Chapter Text
"I want to go home," was the only thought in my head as I sat in the parking lot of Forks High School. The school’s small student population—just three hundred and fifty-seven, now fifty-eight with me—was barely over half of what my old school in Phoenix had.
Everyone here knew each other, and families had known each other for generations. Technically, I was one of them, but while others shared a constant stream of collective memories and familiar faces, my experience was more like a trickle of family friends and barely established acquaintances. Not quite a new face from the big city, but still an outsider.
I felt like a freak who'd been given a way out but had chosen to dive back into the swamp in mid-January, of all times.
I tugged at my damp jeans, feeling them cling to my legs. Catching my reflection in the side mirror, I grimaced and ran a hand through my messy brown hair. It was long and verging on greasy.
I hadn't cut it for months. I hadn't done much of anything for months. I looked over my shoulder and saw two guys high-fiving behind my truck.
My stomach quivered, and I rested my head on the wheel.
I told myself it was fine; I didn't need friends. I just needed to endure until graduation, even if every day felt like an eternity.
And yet, there I was, cowering in my car, panicking as more cars slowly filtered in, trying to ignore my intensifying headache and the itch of my wet jeans clinging to my legs.
Forks, a tiny town in the Olympic Peninsula of Washington State, was a dingy, wet, muddy pit that even the sun avoided. And it was my new home.
My dad left when I was one, came back for me when I was three, and my mom… she never left. As a kid, this was my prison—a guaranteed summer without sun. Even with bribery, I would only stay until my dad got sick of the calls.
Every summer was the same: I was a new toy, never a friend or even an acquaintance. I remembered the summer barbecues where I was forced to play and smile, ignoring the fact that they wouldn't even remember me the next summer.
Sitting in my truck a bit longer after cutting off the engine, I stared at the small map that came with my schedule, my leg shaking unconsciously.
I doubted I would get lost or need to ask for help, but I couldn't shake the nervousness. I wanted to be invisible and done with this as soon as possible. Taking a deep breath, I shoved everything into my bag.
By the time I got outside, the rain had eased. The lot was packed with old, battered cars, including my truck, which somehow still looked the worst.
I was lucky to get a hand-me-down truck from a family friend—a 1953 Chevy pickup truck in the perfect shade of rusty red with big rounded fenders and a bulky cab. My mom, Charlie, wouldn't stop saying "had that timeless quality that could survive a couple of crashes without even a scratch."
Anywhere else, it would be trash, but old and worn-down things thrived in Forks.
The nicest car was a shiny Volvo that looked almost gaudy next to a baby blue 1962 Ford F100 that was being overtaken by rust.
Taking a deep breath, I walked towards my first class.
Mr. Mason's English class was in the first room of building three. Small and with dirty beige walls, it was cluttered with posters of famous writers. Mr. Mason barely looked at me before sending me to the back, where I took out a copy of “American Gods”, ignoring all the eyes on me.
I kept my eyes glued to that book, hoping that they would lose interest in me once they realized how utterly unremarkable I truly was.
It was easy to ignore everything; looking at the syllabus, it seemed the class was focused on classical books I had already read either for fun or for class the year before. They were just starting Shakespeare, and I accepted that I would use that class for recreational reading.
I zoned out while reading, only noticing how much time had passed when I heard the nasal buzz of the school bell. I was stretching when a white wiry girl with ashy brown hair pulled into a messy ponytail approached me; it was greasy.
"So, you're Mikey Swan?"
"It's Michael," I corrected, trying not to sound too anxious. Eyes were already on me.
I forced a nervous laugh. "But it's all good."
"Yeah," she waved dismissively.
"What's your next class?"
"Um, Government. Taught by Jefferson, and it's in building six." My eyes trailed down to my schedule. It felt uncomfortable to talk to her. Her voice was deeper and louder than her looks would suggest. She looked like she was wearing her mom's clothes from the 80s—a big sweater with a college logo and high-rise jeans that nearly reached her chest.
"I'm Erica, by the way," I caught the end of her sentence.
I just stared at her awkwardly, trying to smile through the confusion. She let out an uneasy laugh. “I can show you where it is—"
"Thanks!" I blurted, then quickly added, "Sorry..."
She just gestured at the door, “we should go.”
Students' eyes followed us as we walked. It was a familiar feeling, I just needed to keep my head down.
The rain had started hammering down again as we walked, causing us to jog through the grass with our bags over our heads.
"Not quite like your old school, huh?" she asked, breaking the awkward silence.
"Yeah," I replied.
"Bet you didn't see much rain there," she mused.
"Maybe once or twice," I joked absentmindedly.
