Chapter 4

Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could feel the

claustrophobia creeping up on me. You could never see the sky here; it was like

a cage.

Breakfast with Charlie was a quiet event. 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 unmatching chairs and

examined his small kitchen, with its dark paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets,

and white linoleum floor. Nothing was changed. My mother had painted the

cabinets eighteen years ago in an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house.

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, taken by a helpful

nurse, followed by the procession of my school pictures up to last year's. 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 realize that Charlie had never

gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I

donned my jacket — which had the feel of a biohazard suit — and headed out

into the rain.

It was just drizzling still, not enough to soak me through immediately as I

reached for the house key that was always hidden under the eaves by the door,

and locked up. The sloshing of my new waterproof boots was unnerving. I

missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't pause and admire my

truck 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 my hood. Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. Either Billy or Charlie had obviously

cleaned it up, but the tan upholstered seats still smelled faintly of tobacco,

gasoline, and peppermint. The engine started quickly, to my relief, but loudly,

roaring to life and then idling at top volume. Well, a truck this old was bound to

have a flaw. The antique radio worked, a plus that I hadn't expected.

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 sign, which declared it to be the Forks High School,

made me stop. It looked like a collection of matching houses, built with maroon-

colored bricks. There were so many trees and shrubs I couldn't see its 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 was parked there, so I was sure it was off limits,

but I decided I would get directions inside instead of circling around in the rain

like an idiot. I stepped unwillingly out of the toasty truck cab 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, and warmer than I'd hoped. The office was small; a

little waiting area with padded folding chairs, orange-flecked commercial carpet,

notices and awards cluttering the walls, a big clock ticking loudly. Plants grew

everywhere in large plastic pots, as if there wasn't enough greenery outside. The

room was cut in half by a long counter, cluttered with wire baskets full of papers

and brightly colored 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 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, 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 roe.

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 in Forks. I smiled back as convincingly as I could.

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