Twilight: Immortal Dusk

Phoenix Sky Harbor International Airport – Terminal 4

January 17th, 2005 – 10:12 AM

The terminal lights were too bright. That cold kind of fluorescent buzz that made everything feel just a little fake — like even time was on pause. Bella Swan stood by Gate C12, chewing absently on her thumbnail and trying to pretend her stomach wasn't tied in about twelve different kinds of knots.

Behind her, people wheeled squeaky suitcases over tiled floors. Somewhere overhead, a child wailed. A pre-boarding announcement crackled over the loudspeaker like someone was trying to strangle a robot.

"I still think this is a bad idea," Renée said for the third time that morning. She was fussing with Bella's jacket zipper like it might fall off mid-flight. "You don't have to do this, Bells. Phil and I can figure something out. You could do online classes, or transfer mid-semester, or—"

"Mom." Bella gave her a pointed look, dark blue eyes flicking up beneath too-long lashes. "I'm not enrolling in Hogwarts. I'm just switching schools. In Forks. With my dad. It's fine."

Renée winced like Bella had just suggested moving in with a bear. "But Forks, honey. It's so… damp."

"Yeah, that's kind of its whole brand."

"And cold! You hate the cold."

"I'm not exactly joining the swim team, Mom."

Renée let out a dramatic sigh and flopped back against the pillar beside her, bangles clinking. Her faded denim jacket was embroidered with daisies and peace signs, and her sunglasses were perched like a crown in her messy bun. She looked like someone who got lost on the way to a Jack Johnson concert. "You're too young to be making self-sacrificing decisions. That's my job. I'm the mom."

Bella raised an eyebrow. "So, what? I should've dragged you away from Phil and his minor league baseball dreams?"

"That's not fair," Renée said quietly. "You know I'd stay if you asked."

Bella looked down at her Converse. "I know. That's why I didn't."

Silence pressed between them like humidity. The kind of silence that only exists between people who love each other too much and are both trying not to cry in public.

Renée cleared her throat. "I just… you're so grown up lately. You used to hide in the linen closet during thunderstorms."

Bella smirked. "I was six. And that was because you told me thunder was caused by angry sky gods who hated liars."

"Well," Renée said, brushing invisible lint off Bella's hoodie, "you did lie about stealing that lip gloss."

Bella blinked. "Wow. This whole thing is because I borrowed your Strawberry Glitter Kiss in '98?"

Renée burst out laughing, then abruptly teared up. "God, I love you."

"I love you too, Mom."

Another overhead announcement buzzed through the terminal: "Final boarding call for Alaska Airlines Flight 847 to Seattle. All remaining passengers, please proceed to Gate C12."

Renée grabbed Bella's face between her hands, fingers cool against her cheeks. "You call me when you land."

"Yup."

"You call me when you see Charlie."

"Yup."

"And if you hate it there — really hate it — you just say the word, and Phil will pick you up in a heartbeat. I don't care if he's on the road or mid-game or juggling chainsaws. I'll make it happen."

Bella smiled faintly. "Chainsaws, huh?"

"He's very coordinated."

"I'll be fine."

"You always say that."

"I always am."

Renée sighed again and leaned in, hugging Bella tightly. Bella let her, even though public affection wasn't really her thing. Her mom smelled like coconut shampoo and the lemon hand sanitizer she used obsessively. She was warm. Warm and humming with energy and everything that Bella wasn't.

"You're so much like your dad," Renée whispered into her hair.

Bella pulled back. "Can I take that as a compliment today? Or is it one of the weird days?"

Renée laughed, wiping her eyes. "It's a compliment. Mostly."

Bella adjusted the strap of her backpack, the one with a frayed Charlie Brown patch she'd stitched on herself. Everything else she owned — her books, her clothes, her comfort zone — was already checked in. No going back now.

She handed over her boarding pass to the attendant, who smiled like this was just another Monday, not a life-upending one. Bella didn't look back. If she looked back, she might bolt. Or worse — change her mind.

As she stepped onto the jet bridge, she popped one of her earbuds in and hit play on her ancient purple iPod Mini. Muse flooded her ears — loud and broody and dramatic enough to match the mood.

Behind her, the door sealed shut with a pneumatic hiss.

Ahead of her, Forks waited.

Grey skies. A police chief dad who hadn't parented in a decade. A high school where the most exciting social event was probably dissecting a frog.

