I supposed the rain was some sort of premonition that the months following would also be under a constant cloud of rain, not only because of how miserable Burt and I would be, but because of his decision to move to Forks, a tiny town in the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State.

Everything about our Lima home was too much for him to bear after mom's death. The only thing tying him to Lima was me but I couldn't bear to see him in so much pain so I had agreed to leave too. Burt however, wasn't convinced.

"Kurt," he said to me, "We don't have to go to Forks."

I felt guilty for even thinking of staying. How could I stay knowing that it was killing Burt to be in Lima? Of course, time supposedly healed all wounds and there was the off chance that Burt could meet someone else but still…

"I want to go," I lied. I wasn't convincing, though I had to pay attribute to my acting skills—or maybe perhaps to the fact that Burt overlooked it when I wasn't convincing because, quite simply, it was easier to.

We hugged tightly as long as was socially acceptable for a father to hug his son before it got too awkward and then rode the three hour fifty-seven minute flight to Forks. Flying wasn't my strong suit so I swallowed a couple of scripted pills and slept the whole way. Burt woke me gently when we landed in Port Angeles and I quickly stood up fearing for my Louis Vuitton suitcases and more importantly what was in them.

"Was it really necessary to pack half this stuff, Kurt?" Burt asked a little annoyed as he helped me load my suitcases into our awaiting taxi. "Did you leave anything behind in Lima?"

"Only my entire summer wardrobe, Dad." I'd never call him Burt to his face. He noted my sarcasm and raised an eyebrow. I sighed and shotgun the front seat.

Forks had always been Burt's backup plan. While I understood his reasoning for wanting to leave Ohio, I never fully understood why he had chosen Forks. It was no secret I found it insufferable. I guess some paternal instinct in Burt encouraged him to make the transition smoother for me. He had already registered me for high school and more importantly was going to help me get a car.

"So, about that car I promised to help you with…" he announced as if reading my mind.

"Yes?" I asked, admittedly a bit too keen. I was a sixteen year old boy about to start anew at a different high school. There was no way I would be caught dead with my dad driving me in on my first day.

"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."

This looked promising. "Where did you find it?"

"Do you remember my friend Artie Black down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.

"No."

"Well you should. You used to make mud pies with his son, David."

That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking painful, unnecessary things from my memory.

Many years ago, when I had been a lot younger, we had come up here with mom on a holiday to specifically visit his friend Artie Black. His son Dave, who was around my age had come over for a play date. It was the day of the great exchange. I offered to share my porcelain tea set with him. He introduced me to the word fag. We compromised later by making mud pies, much to my dismay, but Burt never entirely reconciled with Artie after that. I wondered what softened him up.

"Artie's in a wheelchair now," Burt continued when I didn't respond.

Oh.

"He can't drive anymore so he offered to sell his truck to me real cheap."

"Dad, I don't really know anything about cars. If anything went wrong…"

He looked at me as if I had forgotten my own name. "Honestly, Kurt, have you forgotten what I do for a living? It's not like you'd need to worry about affording a mechanic! Besides, Artie's done a lot of work on the engine. And the thing runs great. They don't build them like that anymore."

Okay, he had me on that one. Burt would be running his mechanic business up here in Forks; if he trusted this 'thing' it would have to do. But…

"How cheap is cheap?" That was, after all, the part I couldn't compromise on.

"Well, kiddo, I kind of already bought it for you." Burt peeked sideways to glance at my expression.

A free truck? He really was taking the transition process to heart. "You didn't need to do that, Dad. I was saving up to buy myself a car."

"I know but now you can use that money for something else you like! Besides, I don't mind. The only thing I want is for you to be happy here. I know it was tough leaving everything behind." He wasn't looking at me when he said it but I knew he meant every word. I made sure I was looking at him though, when I spoke. I really didn't want him feeling bad or selfish about his decision.

"That's really nice, Dad. Thanks. I appreciate it a lot." I guess I'd be out of line to add that liking Forks would never be on my agenda. He didn't need to know. Besides, he had just handed me a free truck. I didn't want be ungrateful especially under the circumstances.

Though my dislike for the town was limitless, Forks was beautiful, even I couldn't deny that. It was all so fresh and green but so… foreign. It just didn't feel like home.

