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Thanks so much to Cassy-Kay for Beta-ing this chapter. She has a bunch of awesome imprint stories too- check those out! :)

Clarity

Prologue

I held my breath as my Chemistry teacher put the paper face down on my desk.

It's just a test Viola. It's only just a test. I chanted internally. But I knew. Yeah, deep down- I knew.

Just a test my ass.

Not wanting to prolong the misery of waiting any longer, I flipped the paper over with haste. And my heart crushed in my chest. B. An 86 percent. Mrs. Ward didn't even have the decency to forgo the little smiley face in the top corner.

What was happening to me? Maybe I need to see the guidance councilor? This has never happened to me before. Oh, god- what if this brings down my GPA? How will I get into med school? I mean, this is my junior year of high school- this is important. Harvard is going to notice if I only get a B in Chemistry.

The bell rang, but I was in a fog. I didn't want to go home and face the wrath of my parents. "God, Viola- It's a B, get over it nerd. You know, some people would kill for that grade." My lab partner, Jenna, hissed viciously at me as she collected her stuff to leave for the day before strutting off with her perfectly primped peacock friends. I hardly took notice. I haven't taken notice of most people in this school for…a while.

No one really liked me enough to care why I started eating lunch alone with a book anyway. I used to eat in the library, but the principle found a couple of kids smoking pot in one of the study carols and since then we've needed a pass for lunch… Of course it was decided that peer advisors would be the ones to give out the passes, which meant it was a popularity contest. Which means I lose.

"Ms. Marrok? Viola? Viola Marrok?" A hand waved in front of my face.

"Huh?" I must have zoned out. Mrs. Ward stood in front of me, her hands on her hips and an amused smile playing on her motherly face.

"Class is over, dear. It's three o'clock."

My head was still swimming. I got a B! Oh, god.

"I…sorry Mrs. Ward. I'll just go then." I frantically grabbed my books and rushed out of the room, stumbling along the way. I walked briskly down the halls that were now almost deserted. This couldn't be happening. I must have spaced out for a while. I looked down again at the shameful Chemistry test. I felt the telltale prickling behind my eyes that signified the beginning of tears.

Clarity.

I needed clarity.

I rushed into the girls bathroom, eternally grateful to find it empty. I knew that I needed to do this before I lost the nerve.

I practically tripped into one of the stalls as I hung my backpack up on the hook with shaky hands. I then opened up my pencil case to find a little plastic bag with small glass shards. "For emergencies only", I had labeled it. This qualified as an emergency.

It took a few tries to get the glass shard out of the bag because my hands were shaking so badly from the effort of holding back sobs. Once I did, I wasted no time in pulling up the sleeves of my shirt and jamming the glass into my skin.

I thought about the Chemistry grade, and I thought about Harvard, and I thought about how disappointed my parents would be. That's what I thought about as little beads of blood formed on my skin. It hurt. Anyone who says cutting doesn't hurt is lying. I embraced the pain…and it brought me clarity.

It un-fogged the cloudy, mist-covered window that was my brain at the moment. All of those worries had just disappeared… Well, maybe they hadn't disappeared, but they were gone for now. My brain was now only focused on the biting pain coming from slashes on my arm. And unlike those other things: college, parents, and grades- this I can anticipate… this I can control. I am in control of my pain.

Immediately, my mind went onto autopilot. I walked out of the stall and cleaned off the glass before putting it back in my bag. I inspected the cut. It was deep. It would scar. I couldn't bring myself to care.

I held my arm under the running water, watching it mix with my blood as a dim pink color slipped down the drain in little ribbons. I got some gauze out of my pencil case (also labeled for emergencies) and wrapped the cut. I slipped some bracelets over it so the gauze would be less noticeable.

Then, I took my books and left. I got in my run down old Chevy and let my hands and feet take me home via pure muscle memory. My brain was shut off. I had checked out.

I walked into the house and put my keys in the basket. I barely had two feet up the stairs before I heard my mother calling for me. "Viola!"

