Brand New City
Chapter ONE — Here We Are
"I think my life is losing momentum, I think my ways are wearing me down." — Mitski
Edward Cullen x Fem!Reader wc: 7k ao3 link
Summary— In a desperate attempt to get away from your current life, you moved to Forks, Washington to stay with your dad. A small city, one you hoped would provide you with plain faces and equally plain conversations. Unfortunately for you, each and every dream you had was crushed when you met Edward Cullen. He's the embodiment of everything you wanted to leave behind, and he seems to never leave you alone.
Moving to Forks was a good thing. I was sure of it. I hated Portland. Hated the over half a million people living there. That was the thing with big cities, I’d pass by thousands of people everyday, ones I’ll never see again. Of course, many of them were just like me. Deplorable little shits who’d hit and run, key a random car in broad daylight, probably perform some elaborate stunt in a restaurant just to get their ten dollar meal comped. But sometimes I’d walk past an angel.
Sometimes it’s a girl with her hair perfectly styled, makeup done in such a way to compliment her facial features exactly. Maybe she had the exact outfit I wished I could wear, or wished I could pull off. Other times it was a man, the type to look absolutely gorgeous with little effort. Long lashes and clear skin, clothes that hung off his body perfectly.
My mother fit into that category. Yes, her and her long, ringlet curls that elegantly flowed down her back, shorter ones near her chin to frame her face. Poreless skin, the kind you see in adverts and adverts only. She woke up smelling like flowers and bright sunny days and prayers answered. It made me gag. I was sick of her. She had me young. Too young, she’d say, too young and too dumb to raise a kid, yet she’d also tell me I was a gift from God. She’d also tell me to never ever have sex with a guy until I was certain he was the right one. She kicked me out for the night once I asked, “Is every man in Oregon your soulmate, then?”
Look, I know I’m not a great daughter. I don’t provide much apart from being a shiny object to point at and show off how much she’s achieved. But still, I think I’m alright. I’m the one who wanted to leave Portland, practically begged her.
I sorta felt bad about it. I hoped she didn’t think I wanted to stay with dad just because of her. No, she was only the main reason. Like, maybe I could put up with people so attractive, so agile and graceful they seemed to glide when they walked if I only saw them occasionally. But I shared a home with one, and was reminded of such every single day. Another reason I wanted to leave was me. This whole thing was a me problem, a me issue that I had created for myself and so I had to be the one to solve it. This was my solution.
So Forks, Washington, with it’s cool population of three thousand two hundred and ninety six would surely give me a better life. One away from those who were already dead and in heaven with halos floating above their heads and pearly white wings attached to their backs.
My parents agreed they’d each drive halfway, meeting up in some city no one cares about called Raymond. I switched cars once we got there, sitting behind the steering wheel of my dads sedan and driving down to the end of the street to get them to stop arguing. Big mistake. They just started arguing with me, or at.
My dad was nothing special. I wondered what ‘spark’ she felt that made her fuck him. He was nothing like her, and nothing like the average man she brought home. He had a boring face with boring eyes and an extra special boring voice. One that droned on and on with little to no inflictions. Even when mad, he only raised the volume, keeping that snore-worthy voice so easy to block out. I wondered who’d ever marry him.
After my stunt I had been delegated to the backseat. Two more and I’d be clinging onto the roof of his car, assuming he had the heart to send me to the trunk first. I made myself home there, spreading out across the seats like a bed and unbuckling my seatbelt because who cares about safety when you have natural selection? If we got into a crash during the two hour and forty minute drive—to Forks, Washington of all places—and I flew out the window or something and got impaled by a branch, then maybe life wasn’t for me.
I hadn’t been in Forks for a decade. It was before puberty hit, before insecurities and looks and general vainness took over my life. I barely remembered it, though tiny fragments of memories made themselves known as he drove through the town—city, technically. He pointed to a few buildings, named them, sounded like he was reading off an article. He slowed down when he passed my soon-to-be school, his voice picking up speed, clearly eager to get it over with.
