Chapter Text
My father, David, drove me to the airport with the windows rolled down. It was a warm early spring day in Ottawa, sixty degrees and sunny. I was wearing my favorite jacket, my red leaf Canada fleece, as a final farewell gesture. My carry-on item was an umbrella.
Forks was a unique town in that it rained more than any other town in North America. It was also tiny. Much smaller than Ottawa. Much smaller than most towns. Not that I loved the city, but Forks had an abysmal population of only three thousand people. My mother, Yuna, had grown up in Forks. I was born there, but we left Washington to move to Canada when I was still a baby. I never thought I’d return to Forks, not until my parents divorced when I was fifteen, and my mother moved back. Now I returned every summer to visit her.
It was to Forks that I decided to move with much disdain. I abhorred Forks. The small, rainy, dismal town that it was.
I loved Ottawa. The city with so much hope and love. It was practically my hometown, the place I grew up with a loving mother and father. The place I learned who I was. Shane Hollander. A hockey player with all the promise and talent to go pro.
“Shane,” my dad, David, insisted many times before I decided to move, “you don’t have to go. There are so many memories for you here in Canada. You don’t have to leave.”
For a moment, I felt panic, uneasiness at the prospect of leaving my loving father behind here in Ottawa. I had always helped out, sorting bills, buying groceries, providing company. I knew he was capable of doing it on his own, but still, the thought of abandoning him brought me so much guilt.
“Dad, I have to go. It’ll be good for me,” I said with a smile that didn’t feel convincing. I could never fake a smile I didn’t really believe in. I had always been bad at lying, even to myself.
“Alright, well, tell Yuna I said hello and I wish her well.”
“I will.”
“I’ll see you soon,” he said with a sad smile and a pat on my shoulder. “Come home for Spring break. And call whenever you like. I’m here for you, you know that Shane? Despite everything that’s happened, I’m still here for you.”
“It’ll be good for me,” I tried to be optimistic. “I love you, Dad.”
It was an eight hour flight from Ottawa to Seattle, and then a short bus to Forks. I was used to flying, but I was strangely anxious about seeing my mom. We had always been close growing up, especially in high school when she helped coach me through my hockey playing years, but things had gotten awkward between us since she divorced my dad. Since my injury. Hockey was one of the main ways we bonded, and without it, our relationship felt stiff.
Of course she was thrilled I had made the decision to leave Ottawa and come live with her in Forks. She helped me enroll in high school and even agreed to help get me a car.
It was raining as I got off the bus in Forks. Ottawa had its bad share of weather too, naturally. I was accustomed to cold winters, blizzards, and humid summers. But Forks seemed to exist in a never-ending season of gray.
My mom picked me up in her cruiser. It added another layer of uneasiness to my return—my mother, Police Chief Hollander, picking me up in her flashy Ford Explorer, easily recognized by all the people of Forks. They would recognize me too— Shane Hollander: Forks native, Police Chief Hollander’s son, the boy who was destined to go pro in the NHL. My return would only mark my failure. Her car would only draw attention to me, but I couldn’t hold that against her.
“I missed you, Shane,” Mom said, wrapping me into a heart-felt hug. As we embraced I reminisced on how much I missed her touch. “How’s your father doing?”
“He’s doing good. Keeping up with his crosswords. It’s really good to see you, Mom.”
I had a few bags, mostly filled with clothes and books. I had left all of my old hockey gear in Ottawa, no longer requiring it here in Forks. It easily fit into the back of the cruiser. We sat in silence for a few minutes. The air was full of uncertainty, but also comfort. Forks had never felt like home, but my mother always did.
“I was looking around for cars, and I think I found one that you would really like,” she said as we drove to her house. “It’s practical.”
“What kind of car? What year is it?” My head buzzed with questions.
“It’s a Jeep. Cherokee. 2003, but it was well-cared for. I think it’ll be good for you. A family friend offered to sell it to me. To us. To you.”
“How much?” I asked. I had saved up a few thousand working a summer job after my injury. I wasn’t sure exactly what my future would look like now that the NHL was no longer in the picture, but I knew I needed to be prepared.
“Don’t worry about it, honey. I already bought it. It’s yours.”
A weight was lifted off my chest and I felt a surge of gratitude towards my mom. Free. I could save all my summer earnings for college.
“Mom, you didn’t have to do that. I had money saved up.”
