the house, for being late to school and for hoarding the bathroom, Dakota had made a promise to her reflection. She'd spent three hours prior to him waking up and another half hunched and curled in the sink staring with closed eyes at the mirror. Lecturing herself on remembering the importance of being a wallflower, of being normal (even if normal means being boring) and not shoving herself into the affairs of others. How it wouldn't do her any good to befriend the weird girl from Arizona (who wouldn't be here for another year) or how punching Lauren in her face (again) on first eye contact wouldn't change how she treats others.
She wouldn't stare.
She wouldn't think dangerous thoughts.
She'd be the perfect wallflower. A forgettable background character for the real background characters.
Dakota isn't a good wallflower, but the Dakota who'd owned this body two summers back had been. She'd been a crappy student with a semi decent attendance record. She'd been someone who didn't do anything dangerous or thrilling, likely hadn't smoked or drank before, and most certainly still been as pure as a newborn deer. Dakota is nowhere close enough to be classified as introverted, or awkward. She's a saint when it comes to engaging with others.
What a liar - she's as awkward as anyone can be.
It's taken trial and error, humiliation and exhilaration, before she'd forged herself a confidence she could stand tall beside. Eleven years of standing on a wobbly pedestal. Seven years of finding the courage to descend.
Had it truly only been eight years since she'd graduated high school? It's an eerie thing to think about — how different now is from then (or would it be then from now).
Pining over what she'd lost wouldn't get Dakota anywhere, or into anything but a depressive episode and the tubs of ice-cream that never seemed to run dry in her uncle's back freezer.
Perhaps her sudden identity crisis two years ago had been nothing but the result of a brain not getting the proper amount of rest it needs. Her body's refusal to sleep often causes her to get a little strange at times.
Denial had reigned for a time, but a very odd talk with a man who looked strikingly similar to the televised adaption of Charlie Swan had forced her to swat a touch of the haze from her eyes away (it'd been Charlie Swan - the Charlie Swan). Then, she'd bumped into Lauren at the local grocery store, and when snarky comments and a nasty stank eye had come her way Dakota had twitched one too many times and broke the teens nose.
That reaction had sparked a lot of people's interest. A lot of nosy people who'd no business diving head first into her business. For nearly a week straight the townsfolk had showed up on her uncle's front door with their worries. Comments and concerns of her sudden change in behavior. How 'she's never been violent before, quiet but not violent'.
Laruen's mother had even asked Callan if he'd thought of getting Dakota into therapy. She'd brought pamphlets to his house and preached to him of the good it would do for a girl as troubled as Dakota. Dakota didn't know what he'd told Mrs. Mallory, but the shock on her face and the way those fish green eyes had widened seconds before he'd slammed the door shut in her face would be something Dakota would never forget.
In an attempt to publicly resolve the issue he'd taken her out for hamburgers. There'd been a brief word about him wanting her to speak with Doctor Joseph before they'd gone inside, but outside that it'd been a normal supper run.
She learned who Doctor Joseph was three days later. He helped her come to an acceptance of sorts. That whatever had been done was done, and as things stood nothing could undo it. He'd advised her to not forget but also not sit in the trauma. That the next best step would be to let herself heal and to keep moving forward.
Then, in August they moved in.
The Cullen's (and Hale's).
In the weeks before school started, before Dakota became a sophomore once more, she'd panicked so thoroughly that she hadn't noticed the hole she'd dug herself into. Her panic drove her up a wall and her silently proclamations of the many horrid things that could occur kept her up for several nights. Daydreams and nightmares of being slaughtered, of the town being slaughtered, the Volturi arriving in the morning mist …. of nomads and red eyes. The possibility of -
Her conspiracies hadn't ended, but they'd come to a final stand in her math class that Monday morning. Dakota's head face down on her desk and her snores earning her a smack from Mrs. Dolton.
She'd woken to confusion, laughter, and a scowling teacher. She'd woken to a realization that it didn't matter because Dakota wasn't Bella Swan. The Olympic Coven of vampires wouldn't interact with her, she doubted they'd even notice her existence, because humans weren't something they mingled with on a common basis.