“This is where you’ll be going to school. Show up on time. Get good grades. Be respectful, please. I don’t want any calls from your teachers. God forbid the principal.” He didn’t speak again until he pulled up in front of his house. “Bought you a truck too. Off Billy Black from the reservation. Say thanks if you see him. Or his son. I’ll hand you the keys later.” I didn’t bother asking who Billy Black was, nor about his kid.
His house was just as interesting as himself. Two stories, slightly run down, little too many vines crawling up the sides. The mailbox out front was dented and the red paint was chipping off. Not to mention the path to the front door. Just some dead, yellow grass marking the way. All blades flat and misshapen. The room I was sleeping in was bare save for the air mattress on the floor. Oh, and the black mould growing in the far right corner of the ceiling. The walls, the amount of cigarettes smoked in here had to be in the thousands. It all really set the atmosphere, very moody, I told my father. He hummed a completely flat and unenthusiastic hum. I told myself I should get used to that. My mother was the type to rant about everything, she’d go on for eternity if you’d let her. A social butterfly, really. I guess my dad was the window she flew into.
I flipped my suitcase on its side, unzipping it to reveal a laughably small amount of items. I had only really brought the essentials. If I wanted a fresh start, one away from my mother, one in this dreary town that rained near constantly, it was best to bring as close to nothing as possible. There was one bathroom in the house too. Me and dad would have to share it. A communal bathroom with a man. Ew.
I plopped my toothbrush down by the sink, then placed the shampoo and conditioner I had stolen from my mom right before we left in the shower. I stared at his three-in-one sitting upside down on the side of the tub. It was the same blue a murky lake was. A lake overrun with algae and brain eating amoebas and thousands of tiny baby tadpoles swimming in it. I uncapped it, bringing it to my nose. ‘Icy Oasis’ was the name. Why did so many men's hygiene products have such non descriptive names for their scents? What did ‘Icy Oasis’ mean? What significance did it pose? Was its only purpose to be a different way to say ‘refreshing’? Because from my perspective, the shower gel was a disturbing shade of blue and the smell reminded me of a public pool filled with toddlers.
Dinner with dad provided a long silence, excellent for thinking over the choices I’d made. Even if I’d suddenly decided I needed to go back to Portland, that this was all too much change and I needed my mommy—which would never happen—I wouldn’t let myself. I wasn’t the type to back pedal on decisions. Forks would be my home for the rest of my high-school life whether I liked it or not.
Knowing it’s wrong to mentally talk shit about your mother doesn’t make it any less fun. It did scare me when I thought about her for too much. She’d accomplished so much by my age, experienced so many things. That’s another reason I wanted to leave. Every time she spoke it felt like a silent jab, her own way of saying ‘I’m better than you’ by just simply talking about her life. She knew what she was doing, no chance she didn’t. No chance she’d missed the way my eyes would droop and my smile would falter each time she’d mention the jobs she juggled. Or the boys that trailed after her. Or giving birth to me. Teen pregnancy wasn’t a good thing by any means, I knew that, but the way she explained her story, her struggle, made it sound cool, something I was missing out on. I wanted to be split from vagina to anus too! Ugh, that woman had corrupted my mind in ways not yet known to man.
I also thought about my bedroom in Portland. The walls were an abhorrent shade of teal, one I begged my mom for when I was nine and fell out of love with a mere three months after. It blinded me every morning I woke up, the colour so bright it lit up my room more than the sun. She refused to change it back to white, claiming that if I wanted it in the past, there must be a part of me that still did, however tiny it might be. She told me I should dig deep inside my mind to try and find it.
Well, I did. All I found was hatred for her. I slept on a twin sized bed with off-white sheets. I recalled the one time I plastered tens of stickers onto my bed frame. They curved around the cylindrical legs, so much so you had to squint to know what the designs were. I ended up spending the evening after school scraping them off with a box cutter. The blade often scratched at the metal, picking off some of the black coating.
