Chapter 16: Settling In

Waking up before someone knocked on my door demanding I get up felt like an accomplishment. Even before my eyes could open, the previous night's conversation with Mrs. White flashed through my mind. Believing I had an ally with her, I went and found her making breakfast. This time I remained in my nightclothes.

Calling her name softly, as to not startle her, she turned and smiled gently at me with sadness in her eyes, "Ma is going to have to do."

"Yes, ma'am," I replied before asking her, "What should I wear?"

"Cover everything up, but casual, not a hoodie though, like you seem to like to hide yourself in," she instructed.

"Okay," I told her, grateful for her instructions, and went back upstairs.

Mr. White could be heard helping the boys.

When I reappeared in the kitchen she eyed me once and uttered, "Good enough."

She seemed sad.

"I'm sorry for your sadness," I told her, unsure of what else to say, while I grabbed cutlery to set the table.

"Nothing about you," she assured me, "just sad that my baby girl chose not to cling to her family in her time of need. It's hard, no doubt about it, to stay rooted in our heritage when everyone and everything around you tells you that there's something wrong with you. That's why the Rez is such a refuge. I'm grieving because she made a poor choice, and she's big enough that I cannot protect her from the consequences."

Unsure of what to say, I just listened and helped her serve the food.

"You know Charlie has Quileute blood in him," she told me, her tone changing completely. "One of his grandmothers was half Quileute. You're technically related to the Blacks, as Charlie's Quileute ancestor was the sister of Chief Ephraim Black. And Renée is related to the Uley bloodline, who before the colonists invaded were honoured by the tribe as powerful Shamans. Although our stories are forbidden to be told to strangers, and you have not been raised in the Quileute ways, I am relieved that at least you are not completely removed from us."

"I did not know that," I told her in awe of how she knew more about me than I did.

"Both Charlie and Renée were not raised Quileute, as their ancestors chose to hide themselves, much as Jamerica is wanting to do," she answered sadly. "Even though it's in different quantities, both you and Jamerica carry the magic of the Quileute blood. She couldn't have known that a spell as powerful as soul swapping would need magic in both lineages. If not for your genetics, she might have chalked doing the spell down to something silly and never tried again. It's ironic, as much as it's sad."

She spoke about magic so factually that I found myself inclined to believe her. If the swap hadn't happened to me, her belief that the Quileutes have magic in their blood would have sounded rediculous to me. But since it had worked, her premise seemed like a reasonable explanation. Truthfully, no other explanation made as much sense. Didn't change the truth that these conclusions had more in common with a novel than real life. Yet, since I was living the impossibility, I grabbed onto her words tightly. If her theories were correct, then the spell would work on Emily, since as a cousin of Leah's she would likely have whatever magic had allowed the transfer. Her certainty in magic shifted my mental starting point, which once my mind had digested the alteration altered my fundamental basis for reality.

These thoughts immediately brought mind to my initial conversation with Leah. There was a lot that she said which had bothered me. How they had so casually thrown away my life, hadn't considered my feelings, and generally had been self-centred bitches continued to rile me up. However, the more I had ruminated, the more shame had filled me. The uncomfortable truth was that my anger at them made me into a hypocrite. With all my belief in the ultimate love of Romeo and Juliet, when I attempted to step outside of the consequences I was paying, I couldn't help but see Jamerica's actions as romantic. The real problem I had, then, wasn't how she was willing to do anything to be with "the one," or how she was willing to sacrifice everything for him. What was really boiling my blood was that her romance was at my expense. Sure, I had been mostly enjoying my time with the Whites in the last days, but Jamerica and Leah stealing away my life from me for Jamerica's gain, romantic or not, stung.

For the first time, I thought about Romeo and Juliet's actions from their family's view. Did Mrs. White want Jamerica to be happy, despite the cost? It seemed, thus far, that Mrs. White had a very different view of love than mine. She talked about family and heritage. Mr. White talked about family love and being there for each other. Hadn't all the stories I liked conveyed that happiness is found most prominently romantically? The question that had uncovered my hypocrisy was what would I have done in her place. Would I have broken my parents' hearts and been willing to sacrifice everything for the "right" guy? I didn't like my answers, and as much as my mind attempted to downplay my own truth, it stared at me in the face hauntingly.

