Chapter Text
The novelty of an Arizona transplant would wear off soon. Isabella Swan was your average pretty-girl-next-door type, so it made sense she became the school's shiniest new toy. But new girls only lasted as the town headliner as long as they were exactly that: new. Isabella would be no exception.
At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
She sat three rows ahead in my Trig class, surrounded. Mike Newton and Eric Yorkie circled her desk like dogs around a bone, their subtlety nonexistent. Jessica Stanley glared hard enough to melt steel, her jaw tight with thinly veiled jealousy. Isabella noticed—the discomfort was written in every fidget, every shift away when the boys leaned too close, every averted gaze—but she never told them to leave her the hell alone.
I couldn't figure out if she was just polite or perhaps a bit cowardly. Maybe both.
High school drama was annoying on a good day. What really ground my gears was the constant interrogation from friends and foes alike, everyone assuming I'd have insider information on my estranged cousin. Like proximity by blood meant I knew her favorite color or what she thought about this dreary, rainy weather or whether she was secretly pining for half the junior class’s attention.
I didn't know any of those things, but I got tired of telling everyone that after the fourth interrogator.
Estrangement. The idea sounded more heartfelt than it actually was, loaded with implications of a tragic fallout. The truth was simpler and somehow sadder. We used to be close, playing together whenever Isabella came to town from her mom's house in Phoenix. Summer visits, mostly. We'd make mud pies in the backyard, chase Jacob Black around the La Push reservation with sticks, build forts out of couch cushions in Uncle Charlie's living room. Isabella had been my best friend, my partner in crime, my favorite person in the world.
That camaraderie stopped as soon as she turned nine.
I never understood why. One summer she was there, laughing and covered in dirt and nursing Jacob’s bruised ego, and the next she was... different. Quiet, reserved, flighty. She'd sit on Uncle Charlie's porch reading books instead of playing outside. She declined my invitations to go exploring in the woods, over and over again. She spent every summer counting down the days until she’d be back in Phoenix—and then one summer, California became her and Uncle Charlie’s go-to destination whenever she came to visit. She disappeared from my life as fast as she came into it.
Forks became the American equivalent of Hell to her—ironic, considering the Phoenix heat.
I'd been hurt at first, almost like a scorned lover. I asked my dad every summer where she went and when she’d come back. Time healed the brunt of it—took away my questions, swallowing them whole.
This new version of Isabella was a conundrum. I didn't know her at all.
Frankly, I didn’t want to.
Uncle Charlie knocked on our door last October, all smiles and bright eyes, telling me and my dad that Isabella was coming back to Forks to stay—during the winter, not the summer. To attend school, semi-permanently. Dad had mentioned that Renee, Isabella’s ditzy, harebrained mom, remarried some minor league baseball player. That they’d be traveling throughout the country, taking Isabella with them. Yet, Isabella had always been a homebody. I couldn’t say I was surprised she chose the lesser of two evils, despite her disdain for ugly weather.
I'd seen pictures of Isabella at her Arizona peak on her sparse social media: still pale despite the relentless desert sun, dressed in thin garments and loose cardigans, dark hair in a messy bun, cheeks flushed pink from dry heat. She was one of those naturally pretty girls who could make a burlap bag look like a designer dress. I knew immediately Lauren and Jessica would hate her.
I wasn't psychic, but judging by those doe-eyed, girl-next-door looks alone, I also knew she'd be accosted by every Tom, Dick, and Harry the second she stepped through the doors of Forks High.
I was right. Unfortunately.
Uncle Charlie had wanted me to show her around when she first arrived, be her tour guide and silver lining in a town full of strange faces. I agreed because saying no to Uncle Charlie felt like kicking a puppy—I loved the hell out of that man and would do anything he asked, same with my father. But I knew from the start that Isabella and I would get along like oil and water, fire and ice, night and day. She wouldn't want a babysitter following her around, especially not one she left in the dust so far into her unsavory past. Even as children, we weren’t very compatible—not as friends, at least.
We couldn’t even make do as cousins. That ship had sailed years ago, and I'd long since made peace with it.
