I don't want to leave the docks. The ocean feels like it's a part of me. It always has. The water's healing, but it's too bad it doesn't cure.

Watching the ship, I can only think, "Man, this town is wack!" What's with all the fantasy stuff? Fairies, flying monkeys, pirate ships, storybooks? It's so wild. Yes, I always wanted to live in a magical world, but this is insane.

Every town has something it's known for. What's Storybrooke's? That triangular building I passed was the post office, so maybe they have postcards or visitors' information since it also functions as a visitor's center. Or "centre," as the sign spells it. Cedar covers the building—red on the top and yellow on the bottom—and there is a steep grey roof. Going along with the fairytale theme, it looks like a small cottage with a short picket fence extending from its side.

Inside, the air smells of old envelopes, printed paper, and dust. And it's toasty. Two windows on the right illuminate the cluttered room. Between them is an oak shelving unit overflowing with shirts, mugs, tumblers, and snow globes. In front of the shelves is a well-crafted hardwood counter with a showcase containing piles of magazines. On my way to the main desk at the back, I look at some greeting cards, pamphlets, and postcards. They're all crammed into rotating and standing displays placed on the left side of the room.

A repeated postcard illustrates the clocktower and says, "Greetings from Storybrooke, Maine."

Another card says, "Storybrooke, where time stands still."

The quote appears on most of the merchandise.

"Where time stands still."

Henry said something about time freezing. Yeah. Because of a curse.

Movement comes from the back, and I lean to get a glimpse of who it is since a tall, wide greeting card display presses against the counter, obscuring my view. Behind the desk is a scattered, older gentleman who murmurs to himself, stuffing, sealing, and slotting envelopes.

"Uh... Hello?" I say.

He stops his actions and stares at me. When he unfreezes, he picks up a wired phone and dials a number in a frenzy. "Madame Mayor. There's someone new in Storybrooke. What should I do?" he says, looking at me. "No, I'm not crying wolf again."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, God, she's talking to me." And I thought Henry was weird.

"Are you someone I can talk to about visitors' information?"

He grips the phone with both hands, pressing it into his face. "Madame Mayor, what do I do? The border was supposed to prevent this from happening again."

I walk to the desk and take a map from the giant display. "I'm going now."

"I'm telling the truth," he says into the phone. "The only way is if she's one of us."

"Bye," I say, taking long steps toward the door.

He hangs up, and, assuming he's back to normal, I drop my guard and head to leave.

"Stop right there."

I glance over my shoulder and do a double take when I find him aiming a brass pistol at me. I face him and throw my hands up. "Holy crap, dude."

"Stay right there."

"What the actual hell, man?"

"You're not going anywhere. The Sheriff will be here any minute."

"The Sheriff? I didn't do anything wrong."

"Don't move."

"Do I look like I'm moving?"

This is ridiculous. He has a gun? I'm more shocked than scared. I know he won't shoot. He looks like a nice person, just, you know, not all there.

In about three minutes, the door opens behind me. It's a woman with long, straight blonde hair, wearing a red leather jacket. She has a sheriff's badge attached to her black jeans.

"What's going on this time, Luke?"

He wobbles the pistol to indicate me.

"I came in for a map, and this happened."

"You're that girl, aren't you?" the Sheriff asks.

"Excuse me?"

"Put the gun down, Luke," she says, lowering her hand.

He's slow to put it away, and I bring my hands to my sides.

"I'm sorry about him. He's not accustomed to visitors," she says, tired.

"He works at the Visitor's Centre."

"Gotta love the irony."

"Look, we're good here. I got my map. He seems okay now. Sorry to waste your time."

She scans me with a cold face. "How long are you going to be in town?"

"I don't know. It depends on whether I find what I'm looking for."

"Good luck with that. And be careful. Storybrooke's full of," she turns to Luke, "interesting characters."

"Thanks for the heads up."

"I used to be an outsider, too, so let me tell you—the people of Storybrooke don't take the idea of newcomers gently." She presses her lips into a fine line, stiffening her posture. "And now that I'm a local, I can say the same." Is she threatening me?

"The people of Storybrooke don't have to worry about me." I give a polite, innocent grin.

She lowers her eyes to my throat, which still throbs and must be bruised. Then, she glances at the rug burn on my elbow and the bandaid on my arm.

"I'm a kid," I say to get her to stop.

"Which is why we need to worry."

