I was regretting my decision to leave Phoenix.

Out of all the places where I had lived over the course of seventeen years, Phoenix was by far my favorite. I liked it much better than Minneapolis or Atlanta or Tampa or even Houston, although that might have had something to do with the fact that Renee—my mother—and I had lived there for three years, six months longer than we had stayed in any other place.

I leaned my head against the car window, watching the familiar scenery—desert and development intertwined—flash by for the last time. I was going to miss the vivid colors, the bustle of the city, and the heat (well, okay, I might be able to survive without the constant risk of sunburn). The weather that day was absolutely perfect, with the thermometer on the dash of Phil's new car reading seventy-five and the sky a bright blue. I had routinely slathered myself with sunblock before stepping outside, of course (probably for the last time in a while, if the average cloud cover of my destination was anything to judge by), so I wasn't too worried about the relentless sunshine.

"Bella?"

With a start, I realized that Renee had been trying to get my attention and I had been too busy thinking about the weather to notice. Stifling a pang of guilt, I turned my head towards my mother and smiled. "Yeah?"

"Are you sure you packed everything? Your toothbrush, your sketchbook, your schoolbooks…" My mother trailed off, smiling a little anxiously in my direction. "I'm just afraid that you'll have forgotten something important and I'll be out of town."

I tried to look reassuring. "Everything really important was shipped ahead, remember? My schoolbooks and the rest of my library are waiting in Forks."

I'd dealt with all the details of my relocation, with a little help from my mother's new husband, Phil. Between the two of us, we'd seen to my withdrawal from my high school in Phoenix, enrollment in the only high school in Forks, Washington, and the shipping of all of my important possessions. I had quit my cashiering job with some regret at leaving the bookstore and the owner who had always been kind to me. I'd also spent half of my savings on a new winter wardrobe, since I hadn't owned a winter coat since I was eleven. The rest was firmly reserved for getting a car as soon as possible, since walking everywhere in cold rain didn't seem like a pleasant idea, and I didn't want to inconvenience Charlie any more than I had to.

"Oh, right." Renee hadn't been involved in the details of the move, though she had certainly done the most talking about it. Since my first suggestion of the idea in August, she had gone from guilty opposition to equally guilty support, through a carefully planned propaganda campaign on my part. It was clear that, although she felt bad about sending me off to live somewhere that she had always considered one step away from Tartarus, she really did want to travel with Phil, something that was not easily managed with a child still in school. Phil had also been tentatively supportive, stating that he would be happy for me to travel with them or stay with Renee in Phoenix, but would be just as happy if I were to live with my father in Washington.

It might have been a little martyr-ish of me to insist on exiling myself to my birthplace (and now, I acknowledged, I was simply indulging in melodramatic melancholy), but I could tell that Renee and Phil really wanted to spend time together, something that they hadn't been able to do much since their honeymoon eight months ago. After I realized that Phil was not just another one of Renee's fads, to be discarded as quickly as hot yoga, gluten-free eating, and dreadlocks, I went out of my way to accommodate my mother's romance.

Privately, though, I still found it a little jarring that my thirty-seven year old mother was married to a man who was closer to my age than her own. But then, Renee had always looked younger than her age. In contrast to my brown hair, pale face, and unremarkable figure, all inherited from Charlie, Renee was a sun-kissed blonde with bright blue eyes and a heartwarming smile, which, combined with her arresting figure, served to make her look closer to thirty—or even twenty-five—than forty.

She and Phil really seemed happy. I was sure that my free-spirited yet inexplicably dependable stepfather would be able to take good care of Renee. I would probably even miss his constant jokes and spontaneous weekend trips to wherever he wanted to go. He and Renee were very well-suited. He was the exact opposite of Charlie, which made him better for Renee but also very exhausting to be around.

My woolgathering was interrupted by the appearance of the airport. I shivered slightly as we pulled into the parking garage; perhaps wearing my favorite light shirt had been a mistake, especially when I thought about the temperature in Forks. At least I had a jacket stowed in my carry-on.

