twiligth | Page 4

of the
rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the faded old
quilt over my head, and later added the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until after
midnight, when the rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.
Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the
claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like a cage.
Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. He wished me good luck at school. I thanked
him, knowing his hope was wasted. Good luck tended to avoid me. Charlie left first, off
to the police station that was his wife and family. After he left, I sat at the old square oak
table in one of the three unmatching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with its dark
paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed.
My mother had painted the cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some
sunshine into the house. Over the small fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized
family room was a row of pictures. First a wedding picture of Charlie and my mom in
Las Vegas, then one of the three of us in the hospital after I was born, taken by a helpful
nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. Those were
embarrassing to look at — I would have to see what I could do to get Charlie to put them
somewhere else, at least while I was living here.
It was impossible, being in this house, not to realize that Charlie had never gotten over
my mo m. It made me unco mfortable.
I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned
my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit — and headed out into the rain.
It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the
house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door, and locked up. The
sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of
gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a

hurry to get out of the misty wet that swirled around my head and clung to my hair under
my hood.
Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously cleaned it up,
but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint.
The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top
volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a
plus that I hadn't expected.
Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been there before. The school was,
like most other things, just off the highway. It was not obvious that it was a school; only
the sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a
collection of matching houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There were so many
trees and shrubs I couldn't see its size at first. Where was the feel of the institution? I
wondered nostalgically. Where were the chain-link fences, the metal detectors?
I parked in front of the first building, which had a small sign over the door reading front
office. No one else was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would
get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot. I stepped
unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone path lined with dark
hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the door.
Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a little
waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and
awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large
plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a
long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly colored flyers taped
to its front. There were three desks behind the counter, one of which was manned by a
large, red-haired woman wearing glasses. She was wearing a purple t-shirt, which
immediately made me feel overdressed.
The red-haired woman looked up. "Can I help you?"
"I'm Isabella Swan," I informed her, and saw the immediate awareness light her eyes. I
was expected, a topic of gossip no doubt. Daughter of the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come
ho