four, writing with mike
twilight

Clover sat near the back corner of her English literature class, her notebook open in front of her. The room smelled faintly like old books and fresh coffee that her teacher was nursing, a mix that made her feel calm. It made her feel like she was in an old bookstore, with signed copies of famous books and ones with sprayed edges.

She glanced around at the other students — mostly juniors who seemed more confident, more comfortable here than she did. She was glad her dad had pulled some strings to get her into this class, even though it was a grade above her.

Writing was what she loved, so it felt right being here, she felt like she belonged.

The teacher, Ms. Hanson, stood at the front, fiddling with a stack of papers. Her glasses slid down her nose every few seconds, and Clover could tell she was one of those teachers who really cared about their subject. It was just by the way she acted, by the way she had her classroom full of books like a mini library.

As Clover adjusted her notebook, writing the date in the top corner, a chair screeched against the floor. Mike Newton dropped into the seat next to her, his bag landing with a soft thud. "Hey, Clover," he said, smiling. "Mind if I sit here?"

"Sure," she replied, returning his smile. She felt bad for earlier today when she had hit him with the volleyball, this was the least she could do.

Mike leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk once his notebook out. "You're lucky you got into this class. Ms. Hanson's awesome, but she's kind of intense. Lots of essays and stuff."

"That's okay," Clover said, shrugging with a small smile and twinkle in her eyes. "I love writing."

He raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? You wanna be a writer or something?" His tone was kind, and he sounded like he was genuinely interested. He sounded like he was the kind of person to actually listen.

"Someday," Clover said softly. "I want to write books. But if that doesn't work out, I think I'd be happy as a teacher. Like my dad."

Mike nodded, his smile more thoughtful now. "Your dad's a teacher here, right, first day? Math?"

"Yeah," Clover said. "That's why we moved here. He got a job at the school, and he wanted a fresh start."

Mike tilted his head, curious but not pushy. "Fresh start? What do you mean?"

Clover hesitated, her pen tapping the edge of her notebook. She's told others the story, she's never been scared to share the story of someone she never met. "My mom died when me and Juno were born. I think being in Los Angeles with memories of her were too hard on him as we grew up. So, here we are with my cousin and uncle."

"Oh." Mike paused, his light energy shifting into something quieter, something even more kind. "I'm really sorry, Clover."

She nodded, brushing a dark curl behind her ear. "It's okay. I think Forks might be good for us."

Mike smiled again, but softer this time. "Well, Forks is... small. But it's not bad. You'll get used to it, the rain is beautiful too."

Ms. Hanson cleared her throat at the front, silencing the conversations that had been heard. "Alright, class. Let's talk about essays." She lifted the papers and adjusted her glasses again. "Writing isn't just about filling up pages with words — it's about making an impact. I want you to think about that every time you sit down to write."

Clover sat up straighter, hanging onto every word. She loved hearing people talk about writing like it mattered. Her pen flew across the page as she took notes, already brainstorming ideas in her head.

Mike leaned over slightly. "Hey, if you need help or want my notes from last semester, just let me know. I've got a bunch."

"Thanks," Clover whispered back. She appreciated it more than he probably realized. He's been here all his life, he's probably never missed a day, and here Clover was, first day with no knowledge of anything taught before.

The class sped by, discussions bouncing around the room as Ms. Hanson talked about essay structures and themes. Clover found herself speaking up once, her voice steady but nervous. It wasn't perfect, but Ms. Hanson nodded like she'd said something worth listening to, and that was enough to make Clover feel proud.

Feel accepted.

As the bell rang, everyone started packing up. Mike tapped Clover's desk lightly. "I'll bring those notes tomorrow if you want."

"Sure," Clover said, slipping her notebook into her bag. "That'd be great."

"Cool. See you later." Mike gave her a quick wave and headed out the door.

Maybe Forks wasn't so bad. She could do this, and maybe she would like it too.