The garage was unsurprisingly full. Families were headed away from their holiday spots, college kids unwillingly returning to their studies. Renee insisted on finding a parking space near an entrance so that I wouldn't have to manhandle my luggage too far on my bad ankle, but we had to drive up to level three to find one.

We unloaded my duffel bag and two large, rolling suitcases in silence. Noting the anxious crease in Renee's forehead, I rearranged my features into a cheerful expression. "Hey, mom, look at it on the bright side; at least I'll spend less money on sunblock and visors!"

Renee smiled weakly at the joke, her eyes looking a little watery. Determined to get things moving as quickly as possible, I shouldered the duffel and took the handle of one suitcase, wishing I could manage to pull both at the same time so as to avoid inconveniencing Renee, and headed for the elevator. We crossed the parking lanes and the street and entered the airport, pausing only to check the signs for directions to the proper desk.

"Did you print out your boarding pass?" Renee asked, eying the long line for check-in.

I didn't have to check my bag to know the answer, but I did so anyway. "Yep, I printed it last night. Here it is, right at the top of my carry-on." I waved the paper reassuringly before tucking it into my pocket and zipping my bag closed once more.

The line to check luggage was, thankfully, short. I gratefully checked my three bags, received my claim ticket, and headed off toward security, Renee in tow.

"Well, this is it," I said as we joined the end of the short line. "Hi-ho, hi-ho, it's off to Forks I go."

Renee promptly burst into tears. I felt my own eyes getting a little watery as I hugged my mother tightly.

"I'm going to miss you, Bella," Renee sobbed into my shoulder. "Are you sure you want to go? It's not too late to change your mind, I could—"

"No, mom," I interrupted firmly. "I want to go. I know you hate Forks, but… it won't be so bad." I had been repeating those phrases so often that I almost believed them by this point, so hopefully Renee would believe them too. Besides, there were upsides to Forks. It was smaller than Phoenix, for one thing. That meant shorter lines at stores, fewer people in crowded spaces, and fewer aggressive drivers, usually. Renee saw only the lack of opportunities and the difficulty of getting to other places when in a town that was functionally in the middle of nowhere.

"Okay, baby." Renee sniffled, drawing back and giving me a watery smile. "Call me when you get in, okay?"

"I will, mom, I promise." I smiled in what I hoped was a convincing and non-teary way before turning to walk through the gate and out of sight.

I made it through the line quickly, with no security hang-ups to slow things down. I decided to treat myself to an iced tea and a shockingly overpriced cheese sandwich from the nearest café, then found a nice corner of the terminal to tuck into. I put in my earbuds, flipped through my musical selection until I found something suitably depressing for the occasion, and began to munch the bland sandwich.

Two years in Forks, a place that I knew mostly through Renee's unflattering stories. Even though Charlie lived there, I had spent most of my recent summer visitations with him at a nice little resort in sunny California. Renee joked (not without an edge of as much malice as she was capable of having) about it being his only opportunity to see the sun.

But I had done my research before I proposed my solution to Renee. Forks got over a hundred inches of precipitation per year, and was cloudy two-thirds of the time. I was officially going to evolve into a fish, and I didn't even like to swim.

I knew that my reluctance to live in Forks ran a lot deeper than the weather, though. Somehow I couldn't shake the nagging fear that I'd end up following in Renee's footsteps. I could picture it now: being swept off my feet by a wonderful guy, marrying him young, settling down in the backwoods, and then running off with my newborn child. Or—almost worse—staying forever. I wanted to be a journalist, and to do that you had to go places and see people, not live in Forks.

"Now boarding group one onto flight three seventeen to Seattle."

I was in group two, thanks to Phil and his frequent-flyer miles. I tucked my belongings back into my bag, disposed of my trash, and then waited for group two to be called before joining the ragged line.

The boarding agent was professionally cheerful, and I did my best to be equally agreeable, but my smile was forced and my efforts fell flat. Luckily, I avoided physically falling flat, even managing to make the step from tunnel to plane without tripping on the threshold. With no bulky bag to stuff into the overhead rack, I was able to head straight to my seat and settle in.

