Forks Read online

  “Officer Warren, you can call me Ken though.” He gave me a wide smile worthy of toothpaste commercial.

  Ken? His blonde hair was molded to his head with an overload of product and his buff body was snuggly tucked inside a tan uniform.

  What a wad.

  I rolled my eyes and headed back out the door.

  “Amber Regina Elisa Davis, get back inside this house.”

  I tensed and stepped backward. My mom couldn’t pick one name she liked, so she gave me them all. “I am getting the groceries.” Yanking up my hood, I walked back into the torrential downpour.

  After I unloaded the groceries, I stomped up the stairs to take a hot shower and change into my sweats while my soup warmed on the stove. Deputy Dawg finally left but he made a point to say he would be back tomorrow to check in on us “girls”. The way it looked to me, he was checking my Mom out, not the other way around. Still, I guess I should be happy. At least he was real and not some character in my mother’s books she liked to chat with when she thought no one was listening.

  Stacks of boxes were all over my room. I hadn’t unpacked yet. My Mom was never one to stay in one place for very long and I was hoping she would get over her fascination with Forks and take us somewhere warm. Since Deputy Dawg was now in the picture that would probably not be likely though, at least not anytime soon.

  Stripping off my wet clothes, I dropped them in the hamper at the top of the stairs. A laundry chute went to the basement but it made a weird creaking noise when I opened it and it freaked me out. So, like some of the other rooms in this old Victorian monstrosity we were renting, I avoided it as much as possible. On the second floor, there were other larger rooms that I could have used as a bedroom but I liked the vibe I got from the attic. It had a huge circular window and it even opened up onto a little balcony. I had sat out there a few times to see the stars but it was usually raining, cloudy, or foggy. Actually now that I thought about it, I hadn’t seen the sun once since I’d been here. No wonder Stephanie Meyer picked this place to write about, the sun never came out.

  I turned on the television and listened to the wannabe oompha-loompah, bleach blonde newscaster talk about the weather for the next few days. At least she wasn’t sparkling.

  Great.

  It didn’t look like the sun would be shining anytime soon. Apparently, the rain was making a big show of hanging out for a few more days, which meant it would be raining again, tomorrow. Perfect.

  Hopping on one foot, I peeled off my last wet sock and dropped it in the hamper with the rest of my clothes. Grabbing my robe and toiletries, I headed for the bathroom. The only bad thing about being on the top floor, I had to walk down an entire flight of stairs to use the bathroom, which got pretty tricky especially when I was half asleep. Last night, I almost face planted, but since my mother didn’t work, beggars can’t be choosers. She got a pretty decent monthly check from my Dad and also some royalties from a jingle she co-wrote with him, during the short stint they were married. Not that you could tell. Our house was filled with old crappy furniture that looked like it was from a garage sale. I swear she was hiding money away, cuz I could never tell what she spent it on except the movie and book paraphernalia she called brick-a-brack—whatever that was.

  Maybe that was why my dad had a new wife, Jessica. She was “easy on the eyes,” he would say. She reminded me of the character Jessica Rabbit: all boobs. She was only five years older than me, and they had a new kid too, little Humphrey. I called him Humpty Dumpty—he was a real brat. So needless to say I didn’t see my dad often. Instead of parental visits, I got a staple check and card on my birthday and Christmas. And every once in a while I would get some stuffed animal from build-a-bear for Easter. I guess he thought I was still a kid, or I was getting Humphrey’s cast offs.

  Why my mother kept Peggy Sue, her trashy beat up Chevy was beyond me, besides the fact she said it held sentimentality from when she was younger. I wished she would get sentimental about something else and get us a decent car. But no, not my Mom, she wanted to drive around in a tin can for like, ever.

  I tried to get my own car but she wouldn’t hear of that either.

  Heaven forbid.

  She said I had to wait until I officially turned eighteen. Woo! Not. That wouldn’t happen until after I graduated and summer was almost over. I was born in stinking hot August, which makes me a Leo. Grr.