Oh, god. She sounded angry. Is it possible…? No, absolutely not. She couldn't have found out about the test yet. "Viola! Get down here."

I walked down the stairs and into her office - a walk I have performed so many times now that I have aptly dubbed it "The Death March".

"You're late." Her voice was accusing, but she didn't even look up from her papers. She was a lawyer. She graduated from Harvard, and often liked to remind me of that fact. "You usually get home at three-fifteen exactly, but today you were fifteen minutes late. Why?"

Most days, I wasn't even aware she knew I was home. "I'm sorry mom, I was discussing some work with my Chemistry teacher." Not too far off from the truth, really.

"How is Chemistry going?" Great, now she wants to talk. Normally, I would love to talk to my mom. Discussions - civil ones, at least - are few and far between in this household. All I want to do now is go upstairs and read Beowulf for my AP Brit Lit class.

"Chemistry is fine."

"Just fine? Did you get your test back yet?" Damn. How did she know about that? No point in lying about this, though. She'll just keep asking about it until I show her. I tried to swallow with a dry throat.

"I- well, Mrs. Ward… you see, what happened was-" I stumbled before my mother cut me off, her patience as thin as paper.

"Stop, Viola. I don't want to hear you mumble. Collect your thoughts, then speak. It wasn't a difficult question." I shrank back as if she had raised her hand to hit me. My mother had always possessed the distinct ability to make me feel impossibly worthless and stupid, no matter the time or place.

"Yes. She gave us the test back today." I said a little stronger, knowing that if I spoke quietly I would only be reprimanded.

"Let me see it." It was an order, not a request.

I handed it to her silently, fearful of her reaction. When she saw the grade, her grey eyes snapped up from her current case for the first time since I stepped into the room. "Viola!" She gasped. "What is this? A B? You've never gotten a grade this low! What's happened to you?"

I didn't try to stand up for myself, knowing that any explanation I had to give her - however viable - would be promptly shut down. "I mean, Viola! This is… this is disgraceful. What is it then? Let's hear it. What excuse do you have for this grade?" She said, already reverting to her lawyer lifestyle by treating me as if I were a scummy witness on the stand.

"I have no excuse. I suppose I didn't study hard enough." I said, ducking my head.

"I'll say. Your father is going to be very disappointed." The problem is, I never see my father. I won't know if he's disappointed, because he's always at work.

I tried to do myself a favor by making promises. "I'll do extra credit! I'll get a tutor, mom! I'll try harder. I promise." I pleaded, painfully eager to please.

My mom scowled, brushing off her skirt, before sitting back down in her uncomfortable-looking office chair. "No, you won't." She said, picking her pen up once again and going back to her papers. Normally, this was my cue to leave, but I was confused by her last statement.

"I- yes I will! I really will do it."

She put her pen back down and rubbed her temples in frustration, maybe even anger. "No, Viola. You will not be doing extra credit because we are moving." She spoke slowly as if I were an invalid or a child.

And I couldn't help but feel like one as I continued to stand there idiotically. "I…I can still do extra credit if we move to a new home." I stuttered.

"For Christ's sake Viola! We're moving to a new state, not down the goddamn block!" She finally exploded.

My usually quick brain started to put the pieces together. "W-when? And where?" I knew I was pushing my mother's nerves to the very edge with my incessant questioning, but this was the first I had heard of this.

"To Forks, Washington, next week. Now leave. I have work to do." I obeyed the order, walking out on her demand, but I could do nothing to stop the burning questions in my mind.

Why now? Why Forks? What was going to happen to my classes? Wouldn't it look bad on a college application if I switch schools in the middle of my junior year? Would the new school I was going to offer as many rigorous AP courses? Why haven't they told me about this before?

These were merely a few of the inquires I had bouncing around in my head as I desperately tried to focus on Beowulf. If I didn't stop soon, I wouldn't get any work done. Fortunately, I knew just what I needed.

Clarity.

I needed clarity.