Present Day

Late August, 2016

San Antonio, Texas

The sky was a beautiful, azure blue, clear of any clouds, and the air was still a bit too warm from the not-yet-gone summer.

My mamá drove me to the San Antonio Bus Station with the windows of the boat, a white, two thousand seven Cadillac Escalade that belongs to mamá, rolled completely down. She was singing—quite badly at that—to Selena's Bidi Bidi Bom Bom playing on the radio, giving us some background noise. My sister, Isabela, whom I call Izzy, and I affectionately refer to our mamá's vehicle as The Boat due to its sheer size.

Our mamá's name is Renata Swan, formerly Garcia, but she decided to keep her old married name when she divorced our father.

Renata met our father, Charlie Swan, near Lake Crescent during the Spring of nineteen-ninety-three. Her senior class at Providence School, an all-girls private school in San Antonio, was undertaking their annual camping trip as a last hurrah before graduation and going off to college. She was—and still is—a stunner: a voluptuous, headstrong, raven-haired beauty. My grandparents, Ricardo and Maria-Teresa Garcia—friends and family called her Mayté for short—legally immigrated from Guadalajara, a city in western Mexico notorious for drug cartels, territory disputes between gangs, and kidnappings of bystanders, to settle in San Antonio, Texas.

They wanted a better life for their growing family, but try as they might to keep her under a strict thumb, my mama remained—for better or worse—a bold free spirit who never fit in the role of a caged nightingale.

Papá was a great date, handsome and kind, newly graduated with an enlistment into the United States Marines, as per the wishes of his own father, Geoffrey. Abuelo served between the years of 1940 and 1975 (the year papá was born), rising to the rank of Major General before an injury forced him to retire. He deeply wished for his only child to follow in his footsteps—and Papá did.

Even though Renata is in her early forties, she has always been more of a best friend than a parent to my sister and I. I know for a fact if Abuela Mayté hadn't took over with raising us, important things like food and bills would've been left to either to one of us girls to manage. That's one of the things I'm grateful, oh so grateful for, in regards to Abuela—she gave us a childhood.

Izzy was in the backseat, one hand dancing out the window in the comfortable breeze. She held in her a lap a brightly colored dahlia in a flowerpot meant for me, but was holding onto it until we got to the bus station.

I was wearing a dress that was black with a sequin-embellished bodice and skirt. The tassel hemline sways with every move made. I paired the dress with my favorite pair of black boots—complete with a silver boot chain around my right ankle. My carry-on item was a denim vest with tassels along the back and under both front pockets.

Before we started bringing luggage to the car, Bela had made the suggestion that I should make a fashion statement by wearing this ensemble on my first day as a Forks High School student. My thoughts exactly.

In the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State, a small town called Forks exists under a near-constant cover of clouds and rain. It rains on this town more than any other place in the United States of America. It was from this town and its gloomy, depressing shade (my sister and mother's words, not my own) that my mother escaped with Bela and I when we were only two years and six months old. It was in this town that my sister and I spent our summer vacations when we were younger. Not including my quinceanera, where I decided that we all could take a trip to Cancun in lieu of a traditional celebration, Bela came up with the idea that instead, we'd spend our summers with Charlie in nearby California.

I leaned my head against the passenger window and watched on as the San Antonio landscape flew by with the people out and about with their daily lives. More than anything, I longed to be among them. Shopping, going out to eat, even riding in the horse-drawn carriage down the streets.

Bela sighed behind me. Like me, she was staring out her respective window and watching the scenery fly by.

That is the part I'll miss most by leaving San Antonio and going to Forks to live, not that I had any problems with the little logging community. Not as many problems as Bela had. Yes, it's the wettest and rainiest town in the states. What can you expect from a place that literally exists right off the Olympic Peninsula and is surrounded on all sides by mountains and, to the surprise of nobody, the ocean?

"Sela," Mamá called out to me—the last of a thousand times—before I got on the greyhound. "You really don't have to do this, mi hija. We can figure something out."

Although we're close, as close as sisters with a two-year age gap can be, our appearances couldn't be any more different. We inherited the dark hair of our parents, although mine is closer to being black unlike Bela's brown. Bela and I have chocolate brown eyes and an olive skin complexion—a proud legacy from our Mexican ancestors, though Bela is lighter in color. No doubt from Papá. Where Bella is content lounging on the couch with a good book at hand, I like to get out and see what I can discover. I'm a lot like Renata in that way.

Another thing I see different between us is that Bela wants to go to college right after high school and major in English Language and Literature. But when I graduate from high school, I'm going to hit the ground running. What I want to do is travel, see new places and experience new things—like a tumbleweed drifting in the wind.