  “Amber, your dinners ready!” Mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

  “Turn it down on low,” I yelled back and then added, “I’ll get it after I shower.”

  “Okay.”

  Dropping my bag of toiletries in the sink, I pushed back the ugly plastic fish-curtain and turned on the shower. It was one of those old timey showers, with a circular rod and a curtain that hung over the top of a claw footed tub. Most of the enamel had come off the outside, so it was brown in spots and looked like I was getting inside the mouth of a dirty monster. I stayed under the warm spray until my frozen limbs got the feeling back in them. This took a while.

  It was already ten o’clock by the time I got dressed and combed the tangles out of my hair. Pushing my feet into my Eskimo slippers, I headed downstairs. My Mom picked the slippers up for one of her yearly trips on her bucket list. She started going on them after she watched the movie Bucket List—go figure. She went to see the aurora borealis and whale watch with one of her “friends.” He was the latest dumper or dumpee…I was never sure. Either way, he was the one that finally pushed my Mom right on over into batshit Crazyville. What a wad.

  The house was eerily silent as I made my way down to the kitchen with the exception of the creaking… everything. What was it about old houses—they all made god-awful noises. The realtor said the house was settling. The thing was a hundred years old; you would think it would be settled by now.

  A little light was on over the stove. My Mom must have gone to bed to “catch up on more of her reading” as she put it. I didn’t get it. She was always reading so I wasn’t sure what there was to catch up to.

  Most of the liquid had boiled out of my soup, so now it was mostly chunks. Too lazy to grab a bowl, I pulled out a tablespoon from the drawer and took a few bites, chasing it with a glass of milk my Mom had set out on the counter for me. I hated cold milk.

  Afterward, I put the pan in the sink to soak, rinsed out my glass, and refilled it with water before I headed up to bed. Luckily, I didn’t have any homework.

  Flicking off the light, I made my way back up the gloomy stairwell to the second floor. Over to my left I could see the light from my Mom’s room coming from under her door, so apparently she was still awake. I debated going over to say goodnight to her but decided against it since she would probably keep me up all night with a blow by blow of her evening with Deputy Dawg.

  Yawning, I climbed the stairs to my room and shut myself inside. It was too weird, keeping the door open—too many strange noises.

  Making my way to the bed, I grabbed the remote and cranked the volume on the television—to block out said weird noises. Pulling back the covers, I launched my slippers across the floor and climbed in bed. An old episode of I love Lucy was playing and I fell asleep to Ricky yelling, “Lucy you got some splaining to do.”

  I was pretty sure I was dreaming. Jake Langford, my biggest crush ever, was holding my hand, his thumb rubbing the inside of my left palm. Tingling sensations spread up my arm. It felt so real. His blue eyes stared down at me and he was smiling. I could smell the Abercrombie and Fitch “Fierce” cologne he always wore. His brown hair fell forward over his brow as he leaned his beautiful face toward mine. I knew he was going to kiss me. His lips touched mine gently; they were soft and hard at the same time. I caught a whiff of cinnamon and my dream veered off course. Gently, a hand brushed my hair away from my face. His deep blue eyes turned green with flecks of gold.

  “And so the lion fell in …” The words vibrated in my ear.

  My eyes snapped open. I pushed up, breathing heavily. It was still
dark outside. Twilight was playing on the television…again. I groaned. “Shut up Edward.” Hitting the off button, I threw the remote across the room and fell back on the bed.

  This time when I shut my eyes, I didn’t dream at all.

  The sound of the shower splattering in the tub woke me. Disoriented, I looked around my room.

  I jumped from bed and ran over to my window. It was wide open and rain was pouring all over my desk and lamp. Freezing rain pelted me in the face as I struggled to get the heavy window shut. With one final tug, it finally closed.

  “I could have sworn I shut this.” Leaning down, I grabbed up the towel from last night. Something stuck to my foot. I lifted it up. Red covered the bottom.