"Wow, I can't even imagine," she pondered to herself.
"Just think of an oven," I muttered, barely paying attention.
"Where's your tan, then?" she asked.
"My dad's a ginger," I joked, only to be met with silence and her confused face.
It was always like that; the same questions, the same lame attempt to be funny. Sarcasm was just easier, easier than telling her the truth.
That the conversation was unnecessary and unoriginal. That I was probably pale because despite living in a sunshine state, I rarely bothered to spend time in it. That I didn't feel like being her freak show, but instead I smiled, brushed off her awkward silence and asked, “what do you do around here for fun?”
Erica talked as she led our way around the cafeteria and toward the south of the gym. And right to the door I needed.
The room was obvious, something I could have found in two minutes on my own but I smiled at her graciously as she said “Good luck.”
I nodded my head and gave a small wave as I sheepishly stepped inside. “Hopefully, we'll have more classes together.”
After that, classes seemed to follow a simple pattern. Only one teacher made me introduce myself, and of course, it was Trigonometry.
I used the embarrassment as an excuse to bury my head in my desk and take a nap.
Every once in a while, someone would talk to me or introduce themselves.
They would stare at me like they were waiting for something, then ask the same questions: "Do you like it here?" "Why did you come back?" “Do you remember me?”
It was annoying so I defaulted to vague, shrugged answers in the hopes they would leave.
One of them never left, a guy sat next to me in Trig and Spanish, he was short and husky with wild dark curly hair, barely reaching my height of five foot five.
He looked familiar, someone at camp as a kid or maybe the kid of one of Charlie's friends I was forced to hang out with. I wasn't sure if he said his name or not. But he seemed to enjoy my company enough to want to eat lunch together.
The lunch table was crowded with his friends, and he happily introduced me. I only knew Erica who sat just across from us.
It was easy to understand Forks, a small-paced town with familiar faces and even more familiar patterns.
That was until I saw them.
In the far corner of the cafeteria, five students sat like statues. They didn't eat or talk, and their stillness made them seem almost otherworldly. They were almost glowing. Yet people were staring at me and not them.
And my eyes couldn't leave them, just like the strangers who watched me.
I watched them.
They were strange, simultaneously alike and different.
Among them were two girls - a white one with short choppy brown hair and a shocky wrestler-like body; the other was tall, black, and lean like a model, with a waterfall of coppery braids that kissed the small of her back.
The guys were less distinct. All white but still off in their own unique ways.
One was a slightly muscular metrosexual looking guy with long platinum blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail. My eyes naturally traveled down his body, his loose fitting faded lavender top, his tight jeans and the sight heel on his shoes.
If he wasn't gay, he wasn't trying to stop the rumors.
Then there was a shorter guy, resembling a hobbit straight out of Middle-earth or maybe a pixie. I could easily imagine him coming out in the night to fix a pair of shoes. He looked like a small animal, his brown hair sharply pointed around him.
Lastly, there was a lanky boy, he almost looked plain next to the others, with a softly angular face and bronze hair. His clothes were plain, a nearly gray green button up and a loose fitting pair of jeans but seemed to fit him perfectly. Everything about him seemed perfect.
They looked like the cast of Gilmore Girls - a bunch of adults playing teenagers on a set.
Even for a sunless town like Forks, they seemed otherworldly pale, even the black one seemed to be closer to gray than brown. They all looked like they were missing all of the natural redness of skin.
Despite that, they clearly didn't have on makeup, because the dark circles under their eyes sat like bruises on their perfect skin.
Suddenly, the hobbit-like boy gracefully threw away his untouched apple and soda. He walked on the balls of his feet like a ballerina and seemed to move in timed movements to music I couldn't hear before disappearing out of the room.
Meanwhile, the rest of them remained completely still, only moving to pick at their food. They never even leaned over to talk, just staring off boredly in the distance.
I turned to the boy next to me and asked softly, "What's their deal?" He glanced around the room, his gaze falling on the lanky one. In turn, the boy looked up, and our eyes briefly met - or at least, I think they did.
The moment passed so quickly, he looked away faster than I did, and I felt too embarrassed to steal a second glance. It was weird, it was like he was responding to being called over, like an involuntary response.
My accomplice couldn't help but laugh nervously after being caught spying on the other table. "That's the kids who live with Dr. Cullen and her husband," he disclosed quietly, sitting back down to face me. "Oliver and Hazel Hale. Emma and the twins Edward and Arthur Cullen.”
“Twins?” I said under my breath as I glanced at them from the corner of my eyes, noticing how the lanky boy nibbled on a small piece of his bagel while absentmindedly picking at his apple with long, pale fingers.