Eventually we made it to our new place. It was a small, two-bedroom house that Burt had bought with my mother when they had first married. Even then, the idea of living in Forks was planted in Burt's mind. My truck was already waiting for me, parked out the front of the house. It was a faded dusty red color and while I wasn't much of a car person, I felt myself immediately warming to it.

It took three trips to get all my stuff upstairs and I declined any help from Burt. My room had a view of the backyard. It felt cozy in here with its wooden floor and light blue painted walls. My bed had already arrived and so had my desk with room for the Mac computer I had got for my last birthday.

I already missed my old en-suite bathroom. Here in Forks, I was bound to share with Burt. I had already worked out a schedule for the both of us so that we wouldn't clash.

As a result of the city's population Forks High School had very little students which meant all the kids here had grown up together. I would be labeled as 'that new kid from Ohio,' and wasn't looking forward to it. I wasn't down with labels.

Maybe, if I dressed like male teens my age preferred, I could work this to my advantage. But, I knew that would never happen. I would never swap my Marc Jacobs jacket for something off the rack at Wal-Mart. Physically, I'd never fit in either. I was pale with blue eyes; slender, but obviously not an athlete.

When I finished putting my clothes away in the old wardrobe Burt had bought for me, I took my bag of bathroom necessities and went to the communal bathroom to begin my moisturizing regime. I looked at my face in the mirror. Maybe it was the light, but my skin appeared to be suffering already.

As I faced my reflection in the mirror, I was forced to admit that I was lying to myself. It wasn't just physically that I'd never fit in. And if I had never fit in at my old school, what were my chances here?

I didn't have any friends at my old school; I'd never found anyone I could relate with. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even though Burt and I got on really well, we were never on exactly the same page. I knew I saw the world differently to other people. But this wasn't necessarily a bad thing. Or so Burt had told me when I had been sent home early after being locked in a janitor's closet for half an hour.

~.~

I awoke to thick fog greeting me outside my bedroom window. It was all I could see. I felt like I had been sent to prison after mom's death and Forks was the cage. You could never see the sky here.

After Burt wished me luck for school and left for his first day at the shop, I sat at the old square oak table and contemplated the serious redesigning the place needed. The chairs didn't match and the floor was made of checkered linoleum like something out of a seventies film. The only thing that had some sort of structure was the cabinets, painted a bright yellow. My mother had painted them herself in an attempt to bring sunshine into the house.

Over in the next room, our family room, a row of pictures stood above a fireplace. First a wedding picture of Burt and my mom, then one of the three of us in the hospital when I was born, followed by pictures of me throughout each year of school. Those weren't so embarrassing, I had never taken a bad photo in my life, but if I ever wanted to have anyone over, I'd have to see if Burt could relocate them.

It was impossible for Burt to stay in Lima because everything was too difficult after my mom. But it was also impossible to be in this house and not realize that he was never going to get over her. It made me uncomfortable.

I didn't want to be too early to school, but I couldn't stay in the house anymore. I hastily zipped my parka and headed out. It had started to drizzle again.

Inside the truck, it was nice and dry. I was very surprised to see the radio worked but the music was extremely outdated. I just couldn't win. I sighed, put my iPod on speaker and sang along to the tune of Ms. Streisand.

Finding the school wasn't difficult, though I'd never been here before. The school was, like most other things, just off the highway. I parked in front of the first building I saw figuring I'd deal with parking regulations later.

The red haired woman in the school office looked up at me from her desk, "Can I help you?"

"I'm Kurt Swan," I introduced.

"Of course," she said, "I have your schedule right here." She handed me a map of the school and went through my classes with me. She smiled at me and hoped, like Burt, that I would like it here in Forks.

When I went back to my truck, other students were starting to arrive. I drove around the school, following the line of traffic. I was glad to see that none of the other cars were flashy either. Here, the nicest car was a shiny Volvo and it stood out.

I sat in my truck for few minutes while parked hoping to memorize the map so I wouldn't have to walk through the halls with it pressed to my face. The plan was to remain inconspicuous among my peers, the less attention I drew to myself the better. I didn't want to have to answer any awkward questions and I certainly didn't want a repeat of the torment I had suffered at McKinley. It was like I was given a second chance and I wasn't going to waste it by repeating old mistakes and ending up with more bullies then I had vocal talent.