Would Jamerica be able to live with the guilt of the cost of her choices? Maybe, she could. Maybe she was the kind of person who did a thing, and then didn't think about it after that. Was she the kind of person who believed that the ends justified the means? I hoped Jamerica was as pleased as she appeared at school, especially if Leah had been correct, the price for her desires was high. She might get her happily ever after, but having to live with the damage was something else. Certainly the price I was paying, even with the unexpected gifts, wasn't worth it. Then it dawned on me, that maybe it wasn't too high for her, since she wasn't the one having to live with the consequences. She got her man while her mother suffered and my body and whatever future it held was stolen from me.

Unfortunately, I had to admit that I was a 'the end justified the means' kind of person, although I imagined myself more selfless than her. But if someone I loved was at risk, what boundary wouldn't I cross to save them? The lack of knowing if I had limits in a situation such as that was disconcerting. What was the price of a switch back? Who would pay it? Would it be worth it?

When Mr. White and the boys came down she was all business, as if our previous conversation had never happened, so I attempted to set aside my thoughts. She certainly was adept at switching gears on a dime. My mind throughout breakfast could not stop mulling over her words. First, it seemed strange to me that she knew more about my heritage than either of my parents. Second, her certainty in magic and how she spoke hinted at her having cast a spell before. It dawned on me that I had seen adults in how they interacted with me and related to me, but clearly they weren't sprung from the head of Zeus and had been teenagers themselves.

After church when I had strategically enquired with Mrs. White, she had told me the service had been a mixture of Quileute, Makah, Quinault, and S'Klallam words and traditions. Having so many cultures and languages combined with references to Jesus, the Great Spirit, and the Bible had been interesting. A couple neighbours and a few of Renée's friends had invited me to attend their religious gatherings over the years. None of them had ever left an impression, so my enjoyment of the service surprised me. Mrs. White's words about my own heritage rang in my ears. Through this swap I had an opportunity to learn about parts of myself that had been lost, and I would have never otherwise had the chance to recover. As distressing as the whole thing had been, the swap had seemingly given me gifts I hadn't even known to ask for.

Although Mrs. White's certainty in magic had undone my understanding of the word, simultaneously, her words had given me a kind of anchor in my storm. She had limits to her behaviour, to her choices. A part of me wanted that. Perhaps in addition to Mrs. White, church was a place that could give that to me, as I no longer wanted to be anything that resembled Jamerica and her choices. I wasn't sure how religion could help, but without doubt I wanted to be a different person.

After lunch was served and the kitchen was cleared once more, as promised, Mrs. White braided my hair.

"I really enjoyed church," I revealed softly, trying to make sure no one heard me but her, trying to see how much advice and support she was willing to offer me.

Her hands were harsh at times, pulling firmly, but it was done with such confidence and assurance that any discomfort was gone before it began.

"That's good," she answered with a tone both relieved and melancholy.

"I'd like to utilise what has happened as a chance for me to learn more about my heritage," I confided in her. "Can you tell me anything about my ancestors?" I asked, hoping this might be a safe topic to share.

After many long minutes of silence she told me, her hands never faltering, "You shouldn't think ill of them. Most of the white folks around here have a bit of Native in them, if they were ever to look hard enough. Maybe it's what ties them to this land, but they are lost in the allure of Whiteness. You have to know how badly Natives were treated back then. It was even worse than now. The colonising idea that a land belongs to you, simply if you claim it first to fellow Europeans is bad enough, but it also came with individuals who had been raised to believe that any person not like them was savage, and thus didn't count as human. Indians could be shot without penalty, for a time bounty hunters could get paid for their scalps, and raping a Native woman was common place. Our women had to hide constantly or find a White male willing to protect her from the others. We cannot judge the impossible decisions they were required to make."

Her words seeped into me like lead, weighing me down, and causing me shame. I had never prior considered how Forks came to be, or even Phoenix. The implications of the past had never entered my living space like her answer.

She must have picked up something in me because she added, "That White guilt you're experiencing isn't going to do any of us any good if you dwell too much on it. You cannot change the choices of your ancestors good or bad. The question for us all is how are we going to choose today for our futures. Let it shape you into someone honourable, compassionate, and strong. Guilt and shame are terribly uncomfortable feelings, but they can form us into a more just, kind version of ourselves, if we let them."