I looked around dads dining room, which was connected to the kitchen which was connected to the living room which was connected to a closet that housed one broom and one feather duster exactly. No walls in between any of them, completely open. There were a few picture frames hung on the walls, but they were all the random stock images placed inside the frames at the store, just to show off what it would look like with a photo inside. I ran my finger along the edge of the wooden table I was eating at, examining the way my index sunk into the spongy texture.
“I think this table’s rotting.” I announced, now pinching the corner with my thumb and forefinger. Mushy.
“It is, yeah.” He replied, my nose scrunching up as he spoke with his mouth full.
I finished dinner as quickly as I could, barely paying attention to the taste at all. When I did it made me nauseous. I headed upstairs, back to my new bedroom with one fluorescent light hanging in the middle of the room. Cold lighting too. After a quick shower—avoiding my dads products at all costs—I laid on my mattress for the first time. It wasn’t inflated correctly, not by a long shot. There wasn’t enough air pumped in, and it sunk down too much when I got on it. In a week or two I’ll probably be touching the yellowing carpet.
I sighed, bunching up the top of my blanket to use as a pillow, trying to stretch the rest down to cover my body. The room didn’t smell dirty, just old. That old, uncomfortable smell where you can tell something's been around for a long time. Tomorrow would be Monday. First day of school. New beginnings. Basically a redo.
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I slept fine, though my neck hurt when I woke up. I found it resting on the floor in the morning, the edge of the mattress tucked against the crook of my neck. Dad also didn’t remember to give me the keys to my new-used Chevy, so I had to scour the house for them since he’d already left for work. I finally located them in one of the kitchen cabinets, right by the coffee grounds. My fingers brushed against the wood as I picked it up, a layer of grime collecting on my knuckles. I did get lost a few times driving, but that totally was the truck's fault, not mine. It took an hour to go from zero sixty, and if I tried to push it past sixty by even a smidge it would throw a fit and scream. It’d probably call me a slur if I managed to get it up to a hundred.
I also passed by a diner or two on the way. Ones with strange bear mascots and those animatronic mounted fish that talk and red gingham tablecloths. Ones a forty-year-old divorced dad would stop by in. So… exactly mine. I gripped the steering wheel tighter, imagining my father stepping foot inside, greeting the waiters and waitresses as they asked if he wanted his usual. They’d pour him a steaming pot of black coffee—I assumed he liked it black, I didn’t find any sugar in the cabinet—then ask about his day or morning or evening. Maybe on his birthdays they’d give him a singular cupcake with a singular candle and sing him a song, clapping their hands off-beat.
The one good thing about the truck was that it was more comfortable than my bed. I seriously debated sleeping in it, doubting that my father would ever notice my disappearance at night. Even if he did I was sure he wouldn’t care. He was reluctant to accept the proposition of me moving here in the first place, I don’t think he’d mind my absence.
The windshield was a little dirty. It kinda looked like a dog that had rolled around in mud that nobody bothered to hose down before allowing it into the house. So it was all dried up and clung to the glass like bird shit. It didn't annoy me too much, it was still easy to see and didn’t interfere with my driving at all, but I hoped the eventual rain would get it off.
Parking the truck, I walked up to the building labeled front office. It would have been impossible to tell which building was which if there hadn’t been signs, clearly stating its purpose in bold, black lettering. This place didn’t look like a school at all, more like an oddly shaped neighbourhood, with each unit being its own house. I felt my heartbeat skip at the sight of a shiny, silver Volvo parked just across from me. It frightened me, just barely. But I promised Entering the office, I met the lady behind the desk. Ms. Cope, that’s what the nameplate sitting on her table said. I smiled brightly at her. She was a bit on the larger side, with bright red hair and a purple t-shirt that horribly clashed with it. Mom would be whispering in my ear by now.
She looked up, head first then eyes. “Can I help you?”
As I gave her my name, I peered over her desk, suppressing a giggle once I caught glimpse of her pants. They were dark green and corduroy. Her belt was black and adorned with large white polka dots. I loved her so much.
Her eyes widened, I knew they rarely got new students. “Of course. I have your schedule right here, and a map of the school.” She handed me two sheets of paper, along with multiple slips I had to have each of my teachers sign and hand back by the end of the day.