“Shane, I don’t mind. It’s the least I can do. I want you to fit in here. To feel like you belong here,” she briefly turned and looked at me with a melancholy sort of smile before turning her attention back to the road.
“Thank you, Mom” I said, wondering if it would ever be truly possible to feel like I belonged in Forks.
I admired the green scenery in silence for the rest of the ride to the house. It was a beautiful place, sure. Not the same as the beauty of Canada, but something I could admire. Something I could learn to appreciate.
We eventually made it to my mom’s house. As we approached, I saw my car parked on the street in front of the house. It was a faded red, and thankfully still had all the doors attached, which was my initial concern when my mom mentioned it was a Jeep. It didn’t even look like a Jeep, really, just an average mid-sized SUV. It was practical, as my mom said. And the red was so faded it wasn’t flashy, wouldn’t draw any unwanted attention. Shockingly, I loved it.
“Thanks, Mom. It’s perfect,” I said and she gave me an embarrassed sort of smile.
She helped me take all of my bags to my room, even after insisting I could carry them all myself. My mom asked me a dozen more questions, about the flight and my father and if I needed any help preparing for school the next day. My mom had always hovered when I was growing up, being the overprotective parent of the two, but eventually, she left me alone to unpack my things and settle into my room.
All night I tossed and turned. It was strange to be in the new house. I wasn’t used to my new bed, my body longed for my old one at my dad’s house back in Ottawa.
I also was anxious to start school in Forks the next morning. The only place I ever felt like I fit in was on the hockey rink, playing with my teammates. And even then, I had a hard time socializing. It seemed I never knew the right thing to say. Now I would be arriving at a new school as an outsider—a school that only had a population of 409, according to my research—I knew this would only make it harder for me to make friends.
It would be one thing if I was the same Shane Hollander I was when I was fifteen. I was more confident then. More muscular. I still exercised regularly, but never quite felt good about my appearance. After the injury, in which I tore my achilles, I could no longer skate with the skill needed to be a pro hockey player. Even after it healed, I felt clumsier. Awkward. Broken.
I felt as if all these flaws would be highlighted the next day at school. That everyone would be able to tell that Shane Hollander didn’t belong in Forks. Didn’t belong in Ottawa, either. Belonged nowhere, probably.
I eventually fell into a fitful sleep.
The next morning I drove myself to school in my Jeep. It smelled faintly of cigarettes to my dismay, but other than that the interior was as clean as I could expect for a 23 year old car. I wore dark jeans and a white tee shirt, with a brown bomber jacket in case it rained or was cold inside the school. I didn’t want to stick out, but I also wanted to look nice. I hated just wearing athletic clothes all the time, so I figured for my first day I would dress it up just a little bit. I tapped anxiously on the steering wheel the whole drive.
I knew exactly where to find the school, and the front office building where I needed to check in. I had researched everything I could the night before, even memorized the map of the different buildings so I wouldn’t make a fool of myself on my first day. I parked the car, looked at myself in the rearview, fixed my hair quickly, and told myself “you got this, dude.”
The woman in the front desk was helpful, gave me my schedule and even highlighted the best route to all my classes—not that I needed it—and wished me luck on my first day.
By the time I moved my car to the general parking lot, it was already filling up with other students. I was relieved that most of the cars seemed older and worn like mine, besides a handful of shinier, newer cars, and one very flashy orange Porsche.
Before my anxiety could worsen, I made myself switch off the ignition and step out of the car. There were many students already crowding around the parking lot, talking to each other in small cliques, so I tried my best avoid eye contact and not draw attention to myself. My first class, AP LIT, was in building B, which I found with ease.
I was early for class, so I took the time to introduce myself to the teacher before other students arrived. When I told him my name, I could see the recognition in his eyes. I flushed, took the course packet he handed me, and sat down and flipped through it. Shakespeare, Jane Austen, Mary Shelley. I was relieved to find I had already read most of it earlier in the school year back at Ottawa, or in my own free-time.
The class went by quickly, the teacher lecturing the whole hour. On my way out, a girl with dark brown hair came up to me. She had her hair pulled back into a low pony tail and wore big, gold hoops.
“Are you Shane Hollander?” She stared at me with her brown eyes.
“Um. Yeah. That’s me,” I said, feeling the eyes of other students on us as we talked.
“What’s your next class?”
“Calculus. In building D,” I said without looking at my schedule. I was already planning my route.