Her admonishment combined with wisdom was like a rag that wiped away the tar that had just begun to settle within me. Nevertheless, it caused her directive to impact me greatly. It was like her words had rewritten my DNA, empowered me, challenged me, and set my course all in one go. Yet, I could not imagine how to take this edict and live it.

"How can I?" I asked, nearly equally afraid of her answer and my inability to live up to whatever she might say.

"You help others, you take care of your own, while sharing all that you can, you honour Mother Nature and Father Sky, you don't take more than you need from either, you defend others who cannot defend themselves, always remember that your actions and behaviours count, respect the elders, honour the ancestors, keep the traditions alive, and make choices from the knowledge that it will ripple through us all."

Other than knowing the traditions, ancestors, language, and the last part, it sounded like something that fit the kind of person I had wanted to be all my life. It comforted me that in a way I had already been living how she described to some extent, even if a lot of it had been due to necessity. Then, my traitorous mind reminded me of the exception – true love. In that moment I made a firm decision: I would live by the code she suggested, irrelevant of the body I inhabited and even in the face of true love. I would no longer sacrifice my values and who I was for anyone or anything. Now, I just had to find them. The weight of that realization caused me to feel like I was being crushed by an avalanche.

We spent most of the rest of the time in silence, as I was lost in my thoughts, and then she showed me how to take care of the braids she had created.

"Thank you, it looks beautiful," I told her after examining myself in a mirror.

"You're welcome," she answered with a tense smile.

Needing some space from her, I told her about my unfinished homework, and retreated to my room. I finished up English, and since Quillayute had been completed at Leah's, went over it again, trying to get the concepts to stick.

Lying in bed thinking, instead of sleeping, I tried to figure out how I was going to make this thing with Jamerica work, in case Leah had been right. During my musings, I tried to focus on the positives, one of which was the opportunity learn about my lost heritage. I fell asleep restless without any answers.

I woke up early enough to help with the boys, which put me in Jamerica parents' good books. Mr. White dropped me off early as usual. Although Leah and I had spoken about Jamerica and I coming to an agreement regarding our classes, it still surprised me to see my truck parked in the parking lot. Going over tentatively, I said hello to Big Red, and if none of this had happened, took a few steps towards the driver's door before I saw the back of my own head, and changed direction to the passenger side.

As soon as I closed the door behind me, my voice told me, "Leah said you were cool and not butt hurt or anything?"

"Surprised and upset certainly, not to mention that it has been a huge adjustment, but I'm not going to tell anyone," I assured her.

In a quiet tone, probably not meant for my ears, she mumbled, "You sure do talk uppity." then she stated, "Thanks, Bella," although she whispered my name, as if afraid to utter it. Then, in a normal tone stated, "You really are the best."

Unwilling to agree with her, as I was simply trying to make the best of it, my words remained behind my lips. It's not like she had asked permission.

"I can't have you failing my classes, though," I declared.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I spoke to Leah about that. How about we trade homework?"

"But we won't be in the classes," I pointed out.

"Detailed notes?" she suggested.

Sighing, I could see no better alternative.

Then, remembering Mrs. White's request added, "And one day a week you come over, so we can help each other prepare for quizzes and exams."

She paused a really long time before she agreed reluctantly.

People were beginning to arrive, so in a rush she told me, "I wrote down how I talk to my parents."

Handing the papers to me from her bag, she got out, slamming the door behind her, and sped away, as if loathed to be near me. I had never felt so used. Putting my hands on my face, I lay with my forehead on the dash. Images of what I had lost verses gained as well as what it would take to pull this off flashed through my mind. Her mumbled words only highlighted how different I was. If I had grown up in Forks, then maybe I had stood some chance of talking like her, but my mother had been my best friend and by books my companions. Everything was so hard and confusing. The shape of these thoughts combined with all the others from the last few days circled in my mind resembling a tornado.

I was startled from my thoughts by a tapping. Jerking up, I was shocked to see Edward. For the first time in our encounters, I counted his presence as a gift. If nothing else, he had paused my inner storm. Checking that his eyes were gold and not black, I waved for him to step back, while I opened the door.

"The warning bell rang, and I figured you didn't want a tardy slip," he said, as a form of explanation.

