Ch. 1New Town

"Ugh." I groaned as we drove up to the house. My dad just sighed in reply. Apparently he had had enough of my moaning. I didn't know why we had to move again. This was the second time in this year alone, and the seventh time in the past three years. Even though I always thought this, I meant it this time: this was the worst move yet.

"Did we have to move to the rainiest place on Earth?" I asked angrily. Forks, Washington was the rainiest place in America, not the world. It was an awful comparison to my last home: Los Angeles, California.

My dad chuckled, "I'm sure you'll like it here. Didn't you complain when we moved to L.A.? You loved it there. You had a million friends in a week!"

"That's because there were a million people there! There aren't even 500 in the entire high school!" Small towns were definitely not better than cities.

He rolled his eyes. "I don't see what the problem is. You always said you didn't mind the rain, and you have never had a problem adjusting before!"

"Maybe that's because we've only moved to cities! Ever think I'm just screwed up because I've moved so many times? I'm a freak, dad!"

He sighed. I bit my lip, feeling guilty like I always did whenever I fought with him. I opened my door and walked around to the back of the car. I grabbed my suitcase full of my small winter wardrobe, my purse containing only my iPod and cell phone, and my guitar case and ran into the house.

My dad came in right behind me. "Let's go see the rooms," he said enthusiastically. We went upstairs first, leaving our suitcases in our bedrooms, then continued on to the bathroom, living room, kitchen, and extra room that would be my dad's painting studio.

I heard the moving van pull up, and went with my dad to help. This was a stupid idea. I was a huge klutz and probably would break whatever I attempted to carry. My dad knew this.

"Melody, you don't have to help," he said weakly, probably thinking of the broken bones and trip to the hospital that would result in my help. "Why don't you go call your mother?"

I groaned. That was not going to be a pleasant conversation, considering my mother and I hadn't had a pleasant conversation in months. But I turned and stalked off into the house anyway.

I picked up my cell phone hesitating. My mother and I had never gotten along. I was only 5 when her and my dad split. Ever since I was 8 we had argued constantly, mostly about stupid things. Of course she had tried to make up for it by paying for every music lesson I asked to take, but it didn't stop me from moving out when I was 11. Even when I lived with my dad, there was no escaping the never-ending arguing. So we just stopped talking altogether.

I dialed her number, and waited impatiently for the ringing to end.

"Hello," came my mother's voice. "Melody? Are you okay?"

I rolled my eyes, "Yeah mom I'm fine, except for the fact that I am living in infinite downpour."

"Well, you could always live in Ft. Lauderdale…with me."

If it wasn't with her, I would have loved sunny Florida. Unfortunately, my mother and the annoying prep kids at the school made paradise torturous. I would rather live in Forks. No, Florida was definitely out.

"Mom…I…I," how could I tell her that I didn't want to live with her? "The kids there are really preppy…and annoying," it was true…not the reason why I didn't want to live there…but still, true.

"Oh," she said seeing through my poor excuse, "Well I'm glad you're okay. Umm…have fun in school tomorrow. Call me afterward?"

I sighed, "Yeah, I will mom. Love you! Bye." I hung up feeling terrible once again.

My room wasn't that horrible. It was slightly bigger than my last room, but still small. I liked it though. The moving people had already moved in my desk, bureau, and bed. I sat down on it looking around. The walls were a light pink, that wouldn't last long. I thought of color possibilities as I unpacked.

I glanced at the clock. "5:30, no wonder I'm so hungry," I said to myself. I ran down the stairs and into the light blue kitchen. My dad was just unloading all of the spices into one of the dark brown cabinets. I hopped up on the counter and picked up the phone.

"What's the best place for pizza here?" I asked, hoping he would know.

"Uh…" Shit, he didn't.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. "You don't know? I thought pizza was, like, your all time favorite food! You didn't look up the number for a pizza place? Aren't you the one who always tells me to think ahead?"

He shrugged embarrassed. "I bought a phone book at least."

I jumped down off the counter and went to the coat closet. The one thing that never changed no matter where we were: the phone book's location. I stood up on my tiptoes, infuriated once again at being a full grown 5 foot 4.

I flipped through the pages impatiently and found the number for the only pizza place. I grimaced, only one pizza place? L.A. had five in our side of the town. My dad was a…experimental cook and most of the time his food wasn't edible, so pizza, Chinese food, PB and J, and cereal were the most common dinners.

"Dad, they don't deliver," I said grimacing again. Being 15 was no fun. I still had a year to go before I could drive. I already had a car picked out and everything.

He chuckled, obviously knowing why this upset me. "I'll pick it up. What kind do you want?"

I shrugged, "Whatever. Tomato?"

He nodded. I laughed. I knew how much he loved tomato. I dialed the number, and placed the order.

After eating, showering, and brushing my teeth, I climbed into my bed and curled into a ball. I felt the usual panic creeping up. It always happened on the first night in a new town. As soon as I thought about the new school, new friends, new teachers that would surely hate me, I had a panic attack.

I tried to calm myself down, but it was too late, I was already hyperventilating. I snatched my iPod from the floor and plugged it into the docking station. Music usually helped. It would at least drown out the crying to keep my dad from worrying. I selected my favorite Linkin Park CD and listened to the screeching guitar as I fell asleep.