  “Dangit!” Hopping over to my bed, I sat down. Gray morning light spilled through the large circular window. Settling back on the bed, I lifted my foot. My foot wasn’t bleeding; instead a Red Hot was oozing all over it. Picking off the sticky candy, I used the edge of the towel and wiped off as much of the red as I could.

  It was weird. I didn’t remember bringing candy up to my room. Closing my eyes, I fell back against my bed, dragging my covers over my face.

  Not two minutes had passed before my alarm buzzed. I jerked up, heart thumping wildly.

  “Shut up.” I beat the clock’s off button until it finally cut off. It never worked right—probably because I had a tendency to beat it daily. Sitting up, I looked around my room. I had the oddest feeling something was off—like something had changed since I went to sleep last night. Whatever it was, I couldn’t figure it out. Water pooled on my floor and desk, so I cleaned it up. Once finished, I grabbed my bag of toiletries and headed downstairs to get ready for school. Surprisingly, I wasn’t dreading it as much as I did the day before.

  After my shower, I dried my hair and I pulled on a pair of tan jeans and tossed on a black V-neck sweater over a plain white t-shirt. Opting not to wear my ridiculous boots, I shoved my feet into a pair of black converse. I didn’t care if my feet got wet. For some reason, one I didn’t want to ponder too much, I actually cared what I looked like for school today.

  Clomping down the stairs with my messenger bag and slicker in tow, I walked into the kitchen. The light was still off. I hit the switch and warm light spilled into the kitchen over the ugly linoleum floor. Grabbing a breakfast bar, I ripped open the wrapper and took a bite, while filling the coffee pot with water.

  “Good morning, sweetheart.” My Mom yawned, shuffling into the kitchen.

  “Hey Mom,” I mumbled past my bite of breakfast bar, glancing over my shoulder. Her hair was mussed and she was wearing her bright pink fuzzy robe with her own pair of Eskimo slippers. She looked younger than I did.

  “Are you using the car again?”

  “Yeah, if that’s all right,” I managed, swallowing my too large bite.

  “I suppose.” She sighed like she was mortally wounded.

  “I don’t want to ride the bus,” I pressed. We had this same conversation a million times. “I’ll look like a loser.”

  “Yes, yes, Amber. I hear you loud and clear.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  She lifted her brow. “You want a car of your own but I told you about that already.”

  “We need another car.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “We don’t.”

  “That’s because you’re not the one who will look like a dork riding the bus.”

  “You’re always so melodramatic, Amber.” She rolled her eyes. “It’s not that bad.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I said you could take the car, didn’t I?”

  “Well, yeah, but what about tomorrow and the next day and the …”

  She held up her hand. “We will have that conversation when we need to have it. Now I want some coffee. Did you make enough for me or did you only make enough for yourself.”

  I tensed. I swear my mom could be such a pain in the rear. “Yes, as always,” I sighed, “I made enough for you, too.”

  Grinning widely, she shuffled over and pulled me into a hug. Her hand slid down the length of my hair. “You have such pretty hair, it’s a shame you don’t do more with it.”

  And there it was, “KAPOW”, another backhanded compliment. My mom was great at giving those.

  “You could braid it, you know.”

  “Eww, Mom, I’m not ten.”

  Inhaling deeply, she pressed my face against her fuzzy robe. “Mom, I can’t breathe.”

  She let go. “I miss when you were little.”

  “Yes, I know.” This wasn’t the first time my mom said that. It happened all the time. Not that I minded… really… but it would be nice if she said she liked me the way I was now and not the way I had been years ago.

  “What are you going to do today?” I took another bite of my breakfast bar.

  “Well,” she exhaled and pushed her hands into her pockets. “I guess I could paint one of the rooms upstairs or maybe I will work on my book some.”

  “Definitely work on your book,” I said. The last thing I wanted was my mom painting. She had a habit of starting a project and quitting in the middle and then I would have to finish it for her. I didn’t want to paint.

  “Yeah,” she said. “I have some ideas for one of my characters.

  “Great.” My mom was writing a novel. She’d been at it for as long as I could remember. It kept her occupied though, so I was glad for it. That way she wasn’t off doing…well, who knew.

