Jacob Black? Chapter2+3

Chapter Two
Fourteen days later, I found myself sitting next to my mother on a plane to Port Angeles. I had my ipod turned to a moderately high volume so that I wouldn’t be able to hear the obnoxiously loud snores of my father who sat behind us. I was excited, yet terrified at the same time. I was still somehow affected by the eye that I had drawn, often thinking it as a warning of some sort.

I didn’t know why I still kept the eye. In fact, I put it up on the wall right next to my computer where I could generally see it every time I entered the room. Every time I looked in that direction I would be reminded whether or not it was wise to go to Forks, La Push. But, always afterwards, I would brush it off and tell myself that I had already agreed to it.

Before leaving for the airport, I looked back into my room. And, surprise, surprise, I saw the golden eye. Yet again, I could only stare at it for a few moments, too caught up in its beauty and supernatural feeling to look away. I walked slowly up to it, and carefully peeled it off the wall and folded it into my sweater pocket. Why I did that? I have no idea what-so-ever.

On the plane, I took out the drawing yet again. It was certainly not perfect, but the broad, harsh imperfect strokes were what made the image strangely beautiful. A sudden voice beside me made me jump a mile.

“What’s that Kara?” my curious mother asked, yanking my ear buds out.

“Nothing,” I replied, and quickly shoved the drawing back into my pocket.

“Oh, Kara, just let me see it! It looked pretty good from where I’m sitting!”

“It’s nothing,” I insisted.

She frowned, “If it’s nothing, why would you be hiding it from me?” Oh gosh, how I hate it when people are so analytical about certain situations…

“Because.”

“Because what?” my mother argued back.

I glared at her, and then sighed in defeat. “Fine, here.” I took out the now crumpled paper and gave it to my mom who smoothed it out with her delicate hands. I looked back out the window at the blue skies when I heard a slight intake of breath. Turning, I asked, annoyed, “What, mom?”

She was holding the paper arms length from her, and her face seemed shocked and appreciative. I glowered at the chair in front of me and snatched the paper away from my mother. “No,” she cried, earning appraising looks the couple in front of us. She lowered her voice, “Kara, that’s amazing!”

I shrugged, rolling my eyes. “You’re just saying that.”

My mother shook her hands out in front of her, looking as if she was dismissing a thought. “No, Kara, really, it looks so realistic!”

I just looked at her.

“Why on earth did you drop art in grade eight?” she pursued.

“Drama was the better choice,” I answered in a steely tone.

“Don’t talk to me like that!”

“Mom, what’s your point?” I sighed again.

“My point is that you’re really good. It looks so dramatic and-and everything!” She looked sane enough.

“Fine, okay, whatever,” I said just to get back to how we had been before this unusual conversation.

“Kara, I want you to go into visual art in your new school.”

“Sure, uh huh,” I muttered, fishing out the dropped ear buds again. Then, I realized the real meaning of the words and doubled back. “What? Mom! I love drama!”

“But, your art is good too!”

I shook my head. “They’ll have learnt stuff I haven’t learned there!”

“Kara…” her voice was back to its warning tone.

I glared at her yet again, then finally backed down and said, “I’ll think about it, alright?”

I could tell she wasn’t really satisfied with the answer, but she dropped the topic and let me ignore her for the rest of the trip.

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The next day when we had finally finished unpacking our stuff, I went outside for a walk to get a bit more used to the area before starting school the next day. My parents and I had had a quick dinner last night, and were too tired from the trip here to look around. And, after all the unpacking, all they wanted to do was sit on the couch and plan the next day’s work while watching television. I had always been the more energetic one of the group, and curious too, I guess.

La Push wasn’t that big, but it was beautiful. I had only to walk around a bit to see how handsome the trees around the town stood, protecting the people of the area. The air smelled of fresh nature, not the heavy pollution I was often disgusted by in my hometown of Manhattan. Ambling along, I saw little shops and stores and was tempted to enter one of them. The town was quiet, quite unlike the crude beeps that were always heard outside my old home; the quiet that I could get used to. It made me feel calm, but there was still a sense of mystery and excitement in the air.

It was close to evening, and the sun was already coming down. All around me; the shops, cars, people were surrounded by a halo of golden light emanating from everywhere. And, yet again, I felt a strong magical feeling wash over me as I looked around, entirely spellbound by the splendor of La Push. Then, I heard it. I heard the sound of water, of waves crashing against each other. I could smell a salty tang in the air as I turned toward the sound. And finally, I saw it. A place that had seemed stunning in Twilight, the whole magnificence of it stood before me when I twisted around to view it. I saw the beach.

The beach, of course, is nothing like the whole “meadow thing”. But, it has always been second on my list. Many things happened there between Jacob and Bella, both incredulous, and melancholy. I have always thought that it would look attractive and splendid, just like all beaches did. And it was. It was as beautiful as ever, as ever in my imagination, and just like the image I always saw in my mind, but stunningly different at the same time. The yellow-orange sun was just touching the horizon line where sky and water met. I was awestruck and blown away by the sight.

I stood there, with my mouth hanging open, long after the sun had set, running the picture of the beach over and over in my mind.

Chapter Three
Okay, problem. What do I wear?

Next problem, do I bring anything? Anything at all?