The first class on my timetable was Literature with Mr. Mason. A tall, balding man with only a ring of hair around his head. My gaze drifted to his tie. It was a worn down blue with stray pieces of thread poking out randomly. He pointed to an empty table in the back of the room, grabbing a slip from me as I took a list of books I needed to read from him. Brontë, Shakespeare, Faulkner, etcetera.
“Have you read any?” Mr. Mason asked, his voice an uneven mumble, as though he was trying to whisper while jogging. He scribbled out the first signature he wrote, moving his pen down to the correct line.
“Just the good ones.”
“Well, get to reading them all.”
I sat down in my seat, placing my backpack on the chair next to mine. I looked around the classroom, unable to find any face that stood out too much. They all blended in with one another. Any time there was some form of distinction, whether it be a facial feature or a haircut or a clothing item, it was never a pleasant one. Mr. Mason’s teaching voice reminded me of my dad giving his order in a drive-thru, one of the few strong memories I have with him. Though, I’m sure it’s only because he let me have a sip of the open beer in his cupholder.
Once the bell rang, the acne ridden boy in front of me turned around. His coal-black hair greasy. I felt bad for him. It wasn’t his fault that his natural hair colour made it easier to spot the dandruff flaking off his scalp. It was his fault that he chose to wear a black shirt.
The first words he said to me were my name. Great way to greet someone you don’t know.
“Yeah, that’s me.” I said, trying to keep my speech as upbeat I could while not sounding like I was in customer service.
“Where’s your next class?” I didn’t like how big his eyes were. They tended to bulge a little too far out at the end of his sentences. His tear ducts were red and puffy. Guess he cried frequently.
“Government with Jefferson. It’s in building six.” I read off my schedule, folding it back into quarters and placing it inside my bag. I kept one slip out for my next teacher to sign, playing with it in my hand.
“I’m headed toward building four, I could show you the way.” I agreed, watching as he tucked his chair back under the table and motioned me to follow him. “I’m Eric.” He added.
“It’s nice to meet you.” I replied, thanking him quietly as I pulled my jacket off the hook. It was raining lightly when we got outside, miniscule droplets of water drizzlingly on my head. I silently wished for it to be heavier, maybe that would give Eric the clean he needed. He awkwardly pulled my hood up before doing his. I smiled to myself, it reminded me of the safety announcements they made before the take off of a plane. How they always tell you to put on your oxygen mask prior to helping others. I also noticed how closely he watched me as we walked down the few water slick steps, probably preparing to catch me if I fell.
“So, you’re from Portland, right?”
“You’re from Forks, right?” I retorted, a slight scowl forming on my face as the people walking in front of us slowed down. I purposely walked in between them.
“Yeah,” Eric chuckled shyly, fiddling with the adjustable straps of his backpack. “Why’d you move, though? Is the curriculum here just that great?” I could tell he really wanted that joke to land, but his delivery was so flat and stilted it made me internally cringe.
“Hah. No.” I turned toward building six before he did, Eric now tailing behind me. “My uhm– my dad wanted me back. So…”
“Oh, right. Yeah, my parents are divorced too. Kinda sucks sometimes.” I grabbed the handle to the door, the metal slightly warm from all the previous hands that touched it. “Well, good luck. Maybe we’ll have some other classes together.”
I didn’t. Though there were a few other faces I began to recognise from class to class. Most of which were too shy to speak to me. One exception was a girl named Jessica. She was short, and had dark curly hair that she clearly hadn’t learned how to care for yet. We had Trig and Spanish together, and she sat next to me in both. She talked a lot, and before the first period we shared together ended she had already been told off by Mr. Varner multiple times. But that also meant it was non stop once we got out of class. Which was nice. It felt like a breath of fresh air not needing to try and hold a meaningless conversation with someone who was determined to keep it going well past its funeral.
She walked with me to the cafeteria, leading me to a table with several of her friends. She introduced me to them all. I didn’t exert much effort into remembering their names, noting their appearances instead for if they happened to be in any of my next classes.