I was sent to the back of the room in my first class, which I was grateful for, as I took back the slip Mr. Mason my new teacher handed to me. It was harder for my new classmates to stare at me in the back, but somehow they managed. I would have to endure it. This was only temporary. I would fly to New York in a couple of years and study at Juilliard and be out of Forks for good. My bright future was the only thing that kept me going.

When the bell rang, a young Asian male approached me. "You're Kurt Swan, aren't you?" He held his hand for me to shake.

"Yes," I nodded, unsure what to expect with his approach, but shook his hand anyway.

"Where's your next class?" he asked. "I'm heading towards building four, I could show you the way."

I was confused; why was he being so nice? I fumbled around in my bag for my timetable but I wasn't buying it.

"What's your angle?" I blurted out worrying how paranoid I sounded. I was met with curious wide eyes but he quickly looked at the floor, affirming my suspicions. "I got into trouble for break dancing on the cafeteria tables at lunch. Our principal said I could revoke my record if I upped my game and suggested I buddy with you. Do you mind? I promise I won't make it awkward. We only really need to hang around when teacher's are around."

So I was right. There was something in this for him. "Um, sure," I decided, shrugging my shoulders. We got our jackets and headed out into the rain, which had picked up. I could have sworn several people behind us were walking close enough to eavesdrop. I was getting paranoid again.

"So this must be really different from Ohio, huh?" he asked.

"Very." Was the small talk necessary?

"Does it rain a lot over there?"

"About thirty eight inches annually."

"Oooh that's what she said!" He held out his hand for me to high five but I stood there blankly.

I didn't get it.

He studied my face apprehensively and I sighed. Note to self: learn to understand Forks' sarcasm.

"Sorry, what did you say your name was?" I asked in a poor attempt to reignite the conversation.

"Mike Yorkie," he answered as we made our way to the south building by the gym. He walked me right to the door even though it was clearly marked. "Well, good luck," he said, "Maybe we'll have some other classes together." He sounded uncommitted; this was the form of sarcasm I understood.

The rest of the morning passed about in the same fashion. My Trigonometry teacher, Mr. Varner, who I would have hated anyway just because of the subject he taught, was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself.

After two classes, I started to recognize several faces. There was always someone braver than the others who would introduce themselves and ask me questions about how I liked Forks. I tried to be diplomatic, but mostly I just lied a lot. At least I never needed the map.

One girl sat next to me in both Trig and Spanish, and she walked with me to the cafeteria for lunch. She was shorter than me by several inches and I was extremely distracted by the hideous Grandma clothes she wore. I liked talking to her because I didn't have to say anything. She was able to string a whole conversation without stopping for breath and all I had to do was nod my head to show I was paying attention. I couldn't remember her name as she prattled on about teachers and classes but when she sat down at the table it was plastered all over her purple glittery star designed folder: Rachel Stanley.

We sat at the end of the table with a few of her friends she introduced me to. I forgot their names instantly though she was only sitting with three other people. The boy from English, Mike Yorkie, was one of them.

It was there, sitting in the lunchroom, trying to make conversation with Rachel Stanley and her curious friends, that I first saw them.

They were sitting in the corner of the cafeteria, as far away from where I sat. There were five of them. They weren't talking, and they weren't eating, though they each had a tray of untouched food in front of them. They seemed uninterested in everything else around them so it was safe to stare at them without meeting a mutually interested pair of eyes. But it was none of these things that caught, and held, my attention.

They didn't look anything alike. Of the three boys one was muscular with incredible biceps and styling a seriously well cut black Mohawk. Another was taller, leaner, but still muscular with blonde hair and full lips. The last boy was far by the most gorgeous. He was less bulky than the first two but had beautiful boy cut curly dark hair. They all looked like they could be in college or even like they could be teachers.

The two girls were total opposites. The taller fairer one could have been on the cover of Italian Vogue. She was the kind of girl that made everyone else around her take a hit on their self-esteem just by being in the same room as her. Her hair was long and golden and I wished I knew what product she was using. The last of them, the shortest girl was bigger than the rest but she was the only one smiling. She had a dark complexion and was—by far—dressed the best.