"If she wants to go, let her." Bela's voice broke me out of my thoughts. She shrugged. "Who knows? Maybe Forks will do Mari more good than her being here." I got to hand it to my sister, Bela is just too awesome for words. She's the only person I ever told my reason for wanting to go to Forks, and I know her lips are sealed. Even to our Mamá.

The town of Forks has humble beginnings as a home for loggers and fishermen, and to this day, gets by being fueled by the local timber industry. Hikers, fishermen, and hunters alike are drawn in by the appeal of nearby Olympic National Park. I felt drawn to the little town, but not in the same manner as those people. And it's not something I can easily explain to my mother. I know she would only misconstrue it. That feeling—the pull drawing me to go home—has been getting stronger and stronger the closer to the bus station I get; a feeling that I never felt when I visited in the past.

"Yes, I do." I corrected Mamá. Then went for reassurance. "Look on the bright side, with me gone you get some quality time with Bela."

"Well, if you insist. Tell Charlie I said howdy."

"You better believe it." I said, giving her a small smile. "Everything will be just great, trust me."

"I'll see you soon," She insisted, reaching up to adjust the clasp on the oval locket I wore, which dangled from a long silver chain around my neck. It had belonged to my Abuela Mayte. Inside was a picture of her as a newborn with her parents that was taken in 1920—according to Abuela, her father went missing a couple of months after she was born. "Remember that you can always come home whenever you want—I'll come running the second you need me."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

She hugged me tightly for a minute, but before completely letting me go, she took me by both shoulders and had a stern look on her normally friendly face. "Watch after yourself, keep that under control and no matter how much you might be tempted to, don't use it on your new classmates."

"Yeah, what she means by that is," Bela cut in with a mischievous grin. "Don't kill anyone, at least not in public."

I had to suppress a snort at that. "Isabela Maria!" Mamá gasped with eyes wide, before whirling around to pin my sister with a withering glare. Bela raised her hands up in front of her. "You know that's not what I meant! And don't give your sister ideas!!"

Okay. So, I might have left out one itsy, bitsy detail. One little detail that sets me apart from my sister and most of my family. I am what some people call a telekinetic; a person with the ability to manipulate movement and matter with their mind. You ever heard of Jean Grey from Marvel's X-Men? I'm like her, except without the malevolent secondary personality that wants to destroy everything. I've had telekinesis for as long as I can remember. According to Papá, I inherited the ability from his mother, Helen.

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With four transfers—my first being in Dallas—between here and Forks, and who knows how many stops along the way, I am spending an estimate of two days and seventeen hours on the road. Well, I did want an adventure. The trip might not have been so bad if not for the fact I shared my seating arrangement next to this older woman with an obsession for things feline related and the color pink. She talked my ears off about her collection of ornamental cat plates.

Thankfully, we separated when the greyhound pulled up to the Sacramento Bus Station, and I got the rest of my trip to Seattle in some peace.

Papá has been fairly nice about the whole situation. He seemed genuinely pleased that I was coming to live with him for the first time with any degree of permanence. He'd already gotten me registered for high school, though I am disappointed Bela and I won't be attending the same school anymore. She's starting her first year of high school and I will be going in as a junior.

Here's something I recently found out. We started back to school a couple of days ago in San Antonio, but in the state of Washington, students return to school in September. I will be the only one that can say I experienced the first day of school twice in the same year.

When I arrived in Seattle, it was raining. This was to be expected and completely unavoidable. Papá was waiting for me with Bumblebee. Bumblebee is the name of my yellow and black, two-thousand fourteen Chevy Camaro—given as an award for earning my learner's permit and a quinceanera gift. Yeah, I named my car after a transformer. Big whoop. Now that I've got my provisional license, I can drive Bee to school. That's bound to turn heads.

I wasn't expecting that, though.

To the good people living in Forks, Washington, Papá is known as the Chief of Police. He made it as far as corporal before deciding to leave the Marines, but found his calling in helping people as a police officer and later, as Forks, Washington's Chief of Police. I think he's rather good at it.

I'm sure we made quite the spectacle when Papá spun me in his arms. A year of not seeing him felt like forever to me. "It's good to see you, Mars," He finally said, after he got me on sturdy ground. "You haven't changed much. How's Ren? And Bells?" Ren is what he calls my mother. He's done that for as long as he's known her.

"They're both fine. It's good to see you, too, Papá."

"Your friends in La Push are looking forward to seeing you again." He announced when we were strapped in. La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.

"I'm looking forward to seeing them too. And catching up."