The only downside to boarding early was that, instead of waiting in the terminal, you had to wait in the much smaller and hotter airplane. I leaned my head against the window and tried not to be too impatient. I had brought a book, but I would much rather sleep through the three-and-a-half hour flight.

The attendant finally announced that the flight was ready for departure. I tried to pay attention to the safety spiel—masks, exits, seat-belts, cushions, rafts, and so on. If the plane did go down, I probably had no chance of survival anyway. It would be hard enough for someone who was fit and physically able to survive. I was neither.

The plane sped down the runway and my heartbeat accelerated along with it. The speed always seemed rather unsafe to me, and the stomach-dropping moment when the wheels lost contact with the pavement was enough to make me a little bit panicky. The feeling slowly evaporated as we ascended, and by the time the pilot announced that passengers could use their electronics and leave their seats, I was breathing normally again.

I went back to my music, choosing an album of slow Celtic songs as appropriately gloomy and sleep-inducing. If I closed my eyes, the thrum of the engines was almost soothing. I don't remember falling asleep, but I don't think it took very long.

It was a four hour drive from Seattle to Forks, which merely served to further emphasize the fact that it was in the middle of nowhere. Nowhere, in this case, meant the expanse of irritatingly green forest that surrounded the bus that I was riding. I sighed and checked my watch, wishing that it was light enough to pull out my book and pass the time more pleasantly. Unfortunately, one of the downsides to lots of clouds was the fact that it was already quite dark despite being an hour before sunset.

An incautious shift of my curled up position made me wince as my ankle throbbed. I had managed to trip in Seattle as I tried to wrangle all of my luggage to the bus, once again re-injuring the sprain which I had dealt with since eighth grade, when I had tried out for the soccer team and gotten run over by one of the bigger girls. My doctor had optimistically predicted that the injury wouldn't trouble me for long, but given my track record for stupidly injuring myself, I wasn't too terribly surprised that it was still around.

A kind, fatherly-type man had taken pity on me and helped me move my belongings, telling me that he had a daughter about my age and he'd want someone to do the same for her if she were ever in that situation. Without that assistance, I wasn't sure that I would have made it to the bus in time, and the idea of hanging around the airport all night to catch the morning bus was horrific enough that I was able to overcome my embarrassment at having had to be helped.

I glanced at my watch again, saw that exactly three minutes had passed since the last time I checked, and gave up, turning to stare out of the window into the darkening woods.

Normally, I wouldn't just be sitting around feeling sorry for myself. I usually found more useful things to do with my time, like reading or homework or writing. None of those options were readily available to me right now, which was why I was engaged in self-pity.

How many things could go wrong? I could think of lots of possible misfortunes. I might fail all my classes. I might not make any friends. I might fight with Charlie. I might break my ankle in the middle of the woods and freeze to death, or be eaten by a bear. I might not be able to find a job that allowed me to save up for college. If that happened, my college options might be limited.

It wasn't as though I hadn't considered all of these things before making my decision. I had a habit of weighing every option and then making a stupid choice anyway, usually because I was trying to be nice to someone else at the expense of myself. In this case, I was trying to be nice to Phil and Renee, and succeeding in making myself miserable.

Well, dwelling on my misery wasn't going to help me reconcile myself to living in Forks. What were the upsides? I would get to spend more time with Charlie, which was nice. Even though I didn't see him very much, I liked him. Hopefully our relationship would strengthen a lot while I lived in Forks. I would get to reconnect with the few people I still remembered from my summers in Forks, like the twins and Billy—though maybe I'd bow out of the fishing trips this time. I wouldn't risk heatstroke or sunburns, probably, except maybe in the summer when I went to visit Renee, wherever she was. I wouldn't have to spend as much on sunblock, as I had joked to Renee. I... surely there had to be more positive things than that.

I couldn't really think of any.

It seemed that my self-reflection had taken more time than I had expected, because we were finally approaching Forks. I spotted a lighted "Welcome to Forks" sign and sighed. It made everything so final.

