FORKS - carlisle cullen

O N E

WARNING THAT I WAS ONLY 16 WHEN I WROTE THIS BOOK AND IT MIGHT NOT BE GREAT. I HOPE TO REWORK IT IN THE FUTURE, BUT UNTIL THEN, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.

Eleanor Martin's POV

I push my slipping sunglasses back up my nose before rendering them useless and tossing them aside into the passenger seat. The sun sends a harsh glare into my eyes despite being hidden by gray billowing clouds, the brightness causing me to squint slightly as I drive along the near-empty road.

I glance at the dashboard clock.

2:37 p.m.

I sigh in relief when I realize that I'll be to the hospital in time to pick Gran up from her appointment. It's February now. I just saw her at Christmas, but apparently she's gone downhill since then. Bad enough to need someone to stay in her house with her to assist her with everyday tasks such as cleaning and cooking.

Now, believe me when I say that I love my Gran with all of my heart, but I didn't exactly volunteer to leave the city to come live in the middle of scenic nowhere with a 93-year-old woman. It's not exactly easy to just pack up and relocate an entire life. I left my job, my friends, and my family in Tucson. It's like I'm completely starting over from scratch.

As I proceed into the small town, I spot a sign that confirms that I am indeed in Forks, Washington. I let out a small sigh, the reality of my move finally setting in. Who wants to live in a town named after eating utensils anyway?

"Just try to be optimistic, Ellie," my mother's words echo in my memory. "It may not seem like a whole lot of fun now, but it really is helping the whole family out. Not everyone could pack up and move as easily as you could without uprooting their kids and spouses."

"I know, Mom." I had replied respectfully, knowing that I had to be the one to do this.

"And who knows," She smiled hopefully. "You may really like being away from the city."

"We'll see." was what my reply had been.

"We'll see." I murmur to myself, snapping out of my flashback and putting on my turn signal, following the GPS that hadn't gotten me lost yet.

Yet.

I turn around the corner, seeing a log truck drive past me. My mind immediately goes to the film Final Destination.

"That's a sign," I joke to myself, probably looking insane to anyone who would look in and see a woman talking to herself in her car. "I'm gonna die here. I should just turn around and go back to Tucson," my gaze flicks to the thermometer on my rearview mirror: 23 degrees Fahrenheit. "Warm, sunny Tucson."

I shove my selfish, childish thoughts aside, focusing on the task at hand: picking Gran up from her weekly appointment at the hospital. I follow the red path on the GPS until I see the only really large building in the whole town. I turn the device off, putting it into the center console with one hand, steering with the other. I find a parking spot near the door, turning my car off and locking it behind me with a small honk.

Putting my purse over my shoulder, I walk through the sliding glass doors and approach the front desk. The woman directs me to a waiting room where I can sit until Gran is finished with her appointment.

I sink into one of the hideous vinyl-and-wood chairs, crossing one leg over the other and hoping that the sniffling, dripping kid sitting next to me doesn't infect me with God knows what illness is going around his middle school. I lean back, trying desperately to ignore the sound of flu season in the air.