Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A few minutes after Angela left with the hikers, Jacob sauntered over to take her place by my side. He looked fourteen, maybe fifteen, and had long, glossy black hair pulled back with a rubber band at the nape of his neck. His skin was beautiful, silky and russet-colored; his eyes were dark, set deep above the high planes of his cheekbones. He still had just a hint of childish roundness left around his chin. Altogether, a very pretty face. However, my positive opinion of his looks was damaged by the first words out of his mouth – Twilight, Chapter 6 -“Scary Stories”

"You're Isabella Swan, aren't you?"

It was like the first day of school all over again.

"Bella," I sighed.

"I'm Jacob Black." He held his hand out politely. "You bought my dad's truck."

"Oh," I said, relieved, shaking his hand. His hold was firm and confident. "You're Billy's son. I probably should remember you."

"Naw. I was too small when you still came by our place. You would remember my older sisters.”

"Rachel and Rebecca," I suddenly recalled. Charlie and Billy had thrown us together a lot during my visits, to keep us busy while they fished. We were all too shy to make much progress as friends, though.

"Are they here?" I examined the girls at the ocean's edge, wondering if I would recognize them now.

"No. Rachel got a scholarship to Washington State, and Rebecca married a Samoan surfer — she lives in Hawaii now."

"Married. Wow." I was stunned. The twins were only a little over a year older than I was.

"So how do you like the truck?" he asked.

"I love it,” I said sincerely, “it runs great."

"Yeah, but it's really slow," he laughed. "I was so relieved when Charlie bought it. My dad wouldn't let me work on building another car when we had a perfectly good vehicle right there."

"It's not that slow," I objected, a little offended on my truck’s behalf. It wasn’t a fancy sports car, not by a long shot, but it was hardy and dependable. (Kind of like me.)

"Have you tried to go over sixty?"

"No," I admitted.

"Good. Don't." He grinned.

I couldn't help grinning back. "It does great in a collision," I offered in the truck’s defense.

"I don't think a tank could take out that old monster," he agreed, laughing too.

And then something odd happened. Instead of bouncing the conversation back to Jacob, I volunteered a piece of personal information. “Well,” I said contemplatively, “a Chevy van didn’t.”

Jacob’s eyes widened. “You were in an accident?”

Oh no. I looked around frantically, gesturing for Jacob to lower his voice. The accident had only really hurt Tyler Crowley and his car, but his guilt about the incident had turned into a load of apologies that segued into offers of dates, which I had no trouble turning down. But the offers of dates, plus Mike, plus Eric had made my already complicated lunch table environment even more difficult. If he’d heard...and with Lauren right there…

Fortunately, Tyler was all the way across the fire and absorbed by Lauren, who put a hand on his bicep and laughed a little too loud as I turned.

“A van was going too fast in the school parking lot a week – no, two ago, when it snowed,” I explained in a low whisper. Jacob tilted his head down towards me. “I’d parked, but I hadn’t gotten out yet. The guy lost control and hit the back corner of the bed.”

Jacob winced in sympathy. “And were you OK?”

“Yeah, not a scratch.” It might have been another story if I’d gotten out a few seconds before. I might have even been unlucky enough to be right around the back of the truck when Tyler’s van bore down on us. But for once, Bella Swan’s terrible luck hadn’t gone on to the worst possible scenario. “The guy got cut up, but he’s better now.” My eyes flicked towards Tyler. “But the van…”

“Totaled,” Jacob guessed, his grin returning. He shook his head as he did, as if the truck were a difficult child and he were amused at its misadventures. “Bet it didn’t leave much of a dent.”

The truck had taken a hit, but the dent was nothing that merited a trip to Dowling’s.“Nope. So. You build cars?" I asked, impressed.

“When I have free time, and parts. You wouldn't happen to know where I could get my hands on a master cylinder for a 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit?" he added jokingly. He had a pleasant, husky voice.

"Sorry," I laughed, "I haven't seen any lately, but I'll keep my eyes open for you." As if I knew what that was.  

Jacob was very easy to talk with. In fact, this was probably the best time I’d had talking to an actual person since arriving at Forks.

He flashed a brilliant smile, looking at me appreciatively in a way I was learning to recognize (uh oh). I wasn't the only one who noticed.

"You know Bella, Jacob?" Lauren asked from across the fire. There went my hopes of Tyler keeping her busy.

"We've sort of known each other since I was born," Jacob answered, smiling at me again.

"How nice." She didn't sound like she thought it was nice at all, and her pale, fishy eyes narrowed. Then she cracked a very unpleasant smile. “You must have lovely stories of Bella as a kid then.”

Jacob’s answer didn’t miss a beat. “Nah, Bella was much too cool to hang out with a kid still in his diapers.” He turned his head, winking discretely at me, and a wave of relief crashed over me at the save.

