Catching Renesmee (COMPLETED)

The Police Station

My foot tapped impatiently on the hard floor in quick, erratic beats which gave hint of my nervousness—though heaven knows I tried not to show it. The stiff chair I sat on hurt my back, which had caused me to lean forward and press my elbows to my knees, then put my chin in my hands. Regardless of my anxiety over a late verdict, I was as bored as could possibly be. The only sight that greeted me was the large police reception desk a few feet front from my eyes, which a red-headed uniformed lady sat behind. I had been at this cursed police station for precisely an hour and a half; I knew so because the ticking clock resting high on the wall opposite was the only source of visual information.

Finally, the door on my far left side opened and out stepped Chief Swan. My short, plump mother was right beside him, a sad, sad look dominating her face which caused my insides to clench painfully.

“You growing fond of this station?” The chief asked, smiling at me.

I breathed a small sigh of relief; it didn’t look like I was in that much trouble. I tried not to look at my mom’s eyes too much, all the same.

“Not likely.” I replied, making him laugh a little, and I got to my feet.

“You know that shoplifting is an offense.” I nodded at him, familiar with this talk.

“But fortunately for you, the store decided not to press charges. So long as you paid for the things you took.”

His last words hit. Hard.

My heart dropped heavily into my stomach and I let my eyes dart to my mom. Her T-shirt was fraying at the sides and it looked the like the seam of her skirt was about to rip. My chest hurt when I looked at this woman.

“But this was your second strike.” Chief Swan held up two fingers to emphasise his point. “You don’t want to make a third.”

I nodded emptily at him, watching as he patted my shoulder.

“You’re a good kid, Tom. You’re just going at things the wrong way.” The words were hard to believe, despite my small smile.

“Thanks, chief.”

Nodding once more, he took a step backwards, presumably heading to his office.

“Do not let me see you in here again.”

Taking that as a cue, I followed my mom as she walked out of the police station. It was drizzling a little when we stepped outside; what did I expect? This is, after all, Forks. There always seemed to be some moisture spilling from the sky, not matter how short and light, or long and heavy.

Silently, we made our way back home, not a single word passed between us. We didn’t have a car; we usually just walked everywhere. I trudged a few steps behind her, head bowed to the wet sidewalk whilst my feet moved automatically, taking the correct steps. I lived in Forks all my life; I knew the way home, to school and to the police station—and back—like the back of my hand. We reached our home a little over twenty minutes after, and my mom unlocked the door to the tiny space.

Our house was embarrassingly small; believe me when I say that we never had more then a dime to spend on things that weren’t absolutely necessary. Mom immediately headed to our diminutive living room—which also served as our bedroom—leaving me to close the front door. When I saw her head pressed to her palms, torso shaking with silent sobs, I immediately rushed to her side, getting to my knees.

“Please, ma.” I began to rub her back, hating myself for past injudiciousness.

“Why’d you do it, Tom? Couldn’t you stay out of trouble?”

She didn’t look up so the words came out muffled. But even like that, they were enough to make me feel horrible.

“I swear, ma, I was trying to help!”

The words were of truth. I began my first day at Forks High school tomorrow, and my mom had been saving up for a while to buy me something decent to wear.

Middle school hadn’t gone so well for me; I was constantly referred to as the ‘poor kid’, due to one humiliating experience in seventh grade when a classmate caught my mom at a particularly low time, when she was forced to collect some free food from a hostel. Things stick, I remembered bitterly. Keen on fresh starts, my mom decided that High School would be different. She sent me this morning to go and check the clothes prices, and, well. I thought that smuggling them under my shirt would be a good idea; we wouldn’t have to spend money yet we’d still get the items. But it turned out I only accomplished the absolute opposite.

“I really am sorry, ma’. Just please, stop crying.”

She looked up, tears still streaming down her face. The crying wasn’t what was actually getting to me; it was that perpetual misery in her eyes. She wiped away the moisture of her sadness, whilst I continued trying to amend my mistake.

“...I’ll make it up to you. I’ll pay you back, somehow, I promise.”

I stayed silent for a moment as she studied me. “You’d get a job?” Even though she still seemed sad, I could hear a faint hint of humour in her voice.I nodded earnestly.

“And what makes you think anybody‘ll hire you?”

I laughed at her joke, thankful to see her small smile.

"Sure they will.” I stood up, gesturing to my body.

“Who wouldn’t wanna hire all of this?” She laughed directly. Standing up, she put an arm around my waist.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” I whispered. “I’ll make it up.”

She smiled up at me. “I hope so.”

Mom handed me the brown paper lunch bag, which felt alarmingly light. I tried not to dwell on how little my lunch would probably be. I was dressed in my only shirt, which was a size too big, and a pair of well-used jeans. I had on the same shoes from yesterday.

“Behave.” Mom warned mildly.

I smiled teasingly. “Me? Behave?”

She shook her head.

“Please.” I scoffed.

I headed out of the door, and into the cold, liquid embrace of Forks’ morning rain. In a slow tempo, the drops landed all over my body, but already I could feel myself naturally growing accustomed to its bite.

“I mean it!” Mom called out warningly. 

I waved her goodbye and began heading up the sidewalk. It was fairly early in the morning, just turning seven. I lived in a very secluded part of Forks—which was really saying something—which was mostly made up of dumpy, dwarf-like houses and large, unkempt mini-forests. Knowing that the walk from here to school would take at least forty five minutes, I groaned inwardly....until a light-bulb moment appeared.

I knew that the forest closest to me cut right throughout the main roads—which couldn’t justifiably be called ‘main’—and ended right at the foot of Newton’s Olympic Outfitters—the store owned by Mr. and Mrs. Newton. Glad that I had come upon an idea that wouldn’t land me in jail for once, I made my way to the base of the forest and entered.