Chapter Text
If you told fourteen years old Bella that she would willingly live with Charlie, she would use all the swear words she knows and then laugh at your face. But here I am, seventeen with my whole life in a suitcase going to a city that I dread to live with a man that…Well, I don’t really dread. It’s complicated. He wasn’t all bad, if anything, he tried so much. The problem was in his eyes, the way he looked at me trying to find someone else.
After 4 hours on the plane and an awkward reunion, we were both trying to survive a one hour drive from Port Angeles to Forks. We both tried some small talk, nothing really strived and I could see him growing more and more anxious. At some point we tried turning the radio on, but the old thing died when I had finally found something interesting.
"So, Renée told me you wanted a car." He tried.
"Yeah." I even tried to save some money, but there was a new edition of Wuthering Heights and, well, I was already in a bookstore.
"I already got you one. Don’t worry, it wasn’t expensive"
"What kind of car?"
"Well, actually it's a pickup truck, a Chevy."
A traitorous smile crept onto my lips, automatically bringing to mind the few good memories I had of Forks, many, if not all, took place in the back of a Chevy with Charlie's best friend's youngest son.
"Like Billy’s Chevy?"
His face seemed to shine in a mix of happiness and surprise. "Glad to see that you remember him."
I rolled my eyes, three years is not enough time to forget our fishing trips, where Charlie and Billy Black actually fished and me and his son tried to not scare all the fishes away. I actually catched one once, but felt like a murderer and started crying.
Realization downed on me.
"Dad, is it his truck?"
"He’s in a wheelchair now and wants another car. Gave us a great discount."
"How old is it?" The wheelchair thing was sad, but not surprising, he had diabetes and poor circulation, things only got worse after Sarah’s death.
"He’s done a lot of work on the engine, so in that sense it’s only a few years old."
The pickup was probably ancient. I’ve seen pictures of Harry, Billy and dad with it as teens.
"When did he buy it?"
"In ’84, I think." Charlie, shameless as he was, avoided my gaze. But I wasn’t going to let it go or fall for his act.
"And did he buy it new?"
The shameless man froze. "Not exactly… I think it was new in the early ’60s, or late ’50s, at most." He quickly added "The thing runs great; they don’t make cars like that anymore."
I refrain from saying they never made cars like that; the fact is, the pickup could serve as a prime example of a modern-day Ship of Theseus—the Chevy is Billy Black’s Frankenstein’s monster. Instead, I ask how cheap it was.
“Well, honey, it’s practically already bought for you. As a welcome gift.”
My face burned in shame, not only I didn’t deserve that, I probably couldn’t repay it.
“You didn’t have to, Dad. I was going to buy a car anyway.”
“I know.” He took a deep breath, his eyes focused as we approached the street where his house was. “But I wanted to. I want you to be happy here.”
“Thank you, Dad. Really.” — I was already sure I wouldn't be happy in Forks, but hearing the hope in his voice gave me a little more courage to try.
Less than five minutes later, I found myself enchanted in front of the red Chevy, the paintwork flawless, its shape exuding the same confidence and grandeur it had when I was eight and viewed it as a mortal enemy that kidnapped me only to return stinking of fish. The same truck bed where the Black brat and I would fall asleep while Charlie chatted. I laughed, remembering Charlie’s mortified look when we ate raw fish with lemon; after that, he stayed on his toes and carried the bag of lemons up front.
“I loved it, Dad. Really.” Now I wouldn’t have to walk to school or hitch a ride in the police van.
…
One of the best things about Charlie is that he doesn’t hover around us—a luxury I never had with Renée. He left me alone to unpack my bags and look around the room, even though nothing had changed since the last time I was here.
A white dressing table with children’s makeup palettes, my old bead kits, tic-tac hair clips, and those little butterflies you put in your hair. Everything I hadn’t hurriedly taken with me at age 14 was still there. I put my suitcase under the bed; the sheets were the pink ones I’d insisted on buying because they reminded me of some Barbie movie. The worst part was the lilac on the walls, a shade that screamed, “I was 7 when I picked this.”
I sat on the padded stool in front of the vanity and was startled by the girl in the reflection. I looked so out of place, so much paler than usual. My skin was usually pretty, but the rosy flush on my cheeks had faded. I ran my hands through my hair, untangling the strands that the Forks humidity had matted together, and fixed my eyes on the reflection. My eyes were similar to Renée’s, but more almond-shaped, and at that moment, they seemed out of place. I tried to breathe, but my mind was spinning, torn between what I left behind and the lack of perspective for a future here.
