twilight x uglydolls: lou x reader

the big move

Forks, Washington: population 3,120. My new home.

As I look out the car window, the passing trees a deep, dampened green from the consistant Forks overcast, I reflect on my move. I used to live with my mother and her boyfriend, Dave, in Arizona. Dave, a minor league baseball player, needed to travel for his career. My detest for change and desire for my mother to be happy led me to move in with my father, John. So there I was, heading to Forks all the way from Phoenix.

My father suddenly broke the silence of the long, awkward car ride. "Hey, Fart?"

I turn to look at him. "Hm?"

"How is your mother..? I mean, " he cleared his throat, "how are things with her and Dave?"  Admittedly, I was never really involved in my mother's relationship with Dave. He's a nice guy and all, but it's not really my business how strong their relationship is.

"Mom's good," I responded. I ignored the part of the question about Dave. It might've been better for my father not to think about him anyway.

"Well, that's very good to hear," John said. I nodded, kind of tuning him out in favor of my own thoughts. Such a drastic move at the age of 17 was a lot to process for me. I kept thinking until I felt the car stop.

My father turns to me and smiles. "We're here. Welcome home, honey." 

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I put my bags down on my new bed. My walls and sheets were a pale gray shade of purple. My father had hung string lights along my walls and ceiling, and put up a cork board with some old crafts and pictures pinned on it. I felt a little guilty that he went out of his way for me, but his efforts were appreciated.

There was a knock at the front door, and my father gestured for me to follow him. We went outside to find an old-looking orange truck in the driveway, along with a man in a wheelchair, next to who I could only assume was his son.

"I'm sure you remember Wesley Black," my father says to me. He shakes the man's hand, and the two exchange smiles. Wesley's son, a teenage boy that had long, brown hair with a green streak running through it, smiled at me while our fathers joked around.

"My name's Nolan. We were close when we were little kids. Not sure if you remember," he told me, sheepishly. My childhood memories of rolling around in the mud with him came flooding back. "Yeah, I remember," I told him. We smiled at each other.

"Well, Fart, what do you think?" my father asked, his hand on the truck's door. 

"About... the truck?" I ask.

"I bought it off of ol' Wes here. Consider it a homecoming present," John told me.

"Oh my gosh!" I exclaim. I was overjoyed to get such a cool gift. It made up for the persistent humidity and rain I'd be experiencing for a while. I felt the cool metal of the truck, observing the chips in its rust-colored paint job. 

"I totally rebuilt the engine for you," Nolan said to me, clearly very excited about it. "Awesome," I said, praising his work. We hopped in the truck and turned the engine on. It ran really nicely. Some more chit-chat went on between our fathers, so I struck up a conversation with Nolan.

"So, uh... will I see you at school? I mean, I know I'm  a junior, but-" 

"Oh, uh, I go to school on the reservation. Ya know, Quileute things," Nolan told me. I forgot for a moment that he lived on a reservation with his Native American tribe, the Quileutes. I was a little upset that I wouldn't see him at school, but our two-year age gap reminded me that I wouldn't have seen him much regardless.

"Alright, Fart, let's turn in for the night. You have a big day ahead of you tomorrow," my father said. We thanked Wesley and Nolan, and then I walked up to my room. It was true; I had a big day ahead of me. I wasn't thrilled about coming to a new school in the middle of the spring semester, but there was nothing I could do about it. I closed my eyes, drifting off to sleep.