"Look at them, the vultures," Jessica hissed from beside me, breaking me from my thoughts. I glanced over to see her face contorted into something ugly, her eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin, straight line. "All slobbering over the new girl like she's any prettier than Lauren. It's so unfair."
I followed Jessica's gaze, lasering in on Isabella. She sat at her desk looking small and uncomfortable, hounded by idiotic hormonal boys who had no concept of personal space. My eyes found one in particular: Mike, standing so close to her desk that she'd practically flattened herself against her chair to maintain some form of distance.
It didn't take a genius to figure out why Jessica was so annoyed. Her three-year campaign for Mike’s attention came to mind.
Now here was Isabella—pretty, new, interesting—inadvertantly stealing his attention.
"New girls are like chew toys, Jess," I said, keeping my voice low enough that only she could hear. "Dogs get bored and go after another one eventually. Give it a few weeks."
"Easy for you to say, Rory." Jessica's voice wavered slightly, and I felt a pang of sympathy despite my general annoyance with the situation. "The boy you like isn't fawning over another girl. I don't want him drooling over her.”
I shifted my stare to Jessica, letting it linger. The truth was, I didn't have a boy I liked. Maybe if I did—if I had some guy tripping over his own feet desperate for my attention only to completely ignore me when a new girl bulldozed into town—I'd be a little more understanding. But romance had never been high on my priority list. The boys at Forks High were either idiots, assholes, or some combination of the two. Mike Newton would never be an option for me, even if he was my only option.
Jessica huffed and crossed her arms over her chest, slumping down in her seat. "Don't give me that look."
"What look?" I asked innocently.
"That 'you’ll get over it’ look. The one that says I'm being dramatic."
"You're not being dramatic," I said, but it was a flimsy attempt at reassurance. I was never a very good liar. "You're allowed to be upset about… Isabella."
Jessica narrowed her eyes. "Why do I get the feeling there’s a ‘but’?"
I sighed, reaching out to put my hand on her shoulder. "But there's other fish in the sea, Jess. If Mike's going after another girl, it's his loss, you know? You're better than pining after some idiot guy who goes after new girls like they’re pieces of meat.”
It was the truth, even if it came out sounding like a hallmark card. She deserved better than Mike Newton and his wandering attention span. Although, I’d never cheer on a relationship with that guy. Jessica knew it, too.
Her narrow-eyed, pursed-lip look crumbled into something tender. She jerked away from my hand, burying her face in her arms on the desk. "Yeah, other fish who wanna swim in her pond," she mumbled into her sleeve.
I said nothing in response. There wasn’t much one could say to spare her feelings or draw her ire elsewhere. I could give her space to feel her feelings—as unjustified as they seemed to be.
I never knew another way to handle her.
The bell rang, mercifully ending my search for the right words. Jessica gathered her things without looking at me, and I didn't push. She'd come around eventually. She always did.
After Trig came English—a mundane affair made even worse by the steady stream of people who came up to ask me about Isabella.
What was she like? Was she nice? Did she have a boyfriend back in Arizona? Was she planning to stay in Forks permanently? Did I know if she had a crush on anyone yet?
I gave vague, noncommittal answers and tried not to grind my teeth into dust. My ire was like a bubbling, boiling cauldron—only growing hotter with every misplaced inquiry.
At last came lunch, the one time of day I actually looked forward to. Not because the food was good—it wasn't—but because it meant the school day was halfway over. I met up with Jessica at her locker, relieved to see that her mood had improved from this morning. She wasn't smiling, but she wasn't wearing the expression of a post-war soldier either.
Progress.
We walked together to the cafeteria line, filling our trays with whatever looked least likely to trigger a gag reflex. I grabbed a slice of pizza that looked like it had been sitting under a heat lamp since the Clinton administration, some wilted salad, and a bottle of water. Jessica got the same, plus a chocolate chip cookie that looked only slightly stale.
As soon as I glanced over to our usual table, I grimaced.
Isabella was there, sitting beside Angela Weber.
I nudged Jessica with my elbow. "Look."
Jessica whipped around, eyes shooting over to our table, and I watched her face cycle through about ten different emotions before settling on frustration. "No, no, no. Who invited her?"
