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IN JANUARY CHARLIE REACHED HIS limit when it came to Bella's current situation and behaviour. It was the morning before school, winter break had already come to a close and they'd entered their new school semester. This term Bailey's one class was in the morning and so unlike before she had to wake up in the morning with the rest of her family—something that she had been dreading for the past two weeks. So that morning Bailey had lugged herself out of bed, stretched out her body, and begun her morning routine at what felt like the crack of dawn. Upon arriving downstairs, she had her eyes glued to a book she had recently checked out of the library, a book on the Quileute legends and history.
In the kitchen, Bella was staring down at a bowl of cereal, pondering rather than eating it while Charlie was looking at her intensively. Bailey walked past the two, not sparing them a glance as she opened the fridge and decided to make herself some eggs and toast.
Bailey cooked her eggs while simultaneously flipping through the page of her book when Charlie's fist came down on the table making a sudden loud noise; Bailey jumped.
"Sorry, Bailey," Charlie apologized. Bailey just nodded and went back to her eggs and book. "Bella, that's it. I'm sending you home."
His words caught Bailey's intrigue, she turned her body so that she could still check on her eggs while watching the developing conversation between her sister and her father.
Bella was looking at Charlie in shock.
"I am home," she mumbled, confused.
"I'm sending you to Renee, to Jacksonville," he clarified.
Charlie watched with exasperation as Bella slowly grasped the meaning of his words.
"What did I do?" She felt her face crumple. Bella thought it was unfair. Her behaviour had been above reproach for the past four months. After that first week, which no one mentioned; she hadn't missed a day of school or work. She was getting good grades. She never broke curfew—she never went anywhere from which to break curfew in the first place.
Charlie was scowling. "You didn't do anything. That's the problem. You never do anything."
"You want me to get into trouble?" Bella wondered, her eyebrows pulling together in mystification. She made an effort to pay attention. It wasn't easy. She was so used to tuning everything out, that her ears felt stopped up.
"Trouble would be better than this... this moping around all the time!"
That stung a bit. She'd been careful to avoid all forms of moroseness, moping included.
"I am not moping around."
"Wrong word," he grudgingly conceded. "Moping would be better—that would be doing something. You're just... lifeless, Bella. I think that's the word I want."