His mouth didn't seem to move, yet I couldn't shake the feeling that they were engaged in a hushed conversation amongst themselves.
They were peculiar, and I wondered if they belonged to some sort of cult or maybe they escaped one.
Why else would the doctor have them?
Their names were old-fashioned, but perhaps that was a thing in this town. I was pretty sure my new friend was named Jesse but Erica wasn't a common name where I was from.
"They are something..." I trailed off, struggling to find the right words to describe them.
"Yeah, dude!" Jesse exclaimed, accidentally spitting a bit as he nervously laughed. "They are like in a cult or something. My mom said she saw two of them on a date before and everything.”
He whispered the last part, his voice tinged with some small-town puritanism. But honestly, I'm pretty sure even in Phoenix, this would have been something.
He continued, "they are like total devil worshipers. That's why the doctor's super young, she's like totally feeding on their souls or whatever." He added with a slightly nervous laugh, "I mean if you believe that kinda thing.”
A voice came from the table, “Dude, stop messing with him.” Erica threw some fries at him and he laughed, “what it's true!”
I zoned out watching them. I couldn't help but feel that they were trying to create the illusion of normalcy.
I knew Jesse was messing with me but I couldn't help but feel something was wrong with them and I wanted to know what that was.
"So, they haven't always been here, right?" I asked, I didn't go out a lot when I came to Forks but I felt I would remember at least one of them from one of my visits.
“Nah, they moved here like two years ago from Alaska or something,” Jesse said leaning over to eat some of Erica's fries.
I was sure people did move to this town at least sometimes, but it was still odd to see other newcomers, especially ones that looked like them.
They belonged on a TV somewhere not old news in a rainy little town.
I couldn't help but watch them a bit more, specifically the lanky one. His messy hair, his pale almost pink lips, they looked plump and smooth. I was so busy staring at them. I didn't notice his dark brown eyes were curiously staring back at me with a constipated expression.
I quickly looked away and tapped Jesse a bit, “Which one is the lanky one?”
"Oh, that's Edward," Jesse's voice was tinged with annoyance. "Total future school shooter.” He added bitterly.
I bit my lip, trying my best not to laugh. Unavoidably I tried to steal a few more glances from the corner of my eyes, he wasn't staring anymore but there was something else, he was laughing.
I continued to watch him but he never looked back over to me. After a while, they all left the table together, their movements fluid and balletic, even the wrestler.
I wanted to leave too, but it felt weird to just leave when sitting with others. It was hard, not being weird.
Soon, I was walking with Alex, who was also headed to Biology II.
He didn't talk and neither did I. It was nice.
The classroom was white with long wooden tables, two seats to each. By the time we got there the room seemed already full, everyone there, except the seat next to Edward Cullen.
The teacher barely looked at me as he signed my paper and pointed me to the seat next to Edward.
He moved to the edge of his chair as I moved closer to the desk. His hand covered his face and his eyes following me.
I sat down quickly, looking away from him, trying my best to seem as normal as possible. But I was doomed to peek again, he looked so uncomfortable.
I unconsciously sniffed my hair, then my shirt, assuming I must have smelled bad.
Maybe he just didn't like my cologne?
I wanted to read, do anything that would take my focus but my bag was in-between our chair and I didn't want to get closer to him.
Instead, I moved further to the edge of the table and stared blankly at the board.
Cellular anatomy, another repeat.
I felt the uncomfortable urge to move, to fidget my fingers, to tap my foot, to run around the room. Anything but sit still.
Unlike Edward who managed to sit frozen at the very edge of his seat. His fist was clenched so tight that I could see his veins. And his other hand covering his face.
The tension was practically oozing out of him. It made me realize just how easy it would be for him to hit me, attack me, kill me…
Panic set in again, I blamed myself for being nosy, Jesse for spreading rumors, and the universe for putting me in that situation.
I didn't need to peek to know that he was watching me. I could feel his glare even when my eyes were closed, and I was scared.
Scared of what? I wasn't sure. Scared of being attacked? Scared of being hated? Scared of even being noticed?
Fear gripped me as I tried to stay perfectly still, hoping I might somehow become invisible.
This was my fault. I shouldn't have asked, I shouldn't have looked, I shouldn't have…
The bell sliced through the tension like a knife. Edward leapt up in one fluid motion, he towered over me for a second before he was out the door.
I stared blankly at the closed door, I couldn't think, I couldn't speak. I was stuck.
Was it just because I had asked about him? Or because we had made eye contact earlier? Or simply for no reason at all?