In the blink of an eye, all the makeup from my childhood was scattered across the floor, and the big tears streaming from my eyes soaked my shirt. I cursed under my breath. Tomorrow would be worse; I’d be a newbie again among people who’ve known each other their whole lives—not just known each other, but Forks High School has a total of 357 students, 358 with me now; their grandmothers must have been crawling around together. I wiped my face as best I could before leaving the room; the house had only one bathroom, and thank God, I didn’t run into Charlie on the way. I organized everything I’d need for the next day in the drawers and took a steaming hot shower, hoping the heat would wash away the problems boiling in my mind.
The next morning, Charlie quickly finished his coffee and headed out to the police station. It always impressed me how much he valued his work; his duty always came before everything and everyone else. I would understand if the town were bustling, if we had crimes left and right, but Forks wasn’t like that—theft and vandalism happen every now and then, usually caused by bored teenagers. The last scandalous crime I can remember was when an elderly market vendor took too many pills and thought it would be a good idea to run naked through the middle of town.
I look around the kitchen—the worn square table and the cabinet painted a bright shade of yellow, one of Renée’s attempts to bring life to this miserable house. Above the fireplace in the adjoining room, Charlie had kept a row of photos: their wedding in Las Vegas; one of the three of us at the hospital on the day I was born; you could trace my entire life story through the photos of every summer I spent in Forks—the last three were taken by my mom in California; I can’t believe he had them developed. With my stomach churning, I decide to risk arriving at school too early.
As I drove, I let my thoughts wander: Does Jacob still remember me? We’re only a year apart, but you never know. Maybe I’ll at least make some friends here? I’ve never been good with people my age—or with people in general—but part of me was hoping to at least have someone interesting to watch, not in a stalker way, just in a “I-don’t-have-a-life-and-need-gossip“ way.
The school was easy to find, not because of its appearance—which resembled a row of identical houses surrounded by all kinds of overgrown vegetation—but because of a large sign that read “Forks High School.” I took a deep breath and parked; as I got out of the Chevy, I would have to face this new reality, though part of me still hoped it wouldn’t be so bad.
It was terrible. The first few classes were uneventful; obviously, there were curious stares and a few awkward introductions, but nothing major. The problem came in trigonometry class, where Mr. Varner—a middle-aged man so mean that not even his hair decided to stick around —decided I should introduce myself in front of the whole class. The result was disastrous; my heart raced, and an unbearable heat spread through the rest of my body, making my face turn red and my eyes water.
I stuttered pathetically until that damn bald guy realized he’d humiliated me enough and told me to sit in the back; I avoided looking around, hyper-aware of all the laughter, whispers, and stares following me.
As I set my things on the desk, a gentle voice whispered
“Hey, it wasn’t that bad.“
The voice came from a pretty brunette, her voice was low and empathetic.
“Thanks, but it was a total disaster.” I tried to smile back, but mine definitely faltered.
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, there’s no pressure with those people.” She pointed to a blond guy who was laughing heartily with a girl with reddish-brown hair. “The blond guy’s name is Mike. In fifth grade, he was challenged by this girl, Jessica, to eat the frog that was the class mascot. He ate it and threw up so much he had to stay home from school for a week.”
I smiled as I pictured the scene.
“I’ll admit the pressure really has eased up.”
“My name is Angela, nice to meet you, Bella.”
“I say the same.”
Angela, just as her name suggested, was probably an angel. She led me to the cafeteria when trigonometry class ended, telling me about some of the other students. Apparently she was born and raised in Forks and, as such, knows all the gossip inside and out, even though she doesn’t actually participate in any of it; the most recent one involved a popular girl named Lauren Mallory who got dumped and decided the most mature way to deal with it was to use a key to scratch the word “jerk” into her ex’s car. She smiled as she led me to the table where a group was already seated; I recognized some of the faces from previous classes.
“Bella, this is Tyler Crowley,” I recognized the name immediately; this was the so-called ex. She pointed to the curly-haired girl from trigonometry class. “Jessica Stanley.”