A waving hand from across the room drew my attention. Eric. Sitting with his own friend group. I tentatively waved back, my hand faltering mid air once I saw the people sitting on the table next to his.
There were five of them. That’s all it took. Five people to irrevocably alter my day—no, life. Forks was my new life now. Five incredibly attractive people sat at the table furthest away from mine. They all had trays filled with food in front of them, yet none were eating. I looked down at my own, silently pushing it away as a sudden feeling of disgust grabbing hold of me. None were talking either, all just sitting quietly with pin straight posture.
They all looked completely different too. Not just compared to everyone else here—including myself—but to each other too. Each was their own breed of alluring. The first that caught my eye was the blonde girl, why wouldn’t it? Her hair fell to the middle of her back, mimicking the subtle waves of the ocean, the ones just before they hit shore. She wore a skirt, the perfect length to not get dress-coded, whilst still showing off her legs. Pale and flawless. She was stunning. She most likely modelled, either in her spare time or had aspirations of being one. If she didn’t she was seriously missing out on a large heap of money.
I noticed the boy by her left next, clinging to her almost like an oversized puppy. He was muscular, immensely so, with dark curly hair. He had to have been a senior. With his build, he barely even looked like a high-schooler. Far more burly and defined than normal. He hardly fit in the flimsy plastic chair beneath him, only managing to get one and half legs in the seat.
There was another blond, a guy this time, with similar hair to the statuesque girl. Just shorter, with the majority of his hair ending right above his ear and only a few tufts fell below the line—more loosely wound curls, I thought. A girl, almost pixie-like with spiky black hair sat next to him. She was thin, no wonder she wasn’t eating, and seemed to be swallowed by her chair, not even taking up the full thing. I laughed to myself, imaging if she pushed hers flush against the big, muscular boys seat they’d both fit properly.
The last one looked the most like a teenager, the most boyish out of them all. He had amber, bronze-like hair. Untidy in a way that looked intentional. He was lanky, too. None were looking at me, unlike many of the other people in the cafeteria, unable to stop gawking at the new girl.
Yet, despite their differences, those five were so similar in ways. All pale, they looked anaemic, or an inch away from developing severe hypothermia. They were beautiful, outrageously so. It seemed inhuman how perfect they all were. I pictured their souls as water, flowing in a glass moulded into the shape of a flawless body.
A sharp anger flared up inside me, as well as the sudden urge to hit and kick and sob. I watched as the short, black haired girl got up, holding her tray with one hand. Her walk was a near dance, twirling with every other step she took. She dumped the contents of her lunch into the trash, an unbitten apple and unopened soda sliding inside. “Who are they?” I was unable to keep my tone neutral. I could tell.
Jessica’s gaze lifted, the corners of her lips turning up as she saw who I was watching. She giggled, clearly amused. The bronze-haired boy looked up at that, his eyes landing on Jessica before quickly flicking to mine, leaving just as fast as they came. The next giggle she let out was more from embarrassment.
“That’s Edward and Emmett Cullen, and Rosalie and Jasper Hale. The one who left is Alice Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife.”
I scoffed once she said their names, scrutinising the way he tore a bagel apart with his fingers. “They look great.” The largest understatement of the century, though I wasn’t sure how else to say it. I was worried if I spoke too long a string of insults would fall out of my mouth before I was able to catch them.
“Yes!” Jessica had clearly bored all her friends out from the subject, now she could spew about it to me. “They’re all together though—Emmett and Rosalie, and Jasper and Alice, I mean. And they live together.”
“Who’s who? None of them look related.”
“Oh, they’re not. Dr. Cullen is really young, in his twenties or early thirties. They’re all adopted. The Hales are brother and sister, twins—the blondes—and they’re his foster children.”
“Little old for foster children, no?”
“They are now, Jasper and Rosalie are both eighteen, but they’ve been with Mrs. Cullen since they were eight. She’s their aunt or something like that.”
