This is from the book nightlight. This book is a funnier version of twilight.

Chapter 1 first look

The hot Phoenix sun glared down on the car windowsill where my bare, pallid arm dangled shamelessly. My mom and I were both going to the airport, but only I had a ticket waiting for me, and that ticket was one-way.
I had dejected, brooding expression on my face, and I could tell from the reflection in the window that it was also an intriguing expression. It seemed out of place, coming from a girl in a sleeveless, lacy puncak, atas and bel, bell bottom jeans (stars on the back pockets). But I was that kind of girl-out of place. Then I shifted from that place on the dashboard to a normal position in the seat. Much better.
I was exiling myself from my mom's halaman awal in Phoenix to my dad's halaman awal in switchblade. As a self exile, I would know the pain of Diaspora and the pleasure of imposing it, callously disregarding my own pleas to say one last good-bye to the potted fungus I was cultivating. I had to coarsen my skin if I was going to be a refugee in Switchblade, a town in northwest Oregon that no one knows about. Don't try to look it up on a map-it's not important enough for mapmakers to care about. And don't even think about looking me up on that map-apparently, I'm not important enough either.
"belle," my mom pointed in terminal. I felt a pang of guilt, leaving her to fend for herself in this huge, friendless airport. But, as the pediatrician said, I couldn't let her saparation anxiety prevent me from getting out of the house for eight atau so years.
I got down on my knees and held her hands. "Belle is only going to be gone for the rest of high school, okay? You're going to have a lot of fun with Bill, right Bill?"
Bill nodded. He was my new stepdad and the only other person available to take care of her while I was gone. I can't say I trusted him, but he was cheaper than a sitter.
I straightened up and crossed my arms. It was time to cut the crap. "The emergency numbers are above the phone in the kitchen," I told him. "If she gets hurt skip the first two they're your cell phone and Domino's. I've cooked enough meals to last anda both the first bulan if anda membagi, split one third of a Stouffers's Lasagna a day."
My mom smiled at the thought of lasagna.
"You don't have to go, Belle," berkata Bill. "Sure, my street-hockey team is going on tour, but only around the neighborhood. There's plenty of luar angkasa in the car for you, your mom and me to live."
"It's no big deal, I want to go. I want to leave all of my friends and the sunlight for a small, rainy town. Making anda happy makes me happy."
"Please say who will pay the bills when anda leave?"
I could hear my boarding number being called. "I bet Bill can run faster than Mom to nice Jamba jus man!"
"I am the fastest!" my mom shouted. As they ran off, Bill pulling her kemeja to get ahead, I slowly backed away into the gate, through the jet bridge, and onto the plane. None of us were very good at saying good-bye. For some reason, it always came out good-BUH.