And yet, they were all exactly alike. They were all pale, paler than me and that was saying a lot. They all had very dark eyes despite their range in hair tones. They also had dark shadows under their eyes—purple shadows, almost like bruises. Yet their features were all insanely perfect.

But this was not why I couldn't look away.

I stared because their faces, so different, so similar, were all devastatingly, inhumanly beautiful. They were faces you only ever saw at New York Fashion Week. It was hard to decide who was the most beautiful—but even I had to admit it was hard to keep my gaze off the curly dark haired boy.

They continued their disinterest of everyone and everything and I continued to stare. The dark girl eventually rose with her tray, completely untouched, and walked away with a strut that belonged on Project Runway. I was amazed by her attitude, the aura she held as she walked. She dumped her tray and glided through the back door, faster than I would have thought possible. My eyes quickly fell back to the others, who continued to sit unchanging.

"Who are they?" I asked Rachel Stanley.

As she looked up, she knew exactly who I was talking about. She giggled, looking at the table like I still was.

"That's Blaine and Noah Cullen, though everyone calls him Puck, and Quinn and Sam Hale. The one who left was Mercedes Cullen; they all live together with Dr. Cullen and his wife." She said this under her breath.

I glanced sideways at the beautiful boy, who was looking at his tray now, picking a bagel to pieces.

"They are very… eye-catching." I said this knowing what an understatement it was.

"Yes," Rachel sighed almost with envy, "They're all together too—Puck and Quinn, and Sam and Mercedes, I mean. And they live together." Her voice was filled with some sort of judgment I felt so typical of her. But I had to be honest. Even in Lima, that would be considered controversial.

Rachel went on to say that the Cullens were all adopted by Dr. Cullen and his wife. Dr. Cullen was really young, in his twenties or early thirties. The Cullens looked a little old to be foster children but Sam and Quinn were Mrs. Cullen's nephew and niece, ("Well, apparently or something like that!") and had been living with them since they were eight.

"That's kinda nice—for them to take care of all those kids like that when they're so young and everything."

"I guess so," Rachel admitted reluctantly, and I was under the impression that she was racking her brains for some way to upstage them, "Did I tell you I had two gay dads?" There was a certain competitive edge in her voice. "I think Mrs. Cullen can't have any kids," she added, as if it lessened their kindness.

Through the conversation, I learnt that they were newbies to Forks like me. They had moved down two years ago from Alaska. I felt a surge of pity and relief. Pity because, as beautiful as they were, they were all outsiders, clearly not accepted. Relief that I wasn't the only newcomer here and certainly not the most interesting by any standard.

As I examined them, the youngest Cullen, looked up and met my gaze, this time with evident curiosity in his expression. As I quickly looked away, it seemed to me that his glance held some kind of unmet expectation.

"Which one is the boy with the dark curly hair?" I asked. I was looking at Rachel as I spoke but I could see him in the corner of my eye. I noticed he was still staring at me, not like the football team had when I had dressed as Lady Gaga once, but seemingly out of frustration. I looked down again.

"That's Blaine. He's gorgeous, of course, but none of the girls here stand a chance. He apparently doesn't date. My guess is he plays for the other team. I told you about my dads right? It would only be obvious that I have excellent gaydar…" She seemed jealous. I wonder when he'd turned her down.

I dared another glance at him. He wasn't looking at me anymore but he was smiling. He and his adopted family gently rose and left the table together. They were all very graceful—even the one with the Mohawk. Blaine Cullen didn't look at me again.

I sat at the table with Rachel and her friends longer than I would have if I had been sitting alone. I was determined not to be late to any class on my first day. One of my new acquaintances who took no offense that I had forgotten her name—Tina Weber, she kindly reintroduced—and I were scheduled for Biology II. She was incredibly shy and remained silent the whole way to the science room.

The lab tables were exactly how I remembered them back in Ohio. Here Tina parted with me to be seated near Mike, and as I glanced around the room, the only remaining single seat, was next to Blaine Cullen.

After Mr. Banner, my new teacher, had signed my slip, there was no guess to where I was heading. I made my way quietly to the back of the class and seated myself besides the curious boy who seemed intent not to look at me.