And, though she didn't know it yet — eyes like gold. Skin like marble. Secrets that shimmered like venom just beneath the surface.

But for now, just rain.

—

Seattle-Tacoma International Airport – Arrivals Terminal

January 17th, 2005 – 2:37 PM

Seattle didn't greet Bella so much as gloom at her. Thick clouds pressed down like someone had put a lid over the sky, and the air outside the terminal kissed her face with the enthusiasm of a damp paper towel.

Her boots squeaked as she walked, pulling her wheeled suitcase behind her. The suitcase's right wheel had developed an unsettling wobble at LAX, and now it sounded like a duck with bronchitis every time it hit a tile. Her backpack was heavier than it should've been. Or maybe she was just tired. Of airports. Of saying goodbye. Of the kind of homesickness that had nothing to do with a house.

She stopped just before the exit doors and pulled out her flip phone — a black Motorola Razr with a Hello Kitty sticker slapped across the back like a silent rebellion. One new message.

Mom: You land yet? Is Charlie there? Any weird airport cults? Love you xx -R

Bella didn't respond. She just sighed and flipped it shut like punctuation.

Outside, there he was: Charlie Swan, Forks' very own Chief of Police, standing next to a black-and-white Crown Victoria like it was a prop from Law & Order: Small Town Rain Edition. His hands were in his jacket pockets, his uniform a bit rumpled but still somehow neat. The mustache? Pristine. Sturdy. Like it had its own union.

Bella squinted. "Wow," she muttered to herself, "same car, same facial hair, same 'emotionally reserved but trying' dad energy."

She stepped outside, the automatic doors whooshing open behind her.

Charlie spotted her immediately and lifted a hand in a small, awkward wave, like he wasn't quite sure whether he was greeting his daughter or flagging down traffic.

"Hey, Bells."

"Hey, Dad."

They hovered in silence for half a second too long before Charlie awkwardly reached for her suitcase.

"That all of it?" he asked, grabbing the handle.

"Yup. Everything I own in two bags. Very depressing chic," she replied, deadpan.

Charlie grunted — an approving sort of grunt — and popped the trunk.

The car smelled like damp upholstery, cheap pine-scented air freshener, and the faintest trace of Taco Bell.

Bella slid into the front passenger seat, shoving aside a manila folder labeled BEAR INCIDENT – NOV/DEC 2004 and a pack of Extra gum that looked like it had been opened in 1998.

She glanced around. "Wow. Still rockin' the Crown Vic. Real subtle, Dad."

Charlie got in and shut the door with a low thud. "Department issued. Gets the job done."

"Sure. If the job is time-traveling back to 1991."

Charlie gave a soft, snort-like laugh as he turned the key. The Crown Vic growled awake.

"How was the flight?"

Bella buckled her seatbelt. "There was a baby that screamed for three straight hours, the guy next to me smelled like feet and regret, and I'm pretty sure the pretzels were stale enough to qualify as medieval weapons."

Charlie nodded solemnly. "So, pretty average."

"Air travel: proof God doesn't love us."

Another beat of silence. The engine hummed as he pulled away from the curb.

"I'm glad you came," he said, quiet.

Bella looked out the rain-slick windshield. "Yeah. Me too."

Charlie glanced sideways at her. "That sounded real convincing."

She smirked. "I've been practicing my sarcasm. Forks High offers scholarships, right?"

"No promises. But we do have a pretty decent bear-awareness program."

"Yeah, you keep bringing up bears. Should I be worried, or is this just your weird cop version of a welcome brochure?"

Charlie reached into the center console, handed her a small plastic bag like it was contraband. "Got you something."

Bella peeked in. "Pepper spray?"

"Can't be too careful," he said, serious.

"In Forks? Are the bears armed now?"

Charlie shrugged. "There was a moose sighting near Port Angeles last month."

"That is not the comfort you think it is."

They merged onto the highway, the wet roads reflecting headlights like silver veins. Trees thickened outside the window — tall, moss-covered giants looming like they were judging her decision-making skills.

Charlie drummed his fingers once on the wheel. "Got the room all set up. Still has the old desk, but I cleared off most of the boxes."

"Any chance my bed's not covered in flannel?"

"No promises."

Bella groaned. "I'm going to die surrounded by pine-scented everything, aren't I?"

Charlie grinned just a little. "At least you won't freeze. It gets cold out there."

"Yeah, thanks for the climate warning. I had no idea moving from Arizona to Forks would be… wet."