I'm already on the Sheriff's radar in less than an hour. She can't think I'm trouble just because I'm young. That makes no sense. Unless there's another reason. Regardless, Henry could've warned me that the people here are not tolerant of outsiders. Before I know it, an angry mob could drive me out of town.

"I have to go," the Sheriff says. "I'm meeting my family for lunch."

"I wish I could say it was nice meeting you."

"That makes both of us."

She walks out the door, and all I can hope is that I don't cross paths with her again.

* * *

On the way to my car, a woman with voluminous, dark brown hair exits the library. The soft slam of the door enters my ears when I get closer. She wears a beige plaid skirt and a thin red belt. She's also wearing an elegant white blouse with frills. My outfits would resemble hers if I possessed a girlier sense of style. Instead, I'm wearing a purple sweatshirt that says "Just breathe," purple jeggings, purple Converse, and a purple fedora. Is it obvious purple's my favorite color?

Sleepy from the long drive, I try to get into my car unnoticed, but the doors clicking startles her.

"Hi," I say in a small voice.

"Hello." She switches weight from one foot to the other and rubs a hand against her hip as if itching her palm. She opens her mouth to speak, but no words come out. Then, she says, "I don't think we've met before. Are you new to Storybrooke?" with an accent. It's not quite Australian. It's some sort of mix between it and another country—one I can't identify.

"Yes. I arrived about an hour ago. This boy, Henry, brought me here."

Her mouth opens a bit again, and she pauses for a second. "Then you must be Bella."

I nod and form a small smile.

She gives a coy one while looking down and fidgeting with her black blazer. She steps over to me. "I'm Belle," she says, putting out her manicured hand.

I shake it, insecure about my cuticles and chip-polished nails. "Nice to meet you. But how did you know my name?"

"Henry has been talking about you for a while now. He was so excited about finding you."

"It's—uh... pretty funny. You know? Belle and Bella," I say, trying to change the subject. I have to talk with Henry because Belle's making it seem like there's more to why he brought me here. Why did I listen to that little weasel? Because I'd do anything to find a family. You're weak, you know that?

"Yes, it is funny." She chuckles. "Oh, um," she begins, "did—did you want to come in?" she asks, pointing to the distressed white doors with her thumb.

"I would, but I have to meet Henry. I should get going."

"Alright. Make sure to stop by later today."

"I will."

Before I can take a step to leave, she says, "Do you have a place to stay?"

"Oh..." I scratch the back of my head. "Not really."

"You should stay at Granny's Bed and Breakfast. She'll be pleased to have you. Storybrooke doesn't see many visitors." I wonder why that is. Winged beasts.

"Thanks. I'll do that."

I don't think I'll be staying for long. For all I know, Henry brought me on a wild goose chase. How would he know who my parents are? Did his book tell him?

I'm not a character. I'm a human being.

* * *

Granny's is a nice diner compared to the ones I've been to. When I step in, the bell on the door announces my presence. I mean it. All the customers stop chatting and stare at me. I stand in front of the door, gazing back, unsure of what I've done. There's no clanging in the kitchen, no grinding from the coffee machines, and no talking. Only the sound of my heartbeat drumming in my ears. Someone in the back coughs into their sleeve, but it doesn't help ease the tension. I should be used to awkward moments like these. I've lived so many, but there's always something that'll outdo what I'm familiar with.

Like having an entire diner stare at me in utter silence.

I try to focus on the diner's decor to get my mind off the awkwardness. The interior is straight from the '80s. This place could've been one of those restaurants with the rollerskating waitresses back in the day. At the back, behind an archway and next to the kitchen, is a jukebox. Two little kids, ignoring the silent situation, insert their coins and flip through the song catalog.

My frantic eyes find Henry sitting with his family, minus one guy from earlier, in one of the booths lining the left wall.

The Sheriff is among them.

What else is Henry hiding from me? First, the monsters, now this. I shouldn't have trusted him with my mission. But he's the only one who can take me to my parents.

He kneels on the bench and waves me over.

I shake my hands and head in his direction. "Hey."

"Everyone, this is Bella. Bella, this is my mom, Emma; my grandpa, David; and my grandma, Mary Margaret." Emma Swan. The supposed curse breaker. And the Sheriff.

"Hi, everyone," I say and give them a small wave, then slide next to Henry.

The diner remains silent. I swear a pin drop would be like a gong in here.

"We just met," Emma says. She's sitting between her parents.