  “Don’t forget what Ken said about going off by yourself.”

  “Huh?”

  “Ken…” She widened her eyes. “The Deputy…”

  “Oh right,” I said, remembering. He was the Wad with molded hair. “Why’s that again?” I had blocked out most of the conversation.

  “Amber,” she exhaled and shook her head. “There was another incident nearby.”

  “What kind of incident?”

  She let out an exasperated sigh, poured two cups of coffee, and handed one out to me. “It’s the third one this month.” She crossed her arms, sipping her coffee. It was one thing we had in common, we both drank our coffee black.

  “Oh—kay,” I said slowly and took a sip of coffee. “What happened to them?” I asked, not thinking too much about it. We used to live near D.C. and people were always dropping like flies around that place.

  “I’m not sure, what happened… exactly. You can ask him tonight.” She took another sip.

  “What?” I spluttered out coffee. “He’s going to be here again.” I set my cup down with a thud.

  “Amber!”

  “What?”

  “Don’t.”

  “Don’t …what?” I crossed my arms.

  “You know exactly what I am talking about.” She set her cup down.

  “Fine.”

  “I need you to go to the store too.”

  “I was just there yesterday.” My voice came out a screechy whine.

  She lifted her brow in warning, which meant she was at the end of her patience.

  I exhaled. “What do you need?”

  “Some steaks, potatoes…here I made a list.” She pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to me.

  Scanning the list, I noticed she had a lot more good stuff on it for Ken’s dinner than she did for ours. Typical.

  five

  The bell rang just as I pulled into the parking lot.

  Great.

  I lifted my messenger bag and fiddled with the strap. I was hoping Vincent would pop into my car again but as the warning bell rang, I realized this probably wasn’t going to happen. Sighing, I lifted the handle and climbed out into another bank of fog. I shut my door and locked it. Stepping up on the sidewalk, I yanked my hood up, making my way to class.

  Footsteps sounded behind me.

  I glanced over my shoulder but it was too foggy to see anything. A shiver of dread raced up my spine. Picking up my pace, I walked faster toward class. The sound of footsteps approachin
g sped up too. By the time I made it to the corner of the building, I was running. Breathless, I ran into the side door.

  The halls were deserted. I didn’t think I was that late. I could have sworn I heard the warning bell when I was in my car.

  I made it halfway down the hall when I heard the door open from behind. I turned, some small part of me hoping it was Vincent. It wasn’t. Instead, it was the guy who accosted me in the hall yesterday. He was standing just inside the door. His lip curled into a smile.

  Ducking my head back around, I hurried toward my first class. I could hear him laughing the whole way.

  The door to my English class groaned in protest as I pushed it open. The lights were out and it was weirdly silent. I was about to have a full-on- crap attack.

  “Take a seat, Ms. Davis, we don’t have all day,” Ms. Campbell said. A consensus of snickering followed. Now I had two reasons not to like her.

  “Turtle,” I mumbled, making my way across the room and slid into my desk.

  “Care to share your thoughts, Ms. Davis?”

  “Ah…not particularly,” I muttered, grabbing out my notebook. My bag fell open and my books thudded loudly on the floor.

  “Dangit.”

  “Ms. Davis,” Ms. Campbell screeched.

  Another round of snickering erupted.

  “Sorry.” Right then I decided turtle was too nice a name for her.

  A hand held out my book to me.

  “Thanks.” I grabbed my book and looked up into the smiling gray eyes of the guy that was in the hall behind me only moments before.

  “Not a problem,” he said.

  “How…”

  “Ms. Davis,” Ms. Campbell, screeched yet again. “Are you ready to begin class?”

  “Yep, I’m good.” I slid to the very edge of my chair, trying to put as much space between me and “the flash” as possible.

  The projector made a ticking noise as images of Romeo and Juliet flickered on the white screen on the wall. I glanced to my side, trying to be inconspicuous. Slumped down in his seat he doodled on a piece of paper, his long legs kicked out in front. My stomach clenched.