Dakota's sophomore year hadn't included a single class with any one of them (the whole three in her age bracket at least). She'd only really seen them in passing or during lunch, but never did they interact. Not a single glance in her direction. Not a single whisper.
She'd felt gloriously at peace, and partly offended.
Why? It wasn't like this was some romcom. Dakota wasn't going to seek out a friendship or romantic relationship with one of them. The mere idea of snuggling with someone cold and hard was the furthest sounding thing from appealing.
As a teen she'd obsessed over the movies, the books hadn't been an interest until years later, and yes she did still get a kick out of watching them while being in her mid-twenties but that didn't mean she'd ever had any desire to have her life magically uprooted so she could live within a third-rate reality.
Why couldn't she have instead found herself in a world of handsome fae lords, in a land of hobbits and many meals, or somewhere with games and princes with deadly kisses? Dakota would have taken an apocalyptic world if it meant she'd have the opportunity to meet her favorite backwater archer.
The pencil dangling from her fingers taps lazily as she lours at the board in the front of the room. Had it been drugs? An alcohol overdose? Mental break?
That's the million dollar question isn't it.
Just how can one blink and find themselves in another's body? Where had the soul that belonged in this meatsuit gone? Was it in her's now? Did Dakota go by the name Nichole now?
She'd never been one to make deals with devils, when Jehovah Witnesses came knocking she pretended not to be home, and as far as she's aware she'd never gotten her hands on a genie's lamp or a magical candle. Had this been the result of the tarot deck she'd ordered but never receiv-she'd already considered that option.
If this is hell then maybe she could find the hidden button that would guide her to a help desk. Surely someone could explain this level of torture to her. Who in their right mind would want to go back through high school? Puberty and hormones were horrendous the first time, but a second (much less in a new body)?
"And, fifteen minutes begins now! Good luck, and no cheating. I will be watching for wandering eyes." A woman in her mid, if not late, fifties wheezes from behind her handkerchief.
Dakota's eyes twitch. There is nothing enjoyable about repeating high school. Half the crud they're trying to teach her she doesn't remember (and often wondered if it was because she'd graduated in 2017 and it's currently spring of 2004).
"Miss Grayson, is there a problem with your quiz?"
Knuckles turn white from how tightly Dakota is squeezing her pencil. "No, ma'am. Just got stare-stuck." She was actually debating how to launch herself out the window to her right. There are only three students between herself and that unrealistic goal.
"Well, let's just not have that happen again. Okay?"
Grunting, she turns her gaze down to what once been the bane of her high school's self's existence.
Math.
And, it isn't even AP.
She'd have to thank whatever deity is out there for that. Even it seemed to know she isn't smart enough for anything above the average level of American education expectations.
Grumbling beneath her breath, Dakota spirals as she reads the first question. Asking her to find the square root of something with too many letters in it.
"I fucking hate math."
"I don't think many like it." A voice all too familiar huffs from her right. She knows he's attempting to sound somewhere between pitiful and comical, but all it does is make the fire in her veins flare brighter.
Not wasting a second more, Dakota glares at the mountain of a supernatural creature to her side. His bright amber eyes shine with mirth as she finally acknowledges his existence.
There must be irony in Emmet Cullen being her math neighbor for Junior year, a joke in him wanting to constantly talk with her. From day one of the new year he'd sought out every pathway available to poke and prod her into interacting with him.
Acknowledging him.
Winter break hadn't deterred him like she'd hoped it might.
There's a retort at the tip of her tongue. Something snippy, crude, and filled with everything a wallflower doesn't have but before Dakota can suck in a breath to begin her assault her heart threatens to leap from her open mouth.
"Miss Greyson, eyes on your own paper." The old hag had thrown a ball of rubber bands at them. The blasted thing zipping past inches from colliding with Dakota's nose. "Mr. Cullen, please do not talk during the quiz. Socialization can occur after class."
"Jesus!"