"Oh," Mary Margaret says, clasping her hands on the table. "Well, that's good." She has a black pixie cut and pale skin.

"You arrived an hour ago?" Emma asks me.

"Yeah," I say, glancing at the table next to us. The couple stares at me like I ran over their cat. "I'm exhausted from the driving." My voice gets caught in my throat when I say it.

"You drive?" David says. He has light brown hair and seems to be in his thirties.

"Uh, yeah. I have been for a... few months," I lie. It's been a little over a year now. Yes, it's illegal without a permit, but I've gotten away with it.

"How's that possible?" Emma says. "You're young."

I fold my arms on the table's ledge and rub them. "I'm sixteen. I have a permit."

She narrows her eyes. "But not a license?"

"Emma," Mary Margaret says in shock. "Leave her alone. Henry's fine." I might talk to her more than the other two because of her warm aura. And because she stood up for me. No one does that. She appears to be around the same age as her husband and daughter, which confuses me since she and David are Henry's grandparents.

"He could have gotten hurt. She's an inexperienced driver."

"I'm experienced. Just not, exactly, with a license."

"You've been driving illegally?" Emma leans back. "I knew it was a bad idea for Henry to find her."

"But I'm fine, Mom. She said she has a permit."

"Which means there should have been an adult in that car. It was extremely dangerous. You going out on your own. Her driving without a license. We don't know who she is. We talked about all this. I'm wondering when it'll sink in."

"Not now, Emma," David says, putting an arm out in front of her while looking at me. His eyes seem to say, "I'm sorry for this."

"I didn't want to cause any trouble," I say, sneaking a glimpse of the table next to us again.

"Well, you did. Not consciously, but..." Emma trails off.

I stick my tongue in my inner cheek.

"Let's forget about this. Henry's fine, and Bella's a guest in our town," David says.

"If you need a place to stay, you can stay with us," Mary Margaret says in a melodic tone.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want to be any—more—trouble," I say, looking at Emma.

"No, no, of course not. We'd be glad to have you over."

"Thank you so much," I say, being polite.

"It's no problem. I'll send you the address." Is sleeping over at a total stranger's house a smart idea? Maybe I should look into that B&B. You know? If I had money.

Mary Margaret's eyes brighten, and she says, "You have a tattoo?" grabbing my wrist. I don't know what's worse; her calling out my tattoo in front of Emma or having to admit it's Sharpie.

"It's fake."

"Oh. It's still nice."

Emma's mouth tenses as she moves close and inspects it. "Is that Sharpie?"

I pull my wrist back and put it under the table. "N-No. It's temporary."

"Why don't we order?" David says and flags down the waitress.

Henry owes me after this. But, God, I wish I could turn invisible and get the heck out of here.

Soon, noise comes back to Granny's. People get talking again, and the sound of pots and pans clashing returns to the kitchen. But there's still a heaviness in the air.

"What are you doing, wearing that again?" Mary Margaret asks the waitress, who's wearing a white tie front shirt with red buttons—most of which she undid—tiny scarlet shorts, and a bleached apron, which is the same length as her "pants." The entire outfit surprises me since it appears to be a uniform. "I thought you stashed it away."

"I did, but Granny said I'll never amount to anything if I keep going to the Rabbit Hole every Friday night. So, I dug through my closet, found this, and now I'm wearing it."

"Is that why she snapped at me when I asked for more iced tea?" David says with a grin.

"You should've seen her this morning." The waitress and Henry's family keep talking to each other like best friends, relieving some tension between me and Emma. When she brings us our lunch, I glance at her name tag—Ruby. "So, no one's gonna introduce me to the new girl?"

"Oh, right," Mary Margaret says. "This is Bella. She's new."

"Visiting," I correct.

"We don't get a lot of new people here," Ruby says, eyeing me with distrust.

"So, I've been told. Your town seems like a great place. I'm surprised by how quiet it is," I say with sarcasm, but I play the part well. I could be over-the-top sarcastic, and no one would know.

"You should be surprised it's quiet at all. It's usually not like this."

"What do you mean?" Again with my sarcasm. Let's see if she'll tell me about that monster.

"I'll let you figure that one out. Welcome to Storybrooke." Ruby walks away with her high, messy ponytail swinging behind her and the round tray held at her hip.

I've already figured it out. But is this town a hot spot for crime or something worse than winged beasts? There must be a reason that guy keeps a gun at the ready. Did Ruby mean I'm going to get mugged? Eaten?

Well, this place still beats "home."