Chapter 1: Arrival
The rain smothered the window, skewing the shapes of the trees, people and buildings that lay outside. Everything looked like a green, suffocating blur.
Then again, that's how I've always remembered this desolate part of the country. Green, suffocating and blurred. My memories of my father consist of him taking me on soaked camping and fishing trips.
The worst part about Forks was the tiny library that stocked next to no books, forcing me to cram my oversized roll-away duffel bag with as many books as it could carry, then finding or making room for some clothes.
Of course all of my clothes were size XL, shirts were ½ to long sleeved, pants had to be longer than my knees and I had at least half a dozen pairs of sweatpants. Anything to cover the body I was so ashamed to show.
That was the worst part of living in Phoenix. Seeing all the girls wearing spaghetti-strap tanks, bikinis, and short shorts that I could and would never be caught dead in. I never fit in, simply because of that fact. I've always been invisible, except when someone is yelling something like "Hey fatass! Move! You're blocking the view!"
I just learned to sit in the back, not draw attention to myself and keep my head in a book. At this point I'm probably more well read then most English teachers.
It goes without saying that I never had distractions from my studies, and when I say distractions I mean boyfriends, girls nights out, school activities, social events of any kind.
My mother always tried to tell me that I was beautiful just the way I am, that some guy was going to come along and see me for who I really was, that my weight didn't matter, it was just a number. Something corny and less heartfelt then a prostitute telling her client it's the best sex she's ever had.
I'm not a complete imbecile, I'm fat, I know it. At this point though I've tried everything I can to lose weight, it just never works for me. Diets, done them all. Pills, popped more than Robert Downey, Jr. (pre-detox). Exercise works for a week, then nothing. It just doesn't work and no matter how healthy I eat, I never lose weight.
Some people say it's because I'm just too lazy, but mostly it's because I've just gotten used to being this way, and changing would just ruin what I do have going for me, which is being an invisible bookworm, which suits me. For now, I'll just remain that way.
"Hey Bells, we're here." Charlie pulls me out of my hypnotic state. "I got something for you, as a home warming gift, I guess."
He leads me around to the side of our house, where there sits the most awfully spectacular thing I have ever seen.
Being 17 years old and living with Renee was not living in luxury. With all the speeding tickets and auto accidents she would get in monthly, insuring me and getting a car for me were never really an option, as my mother barely made enough a month to cover hers. Well that's until she met Phil, but that's another story.
So seeing a red beast of a truck sitting there, winking at me with the freedom that every 17 year old yearns to have was quite a surprise. I accepted the truck with as much grace as a baby bird taking to flight for the first time would. I'm terrible at accepting gifts, especially if I have nothing to give in return.
"No problem Bells," Charlie grunted, "Just wanted to make sure you had something to get back and forth to school with."
"Thanks," I murmured.
We made our way back to the cruiser to grab my duffel bag and carry-ons. We hastily delivered them to my room without another word being said.
"Well..." Charlie blew his breath out in short beat-like rhythms then turned and walked out without saying another word. I loved that man of few words.
I shook the rain off my coat and hung it on the back of the door and continued to unpack my books and the few pieces of clothing in my possession. Once I was done, I looked around the room noting that the walls were still the dull yellow that I remembered, the bed was in the same exact place it had always been, the bookshelf, although now overfilled with books still had it's lack of structural integrity and the desk which held the ancient looking computer was dustier then I remembered, but still looked web worthy.
I glanced at the clock, 3:45. Enough time to finish a couple more chapters in the current book I was reading and then start dinner. As a girl who has a love-hate relationship with food, it would make sense that I could cook.
As I began to get pulled back into the fictitious people and places of my book the rain really picked up, making me look out the window and roll my eyes. Ah Forks, you haven't changed. Then again neither have I.