"You still have that jacket I sent last Christmas?"

"The one that looks like a marshmallow threw up on it?"

"That's the one."

Bella rolled her eyes. "Yeah, it's in my bag. I'll wear it when the hypothermia kicks in."

They lapsed into a quieter rhythm after that, the kind that felt less like awkward silence and more like two people who didn't mind the absence of noise. The rain hit the windshield in soft percussion, steady and constant. The trees blurred past in green and gray streaks.

Bella tucked her hands into the sleeves of her hoodie, letting her head rest against the cold window. The fog from her breath ghosted across the glass.

Seattle disappeared in the rearview. Forks waited like a soggy question mark in the distance.

Home, she guessed.

Or at least a place where she could start over.

Even if it came with flannel sheets, mandatory bear spray, and a dad who loved her in that quiet kind of way.

—

Highway 101 – Forks, Washington Limits

January 17th, 2005 – 5:11 PM

The road slithered through the forest like it had been carved with a butter knife in a hurry. Trees pressed in close on both sides, their limbs draped in moss like Forks had gone full goth and never came back. Everything was damp. Even the air felt like it had waterlogged opinions.

Bella sat curled in the Crown Vic's passenger seat, hoodie sleeves tugged over her hands, knees drawn up just a little like she was preparing for a sudden escape. Her headphones dangled from around her neck, silent now, though the leftover lyrics of Death Cab for Cutie's Title and Registration still haunted her brain.

The heater wheezed and coughed like it was dying of emphysema. Her breath fogged the window as she stared out at the green blur sliding past.

Charlie hadn't spoken in a few miles. Which, to his credit, was probably him trying to respect her space, not forget she existed.

Then: "Almost there."

Bella didn't look away from the window. "Is this the part where the forest eats the car and they find my hoodie twenty years later?"

Charlie huffed — his version of a laugh. "Nah. That only happens on the logging roads."

A weather-beaten sign creaked into view through the mist. It looked like something a Parks & Rec intern had painted in 1978 and forgotten.

Welcome to Forks

Population 3,120

Bella tilted her head, dryly. "Guess we'll have to cross out a number and scribble in a '1' with Sharpie."

Charlie shrugged. "Town council takes their sweet time. Still haven't fixed the pothole by the library from '98."

"Bold of you to assume they read at all," Bella muttered, eyes still fixed outside.

As they passed the sign, the forest began to pull back, just slightly. Civilization — or Forks' version of it — crept in around the edges. Trailers crouched beside rusted basketball hoops. A church with a sagging roof and a sign that read "Forgive. It's What Jesus Would Do" next to a hand-lettered NO SKATEBOARDING warning.

And then came the town proper: gas station, single blinking traffic light, the grocery store that looked like it sold more bait than produce.

Forks didn't sparkle. Forks sulked. And it seemed perfectly fine with that.

Charlie cleared his throat again — he was on a roll. "You hungry? We can hit the diner. Their burger's still better than it has any right to be."

Bella tilted her head. "Please tell me they serve something that wasn't frozen in 1992."

"They got real onion rings," he offered, eyes on the road. "And milkshakes. Chocolate. Vanilla. Strawberry. Banana."

Bella blinked. "Banana milkshake? That's a war crime."

Charlie grinned, eyes forward. "No one ever orders it. I think it's just there to weed out the weak."

"Now I have to try it on principle," she deadpanned. "Can't let Forks think it broke me on day one."

They turned off the main road onto a quiet neighborhood lined with sagging porches, pickup trucks, and trees that looked like they'd seen some stuff. Charlie's house was at the far end — a pale two-story with an American flag faded to grayscale and a porch swing that might disintegrate if someone so much as looked at it too hard.

Charlie parked the Crown Vic, tossed it into park, and turned to her with a hopeful sort of squint. "Here we are."

Bella stared at it. "It looks exactly like it did when I was five. Did you time-freeze it with black magic or just aggressively avoid Home Depot?"

He raised both brows, amused. "Bit of both, probably."

She stepped out of the car and winced as the cold hit her face like a wet slap. The air smelled like cedar, diesel, and damp disappointment. Her hair immediately started to frizz in protest.

Charlie popped the trunk. "Backpack?"

"Got it."

He hauled her suitcase like it weighed nothing, and she followed him up the porch. The same wooden step shrieked beneath her boot, a long, groaning creak like it had missed her and wanted her to know.

