Every few days, Bella checked in with the survivors of Flight 180 through MSN. She remembered the number forty clearly—matching the forty days of rain in the story of Noah's Ark. In the Bible, forty symbolizes death.
Meaning: forty days after the crash, that so-called Death would start killing again.
Whether he followed the seat order or some new pattern was a mystery. Bella only knew one thing—she had to stop it.
That was her bottom line.
A month of break passed quickly. Seeing her walk out of the shadows—and honestly, in a mindset so cheerful it was almost alarming—Charlie began pushing her to return to school.
Four years of high school, then college. That was what most American parents hoped for their kids.
Bella looked forward to college too. The Internet in this era was still primitive; most information wasn't online yet. If she wanted real knowledge to build her mindscape, she needed access to university libraries.
During the past month, Bella had reviewed her books. Her psychic abilities gave her a razor-sharp memory. Everything she had learned in her past life came back easily. After flipping through the textbooks twice, SATs or ACTs were nothing to worry about.
But test scores made up only one-third of the admissions criteria. Homework counted, lab work counted, class discussions counted, attendance counted.
And outside of class? Colleges expected involvement—sports, arts, science clubs, campus events, off-campus programs, and, of course, volunteer work.
And the part she hated most: community service.
Like helping build houses for strangers.
Bella felt exhausted just thinking about it.
What's wrong with the Department of Education? Did all the officials get dropped on their heads as kids? I didn't cross universes just to build houses for random people. If anything, they should be building one for me.
Original Bella had gotten married and turned into a vampire at eighteen for a reason—after her disastrous school life, she had zero chance of getting into a university.
The current Bella could fix some of that, but realistically… it was still late. Her plan was to use the aftermath of the Flight 180 incident to gain public attention.
Saving people was her principle. Becoming known was also her principle. The two didn't contradict each other.
American universities loved celebrities. When dealing with them, standards dropped off a cliff. Forget skipping social activities—she could probably set someone's house on fire and admissions would look the other way.
Exactly one month after the crash, Bella officially began her life at Forks High School.
Forks High had only 357 students. With Bella, that made 358.
Small towns in America shared one trait: isolation. If a place like this got haunted, invaded by aliens, or overrun by some evil cult, the outside world wouldn't know for weeks.
Everyone here had grown up together. Their parents grew up together. Their grandparents too.
Bella—"the girl from the big city"—would be immediately rejected.
With only a few hundred students, there were naturally no school buses or uniforms.
Bella had seen the building from afar during the past month, but today was her first time stepping inside.
Forks High sat right by the road. If you didn't know it was a school, you'd never guess. A few trees and bushes lined the low wall. Inside stood rows of chestnut-brick buildings. Call it nostalgic if you were being generous; otherwise, it was just old.
Charlie had already handled her transfer. Bella only needed to show up.
In the administrative office, she received her schedule and a school map.
The middle-aged woman in charge was excessively friendly—so friendly it made Bella uncomfortable. She compared the schedule to the map, marked each classroom, numbered them 1–4, then drew a big arrow connecting all of them as if Bella were five.
Bella sighed internally.
This doesn't feel like high school. It feels like my first day in kindergarten.
Whatever her past self had done, the impression she'd left in this town must have been terrible. The woman's kindness wasn't warmth—it was distance.
A polite "please leave me alone."
Bella could only shake her head. The past Bella's social life had been a disaster.
She got her books in the morning, then went to English class.
Yes, they taught English here—basically the equivalent of literature class. Endless reading comprehension and text analysis.
Almost immediately, Bella discovered her problem: her English wasn't cutting it.
The class was discussing Wuthering Heights. Bella had heard of it, sure. But when the teacher began analyzing a certain passage, Bella stared blankly.
Which passage? Where even is this? Who is who?
She flipped from front to back, then back to front, still couldn't find it, and eventually had to ask her desk mate.
By the end of the morning, she was completely lost.
Her dream of dominating Forks High evaporated. It wasn't time yet—she really needed to study.
Afternoon came, and with it the universal favorite: P.E.
But Forks High had a tiny staff. Meaning their P.E. classes were brutal.
Four periods of P.E. in a row.
Boys played basketball. Girls played volleyball. The P.E. teacher used the tone of "stop learning, let's go have fun," and herded everyone into the gym.
"What? We have to take P.E. all four years?" In the girls' locker room, Bella asked the others.
She soon learned that Forks High had a strict requirement: students must take P.E. every year.
In her past world, schools didn't even compare. And in Arizona, where she'd come from, students usually took only two years of P.E., using the rest for academics or extracurriculars. Taking four full years was rare—and insane.
How are these people supposed to get into college when their brains are empty from constant exercise?
She complained silently but said nothing. Here, if you got labeled as someone who disliked sports or was a "nerdy bookworm," you'd be isolated instantly.
P.E. it was.
Fine. Let's see who ends up getting crushed.