"Do you remember Billy Black?"

"Uhm, vaguely."

"He used to go fishing with us during the summer," Papá prompted. He continued when I didn't respond. "He's in a wheelchair now and cannot drive anymore, leaving it to his children to take him where he needs to go." Growing up, I used to be tight with Rebecca and Rachel, Billy Black's twin daughters. They have a younger brother a few years younger than Bela.

"How have they been doing—aside from that?"

"Pretty good. The girls have been talking about leaving La Push once they graduate." That came as no surprise to me after the car accident that killed Sarah, their mother. Rebecca and Rachel were close to their mother, and their brother even more so.

"It's something I want to do too—travel and see places, but obviously, not for the same reason."

"Oh, I know. You're like your mother in that way. Have I ever told you how we met?"

We exchanged a few more comments on the weather, which was wet, and caught up about other people we know. Harry Clearwater, one of Papá's friends, recently found out he was diagnosed with high cholesterol and has been having problems with his heart. But, once conversation died out, we stared out the window in silence.

Forks was very beautiful, of course, and looked every bit like the logger community it was reputed for. I wouldn't deny the appeal it had even if I wanted to. Everything was green: the trees, their trunks covered with moss, their branches hanging down with a canopy of it, the ground covered with ferns. Even the air filtered down greenly through the leaves. As the cruiser drove through, I took the opportunity to sightsee and admire the logging town—every storefront had a wood carving. The Timber Museum’s sign was two loggers sawing a stump. The Police Station is a small wooden building across from City Hall.

After a long trip, we made it to my birth home. Papá still lived in the same medium-sized, three bedroom house that he bought for Renata once it was discovered they were expecting me. A long gravel road, surrounded on both sides with a fence, leads us up to the two-story, three bedroom log house with a wrap around porch. The house sat upon nine acres of pasture that, when our parents moved in, Renata added her own little touch by planting apple and cherry trees. Her reasoning was there'd be some color to the otherwise green world outside.

It took only one trip to get all of my stuff upstairs to my room. I got the east bedroom that faced out toward the river in the back yard and Bela's was the one across from mine that faced over the front yard. The room was familiar; it had belonged to me since I was born. The hardwood floor, white walls, the peaked ceiling, the white lace curtains around the window were all a part of my life growing up.

I added the crystal dreamcatcher shaped sun catcher that hung in front of my window. The only other changes were switching out the crib for a queen sized sleigh-bed with button-tufted upholstery on the headboard and footboard; a white and gold comforter bedding set covered the mattress to match the rest of the room. Papá added a reading nook under my window, and a ceiling-to-floor bookcase to the opposite wall. The bookcase held my laptop that Renata saved up to buy for my birthday last year, along with a picture of Bela and I as young girls with Jacob Black, his arm thrown over Bela's shoulder. In addition to that, the rest of the shelves held a collection of books—from historical romance to history and everything in between—that was bought through the years. There was a large vanity that had once belonged to Abuela Swan and an oak armoire.

The room that Bela now used was our grandparents old room when Papá took care of them before their deaths. It was a little bit smaller than mine and had been painted purple recently for Bela's benefit instead of the ugly green color that it used to be. She had a small dresser, a canopy bed with white curtains, a rocking chair from when we were babies, and a desk that held her own laptop. If she was here, the one bathroom at the top of the stairs was ours to share, while Papá had his own downstairs.

One of the best things about Papá is that he knows when to leave people alone to give them space. He left me alone to unpack and get settled, a feat that would have been altogether impossible for my mother.

Forks High School had a frightening total of only three hundred and fifty-seven—now fifty-eight—students; there were more than seven hundred people in our junior class alone back home in San Antonio. All of the kids here had grown up together, hell, it wouldn't surprise me if their grandparents had probably been toddlers together. The kids will see me as the new girl from the big city.

When I finished putting my clothes away in my closet and armoire, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to clean myself up after the long day of travel. I looked up at my face in the mirror as I brushed through my long, tangled, damp hair. I didn't relate very well to a lot of people my age, aside from my younger sister, and that was only because she was a lot like me in that aspect. But for different reasons. Once people learnt what I can do with my mind tricks, they often got frightened and put distance between us.

I didn't sleep well that night. The constant whooshing of the rain and wind across the roof wouldn't fade into the background. I pulled the quilt over my head, and later added a pillow, too. Before falling asleep, I saw an old picture of a younger Bela smiling at me from my nightstand.

Having my sister here next to me, even if only as a picture, was enough to help me relax. Finally, the rain settled into a drizzle and I was able to fall asleep.

Tomorrow is going to be a better day.