twi saga | Page 4

be the new girl from the big city, a curios ity, a freak.
Maybe, if I looked like a girl from Phoenix should, I could work this to
my advantage. But physically, I'd never fit in anyw here. I should be tan,
sporty, blond — a volleyball player, or a cheerleade r, perhaps — all the
things that go with living in the valley of the sun .
Instead, I was ivory-skinned, without even the excu se of blue eyes or
red hair, despite the constant sunshine. I had alwa ys been slender, but
soft somehow, obviously not an athlete; I didn't ha ve the necessary
hand-eye coordination to play sports without humili ating myself — and
harming both myself and anyone else who stood too c lose.
When I finished putting my clothes in the old pine dresser, I took my
bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communa l bathroom to
clean myself up after the day of travel. I looked a t my face in the mirror
as I brushed through my tangled, damp hair. Maybe i t was the light, but
already I looked sallower, unhealthy. My skin could be pretty — it was
very clear, almost translucent-looking — but it all depended on color. I
had no color here.
Facing my pallid reflection in the mirror, I was fo rced to admit that I was
lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I
couldn't find a niche in a school with three thousa nd people, what were
my chances here?

I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't
relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than
anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony wit h me, never on
exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I wa s seeing the same
things through my eyes that the rest of the world w as seeing through
theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain. But t he cause didn't
matter. All that mattered was the effect. And tomor row would be just
the beginning.

I didn't sleep well that night, even after I was do ne crying. The constant
whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the
background. I pulled the faded old quilt over my he ad, and later added
the pillow, too. But I couldn't fall asleep until a fter midnight, when the
rain finally settled into a quieter drizzle.
Thick fog was all I could see out my window in the morning, and I could
feel the claustrophobia creeping up on me. You coul d 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 kitc hen, with its dark
paneled walls, bright yellow cabinets, and white li noleum floor. Nothing
was changed. My mother had painted the cabinets eig hteen years ago in
an attempt to bring some sunshine into the house. O ver the small
fireplace in the adjoining handkerchief-sized famil y 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 sch ool 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 els e, at least while I
was living here.
It was impossible, being in this house, not to real ize that Charlie had
never gotten over my mom. It made me uncomfortable.
I didn't want to be too early to school, but I coul dn'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 wat erproof boots was
unnerving. I missed the normal crunch of gravel as I walked. I couldn't
pause and