Inside, the house was warm but dim, like the walls were allergic to overhead lighting. The living room still had the plaid couch, the ancient recliner, and a boxy TV that looked like it required spiritual encouragement to turn on.

"You can change anything you want," Charlie offered, setting the suitcase down at the foot of the stairs. "Room's the same. Closet's empty now. Sheets are new. Didn't know what kinda pillow you like so I got the firm kind. Seems safe."

Bella paused on the stairwell, backpack slung over one shoulder. "Firm's good. Symbolic."

He blinked. "Of what?"

She smirked faintly. "Emotional repression."

Charlie chuckled, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. "You want me to help you unpack?"

Bella turned slowly, giving him the most unimpressed stare she could manage. "You really want to witness the chaos that is my sock drawer?"

He held up his hands in surrender. "Right. Diner it is."

They headed back out, the porch creaking like it was judging them. The last light of day was disappearing behind the endless curtain of gray, the kind of twilight that looked like it came pre-soundtracked by The Smiths.

As they slid back into the Crown Vic, Bella buckled her seatbelt and muttered, "So this is it. My dramatic return."

Charlie shot her a glance as he shifted into reverse. "You make it sound like a soap opera."

"It kinda is," she said. "I left the sunny glam life of Phoenix to return to the brooding cop dad and the town that's 75% precipitation and 25% judgmental deer."

Charlie didn't deny it. "Well. The deer are weirdly aggressive."

Bella leaned her head against the window as they drove back toward town, watching the trees blur again, their bare branches reaching like fingers.

Forks, Washington – Population 3,121 One introvert returned. Hair frizzed. Banana milkshake pending.

—

The Carver Café – Forks, Washington

January 17th, 2005 – 5:38 PM

From the outside, the Carver Café looked like it had been designed by someone who loved pancakes and deeply distrusted modern architecture. The red neon OPEN sign flickered like it was powered by anxiety and black coffee, and the windows fogged with the breath of a hundred grilled cheese orders past. Bella stepped through the door and into a wave of heat, fryer grease, and country music that sounded like it hadn't been cool since cassette tapes ruled the earth.

The bell jingled overhead.

Behind the counter, a woman turned mid-coffee-pour like she was choreographing a musical. Her hair was coiled and fierce, lipstick loud, and her entire vibe screamed "yes, I know your mother and no, I'm not impressed." She clocked Charlie and her expression lit up like a Christmas ham under a heat lamp.

"Well, well, well! If it isn't Chief Swan — two days early for pie night and three days late for his cholesterol screening."

Charlie had the sheepish, corner-of-the-mouth smile of a man who'd been sparring with this woman for decades. "Evenin', Cora."

"And this must be…" Cora leaned forward, squinting, then gasped like she'd just spotted royalty slumming it in the pancake aisle. "Isabella Marie Swan. No. You are not this tall. This grown. This gorgeous."

Bella blinked, shoulders tensing like she'd been handed a live mic. "I—yeah. That's technically me. But it's just Bella now. Less syllables. Less judgment."

"Bella," Cora repeated, testing the word like she was taste-testing a new syrup. Then she grinned, big and knowing. "Suits you. Little sass in it."

"She gets it from her mom," Charlie muttered, already moving toward their usual booth by the window.

Bella followed, but Cora stepped around the counter with the casual speed of a panther in Crocs. "You were screaming your head off in this very diner when you were six months old. Colicky. Red as a tomato and twice as loud."

Bella raised an eyebrow. "That tracks. The attention span of a ceiling fan, and an overdeveloped sense of drama."

Charlie gave a soft chuckle and muttered to himself, "Some things haven't changed."

"Oh, hush." Cora waved him off and turned back to Bella. "Your dad used to rock you next to the coffee machine just to shut you up. That hum? Worked like magic."

Bella narrowed her eyes at Charlie. "You used a coffee machine to babysit me?"

He looked vaguely defensive. "It was decaf. Mostly."

Before she could process that nugget of parental innovation, a voice blared from the next booth over.

"Holy hell, is that little Bella Swan?!"

A man with a voice like a gravel truck and the grin of a conspiracy theorist bounded over. Ball cap on crooked, plaid shirt slightly stained with what might've been chili, and an energy like he'd been mainlining diner coffee since the Reagan administration.

Charlie sighed. "Waylon."

