twi saga | Page 5

admire my truck again as I wanted; I was in a hurry to get
out of the misty wet that swirled around my head an d 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 se ats still smelled
faintly of tobacco, gasoline, and peppermint. The e ngine 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. Th e antique radio
worked, a plus that I hadn't expected.
Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd nev er been there before.
The school was, like most other things, just off th e 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 c ollection of matching
houses, built with maroon-colored bricks. There wer e 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 t he 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 t here, so I was sure it
was off limits, but I decided I would get direction s inside instead of
circling around in the rain like an idiot. I steppe d unwillingly out of the
toasty truck cab and walked down a little stone pat h lined with dark
hedges. I took a deep breath before opening the doo r.
Inside, it was brightly lit, and warmer than I'd ho ped. The office was
small; a little waiting area with padded folding ch airs, orange-flecked
commercial carpet, notices and awards cluttering th e walls, a big clock
ticking loudly. Plants grew everywhere in large pla stic 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 b ehind the counter, one
of which was manned by a large, red-haired woman we aring 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 im mediate awareness
light her eyes. I was expected, a topic of gossip n o doubt. Daughter of
the Chief's flighty ex-wife, come home at last.
"Of course," she said. She dug through a precarious ly stacked pile of
documents on her desk till she found the ones she w as looking for. "I
have your schedule right here, and a map of the sch ool." She brought
several sheets to the counter to show roe.
She went through my classes for me, highlighting th e 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 smil ed back as convincingly
as I could.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to
arrive. I drove around the school, following the li ne of traffic. I was glad
to see that most of the cars were older like mine, nothing flashy. At
home I'd lived in one of the few lower-income neigh borhoods that were
included in the Paradise Valley District. It was a common thing to see a
new Mercedes or Porsche in the student lot. The nic est car here was a
shiny Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the eng ine as soon as I was in a
spot, so that the thunderous volume wouldn't draw a ttention to me.
I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memoriz e it now; hopefully I
wouldn't have to walk around with it stuck in front of my nose all day. I
stuffed everything in my bag, slung the strap over my shoulder, and
sucked in a huge breath. I can do this, I lied to m yself feebly. No one
was going to bite me. I finally exhaled and stepped out of the truck.
I kept my face pulled back into my hood as I walked to the sidewalk,
crowded with teenagers. My plain black jacket didn' t stand out, I noticed
with relief.
Once I got around the