The bus ground to a halt and I waited for everyone else to start exiting before standing up slowly, collecting my luggage and heading awkwardly towards the door. I was not surprised to see Charlie waiting just outside, a slightly anxious smile on his shadowed face.

"Isabella!"

"Dad!" I said, torn between greeting him properly and carefully watching my steps as I tried to get out of the bus. He spotted my difficulty and offered a helping arm, steadying me and giving me something to lean on. Once I was standing on solid ground, I turned to grin genuinely at him.

"How are you, Bells?" he asked, not-so-subtly eying the ankle that I stood gingerly on.

"Good, dad." It was mostly the truth, and I didn't want to ruin our meeting by complaining about anything.

"Your ankle?..." Charlie knew about the old sprain, of course, but didn't know about my habit of re-injuring it every few months.

"Tripped in Seattle," I answered. "It's nothing."

"Oh." Charlie was quiet for a minute, and I took the opportunity to pull the hood of my jacket over my head. It was drizzling slightly, as could only be expected. "Well then, let's get your things in the car and get you home."

'Getting things in the car' turned out to mean me sitting in the front seat of the cruiser while Charlie hauled everything out of the bus and stowed it in the trunk and the back seat. When I had offered to help, he had smiled vaguely and patted me on the shoulder with a 'maybe next time.'

I probably should have worn a warmer jacket, I mused as Charlie slid into the driver's seat beside me. Forks was exceeding my expectations, it seemed.

"Did you eat dinner in Seattle?" Charlie asked, starting up the car and turning the heater a few notches higher.

"No," I answered ruefully, "and I'm starving."

My father grinned at me, and his cheerfulness was catching. "Traveling always makes me hungry. How about pizza?"

I smiled. "Sounds perfect."

Charlie called his order ahead and we picked up our pizza on the way home. As I walked in I noticed how little had changed since my last arrival. The kitchen had a new stove, someone had painted over the peeling wallpaper in the entryway, but it was still the house I had spent summers in as a kid. Now we were curled up on the same old couch I remembered sitting on as a child, watching reruns of I Love Lucy and drinking soda. During an ad break, Charlie muted the TV and turned to me.

"You want a car, right, Bells?"

"Yep," I replied. "Walking all over town in the rain doesn't sound too fun." I smiled in an attempt to take any sting away from my too-honest words, reminding myself to watch my mouth better.

Charlie looked a little bashful, sliding his eyes to the side and rubbing his thumb against his can of Dr. Pepper. "Well, I, uh… I went ahead and bought you one when you said you were coming."

"You bought me a car?" I wasn't quite sure that I believed my ears, but I wasn't in the habit of hearing imaginary voices.

"Well, it's a truck, actually. It used to be Billy Black's – remember him from fishing trips?"

"Yeah, sure I remember him. How is he?" I had never owned a car before – I usually just caught the bus when I needed to go somewhere, and had taken my driver's test in a Honda Civic from the late nineties that belonged to our upstairs neighbor. Somehow, I had always imagined myself driving a nice, small, inconspicuous car, but a truck didn't seem too unfathomable.

"He's doing great. Can't leave his wheelchair anymore, but that hasn't stopped him from doing just about everything." Charlie paused, then smiled, a touch shyly. "He and Jacob—you remember him, too?—will be along for dinner tomorrow to drop it off and tell you all about it."

Distracted from memories of enthusiastic games of tag and pie-eating contests with Jacob and his sisters, I grinned, bouncing upright from my comfortable slouch. "How old is it? What does it look like? How well does it run?"

"Whoa, slow down, eager beaver," Charlie chuckled. "It's a Chevy from the 1950s."

I assumed an expression of shock. "It's older than you are? It must be a fossil!"

Charlie snorted and shoved me with an elbow. "Hey, watch your mouth, young lady. I resemble that remark."

I immediately looked contrite, but I was happy to see that he hadn't forgotten our oldest joke: me calling him ancient and him responding appropriately. Before I could ask any more questions about the truck, the commercial break ended and we turned our attention back to the Ricardo family.