Waylon Forge grinned wider, clearly the kind of guy who'd narrate his own grocery trips if given the chance. "You don't remember me, huh?" he asked Bella, hands on hips like a proud uncle. "Rec Center. Christmas. '92. I was Santa. You sat on my lap and demanded a pony. Then cried when I told you the reindeer were unionized."

Bella blinked. "I haven't spent Christmas here since I was four."

Waylon squinted at her. "Well, maybe your soul remembers. That's a thing, right?"

"I mean, probably. But mine was likely trying to climb out the window while you were making dad jokes in a beard."

Charlie smothered a smile behind his hand. Waylon looked delighted anyway.

"Still got that fire, huh? That's Swan blood for ya. I always say—"

"You always say too much," Cora interjected, suddenly at his elbow with a towel and a look that could gut a fish. "Waylon, if you don't get back to your table and finish your meatloaf, I'm sending it to the Smithsonian as a fossil."

Waylon backed up, palms out. "Alright, alright. Don't get your apron in a twist."

Cora smiled sweetly. "Oh, honey, I passed twisty hours ago."

He retreated with a muttered, "Jeez, try to be welcoming…"

Charlie slid into the booth while Bella dropped opposite him, lifting the laminated menu like it might shield her from further ambushes.

"You good?" he asked, voice quiet under the background hum of silverware and country crooning.

She glanced out the window, where the rain slicked across the glass like a low-budget horror film. "Honestly? I think I just time-traveled into someone else's sitcom. Possibly a spinoff."

Charlie raised an eyebrow. "Bad one?"

"No, like... a cult classic. Low ratings. Weird pacing. Strong female lead."

Charlie gave a low chuckle, the kind that came from deep in his chest. "You'll settle in."

"That's what they say right before the alien invasion."

Cora returned with two waters and her notepad ready. "Alright, kids — what's it gonna be? Burgers are good tonight. Onion rings are criminally underrated. And we still got that banana milkshake, Bella."

Bella dropped her menu. "I feel like I owe it to the ghost of my infant self to try it."

"One banana milkshake, extra nostalgia. Got it." Cora scribbled like she was writing a novella. "And you, Sheriff?"

"Double cheeseburger. Fries. The usual."

"You sure? You're lookin' like a man who needs pie."

Charlie shrugged. "When do I not?"

"Fair. I'll put a slice on standby."

She swept away again, leaving Bella to rest her elbows on the table and stare at the slowly fogging window.

"You know," she said slowly, "I always thought Forks was some sort of myth. Like Narnia. But with more mildew and passive-aggressive pickup trucks."

Charlie leaned back in the booth, arms crossed. "It's not so bad. You'll see."

She looked at him, just a little softer now. "Yeah. I think I'm starting to."

—

Charlie's House – Bella's Bedroom

January 17th, 2005 – 8:16 PM

The room was a shrine to dated Americana: pale blue walls, a floral curtain that didn't match anything, and a twin bed that creaked like it had opinions. Bella Swan sat at a wobbly desk staring down a computer that looked like it had lived through Y2K and still had PTSD.

The beige Dell tower whirred with nervous energy, like it knew it was one "Ctrl+Alt+Delete" away from a heart attack. A chunky CRT monitor blinked to life, throwing pale light across Bella's face. She looked pale, tired, and slightly judgmental — basically her baseline.

The webcam — a plastic cube with a single red light — was duct-taped to a lamp. A stack of Birding Monthly magazines tried to elevate it to eye level. It failed.

Bella muttered, "If this thing explodes, tell Mom I died doing what I hated."

She double-clicked an icon labeled "NetConnect 6.0", and braced herself.

Beep. Beep. Boop. SCREEEEE—kaaaahhh—shhhhhHHHH—DING-ding-DIIIIIIIIING.

The modem screamed into the void like a haunted fax machine begging for mercy.

From downstairs, Charlie's voice echoed upward, warm and gruff. "Bells! You're dialing in? I told Billy I'd call by nine!"

Bella hit the mute mic button, leaned toward the screen, and muttered, "Maybe Billy can learn the ancient art of voicemail, Dad."

She called up the WebChatLive window, already half-frozen. It coughed, blinked, and then loaded with the kind of speed that suggested a hamster was powering it.

She clicked the contact marked Mom – Florida House ().

It rang.

Failed.

Rang again.

Loaded.

Cracked. Froze.