The girl looked me up and down, her eyes slightly vacant, as if calculating something, and then she smiled and waved. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”
A boy with slicked-back hair, almost covering one of his eyes, approached, placing a tray on the table. “And my name is Eric.”
“If you need anything, just let me know. I’m great company and a shoulder to cry on.” I tried not to grimace at that, but before I could respond, a fuzzy pink jacket with hearts on it flew from Jessica’s hands and hit him squarely in the face.
“You’re already making us look at that damn hair; if you start with that emo bullshit, I’ll push you off that cliff at First Beach.”
Eric grabbed his jacket with his fingertips, pulled it away from his face, made a face of disgust, and flung it back.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Jessica looked triumphant upon hearing that, Tyler hid his mouth behind his hand, and Angela smiled as if this were routine. “You really want to bet on that?”
It was while I was chewing my pizza that the air in the cafeteria simply froze. On the other side of the cafeteria sat the most bizarre group I’d ever seen. Not in a bad way, quite the opposite. They were beautiful. too beautiful. The tallest one had dark, curly hair; he looked like he could lift my Chevy without breaking a sweat. Next to him was a petite girl who looked like a fairy, with layered black hair and delicate features. There was another girl there, tall and statuesque, with blonde hair that fell in soft waves to the middle of her back. The last one was the one who caught my attention the most; he seemed to be the youngest among the boys, with tousled bronze-colored hair and a slimmer build.
Despite their differences, they all had the same chalk-white skin tone; they managed to be paler than I was. They also had faint dark circles under their eyes—the kind delicately rendered in movies to look attractive rather than sickly. They seemed perfect, simply perfect. They all had very weird eyes, in a shade of amber. I felt a chill and swallowed hard.
“Who are they?”
Everyone at the table fell silent. Angela looked at Eric, Eric looked at Tyler, who buried his face in his arms and stared at the table; with no other choice, they both turned to look at Jessica, who rolled her eyes.
“The big guy’s name is Emmet, the little one’s name is Alice, and the redhead’s name is Edward. The blonde is Rosalie.”
“Are they related?”
“It’s complicated. Like, I think Alice and Edward are children of the same father, Dr. Carlisle Cullen, but only he has the last name, so I guess she’s a bastard or something. And then there’s Emmet, who’s probably some kind of foster child, and, because of him, Rosalie. Rosalie also has a brother; his name is Jasper.”
“I haven’t seen him.”
“And you won’t.” Tyler replied abruptly. “The guy’s in college; God only knows what he wants with a high school girl.”
Angela rested her face in her hands.
“Don’t say that, the age difference doesn’t seem that big, just about 3 or 4 years.”
“It’s not about age, Angie, it’s about the stage of life each of them is in.” Tyler shot Alice a worried look.
“That’s not even the worst part. I took art class with Alice last year; there’s something deeply wrong with her, I can’t explain exactly…”
I left them talking while my mind wandered through possible explanations. I couldn’t blindly trust rumors, but questions inevitably bubbled up. Who are Emmet’s parents and the Hale siblings’? And Alice’s mother, is she an ex wife or lover? tried to watch them discreetly. Alice and Emmet seemed friendly, while the blonde glared at Edward, as if she were about to rip his hair out with the fork in her hand.
“Strange as it may seem, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him hit on a girl.” Jessica’s words bring me back to reality. “In my theory, he’s taken a vow of celibacy.”
" What? Who?"
Eric rested his head on the table, snorting.
"Every girl's school crush at some point, Edward Cullen."
I looked at the redhead again; he was indeed statuesque. I know guys who would die of envy for a jawline like that.
“Well, maybe he has a girlfriend, but she lives far away or is in college.” I regretted it the moment the words left my mouth. I shouldn’t be participating in (any more) gossip; it’s none of my business.
“If we’re sharing theories,” Eric raised his eyebrows and started flexing his wrist to make a gesture, as if about to make a big revelation, “I think what he really likes is…” Before Eric could finish his sentence, the boy, Edward, stood up. At the movement, everyone at the table fell silent.
With the distance and the noise from the other students, there was no way he could have heard us. Even so, my heart skipped a beat when he stopped at the cafeteria door and looked back, his dark eyes meeting mine; the redhead looked at me with what seemed like a mix of confusion and anger. The petite girl linked her arm through his and led him out while talking to the big guy and the blonde about something.