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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.

When I went back out to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around
the school, following the line 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
neighborhoods 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 nicest car here was a shiny
Volvo, and it stood out. Still, I cut the engine as soon as I was in a spot, so that the
thunderous volume wouldn't draw attention to me.

I looked at the map in the truck, trying to memorize 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,

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