"Dunno." I squinted my eyes, scanning the table. Mike was there, practically vibrating with excitement. Eric and Tyler too, both looking equally eager. And Lauren Mallory, one of the most shallow girls I'd ever had the misfortune of knowing, sat across from Isabella with a glare that would carbonize lesser beings. "Must've been one of the boys."
"Damn it." Jessica looked about as happy as I felt, which was to say not at all.
Regardless of how either of us felt about it, we walked over in synchrony, schooling our faces before we came into our friend group’s peripheral. Jessica was better at it than me; her smile looked almost genuine as we approached. Mine probably looked like I was fighting off a stomach bug.
I sat beside Lauren, the only seat available that would get me as far away from Isabella as possible. Lauren was catty, vain, and had the depth of a puddle, but at least she wasn’t my cousin.
"Hi! Isabella, right?" Jessica said with a bright, toothy smile that didn't quite match the incinerating pits of her eye. She plopped down beside Mike, who was conveniently right beside Isabella. "I'm Jessica, but you can call me Jess. We have Trig and Spanish together."
"Yeah, I think I saw you." Isabella’s voice was quiet, almost shy. She fiddled with a loose thread on her hoodie, not quite making eye contact with anyone. "And, uh, I go by Bella, not Isabella."
Huh. Some things never change.
She'd always hated her full name, even as a kid. Said it sounded too formal. I'd called her Bella back then without thinking twice about it. Now it felt weird to use that nickname, like I was claiming a familiarity we no longer had.
So I chose not to.
Jessica's smile didn't falter, though I could still see the strain at the corners of her mouth. "Well, nice to meet you, Bella. How are you liking Forks so far?"
"It's cold," Isabella said, finally looking up, "and wet."
Everyone at the table laughed like her Arizonian humor was some of the funniest comedy they’d heard in years. I joined in, a beat too late.
"That it is, Arizona," Mike said, and then he threw his arm around Isabella’s shoulder. Jessica went rigid beside him, her knuckles white where she gripped her fork. "Like it? Hate it? Big difference from Phoenix, I bet."
Isabella shifted underneath Mike's arm but didn't shrug him off. "It's very... different," she said carefully. “I'm not sure about it yet."
I took a bite of mashed potatoes, chewed, swallowed. Before I could think better of it, I cleared my throat, attracting the eyes of everyone at the table. "You get used to it eventually," I said finally, my voice coming out a bit blank and monotone. "Just takes time and patience."
Isabella recoiled slightly, like she'd expected me to brood silently until the bell rang and we all had to scatter to our next classes. She looked up, and I met her eyes head-on. She had the same eyes as Uncle Charlie, as my dad, as me: deep brown, hazel-specked. Swan eyes. Family eyes.
It was unsettling, looking at her. Like looking into a funhouse mirror that showed me a version of myself I could have been—prettier and softer. We looked alike enough to draw sibling allegations. We looked more Swan than anything else, from the dark shaggy hair to our stubborn jaws to the pale complexions that rejected any form of tan.
"Now, now, Rory, don't go acting all wise on us again." Mike wagged a finger at me from across the table, his tone light but carrying an edge of defensiveness underneath. "You got that smart-ass, I-know-everything tone going on."
I rolled my eyes so hard my vision briefly flickered black. "Shut up, Michael."
Mike was only getting defensive because he wanted to prove to Isabella that he had her back, that he out of all the annoying boys in Forks was the one she should choose to date. It was a pathetic display of peacocking, and my hand twitched, imagining him wearing a face of mashed potatoes and crinkly lettuce leaves.
Isabella paid him no mind though, which I had to give her credit for. Her eyes were trained on something behind me, going wide with wonder. She went from polite disinterest to gawking, her whole body orienting toward whatever had caught her attention.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what, or who, she was looking at.
"Who are they?" Isabella breathed, her voice barely above a whisper but somehow still heard in the sudden quiet that befell our table.
I looked over my shoulder, confirming what I already knew.
The Cullens.
They sat at their usual table in the far corner of the cafeteria, as removed from the rest of the student body as physically possible while still being in the same room. Five of them, arranged with the kind of artful composition you'd see in a painting. They were beautiful—inhumanly, impossibly beautiful—in a way that made them seem more like sculptures than living people.