I’d never been to another school before, so I found myself facing many open-ended questions the morning of my first day at a new school located at a place that I was not used to, while these questions might seem silly to many, to me, first impressions have always been important. I stared at my too small closet in my unusually –for me- small bedroom, hands poised at my waist, wondering what on earth I definitely shouldn’t wear. Actually, I was more like glowering at my messily arranged clothes.

I sighed and finally decided on what I had laid out the night before. I changed and sat on my bed, propping a pillow to support my head. I had deliberately woken up early to have plenty of time to get ready in case I suddenly needed anything. It was a strange experience for me, but I wanted it to go as smoothly as possible.

As usual, when I got bored, my mind wandered. I had read enough fan fictions on the internet to sometimes fantasize what it would be like for me to meet a character. I was certain that it would never happen, so, imagining it would be the closest thing to meeting them! After all, I was in La Push, the actual La Push! Who knows what will ever happen?

Hearing the sound of my parents’ alarm clock going off, I sighed and decided to do something productive instead of making myself anxious with first-day-in-a-new-school jitters. I opened the bedroom door and skipped down the short flight of stairs to the kitchen. I tossed my hair into a high pony-tail and flung open the refrigerator door for some eggs and butter. Picking out the pan from its hook beside the stove, I placed it on the stove and turned towards the eggs. Soon, I had a big pile of scrambled eggs on a plate and some sausages cooking neatly on the pan.

“Well, this is a nice surprise,” my mother declared from the bottom of the stairs, startling me. She was in her bath robe and was yawning as she smiled sleepily at me.

“Yup,” I nodded, “but…I don’t think this will turn into a habit.”

She laughed. There was a comfortable silence for a while as she watched me pile the sausages onto another plate. “So, are you ready for school?” she suddenly asked, eyes darting to my face.

I shrugged. “I guess.”

My mom sighed and walked over to place her hands on my shoulder. “Look, Kara, I know how hard it is for you. We’re sorry that we didn’t tell you that we’d be moving, sooner. I just want you to understand that we feel that you’ve been very understanding, and we will make it up to you!” She squeezed my shoulders motherly, “I promise you.”

I turned with a soft smile on my lips. “I know Mom, I do.”

She looked at me for a while longer and then smiled too, and headed back to the stairs muttering, “Oh, my baby Kara’s grown so big now.”

I knew she deliberately said that to lighten up the atmosphere. “Mo-om!”

She chuckled, as she made her way up the stairs.

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School in La Push wasn’t really that different, I was pleased to find. Only, everything was smaller, way smaller. Of course, being in an entirely different state helped the difference. I took deep calming breaths before thanking my mother for the ride, and then proceeding to the main office. It wasn’t hard to find, since it was right next to the main front doors. The halls were mostly deserted since I was still quite a bit early.

The secretary, a kind, middle-aged lady, beamed warmly up from where she sat, as I entered the small room. “How may I help you, dear?” she asked when she saw me idle uncomfortably near the door, wondering what I should do.

I shuffled closer to the desk. “Um, hi, I’m, ah, Kara Laurier, I’m new, and I-I was told to come to the main office when I arrived here?”

She smiled. “Yes, of course, I have your name just here.” She searched through a thin stack of papers, and handed me a sheet. Standing up and leaning closer, she circled a name and a room number. “Your home room teacher is Monsieur Dubois, who is also your French teacher, if you take French this year.” She paused to offer me another reassuring smile and pointed to the room number. “That is the room number. Your schedule and locker number will be handed out to you this morning at home form.”

I thanked her, and stumbled back into the hall. It had filled out with teenagers laughing and chatting about their past summer. When I walked past, I could feel heads turning and mouths talking. I sighed inwardly; my arrival sure did create a stir in the air. As I walked to the room I was assigned to, I noticed people pointing, looking, at me. It wasn’t that hard to notice. The teenagers were pointing and didn’t really stare discreetly enough for me to not be aware of their actions.

Rolling my eyes, as I neared the classroom, I found myself smiling in spite of myself. It was apparent how I didn’t really fit in. I was sure that everyone in the high school had gone to kindergarten, then junior school, junior high and then now, high school together. It probably wasn’t often that a new kid would show up at the beginning of each year.

I pasted a confident smile on my face, and straightened my back, so that I forced myself to walk steadily, and entered my classroom. There were those constant stares as I greeted the man in front of the room, who I suspected was Monsieur Dubois, with a quick polite smile. And, he led me to an empty seat near the back next to a talkative blond haired boy named Austin who sat sprawled, arms and legs all over the small space he had, making his chair look small. He was talking to a group of people around him, animatedly, his hands making gestures as he talked. It seemed that he was in the centre of attention and liked it. “And, I was just sitting there, looking at him. I couldn’t believe what I said!”

Already getting tired of his voice, I tugged my messenger bag off of me and fished out a thoroughly decorated notebook and added more graffiti to its cover with the attached pen. It was when I heard a chair beside me scrape annoyingly that I looked up to glare at the newcomer for being so disruptive. At the same time I heard a jovial yell across the room, “Jake! We’re in same home room.” Jake… My head snapped to the boy beside me. My eyes widened, and I gaped at the boy sitting next to me, looking so much bigger than the rest of the male student body here. With his long jet black hair, tanned skin and dark eyes he looked so…familiar. And, when my mind registered as to why he would look familiar, I gasped out loud and looked quickly down at my notebook again, thoughts spinning in a mad stir, thinking, It can’t be him. It simply can’t. It’s not possible.