Chapter One

My mother drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was seventy-five degrees in Phoenix, the sky a perfect, cloudless blue. I was wearing my favourite shirt—sleeveless, white eyelet lace; I was wearing it as a farewell gesture.

My carry-on item was a parka.

In the Pacific Northwest of America, a small town exists under a near-constant cover of clouds and rain. It was from this town and it's gloomy, omnipresent shade that my mother escaped with me when I was only a few months old. My mother told me it was in this town that I'd spent a month every summer until I was fourteen. That was the year I finally put my foot down; these past few summers, my dad, Charlie, vacationed with me in California for two weeks instead. It was to this place that I now exiled myself—an action that I took with great relief.

I loved Phoenix. I loved the sun and the blistering heat. I loved the vigorous, sprawling city, but I had to accept sooner or later that I couldn't stay there forever.

"Bella," my mom said to me—the last of a thousand times—before I got on the plane. "You don't have to do this."

My mom looks like me, except with short hair and laugh lines. I felt a spasm of panic as I stared at her wide, childlike eyes. How could I leave my loving, erratic, harebrained mother to fend for herself? Of course she had Phil now, so the bills would probably get paid, there would be food in the refrigerator, gas in her car, and someone to call when she got lost, but still . . .

"I want to go," I lied. I was a bad liar anyway, but I'd been saying this lie so frequently lately that it sounded almost convincing now.

"Tell Charlie I said hi."

"I will."

"I'll see you soon," she insisted. "You can come home whenever you want—I'll come right back as soon as you need me."

I could see the sacrifice in her eyes behind the promise.

"Don't worry about me," I urged. "It'll be great. I love you, Mom."

She hugged me tightly for a minute, and then I got on the plane, and she was gone.

It's a four-hour flight from Phoenix to Seattle, another hour in a small plane up to Port Angeles, and then an hour drive back down to Forks. Flying doesn't bother me; the hour in the car with Charlie, though, I was a little worried about.

Charlie had really been quite nice about the whole thing. When we talked over the phone he seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school.

But it was sure to be awkward with Charlie when I wasn't exactly what people would describe as verbose, and I had nothing to say regardless. I knew he was more than a little confused by my decision—like my mother before me. Apparently I hadn't made a secret of my distaste for this place.

When I landed in Port Angeles, it was raining. I didn't see it as an omen—just unavoidable. I'd already said my goodbyes to the sun.

Charlie was waiting for me with the cruiser. This I was expecting, too. Charlie is Police Chief Swan to the good people of this town. My primary motivation behind getting my car transported from Phoenix, was that I refused to be driven from place to place in my father's car. Nothing slows down traffic like a cop.

Charlie gave me an awkward, one-armed hug when I made my way off the plane.

"It's good to see you, Bells," he said, smiling. "How's Renée?"

"Mom's fine. It's good to see you, too, Dad." I wasn't allowed to call him Charlie to his face.

I had way too many bags—courtesy of my mother. Most of my Arizona clothes were too thin for the colder weather Charlie lived in. So my mom and I had pooled our resources to strengthen my new winter wardrobe, although she still would consider it scanty. It all fit nicely into the trunk and backseats of the cruiser.

"Your car came in a few days ago," he announced when we were strapped in.

"Is it okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, it's good." He was looking ahead at the road with a hint of a smirk on his face.

I gathered that Charlie wasn't usually very comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I think I inherited that from him. No need to add that my being happy here is an impossibility. He didn't need to suffer along with me. We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and that was pretty much it for conversation. We stared out the windows in silence.

It was beautiful, of course; I couldn't deny that. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. I even thought it could be too green—an alien planet. I watched as the trees flew past me, thinking of new spots for hunting. Venom pooled in my mouth, burning my throat. I swallowed it back hastily, trying to drive hunting from my mind. Living here was going to be harder than I expected.

But it was good enough for me.

Eventually we made it to Charlie's. He lived in the small, two-bedroom house that I assumed he'd bought with my mother in the early days of their marriage. Apparently those were the only kind of days their marriage had—the early ones. There, parked on the street in front of his house, was my lovely car. It was a shiny red convertible with a beige leather interior.

Now my horrific first day tomorrow would be just that much less dreadful. I wouldn't be faced with the choice of either walking two miles in the rain to school or accepting a ride in the Chief's cruiser.

It took several trips to get all my stuff upstairs. I got the west bedroom that faced over the front yard. The room wasn't familiar, though it had apparently belonged to me since I was born. The wooden floor, the light blue walls, the peaked ceiling, the yellowed lace curtains around the window—these were all from my childhood . . . It made me sad that I couldn't remember anything about Charlie.

I could see the only changes Charlie had made, switching the crib for a bed and adding a desk as I grew, I guessed. The desk now held an ancient computer, with the phone line for the modem stapled along the floor into the nearest phone jack. This was a suggestion from my mother, so we could stay in touch easily. There was also a white rocking chair in the corner.

There was only one small bathroom at the top of the stairs, which I would have to share with Charlie. I was trying not to dwell too much on that fact.

One of the best things I discovered about Charlie is he doesn't hover. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a task that would have been altogether impossible for my mother. It was nice to be alone, not constantly having to smile and look pleased; a relief to stare dejectedly out the window at the sheeting rain and let just a few dry sobs escape. I wasn't in the mood to go on a full on crying jag. I would save that for night-time, when I would have to think about the coming morning.

My new school had a frighteningly low total of only three hundred and fifty-seven—now fifty-eight—students; there were more than seven hundred in my old junior class alone. All of the kids that lived here had grown up together—their grandparents had been toddlers together. I would be the new girl from the big city, a curiosity, a freak, if I didn't already look like one.

Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to my advantage. I should be tan, blonde—a cheerleader, perhaps—all the things that go with living in the valley of the sun.

Instead, my skin was snowy-white, without even the excuse of blue eyes or red hair. I was rather slender, but soft somehow, obviously not an athlete.

When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up.

I looked at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe it was the lighting, but already I looked happier, hopeful, even. My skin could be pretty, but it all depended on the lighting. And I had no sun here, that was a good thing.

Facing my reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I would stand out. If I couldn't find a niche in this school with four hundred people, what would I do? Going back to Phoenix wasn't an option.

I didn't relate well to people my age anymore. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to humans anymore, at all. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, never seemed to be in complete harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a fault in my brain. But the cause didn't matter, all that mattered was the effect. I hurried back to my room and closed the door behind me.

I read a book as I waited impatiently for Charlie to go to bed. After I heard him snoring, I couldn't help but smile. I carefully opened my window, making sure it didn't creak.

The fresh air wafted my face and I breathed it in, relieved. I dived out of the window and landed softly on the ground outside. The woods seemed to be calling me, welcoming me. As I ran I couldn't help but laugh quietly at the thrill of it. I ran in a straight line for what felt like miles, making sure that I was deep within the forest before stopping. When I was sure that there were no humans nearby I let myself become lost to my senses. The objects around me—the trees, the shrubs, the rocks . . . the house—all began to seem very fragile.

In the first few weeks of my new life, hunting was difficult, I didn't really know what I was looking for. Now, all I needed was a few seconds and I could find my meal. I heard the soft padding of hooves nearby and I ran towards the smell. Elk. Their scent was less appealing than the Coyotes—Carnivores—I had in Phoenix, but they still worked to dull the burning in my throat.

Crouching, I readied myself to chase the next group of deer, but something stopped me. There was another scent, definitely fainter, further away.

I froze.

It seemed so familiar, but I was positive that I hadn't come across it before. I looked around for any sign of movement. I couldn't hear much other than the animals. An unfamiliar sense of fear and vulnerability rushed through me and suddenly I didn't want to take any risks, I raced back to my house.

My book was still waiting for me on the bed, I climbed in and started reading again. The constant whooshing 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 block out the noises.

I made sure to be in bed in the morning when Charlie woke, I had almost forgotten about the human charade. Charlie opened the door and peeked inside and I slowed my breathing. Afraid that I looked too still, I adjusted the pillow slightly. Charlie must have been pleased because he left and went downstairs.

I got out of bed and turned on the lamp—I didn't need the extra light but it felt right to have it on. Thick fog was all I could see out of my window, I could feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. I couldn't see the sky here; it was like a cage.

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event, I told him I wasn't hungry, he shrugged. 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 non-matching chairs and examined his small kitchen, with it's dark panelled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white linoleum floor. 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, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to the one from last year. 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 realise that Charlie had never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.

I didn't want to be too early for school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I donned my parka, which had the feel of a biohazard suit, and headed towards the door. It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I reached for the house key that Charlie had hidden under the eaves by the door last night, and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I missed the crunch of dry gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my car 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 the fur hood.

Inside the car, it was nice and dry. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly, roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a car like this was bound to be loud.

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 small sign, which declared it to be Forks High School, made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, all built with maroon-coloured bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see it's 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 had parked there, so I was sure it was off limits, but I decided I would get directions instead of circling around in the rain like an idiot.

I stepped unwillingly out of my car 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—too bright—and warmer than I'd expected. The office was small; a little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering the walls, and a big clock ticking loudly. Plants in large plastic pots, and flowers in coloured-glass vases were dotted everywhere, as if there wasn't already enough greenery outside. The room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers and brightly coloured 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 simple 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 with a smile, 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 home at last.

"Of course," she said. She dug through a precariously stacked pile of documents on her desk till she found the ones she was looking for. "I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school." She brought several sheets to the counter to show me.

She went through my classes for me, highlighting the best route to each on the map, and gave me a slip to have each teacher sign, which I was to bring back at the end of the day. She smiled at me and hoped, like Charlie, that I would like it here.

I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

I walked back to my car in silence, not completely watching where I was going. But I had to stop a few steps away, I was blocked from my car by a crowd of kids, gawking. There was a circle of people around my car, two deep, mostly boys, unmistakable lust in their eyes. Some of them looked like they were about to drool.

"I wonder how fast they've gone in this thing . . ." One of them said.

"Look at the SMG shift paddles. I've never seen those outside of a magazine . . ."

"Nice side grills . . ." Another commented.

I clicked the key in my hand to open the door, and suddenly there were more than ten pairs of eyes on me.

A gangly boy with skin problems and hair as black as an oil slick stepped toward me. "What kind of car is that?"

"H-Huh?" I stuttered. For I had no idea.

"Eric, it's an M3," someone near us answered, as if it was common knowledge.

They were all incredulous as I slid between them to open the door. I climbed in quickly as a small portion of the crowd left, most stayed but moved to the side.

Other cars were starting to arrive now. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was agitated to see that most of the cars were older and nothing flashy, unlike mine. At home I'd lived in a neighbourhood in the Paradise Valley District where it was common to see a new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nicest car here was a shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot.

I looked at the map, trying to memorise it now so I wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I stuffed all the papers in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to myself feebly. No one was going to bite me—if anything, I was more likely to bite them. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the car.

I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk, crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn't stand out, I noticed with relief.

Once I got around the cafeteria, building three was easy to spot. A large black "3" was painted on a white square on the east corner. I felt my breathing gradually creeping toward hyperventilation as I approached the door. I tried holding my breath as I followed the two unisex raincoats through the door.