“Huh…” I mumbled picking at my nail beds. I pushed hard at my cuticles, only stopping once the pain got unbearable. I knew I wasn’t able to recall much of life at Forks, but I think I would’ve noticed if people like that had lived here the last time I came here. “Have they always lived in Forks?” My voice came out stiff. The pauses between each of the words were too long while the words themselves were pronounced too quickly.
“No,” Jessica’s ‘no’ sounded a lot like she was saying ‘duh’, “they just moved down here two years ago from somewhere in Alaska.”
I nodded as she spoke, my rage subsiding, just ever so slightly. At least they weren’t native to the area. At least I wasn’t technically wrong about why I wanted to move here. They were outsiders, they didn’t belong. If they had just stayed in Alaska, or gone to literally anywhere else in Washington everything would’ve been fine.
The youngest looking one, the boy with striking bronze hair glanced up at me, meeting my gaze. I could see him furrow his brows, sitting further back in his seat. I copied his expression.
“Who’s that one? The boy with the reddish-brown hair?” My composure was wearing thin, while the urge to run across the room and strangle him got louder and louder, bouncing off each corner of my skull. We were still staring at each other.
An almost smug look crossed Jessica’s face as she talked, I could tell just from my peripheral vision. “That’s Edward. He’s gorgeous, of course, but don’t waste your time. He doesn’t date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him.”
His eyes finally dropped down to his lap first, and I noted a faint feeling of victory as well as the subtle smile on his lips. Her response didn’t surprise me. Guys that looked like that always had some sense of entitlement, or superiority, or both. And in places like Forks where they were the only eye candy, I would’ve been shocked if he had dated someone here.
I watched as they stood up, all graceful in their own ways, even the strong burly one. They walked out of the cafeteria, heading to their next class right as the bells began to ring. I sat with Jessica and her friends for a while. Not paying attention to a single phrase said. I’m not sure they minded, no one asked for my input anyhow.
I ended up walking to my next class, Biology II with one of the girls at our table. Her name was Angela, she reminded me of such, and had thick glasses and medium length black hair she had tied in a ponytail. I thought about what she’d look like with layers, or if she’d just pull out some strands of hair just to frame her face properly.
Walking into class, Angela and I were the last to enter. She waved a quick goodbye before sliding down into her assigned seat near the front of the room. The tables were tall, usable as standing desks, and had black tops with a microscope assigned to each one. Only two people were allocated to each one. As I walked to Mr. Banner’s desk—Angela had given me a very rudimentary run down of him and his teaching—I glanced around to see where an open space was. My heart dropped once I saw Edward Cullen, him and his long lashes and clear skin and clothes that hung off his body perfectly, next to the only empty seat. It was the table at the very back, resting against the wall with a long line of windows.
My jaw clenched as Mr. Banner handed me back my slip, of course telling me to sit by Edward Cullen. I made my way toward him, keeping my eyes glued to the floor. I could feel him staring at me. It was weird. My chest felt tight, or like there was a big cinderblock strapped to it. I thought I was having some medical emergency. I inhaled sharply once I pulled my chair out, accidentality meeting his gaze. His eyes were dark, like onyx, and stuck to my face. If he looked at me any longer I thought I would cry.
I quickly turned away, softly thanking Mr. Banner as he handed me a textbook, my voice meek. I wrote my name on the first page, below the four others that had already used this exact one. Untucking my hair and using it as a barrier between me and him. I could sense him through the curtain, and decided to repeatedly erase and rewrite my name as Mr. Banner prepared to start the lesson. I also read the people who had this book before me.
Joshua Davis, Megan Anderson, Laura Greene, Courtney Peterson.
Wow, I thought, how totally unique and special each and everyone of them were. A person's handwriting tells you a lot about them. Well, what did theirs? Joshua’s was sharp and jagged, as if he wasn’t holding his pencil correctly and instead had all five of his fingers wrapped around it. His name went far beyond his allocated line. Perhaps he was in a rush, or, more likely, he didn’t care.