“Oh perfect, I’m heading that way, I can show you” she smiled. “I’m Maria.”
I thought it would be rude to decline her invitation, so I agreed. “Yeah. Thanks.”
We made small talk as we walked across the school together. She asked me about the weather in Canada, which wasn’t all together that different from Forks. Forks got more rain. More fog. More gray.
“Well, I hope we have more classes together. See you, Shane.”
The rest of the way went by in a blur. I found all my classes with no problems. There was one boy who was in both my Calculus and Latin classes, so I sat next to him both times. His name was JJ, easy enough to remember.
He introduced me to his friends when it was time to eat lunch and allowed me to sit with them, for which I was eternally grateful. I smiled at Maria who was sitting at the same table as us.
And then I saw them for the first time.
They sat at a small round table by themselves at the end of the cafeteria. They didn’t look anything like any of the other students of Forks high school. They stuck out as much as the orange Porsche in the parking lot. They sat together in silence, not talking, not eating, but also not staring or gawking at me, which was a relief.
There were three boys and two girls. The first boy was beautiful. His dark hair was cut short, nearly buzzed, but his cheek bones were so sharp, it gave him a feminine edge. The second boy was much less boyish. His face was dotted with stubble, and his dark hair more grown out, falling gracefully over his face. He also looked sculpted, with a strong jawline. The two women were stunning, the kind of women that belonged in Hollywood or in magazines. The taller one had long legs, a slender frame, and gorgeous brown curls that fell to her shoulders. The other girl was just as breath-taking, with round cheeks, a charming smile, and wavy strawberry blonde hair cut just above her shoulders
The last boy was by far the most attractive. He sat in the middle of them all. His entire face and body seemed sculpted as if he was modeled after a Greek god. His hair, dirty blonde and curly, tumbled over his forehead and framed his face. He had a beauty mark on his left cheek.
They didn’t look alike in any real way, but they all were so oddly attractive. Captivating. Alluring. I tried my best not to stare, but I couldn’t help myself. I couldn’t tear my eyes away. They were all also oddly pale. Even the two who had darker complexions seemed to have a paleness about their skin. A lack of warmth.
One of them finally moved, standing from the table to toss her tray in the trash. It seemed as if she hadn’t touched anything from her lunch. She rose, glided to the trash can, and then retreated quickly back to her seat.
“Who are they?” I asked JJ, but it was clear Maria and the rest of the table heard me as well.
“Oh, they are the Hunters,” he said simply. “But don’t expect to make friends with them, they mostly keep to themselves.”
“The Hunters?” I asked.
It was Maria who answered me this time, changing seats to sit next to me. The blonde boy caught my eye as we looked at them. He held my gaze for a moment, with a flicker of curiosity behind his stare. I blushed and looked down. Maria giggled.
“The boys are Miles and Cliff Hunter. The girl who got up is Rose Hunter. The one who just looked over here, that’s Ilya Rozanov. The other girl is Svetlana Rozanov. They all live with Dr. Hunter and his husband, so people call them the Hunters,” Maria explained.
I felt a small wave of relief wash over me when she mentioned Dr. Hunter and his husband so casually. I had been worried maybe Forks was more small minded than Ottawa, but no one at the table batted an eye.
“So they’re adopted?” I asked, unable to break my eyes away from the group.
“The Rozanovs—Ilya and Svetlana are siblings, or well, half-siblings. They’re Russian, foster children, but the rest—the Hunters—are adopted. Dr. Hunter is pretty young, in his mid-thirties.”
“And they’re a bunch of freaks,” JJ laughed. “Moved here two years ago. And they’re all together. Cliff and Svetlana. And I’ve heard rumors about Rose and Miles,”
“Girl, Rose and Miles are not together. They’re clearly not compatible. They are attached at the hip though,” Maria sighs. “But it’s not like it’s illegal or anything. They’re not really siblings.”
“But they live together,” JJ grimaced. “Weirdos if you ask me. Ilya and Cliff are a great hockey players, when they decide to show up, but like I said, don’t waste your time trying to talk to them.”
“We have a hockey team?” I must’ve missed that when I was doing my research on Forks High School. Or maybe they played on a nearby, bigger school’s team. No way Forks had the population to supply an entire hockey team by itself.
My question was interrupted by Maria. “They’re gorgeous. But JJ is right. I’ve tried to get Ilya’s attention so many times. So has Elena.” one of the girls at the other end of the table gave an exasperated sigh. “I guess none of us are good enough for them.”
