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Harvest Moon

It seems that danger is as constant as the clouds of Forks, hanging over the Cullens, just waiting to rain. It always seems to come when times seem the happiest. With it now pouring down upon them with full force, driving a wedge in the tight-knit family, will the Cullens be able to maintain their bonds and triumph once again? Renesmee's P.o.V. REVIEWS are greatly appreciated!! =]


3. Normal

Rating 0/5   Word Count 1136   Review this Chapter

I turned the key in the ignition and my old bulbous tank of a truck roared to life. I couldn’t help but smile.

While most teenagers prayed for shiny red sports cars or fancy hybrids, I loved the normalcy of my new old truck. Since I was born, I had always been dressed in the best designer clothes, my hair combed with the finest silver combs, had my family waiting on me hand and foot. My special way of communicating had overruled the need for me to ever cry out of need the way I had seen children do on television or in the park where Uncle Emmett took me to play football. With my dad and Aunt Alice’s innate abilities to be well informed of anything I could ever want and my mother and Aunt Rose’s ruthless doting, I was the most cared-for child on the face of the earth. As strange as it sounded, I had always longed know how it felt to need something. Telling Jacob of this longing would be pointless, since he aimed to give me everything I wanted.

So sitting in this rusty bubble of metal was just the ticket. I couldn’t help but beam as it sputtered down the drive to school and backfired as I pulled into a parking spot facing the gym. I almost prayed it would break down—being stranded would be a whole different adventure. Completely clueless about the first thing about cars despite Jacob’s countless attempts to educate me, I would be helpless. I stuffed the keys into my pocket and made my way to the front office.

My throat itched as the warmth and sweetness of human blood hit me as I entered. An gray-haired, pudgy-faced woman with a kind smile, ‘Mrs. Mansfield’ her name plate indicated, looked at me, taking in my luminescent rosy skin and copper hair.

"Ah, you must be...er...Ren—" her face crinkled as she cocked her head and twisted a piece of paper at awkward angles in front of her narrowed eyes, trying to make sense of the jumble of letters that made up my name.

"Ren-ez-may. Renesmee Cullen," I smiled at her.

"Of course, Renesmee," she cooed. "It’s so lovely that the Cullens have returned to Forks."

After our encounter in the baseball clearing with the Volturi the year I was born, my family had agreed upon a short visit to the east coast in which my mother and father spent a year at college and Grandpa Carlisle worked at a small local clinic. We returned after just a year in New Hampshire, but had kept our return under wraps—everyone put everything on hold to watch me grow. Grandpa Cullen hadn’t even returned to work at the hospital until last week, when he was greeted like a war hero come home from a long hard fight.

"Here you go, dear." I nodded and thanked her as I took my schedule and locker assignment from her, and wandered back out into the crisp morning.

The parking lot was beginning to fill. People walked past me, staring, some elbowing each other and whispering.

One girl, slight and dark-haired with green eyes hidden behind red-framed glasses approached me confidently.

"Hi, I’m Amanda Webber. You’re Renesmee Cullen, right? My big sister is best friends with your aunt, Isabella," she spouted, not even pausing to breathe. Because claiming me as their child would undoubtedly raise questions in a small town like this, even if they pretended I was adopted, my parents had spread the story that I was their niece, come to live with them after a tragic accident left me orphaned.

"Hi, Amanda. Yes, I’m Renesmee," I offered as we walked. I realized I was following her, not even having had a chance to check what my first class was.

She peered at my schedule, nestled atop the notebook in my arms. "Awesome, you’ve got first period English with me!" she informed, as if to answer my unspoken question. We continued toward a white brick building with a large black number four painted on the corner, then wandered into an open doorway that was two doors down from the end.

"Mr. Parsons, this is Renesmee Cullen," Amanda introduced me to the man whose face was just inches from the board, his nose powdered with chalk dust as he scribbled. The classroom, which had formerly been noisy with laughter and chatter, now fell silent. I was able to make out the sound of my last name whispered over and over.

"Ms. Cullen," he turned to look at me. Upon appraising me, he made to straighten his bright orange bow tie and ushered me into the desk between Amanda and a wavy-haired boy who reminded me of Uncle Jasper in the way that he stared at me as if he was trying to put together a very complicated puzzle.

I looked over at Amanda as she straightened a row of pencils across the top of her desk. She looked up and me and grinned, pushing her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

By the end of the day, my elation was unfathomable. Without turning it on, I sat behind the wheel of my truck, contemplating my first homework assignment. For Earth Science, I was to observe the behaviors of insects in my home environment. I had leafed through the handouts I had collected over the course my school day; a permission slip for a fieldtrip to the nearby arboretum, a flyer for the choir’s bake sale, and a Transfer Student order form for school photos. It felt so good to be so...normal.

"They’ve always got the best double fudge brownies," I jumped at the sound that came through my open driver’s side window. It was the boy who looked like my Uncle Jasper. The only stark difference was his ash brown hair.

"Oh," I smiled. "I’m not a big fan of chocolate." I had tasted it once and despised the way it clung to my tongue as it melted.

"Yeah, neither am I," the Jasper-boy said.

"But you just said—"

"I’m Gavin. I really just wanted to introduce myself since I didn’t get a chance after English." Though the words he said seemed friendly enough, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it was all forced. Like something was simmering just below the surface in him.

"Nice to meet you, Gavin," I said, reaching out to shake his hand.

It was instantaneous. Crippling. All of my memories flashed before me like a movie being quickly fast-forwarded. My mother lying on a gurney in Grandfather Carlisle’s office, Jacob and me building a house of cards on the living room floor, my father teaching me my mother’s lullaby on the piano. I gasped when he finally let go of my hand, gripping the steering wheel for support.

"At last," he whispered triumphantly, a wicked smile across his face.