Fell For You

Bella Swan Returns

I should probably clear something up. If you're wondering — no, I'm not Jacob's direct cousin. I'm a distant one. Which explains my slightly lighter skin tone and why my hair curls differently under the rain. Still, I'm half Quileute, and that's what matters.

My mom's from La Push, born and raised. My dad's half Quileute and half Sipaku — that's the name of his tribe up north in Alaska. I like that about him. He's quiet, grounded. I've always admired how connected he is to his roots, and maybe that's why I've become so drawn to the stories and legends too. There's something comforting about believing your ancestors are still around, watching, guiding.

Now that we've established that, let me introduce the rest of the circus I call family.

First, there's Mom. She's a super-mom — the kind who can fix a torn school uniform, cook three different breakfasts, and still freak out whenever I mention the word date. I swear she thinks I won't get a boyfriend until I turn fifty. Parental concerns are weird like that.

Then there's Dad. He's quiet, the kind of man who doesn't need words to speak. We understand each other through small things — a shared look, a nod, the way he slides me the last piece of bacon at breakfast. Mom's the talker; she could fill a whole evening just chatting about life, while Dad sits beside her, occasionally humming or muttering something that sounds like agreement.

And then... there's the wolf in sheep's clothing. Melissa. My eight-year-old sister. With her huge doe eyes and silky brown hair, she looks innocent — but don't let that fool you. That girl can manipulate a situation faster than lightning. I've seen her cry her way out of doing chores more times than I can count.

Then there's me — the middle ground between chaos and control. We live three houses down from my cousin Jacob. I visit him every weekend. He's more like an older brother than a cousin — the kind you bicker with, tease, but would still defend to the death.

Rachel, on the other hand, took me years to crack. She's guarded — all sharp words and crossed arms until one day I helped her through a breakup. After that, she thawed, and now she's the cousin I look up to the most. She also happens to have a huge crush on Paul Lahote, my sworn enemy, which makes family gatherings... complicated.

I'm sitting at the kitchen table now. The morning light seeps through the curtains, soft and gray — typical La Push weather. Mom's out on an early jog, and Dad's at the stove frying eggs, bacon, toast, and pancakes like a man on a mission. The smell of sizzling butter fills the air, making my stomach growl even though I barely slept.

I pour myself some juice and sink into my chair, trying to ignore the dull throbbing behind my eyes.

"You okay, sweetheart?" Dad asks, glancing over his shoulder.

I shrug. "I've got this killer headache, and a bird kept pecking at my window last night." Just remembering it makes me grimace. "Four in the morning. I swear it had a personal vendetta."

Dad chuckles. The sound mixes with the hiss of bacon grease, and I wince as it echoes in my skull.

"I think the headache's because someone's thinking too much about high school," he teases, his tone sing-song.

"Dad." I whine, dragging the word. I take a long gulp of juice before getting up for water. "You know why it's a big deal. Every woman in this family rocked high school. I don't want to be the one who breaks the streak."

He turns off the stove and gives me that calm, steady look that only dads seem to master. "It's not a tradition, Melody. You don't have to try so hard."

Easy for him to say. He doesn't understand the pressure of carrying the Black name — the weight of being a descendant of high school royalty. Rachel and Rebecca were the girls. Everyone adored them. If I walk into La Push High and end up invisible, I'll be the first failed Black in generations.

"Well, when I get to high school, it'll be way better than yours," a high-pitched voice cuts through my thoughts.

Melissa.

I don't even need to look. The scrape of her chair across the floor makes my headache worse.

I try to ignore her, chugging water like it'll drown out her existence. The pounding in my head syncs with her voice — sharp and relentless.

I sigh and face her, settling into the seat across the table. "Yeah, sure, Princess. I'm sure they'll say, 'All hail Princess Melissa, who will smite us all with her snarl and demonic little stare — and don't forget the majestic eye roll she perfected at age eight!'"

She glares. "Whatever. We'll see who's the real loser when I reach high school." She huffs, picking at her chipped nails like a miniature diva.

I stare blankly at her, slip in my earbuds, and hit play on Princess of China by Coldplay. The music drowns her out. Thank the spirits for that. I focus on my breakfast, the beat thumping in rhythm with the rain outside, and let the world fade.

⸻

"What?" I blurt, staring at Jacob, who's practically flying around his garage like a hyperactive tornado. Tools scatter everywhere, and the smell of engine oil fills the air.

"She's actually back," he repeats, voice muffled from under the hood of a car. "Bella's back."

I blink. "Wait — Bella Swan?"

He pops up with a grin, holding a car part triumphantly. "Yes! Found it!"

"Oooh," I drawl, crossing my arms. "Now's your chance to confess your undying love." I wiggle my eyebrows.

He glares. "I do not still have a crush on her."

Sure. Tell that to the red tint creeping up his russet skin.

"Uh-huh," I say, smirking. "Whatever helps you sleep at night. I'll be inside with Rachel."

As I walk out, I can't resist whispering dramatically, "And so the teasing game shall begin. Mwahahaha—"

"I can hear you!" he shouts.

"Good!" I laugh, stepping into the house.

"Melody!" Uncle Billy calls from the living room, smiling warmly. "What a nice surprise."

I lean down and kiss his forehead. "Thought I'd check on Jacob. He seems very excited about Bella's return."

Billy chuckles. "Ah, young love."

"Totally," I say — right as my stomach growls loud enough to be its own conversation. "And that's my cue to raid your fridge."

He waves me off with a laugh.

In the kitchen, I find Rachel sitting at the counter, dreamy smile plastered on her face. I freeze in the doorway, grin tugging at my lips. "Okay, that's either the look of someone who just found enlightenment or someone who met a boy."

She startles, cheeks instantly flooding with color. Definitely a boy.

"How—"

"I read a lot of Wattpad romance," I interrupt. "That face? That's love-at-first-sight face. Please tell me it's not Paul."

She gives me a sheepish grin, shoulders rising in a small shrug. "I'm sorry?"

I drop to my knees dramatically. "Nooooooo!"

Rachel bursts out laughing. "Chillex, Cuteness. I just... I don't know. When I looked into his eyes, I felt—complete." Her voice softens, her gaze distant.

I can't help but smile. It's hard not to when she talks like that. There's something genuine and sweet about seeing her fall in love — even if it's with him.

She turns to me again, biting her lip. "You probably think that sounds corny."

I shake my head. "Nope. It's called love at first sight. Cue the wedding bells." I wiggle my eyebrows.

She laughs, head falling back. "God, you make my life interesting."

"Someone has to," I grin.

And just like that, the kitchen feels lighter. The rain outside taps against the window, soft and steady — like background music for the kind of morning that makes you forget everything else.