My eyes flickered back to the table. Ilya was looking down at his lunch, using the tips of his fingers to roll around his apple absent-mindedly. I considered their strangeness. The Hunters. The group of adopted, beautiful anomalies. At least I wasn’t the only new-comer to this school. And at least I wasn’t the weirdest.
The rest of the lunch period continued on like normal. I was relieved to have a few people to talk to already, and that there were other students more freak-ish than me. Carter, one of JJ’s friends, and I realized we had the same class together next period, Biology, in building C, so we walked there together.
Once in the classroom, Carter took his seat at a lab table and I introduced myself to the teacher. He gestured me to the last available seat, which, to my horror, was right next to none other than Ilya Rozanov.
I quickly sat down next to him, and debated whether or not I should be polite and introduce myself, or try and keep my head down. For some reason he made me nervous. Maybe it was his rugged curls.
I had never given too much thought to my sexuality. Well. I knew I didn’t like girls. I had a few girlfriends in middle school and early high school and there was clearly no chemistry between us. Guys on the other hand… well, I had more than a few timid crushes on fellow players in the past. I could definitely appreciate an attractive man. But it wasn’t like I wanted to date or act on any of my desires. I was always too focused on hockey, and now, too focused on school and reading and preparing for my future.
While I was debating with myself, I noticed Ilya become rigid next to me. It was as if he was holding his breath. I turned to glance at him, and his expression was full of anger. Of pain, almost. I shifted away a few inches in my seat and tried to nonchalantly smell myself. I smelled normal, like old-spice, but Ilya’s face told a completely different story.
The entire class he kept the same stiff posture, his fists and jaw clenched, as if the very sight of me made him upset. I wondered what I could’ve done to irk him already—it was my first day—he could hardly tell me from Adam. I wondered if maybe he was racist. Or if he could tell by the way our eyes briefly locked in the cafeteria that I liked guys, and he thought I was a freak because of it.
As soon as the bell rang, Ilya leaped from his seat and was out the door in record speed. I tried to shake off the encounter and forget about Ilya and his curls, his angry expression and his stupid clenched jaw.
In the hall I bumped into Elena, one of the girls I had briefly met at lunch.
“Shane, right?” She smiled at me, holding her books close to her chest. She was pretty, with long, straight dark hair, and a small gap between her two front teeth.
“Yes. And you’re Elena?”
“That’s me. I can help you find your next class,” she said and then she was walking off down the hall. I knew where my next class was already, but I followed anyway. I was surprised by the nice treatment I was receiving from girls, clearly eager to help me.
We walked in silence for a while. “You were coming from biology? How was it?”
“It was okay,” I said simply.
“Just okay?” She chuckled.
I sighed. “Ilya Rozanov is my lab partner.”
She stopped walking and gasped. “How did that go?”
“Awful. He wouldn’t even talk to me. Or look at me.”
She continued walking and rolled her eyes. “Typical. I don’t know what his deal is.” We entered the gym. “Well, if I was lucky enough to be your lab partner, I would’ve talked to you,” she said with a smile.
Gym went by quickly. Because it was my first day, the gym teacher issued me a uniform but didn’t make me participate yet, which was a relief. I was still in decent athletic shape, but still felt clumsy playing sports, especially in front of others.
The final bell rang and I made my way to the office to drop off my first day paperwork.
To my surprise, Ilya Rozanov was standing in line in front of me, talking to the front desk lady. He was speaking in a stern Russian accent. I realized it was the first time I heard him talk all day.
“There must be something you can do. Chemistry. Geology. Anything but Biology,” Ilya sounded annoyed. Frantic even. “Or another period. I can change my schedule around.”
She clicked some buttons on her computer and frowned. “I’m sorry Mr. Rozanov, but there are just no openings. You’ll have to stay in 6th period Biology.”
Ilya muttered something in—presumably—Russian and turned to storm away. As he turned we locked eyes. His were dark, almost black. He slung his bag over his shoulder and left the office, letting the door slam behind him.
The front desk lady took my paperwork. “I hope you had a great first day, Shane. And I hope you like it here in Forks.”
The entire way home I couldn’t stop thinking about our odd interaction in biology—contemplating how the hell I would survive the rest of the school year here if I already managed to make an enemy with Ilya Rozanov on my very first day.