As I set my Biology book on the table I felt him grow rigid besides me. His hand immediately reached to his face as he covered his nose and mouth. I was wearing my favorite Calvin Klein spray today so unless he was allergic to that I found no reason for him to be lowering his senses. I turned my head from him, trying to pay attention to Mr. Banner.

The lecture was one that I had already studied so I found no point in taking notes. I noticed my neighbor was on the edge of his chair sitting as far away from me as possible. He was still covering his nose and mouth with his right hand; the opposite hand was clenched in a fist. He seemed very unsettled. The sleeves of his shirt only reached till his elbows and I took notice of his muscles. He wasn't as big as his Puck but he still had a set of arms on him.

This class seemed to drag on longer than the others. Was it because it was the last period of the day or was it simply because Blaine never moved; his left fist was still clenched tightly almost as if he was in pain. It didn't even look like he was breathing. Was this normal behavior? Maybe Rachel was right. Maybe she had a reason to be resentful.

It couldn't have anything to do with me. He didn't even know my name.

I considered asking to borrow a pen from him or ask him a question about class. Anything to break the silence between us, but his dark coal eyes were filled with revulsion and I withdrew the proposal.

The bell rang loudly and I jumped, not because the shrilling noise had startled me but because Blaine Cullen had shot out of his seat like a bullet from a gun and was out the door before anyone else had even stood up.

I sat for a moment, staring at the classroom's exit. Blaine was so… unfair. I fought the urge to cry, which was an excellent talent to possess when you're an actor who needs to be able to cry on cue, but about the worst thing you could do to embarrass yourself when you're a teenage boy in a new school on his first day.

"Are you Kurt Swan?" a male voice asked.

I looked up to see a cute, brown haired boy with dimples smiling back at me. It was hard to be upset when you had someone like that smiling at you. He dressed a lot like Burt.

"I am," I confirmed, with a smile of my own.

"I'm Finn Newton."

"Hi, Finn."

"My girlfriend Rachel said I have to be nice to you because you're new and stuff. Do you need help finding your next class?"

Of course, she did. And of course he had a girlfriend.

"It's gym, actually. I think I'm good finding it." I wanted to be alone.

"Hey, what do you know, that's my next class too." He seemed thrilled though I couldn't see why. He made up for his lack of poor choice of girlfriend with the conversation we had on our way to gym. Like me, he had also lost a parent at a young age, his dad, and I was able to relate, finally. It turned out Finn was also in my English class. He was the nicest person I'd met all day.

"So, did you stab Blaine Cullen with a pencil or what? I've never seen him like that before."

I cringed. So I wasn't the only one who had noticed. And apparently, that wasn't Blaine's usual behavior.

"You mean the boy I sat next to in Biology?" I asked, trying to sound like I didn't know who or what he was talking about.

"Yeah. He looked like he was in pain or something."

"I don't know," I responded flatly, my mouth felt very dry, "I never spoke to him."

"He's a weird guy," Finn added, "Even Rachel says so. Even if she hadn't told me about you, I'd still probably talk to you. You seem like a pretty chill guy."

"Thanks," I smiled. Why couldn't more guys be like him? He was friendly and clearly admiring. But it wasn't enough to ease my irritation.

When the final bell rang, I returned to the warm office to hand in my paperwork, almost immediately walking back out.

Blaine Cullen stood at the desk in front of me. I recognized his dark curly hair at once. I stood without breathing waiting against the back wall.

He was arguing with her in a whispered, attractive voice and I caught the gist of the conversation. He was trying to trade Biology to another time—any other time.

I couldn't believe that this was about me. Something had to have happened before I came in the room. He turned and faced me—his face was absurdly handsome—with piercing, hate-filled eyes. For an instant, I was reminded of the bullies at my old school, the ones who shoved me into lockers and I was scared. The look only lasted a second, but it chilled me more than the weather outside. He turned his gaze from me and swiftly exited the room.

I went to the desk, my head down the entire time. I handed my slips to the receptionist.

"How was everything today, sweetie?" she asked maternally.

"Fine," I lied, I had been doing a lot of that today. Like Burt had reacted before previously, he didn't look convinced.

When I reached my truck, I started the engine and drove home, fighting back tears the entire way there.