Megan’s was neat and swirly. If there was an ‘I’ in her name there would be a heart instead of a dot. It looked like a fifth graders handwriting. Maybe she was a child prodigy. A ten year-old taking junior biology!
Laura… Ugh, this was moronic. Why hadn’t the teacher said anything yet?! I carefully peaked to my left, toward Edward Cullen and his stupid face. I noticed he’d shifted his seat closer to mine, his legs angled toward me. Now no longer looking at me but at the front of the room.
I tried to be as subtle as he was when pushing my chair. An ear-piercing screeccchh sounded throughout the room, multiple heads turning toward me. I ended up stuck at the edge of the table, gripping onto the corner for support as I was nearly falling off my seat. I bowed my head and did the sign of the cross once class began, ever so grateful for the end of my torment.
I didn’t look at him again until around halfway through the lesson, too busy working through my own emotions. Emotions I did not want to express in front of twenty people. But, once I did, I nearly threw all my rules of politeness out the window, he was closer to me! Noticeably closer! Even the blank note book he had opened was slanted toward me.
Rage bubbled inside me, threatening to boil over and out my mouth. Who did this boy think he was? Why’d he think he had the right to torment the new girl? This was all some game to him, surely. A dare had been made. He was making fun of me, trying to get me flustered by entering my personal space. I was so close to saying something, so close to screaming his ear off when my pencil rolled over to his side of the table—which was approximately two thirds of the whole thing. He grabbed it for me, holding the tip of it as he pointed the side with the pink eraser toward me.
He was great at expressions. A subtle smile and gentle tilt of the head would make most at ease. I looked at him, my uncaring, unchanging face scrutinising him with hooded eyes. When I didn’t grab it from him, he placed it in front of me, making sure it was fully at rest before pulling his hand away, he didn’t want it to roll away again. I picked it up, resisting the urge to wipe it down with my shirt. As much as I hated him, I wanted to contain my feelings as much as possible, even if it meant enduring someone who made me mad so easily. But if he touched me in any way, I wouldn’t hesitate to shove him as hard as I could. Maybe I would do it anyway. Whatever cologne he was wearing was so strong it was genuinely making it hard to breathe, my sinuses aching with every inhale. He reeked of juniper, had he rolled around in the forest all morning?
Once the bell rang I practically ran out of the room, taking a big gulp of clean air, my eyes watering. My bag was already over my shoulders when the harsh, nasal ringing erupted. I shakily unfolded my schedule, reading which subject was next. Forget forget forget. Forget about Edward Cullen and his perfect family. Forget about everything. Don’t think. Don’t.
I heard my name being called from behind me—greeting me the same way Eric did. A male voice. One soft and pleasing. Spinning around, a cute, blond, baby-faced boy was standing before me.
“Do you need something?” I asked, attempting to make my face nicer, curving my lips and faintly sucking in my cheeks.
“I’m Mike.” I stayed silent, urging him to continue on. “I was wondering— Do you need any help finding your next class?”
“I’m headed to the gym, is that too out of the way?”
“That’s my next class, too.” Mike beamed at me, excitedly leading me to our next class. He talked a lot, it reminded me of Jessica. He explained how he used to live in California, but moved to Forks when he was ten. I guess he was trying to make me feel less like an outsider. I also found out that I had English with him. The thought of having someone like Mike, sweet and kind and normal, in more of my classes did calm me down. I could feel my breathing even out.
We neared the gymnasium, Mike held the door open for me.
“So, did Edward Cullen stab you with a pencil or what?”
It was hard to make out his words over the numerous shoes squeaking on the floor, the same pitch a chihuahua yaps at.
“What do you mean?” Still, I could hear him. I wanted to get this conversation over and done with.
“I mean, you looked a little pissed the entire class.”
“Did I really?” I sighed as we neared the changing rooms. I’d thought I had done a good job in hiding it.
“Yeah! Do you… Well, what do you think of him?” He lingered outside the girls’ room, leaning against the wall parallel to it.