Then — blip — Renee Swan's face burst onto the screen in all its low-resolution chaos. Blonde curls frizzed up like she'd walked through a lightning storm, and her tank top was tie-dyed and probably illegal in five states. A wind chime clanged in the background while a parrot offscreen let out a strangled squawk.

"BAAAABY!" Renee shrieked, leaning into the webcam so aggressively Bella was greeted by a blurry close-up of one nostril.

Bella blinked. "Wow. Okay. You're... a nose."

"Oh! Hold on—" Renee leaned back, and her face snapped into focus in its full 12-pixel glory. "There! There you are. Oh, my God, look at you! You're in a hoodie! Is it snowing? Are you freezing? Is Charlie feeding you? Blink twice if you're being held hostage!"

Bella gave her a long, slow blink. Once.

"Very funny," Renee said, making a face. "I worry, you know. You didn't even text me when you landed. I thought maybe you got stuck in the Twilight Zone or something."

Bella deadpanned, "You'd think. Turns out, they just call it Forks."

Renee let out a sympathetic sigh and plopped down on what looked like a beanbag. "I mean, the name alone. Forks. Plural. Like they couldn't even commit to one."

"Well," Bella muttered, fiddling with the webcam to get it to stop drooping, "it's accurate. The town's full of them — metal, awkward, not built for comfort."

"Has Charlie cooked yet?" Renee asked suddenly, all faux-casual like she wasn't bracing for a horror story.

"Yes," Bella said gravely. "Fish."

"Oh nooo." Renee covered her mouth, eyes wide. "Was it... staring at you?"

"I saw its soul," Bella replied. "It whispered 'run.'"

Renee gagged theatrically. "Did you eat it?"

"I tried to give it a Viking funeral in the sink. Charlie got suspicious."

Downstairs, there was the clatter of a fork. "Still can hear you, Bella!"

Bella called back without missing a beat, "You served me a war crime, Dad."

Renee was cackling. "Tell him next time to stick to grilled cheese. If he burns it, at least that's normal."

Bella gave a rare smile — small, sideways, and soft around the edges. "He's... trying, Mom. In his own dad-shaped way."

"I know," Renee said, her tone instantly tender. "He loves you, kiddo. He just shows it through stapled internet cables and... salmon funerals."

Bella looked at the corner of the room, where Charlie had actually stapled the dial-up cord along the wall, like it was an art installation.

"I'm starting to think he did it for the aesthetic," Bella muttered. "Like, rustic hostage."

Renee giggled. "Hey, did he give you the laptop I told him to buy? The Toshiba?"

"No laptop. But I did inherit a desktop that looks like it ran Oregon Trail in real-time."

Renee pulled a face. "Ugh. I emailed him the link twice! I even had his Deputy print it and stick it on his windshield."

"Yeah, I think he used it as a coaster."

Suddenly, the screen froze. Renee's face glitched mid-eye-roll, frozen like she was in a CSI mugshot.

Bella stared. "Cool. Now I'm talking to an 'America's Most Wanted' sketch."

She waved at the webcam. "Mom? Mom, blink if you can hear me."

SKKZZZZT — the video unfroze violently.

"—Sorry! Sorry, stupid Wi-Fi. I think the microwave just turned on."

Bella raised a brow. "...Is it next to your router?"

"No, it is the router." Renee winked. "Florida's wild, baby."

Bella rubbed her temples. "Why do I feel like your house is one power surge away from becoming sentient?"

"Because it probably is."

There was a pause, warm and unhurried.

"I'm glad you called," Renee said softly, quieter now. "Even if it took ten minutes of dial-up and possibly sacrificing a hamster."

"I missed you," Bella admitted. "Even your chaos."

"Aw, honey. You'll get used to Forks. Just give it time. It's not so bad."

Bella arched a brow. "It rains sideways."

"Water is cleansing!" Renee beamed.

"There's moss on the mailbox."

"Natural exfoliation!"

Bella snorted.

"You'll find your rhythm," Renee continued. "You always do. And hey — if it really sucks, you can come visit in spring break. Or call me anytime. 3 a.m., 4 a.m., whatever. I'm always here, okay?"

Bella nodded, throat a little tight. "Okay."

"Oh — and if Charlie ever makes meatloaf — run. That's not a joke. That's a warning."

"Copy that. Vegan panic attack. Got it."

"I love you, my strange little cactus."

Bella's lip twitched. "Love you too, chaos goblin."

Click.

The call ended. The screen went back to WebChatLive's homepage, which offered Fun Stickers!, Animated Avatars!, and Ringtones that sounded like frogs being stepped on.