Nothing happening felt worse than something. My body shivered with energy I didn't need and my stomach quivered with pain.
"Um..Mikey?" a voice broke through my thoughts. I stared for a bit before I could register who was talking to me.
I was met with warm hazel eyes, comfortable and curious.
I nodded slowly, unconsciously, she was black with short pressed brown hair that was already fazy at the ends. My eyes naturally trailed down her body, her baggy clothes barely hiding her thick thighs and chest.
Before softly correcting her, "Actually, it's Michael."
She giggled softly, leaning toward me slightly, "I'm Nia."
"Hi, Nia."
"Do you need help finding your next class?" She asked, her eyes squinting slightly.
"Ah... um, no. I got gym. I'm good." I said anxiously standing up, my legs felt a bit weak. I leaned my hand on the desk trying to seem normal.
"Oh, cool!" she almost shouted, before toning it down. "Me too."
Of course she was just curious like everyone else, someone like her had no business talking to someone like me. But it was fine.
I could still feel my hand shaking anxiously in my pocket, the nerves still fired up with nowhere to go. As far as I was concerned, we were using each other.
As walking partners went, Nia was by far the most talkative, though also the best one to look at, so it evened out.
And after a while, I had to admit, she was pretty cool.
She was also in my English class and had at least ten years of sun before moving to Forks. She had a fun way of talking, often bringing up topics only to shift to something new mid-sentence.
By the time we got to the gym, she had somehow shifted from talking about California to class again.
"So, what did you do to Cullen? I've never seen him like that," she said, opening the gym door.
I winced, not wanting to think about him anymore.
"Are you talking about that dude in Biology?" I asked, trying to play dumb.
"Yeah," she chuckled. "He looked super uncomfortable."
"No clue," I shrugged. "I figured I stunk or something.”
"Yeah? That's weird." Nia leaned close to me and sniffed me. “You smell great to me.”
I laughed nervously, almost choking, “well, I guess we can rule that out.” I backed up slightly and jogged lightly to the guys' locker room. “I'll be back.”
I splashed some cold water on my face when I got to the locker room. I couldn't tell if she was just messing with me or not, and I didn't want to add it to the collection of things already stomping into my brain.
Gym was a blur; I was forced to run laps since I didn't have a uniform yet and spent most of my time watching one of the four volleyball games happening.
Once the bell finally rang, I walked to the office to return my attendance slip. It wasn't raining for once, but the wind had picked up. I hugged myself tight, finding comfort in the fact that I knew I would be in the office soon.
The office was warm and impossibly small, with mismatched folding chairs leaned against a dirty wall. The fluorescent lights emitted an old, sickly pale yellow glow, and the floor was covered with a short, old brown carpet speckled with random orange chemical stains. Dusty plastic potted plants lined the edges.
When I walked in, Edward Cullen was leaning over the plexiglass, arguing with an older woman with box red hair tied up in a messy bun and large bulky glasses.
I simply stood back and waited for it to be over.
Even in a soft voice, I could gather the gist of their argument. He wanted to switch his Biology class to another time, and it didn't seem to be going his way.
I couldn't help but feel like it was my fault.
Nia seemed convinced I was somehow involved, but really, it could have been about anything. We were strangers; he had no reason to hate me.
The door swung open, and a sudden gust of wind swept through the room, knocking over the receptionist's crossword puzzle and blowing my hair into my face.
A girl walked in, tossed her note in the basket, and left in a second, but it was too late. Edward noticed me.
His body tensed up immediately, but he never looked at me. "Nevermind, then," his voice was sharp and clean as a knife. When he turned, I held my breath.
His eyes were sharp and focused, it felt like I was staring down a wild animal, a mouse in the line of sight of a cat. It lasted only a second, but it was enough to send a chill down my spine.
"I'm sorry for wasting your time. Thank you for your help." He muttered under his breath as he stomped towards me.
I shifted towards the wall and closed my eyes tight, ready for him to hit me or yell, but he just pushed open the door and disappeared.
Weakly, I walked to the desk, my face even paler than usual, and handed her the slip.
The receptionist, still pretty confused, asked in a caring tone, "How was your first day, honey?"
With a feeble smile, I responded, "It was great." I don't think I convinced her.
When I reached my truck, there were barely any cars in the lot. I sat there for a while, staring at the windshield.
It was quiet, it didn't have the baggage of my life or the confusion of school.
It was just an old truck, aged by someone else's problems, it was comfortable knowing that it wasn't my fault that it was falling apart.
Knowing that not everything that goes wrong around me was my fault was the only comfort I had.
Eventually, the cold became too much, and I had to leave.