“He’s a little weird. Didn’t say anything the whole time.” Even if he did I wouldn’t have replied
“If I were lucky enough to sit by you, I would have talked to you.” I gave him a half-hearted smile as I walked into the girls’ locker room. Mike was nice, definitely the best person I’d met so far, yet he still wasn’t enough to redeem this place. Forks had sunk to the very most bottom pit of hell. The ninth circle. Right next to Judas.
The Gym teacher, Coach Clapp, had given me a scruffy uniform two sizes too big. The floppy t-shirt sank down to the middle of my thighs and I had to roll over my shorts five times until it became an acceptable length. I sat on the bleachers the whole time, watching four simultaneous volleyball games, each equally as bad. In spite of the fact that not a single person here knew how to spike, every single one was still determined to try and fail over and over again.
Since that was my final subject, once it was over I was allowed to go home. But before I could do that, I needed to head to the front office first to hand in all the slips that had been signed by various teachers.
It was no longer raining when I got outside, instead cold gusts of wind blew at the back of my head, causing my hair to fly in every which way. The door was glass and hadn't been cleaned in a while, so I could make out the many hand prints all over it. I was pleased when I made it inside, the warm air calming me as I walked up to Ms. Cope again, still in the very same spot I last saw her in.
“How did your first day go, dear?
“Fine.” I lied, placing my backpack on the floor, digging through to find the papers I needed to hand her. “But… I do have a question.”
“Yes, of course. What is it?” She took the slips from my hand, flipping through each one to see I had given her all the ones she required.
“I was wondering if it was possible to switch Biology II out with another subject.”
She looked up at me, her eyebrows knitted together. “Was there anything wrong with class? Or Mr. Banner?”
Oh, you have no idea. “No! I’ve just… Do you have any availability in any other classes? Physics? Bio-chem? Anything. I think I would perform better in those, much less prefer them.”
Ms. Cope turned to her monitor, pressing a few keys and clicking her mouse a couple times. She shook her head as she spoke. “I’m afraid there’s no availability.”
“What if I kept Biology? Do you have any other timeslots for it?” I was getting desperate. We could both tell. She looked at me with raised brows.
“What time are you thinking of?” She went back to her monitor, the fans inside of her computer blaring loudly.
“Any.”
She pressed her tongue to the side of her cheek. I leaned closer, trying to read the reflections on her thick glasses. It was all too small and blurry to make out anything substantial. I heard the door to the office open, a small gust of wind flying inside. I was assaulted by more juniper, as well as cypress this time.
I already knew who was lurking behind me, but I spun around anyway. The boy was there, with his angular jawline and tousled hair. It was darker in this lighting, seeing as there were just a few lamps on in this room. Only the edges, the very tips of his hair that jutted out were illuminated by the light seeping through the glass door. A textbook was clutched in his left hand. My new Biology II textbook.
“Sorry, you’ll have to stay in your current class.” Ms. Cope said. I hummed softly, walking up to him and sticking my hand out.
“You forgot this…” His voice was low and attractive, akin to velvet. It made my mind swirl with emotions, none good. I was so much closer to him now, closer than he had gotten to me during all of Bio, and his scent was so strong. I could imagine the particles clinging to my clothes, my hair, my exposed skin. A shiver ran down my spine. I needed a shower.
I didn’t reply as he placed the book in my palm. I quickly exited the office, beelining it to the parking lot. I pulled the key to my truck out my pocket, running my thumb over the teeth. I paused as I buckled my seatbelt, debating keying the silver Volvo that was most definitely owned by the Cullen’s. I decided against it after much consideration. Doing anything that tied me to that family would make me nauseous. If all of Edward Cullen’s family could stand to be around him, they must’ve had serious nose blindness or also smelt equally as horrendous.
Tears welled in my eyes as I drove to my dads house. I stopped by one of the diners I saw when driving to school. I didn’t go inside, I placed my head in my hands, a pathetic sob being ripped out of my throat.
A/N: i have a million unfinished fics but for some reason I'm starting a new one!!! yayy!!! not sure if anyone is going to like this as much as I like writing it but fuck it we ball