Bella closed the window. The room felt a little quieter now — but not empty.

Rain whispered against the window, and downstairs, Charlie was watching a Mariners game too loudly with a bowl of popcorn and no idea how to be a parent.

Bella sat back in her chair and pulled her knees up to her chest.

Forks wasn't home.

But maybe — just maybe — it didn't have to be hell, either.

—

Charlie's House – Living Room

January 17th, 2005 – 9:39 PM

The floor creaked like it had a grudge as Bella padded down the stairs, damp hair pulled back into a messy braid and feet stuffed into mismatched socks. Her sweatshirt was in the laundry, so she'd settled on an old, practically translucent Alice in Chains tee with holes in both armpits and a neckline that had given up entirely. Sweatpants completed the ensemble. It wasn't fashion — it was survival.

She hesitated at the bottom step, peeking into the living room.

Charlie was sunk into his recliner like it owed him money, one ankle crossed over his knee, a can of Rainier beer balanced against his thigh. SportsCenter highlights flickered on the screen — something about the Seahawks' playoff choke, judging by the groans of the commentators and Charlie's muttered, "Jesus, again?"

The fireplace crackled. The room smelled like popcorn, coffee, and wood smoke — that very specific Charlie Swan ambiance.

Bella lingered near the archway. "Hey, I'm headed to bed."

Charlie looked up, startled like he'd forgotten she was in the house. "Oh. Yeah. Okay. Uh…" He scratched the back of his head with the hand not holding the beer. "Big day tomorrow."

Bella nodded, arms folded across her chest. "Yeah. The great Forks High expedition."

"You nervous?" he asked, shifting in the chair. His voice was casual, but not actually casual — more like tentative dad fishing for feelings without getting too emotional about it.

"A little," Bella admitted. "It's been a while since I had to learn a whole new cafeteria ecosystem. Last time I got hit with a juice box."

Charlie chuckled, low and warm. "Kids these days. No respect."

Bella smiled faintly. "You ever get hit with food in high school?"

Charlie sipped his beer. "Only thing that ever got thrown at me was a football. Caught it. Made varsity."

Bella rolled her eyes. "Of course you did."

He shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. "You'll do fine. They'll like you."

She gave him a look. "Dad. I'm the new girl from Phoenix with skin like unbaked bread. I'm gonna glow in the dark."

Charlie looked at her like he couldn't even begin to figure out what to say to that. He landed on: "You've got good instincts. You'll be alright."

Bella tilted her head. "That the official Sheriff's Department opinion?"

"Yup," he said, straight-faced. "Stamped and approved."

She hesitated. "Thanks… for setting all this up. The room. The, uh... internet. Even if it sounds like it's summoning demons."

He grinned a little. "I used a staple gun."

"I noticed."

They stood in the silence for a second — not awkward, exactly. Just… loaded with all the unsaid things.

Charlie cleared his throat. "I'll make eggs if you want 'em in the morning."

Bella raised an eyebrow. "Like… actual eggs? Or your version, where they taste like drywall and depression?"

He gave her a flat look. "Smartass."

She smirked. "Inherited."

He smiled — a rare, crooked, genuinely fond thing that made her chest ache a little. "Goodnight, kiddo."

"Night, Dad."

She turned and headed for the stairs, dragging her hand along the banister. The wood was warm under her fingers. Familiar, even if the rest of this place still felt like a stranger.

At the top of the stairs, she glanced back. Charlie hadn't moved, eyes back on the screen, face lit up by the soft blue glow of replays and statistics.

But his beer was untouched.

—

Bella's Bedroom

9:48 PM

She closed the door behind her and let out a long breath. The windowpane was streaked with rain, catching light from the streetlamp outside. She toed off her socks and crawled under the blankets, the mattress squeaking a little under her weight.

She stared at the ceiling.

Tomorrow she'd walk into Forks High and become The New Girl. Again.

She didn't care about popularity. She didn't care about the weather. She didn't even care that someone named Jessica had apparently already decided she was "mysterious," according to the one nosy email Lauren had sent her last week.

She just didn't want to be noticed.

Too bad her face was basically a walking name tag.

Bella closed her eyes.

The house creaked. Rain drummed a soft rhythm. Somewhere downstairs, Charlie muted the TV.

And in her dreams — though she wouldn't remember it in the morning — the forest whispered.

---

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