"Thanks, Edward, I appreciate it," I told him sincerely, while closing the cab's door, especially since he had saved me from being tardy, and thus having to have an awkward conversation with Mr. and Mrs. White. It puzzled me how he answered my confusion regarding his appearance and the tapping. Perhaps my face had shown my confusion. Not willing to dwell on something so insignificant, I let it go.

He nodded in acknowledgement, but appeared conflicted like he was fighting an internal battle.

Once I was close enough to his presence that I could smell the cologne he wore, my body responded fearfully. Reminding myself that his eyes were golden, I focused my attention on his strange behaviour as a way to distract myself from the primal fear rushing through me. A small smile started at how effectively he had distracted me from my predicament.

Grateful to him, both for the distraction and for helping me stay out of trouble, but not sure how to help his struggle, I offered, "I'm happy to listen if you ever want to talk about it."

My words seemed to have taken him off guard, if him eying me suspiciously meant anything. He said nothing, while continuing to walk with me. Even though he almost glided in his steps, his slouched posture combined with his scowl implied that he still was lost inside his head.

When we arrived at my room, I turned to him saying, "Thank you for helping me out. I'm sure your family is great, but sometimes it's nice to talk to a friend instead. If you'd like that, I'm willing."

He seemed startled and grumpy. His eyes had shifted darker a little.

Slightly concerned at how quick his eye colour and mood seemed to have changed, I turned, leaving him and entered my class. Unwilling to think more about Edward, as the ball was firmly in his court, I focused on the task at hand: making notes that Jamerica could read.

Being a scribe, rather than a student, exhausted me so much that by lunchtime I almost missed Rosa waving at me. Choosing to sit with her was a welcomed relief compared to being alone, and the two other people at the table seemed nice enough. Sitting with them also helped with me not wanting to find out what my body was doing. Ignoring Jamerica was really best for my sanity. So really, they helped out, even if they didn't know it.

Once more gym had been an odd respite in the day. On an even better note all my hours working with Leah and extra memorisation had paid off, as Quillayute was no longer a complete disaster. Although, the teacher was still either highly suspicious of me or thought I was poorly speaking the language as a joke.

At the end of the day, I found papers with my scrawls on them in my locker. Looking at my handwriting and knowing someone else had made them only made the whole situation even more bizarre, yet real in a tangible way. Trying to stop the tears that were beginning to form at how overwhelming the whole thing was, I put her notes in my bag. Taking the notes I had made throughout the day in hand, I left them in Big Red. When I arrived at the Whites' no one was home yet, as usual. Taking advantage of the silence, I started on my classes. Even though trig sucked, it was nice to be challenged, as repeating the same subjects were doing my head in. I must have been lost in solving the problems, because I was shocked out of my thoughts by a light tapping. Looking up, I found Mrs. White at my doorframe.

"Sorry, ma'am," I stated immediately.

She walked over and looked at my work. "You doing your proper grade?" she asked rhetorically.

"Yes, ma'am," I confirmed, then in a soft voice, as if my tone might diminish the hurt added, "and she'll be over once a week."

"Wednesday," she instructed.

"Yes, ma'am," I agreed.

"Come down and help Martin," she dictated, and then added, "you're good with him."

"Thank you," I told her, and then confessed, "I always wanted siblings. I find him delightful."

She chuckled and shook her head, "Glad to hear it, but don't be telling Martin that. It's better for him to believe that you still only barely tolerate him. I can't be having the boys finding out the truth of what's happened."

"Yes, ma'am," I told her, trusting that she knew best. It was a foreign sensation, since Renée couldn't have been trusted to pay bills on time, but an enjoyable one.

The evening progressed as it had the week before on school nights. Remembering my promise to help in the morning, I closed my books when it was time for bed, even though the homework wasn't done.

Hoping for sleep, but instead trying to imagine how to manage everything, I wasn't sure this had been the best plan. One week I negotiated with myself before sleep took me. I would do this plan for one week and then if something needed to change, I would renegotiate. At least Jamerica hadn't been completely unreasonable and was responsible enough to recognise that failing all my classes wasn't in her interest. The last thought I had was wondering why Edward had warned me about being late. By all non-magical accounts, he couldn't have possible known who I was. The idea that the stories had truth in them and Edward was something other than human barely entered my consciousness before sleep took me.