Edward and Emmett Cullen sat on one side, contrasting studies in dark and light. Edward with his bronze hair and angular features, looking like some tragic poet from a Gothic novel. Emmett with his dark curls and broad shoulders, built like a guy who wrestled bears for a living.
Across from them sat the twins—Jasper and Rosalie Hale, both fair-haired and ethereal and genetic lottery winners. Rosalie was the kind of beautiful that made other girls turn their hatred inward, statuesque and perfect bone structure. Jasper was leaner, taller, with honey-blonde hair and features that felt like they were cut from stone.
And then there was Alice Cullen. Tiny and pixie-like, with short black hair that stuck up in purposeful spikes. She looked like she could be a cast member of Girl, Interrupted.
Even the most devil-may-care and unaware wouldn’t be able to overlook the Cullens. It was impossible.
Jessica perked right up, clearly thrilled to be the one to provide information. This was her specialty—gossip, social dynamics, insider info. "That's Edward and Emmett Cullen, and then the blonde ones—the twins, if you couldn’t tell—are Jasper and Rosalie Hale. The little one is Alice Cullen. They're Dr. Cullen's adopted kids. He and his wife moved here from Alaska about two years ago."
"They're..." Isabella trailed off, trapped in a daze, staring with no intention of looking away. Her cheeks flushed slightly, and I recognized that look. I'd seen it on Jessica's face. On Lauren's face. On pretty much every girl's face when they first saw the Cullens, including mine. "Um, I mean, they're very nice-looking."
Nice-looking, really? I cut her a side-eye.
Jessica took the words right out of my mouth: "Nice-looking? Gorgeous, you mean!" She giggled, the sound high and wince-worthy. She was playing it up, leaning into the gossip, but I could hear the undertone of something bitter. She'd been rejected by Edward Cullen. It still stung, all these months later. "They're all together though, and it's really weird. Emmett and Rosalie, then Alice and Jasper. Like, they're dating. Even though they live together. Like, illegal level of weird."
"What about him?" Isabella pointed at Edward, and I wanted to tell her she should learn some subtlety if she wanted to stay in this tiny, everybody-knows-everybody town.
But then Edward glanced over, like he'd sensed we were gawking at him and his siblings. His dark eyes—almost black in the cafeteria fluroscents—locked onto Isabella with an intensity that made my skin crawl.
He looked away just as quickly, but something about the interaction felt wrong. Deliberate. Like a predator acknowledging prey.
I couldn’t help but mirror Isabella’s stare, with entirely different intentions.
"Edward? You’re barking up the wrong tree, sister,” Jessica huffed. I remembered her bathroom SOS from last year, meeting her between classes because she'd been crying her eyes out. She worked up the courage to ask Edward to the Sadie Hawkins dance. He turned her down cold, and it was almost cruel, the way he denied her. The way he dismissed her. Like the idea of dating her—of dating anyone—was fundamentally absurd. "He's gorgeous, of course, but don't waste your time. He doesn't date. Apparently none of the girls here are good-looking enough for him."
Edward’s rejection was brutal, and I was glad to have not been on the receiving end of it. He didn't date, didn’t talk to anyone beyond basic pleasantries, didn't participate in school activities. He and his siblings moved through Forks High like phantoms, present but only in passing.
Isabella looked down, chewing on her bottom lip. A nervous habit I recalled from childhood. Her go-to move when she was on the precipice of getting in trouble—or admitting something she didn’t want to.
I watched her carefully before my gaze rotated back to Edward. He pressed his knuckles to his mouth, and if I didn't know better, I'd say he was suppressing a smile. Like he overheard us. Like he found Jessica’s words wholly amusing.
That wrongness intensified. Made the hair on the back of my neck rise in a standing ovation of dread.
The Cullens rose as one and followed each other out of the cafeteria, in pairs except for the enigmatic Edward. They didn't speak to each other, didn't acknowledge the other students, just glided out like they were kings among commoners.
Because they were, I supposed. Hard to care about cafeteria drama when you looked like that.
My eyes found Isabella again. She wore the same starstruck expression Jessica had when the Cullens first moved here. A look of interest that went further than cursory. A look that set off alarm bells in my head and made my stomach churn.
I had a bad feeling about this.
A very bad feeling.