"Miss Greyson!"
"What the hell was that for?!" Dakota snatches the paper from her desk, the ball of bands from the floor, as she shoves the chair she'd been sitting on backwards.
"You will not use such lang-"
"I fucking will when your throwing shit at my head!" Dakota cuts in, hissing between grinding molars, as she storms to the front of the room. Stopping only when she reaches the hag's desk. "If you ever throw something at me again, I'll shove it so far down your throat that you'll be shitting it for weeks."
Silence.
A year and a half and her old-fashioned math teacher still isn't used to being spoken to like this — the blatant shock at Dakota's audacity each time is sinfully blissful.
"How dare you-"
Dakota barks a laugh, dry and humorless, before slamming the ball of bands before her. "Dare I say I have, and I most certainly will again."
"Office!" Mrs. Dalton screeches; her cheeks rosier than the blouse she'd dressed herself in for the day. "Now."
"Gladly."
Dakota takes the steps two at a time.
She wonders if Shelly Cope still has that bowl of candy out. If the woman will watch her with those small beady eyes the second Dakota steps into the front office. If the space will smell still of snowberry from a constantly burning winter candle.
Had Mrs. Dolton already intercom her impending arrival, or would Dakota be told to wait till Principle Rupprecht returns from wherever he'd slipped off to. She can already see Miss Cope shaking her head in disapproval and hear the door to the principal's office clicking shut as he goes about ignoring her in favor of waiting for the bell to ring. Their silent understanding that once it does Dakota will slink off to her next class.
In a manner, she supposes the front office has become another classroom for her. The sort where she either gets ignored or lectured. Where half the time someone tosses a slip of paper at her for her uncle to sign.
The second half of the semester had barely started and she'd already been asked how she expected to make it in the real world if she couldn't sit through a singular class. Shockingly it hadn't been either the receptionist or Coach Clapp but Forks newest history teacher Mr. Sheldon. When he'd first asked her that question a year and a half ago he hadn't liked her response, time hadn't changed her retort nor his subtle disappointment.
The biggest difference between their first meeting and the one a week prior was that Principle Rupprecht hadn't been around a second time to pat the man on the back and say, "You'll enjoy having her in history. Miss Greyson likes history."
Dakota isn't sure if it's been because of that, her outlandish take on respect and power between minors and adults, or because she'd accidentally broken the chalkboard in the old history room, but from then on Mr. Sheldon taken to calling on her for answers and readings and discussion starters.
It only occurred to Dakota later that he hadn't pressed the importance of college after high school. He hadn't tried to make her feel belittled or stupid. He'd only expressed his worry over her future.
Turning the corner, Dakota stumbles as she flings herself down another set of stairs. Her feet sliding on the steps but not sending her flying down them.
She ponders the idea of avoiding the front office and just ditching for the day, but then the school would be obligated to call her uncle. She didn't want to put more on his shoulders, not when work has had him so stressed lately. Dakota instead opts for the hope of talking her way out of a detention.
Detentions always come into the picture when Mrs. Dolton sends her to the office.
"I'm good at talking. I can talk my way out of nearly anything." It wasn't like she'd been in the wrong. The old hag hadn't had any right to throw something in her direction. What if she'd actually hit Dakota? What if she'd made her bleed? The last thing Dakota needed was to be bleeding in a school with vampires in it. She doesn't care how much self control they claimed to have. Three of the five re-attending high school have at one point or another dined on critters not so cute and fluffy.
"Violence is never the answer." Dakota muses. "She could have simply used her voice."
Seeing Lauren entering a bathroom on the ground floor causes all sorts of devilish violent ideas to begin sprouting as Dakota rounds and shoves open the door to the front office.
"Morning Shelly! How was your winter break?!"
"It's Miss Cope, Dakota. You know this." The tapping of a keyboard reverberates through the small room. It doesn't smell of winterberries but cheap lavender. "You should also know it's barely the beginning of the spring semester. If you keep this up you'll be beating your own personal record before this year's first teachers' in-service day."