A few of the Quileute kids laughed at that. One of them, tall and thin with chin-length hair, called out: “You mean you finally stopped using them Jake? You said you were still having accidents last week when I asked!”

Almost everyone joined in on that laugh, even Lauren. I held my tongue in deference to my newly reacquainted childhood friend, but to my surprise, Jacob was laughing too. A hint of red was visible on his high cheekbones, but he didn’t seem offended.

“At least some of us,” Jacob quipped back after a moment “didn’t need to be rushed home for a change of clothes in the fucking fifth grade, Embry Call!”

“After having “an accident” during the winter play,” chimed in another.

“With everyone and their grandmothers watching. Literally,” concluded a third.

Everyone, reservation and town alike, was roaring with laughter at that point, but the boys’ ribbing was so devoid of malice even Embry Call had joined in.

Even me. Wow.

I knew I hadn’t laughed like this even once the entire time I’d been in Forks. I cast around for the last time I’d let go like this: the first thing that came to mind was an afternoon at Grandma Marie’s with Renée, when Gran had said something smart and snarky I couldn’t remember at some daytime talk show we were all pretending to ignore, sending all three of us into a tizzy.

Gran had been dead these past six years.

Before I could hold that thought, Jacob coughed. “So, that’s Embry Call. One of my best friends.”

“He must be, if you discuss potty training with him.”

Jacob snorted. “I may have to break his nose later.”

“Please don’t, I haven’t laughed like this in…well, a long time.”

“Alright, but only because you asked”. Jacob searched my face for a moment, then he tipped his head down conspiratorially, “So, Forks driving you insane already?”

I grimaced. “Oh, I’d say that’s an understatement.”

Jacob grinned in understanding. “Well, lucky for you, this,” he said, gesturing around, “technically isn’t Forks.”

I blinked. “That’s right.” And for all that we were a just a brief car ride away from town, that this might have been another day at lunch, with Lauren being unfriendly and everyone in lively groups while Bella Swan tried (and failed) to entertain the sole good Samaritan who’d taken pity on her solitude, it felt different.

That night, when Charlie asked me how my day had been, I offered him the first honest smile I’d managed in weeks.

The two weeks after the trip to First Beach was followed by the usual succession of homework and house chores. I did manage to point Mike in the right direction with Jess, which led to a precious, sunny day in Port Angeles with Jess and Angela as both shopped for dresses. The Port Angeles bookstore that they took me to afterwards was a bit of a let-down, selling more crystals and dream-catchers than books, but the sun, the change of scenery and dinner at the little Italian place on the boardwalk made up for it.

Jess dominated the conversation, gushing about Mike, the upcoming dance and the who’s-going-with-who that seemed to come with it (which was totally fine, given that the two girls she hung out with were happier playing the audience). She prodded Angela a bit more about her preferences, which I managed to redirect by asking about Izzy Crow, who’d been asked out by two different boys and had been angsting about who to say yes to.

As the volley of gossip died down, Jess suddenly fixed me with a very strange look. “So, Bella. You’ve been in a good mood lately.”

I paused in the act of spearing a ravioli. Had I? “I just like the sun, I guess.” Forks had had a blessed, sainted two days of cloud free, rain free weather this week alone.

“Nope. You’ve been in a good mood since that day at La Push,” Jess continued, pointed but not unkind – curious, more like. She seemed to believe there was something going on that I wasn’t telling her.

I didn’t know, and couldn’t even begin to guess, what she thought I was hiding. At the dress store that afternoon I’d told them that I never went out, not even back in Phoenix, that I’d never had a boyfriend and spent most of my time here doing my homework – I was probably a week ahead in our coursework from sheer lack of anything better to do. Charlie probably had more interesting nights than I did, even if nothing was happening at the precinct.

The showdown continued for almost a minute before Angela spoke up. “It’s not that you’re happier. It’s more like you’re…more here. Awake.”

Awake. Something went aha! in my head.

I’d known I was unhappy in the weeks since my arrival in Forks – heck, even Renée, miles away and blinded by the excitement of travel, had known. I knew that I was quiet and distant, even for a natural born introvert, that I wasn’t very excited even over things that usually made me happy (my entire Jane Austen collection had sat untouched for over a month, and I hadn’t checked out a single non-essential book from the library). But it wasn’t until we’d been driving into La Push that morning that I’d noticed the emotional deadness, like a layer of wax, making me impermeable to the outside world.

It wasn’t like the day had put me entirely to rights, but the wax had been melting ever since. I’d begun to notice little things, like the pleasant sting of the wind on my cheeks as I drove to and from school on days without rain, the wood-and-pine-needles-with-a-dash-of-Charlie’s-aftershave mix that washed over me when I got home each day, welcoming me like a hug. Just the other day I’d quietly mmm’ed at how one of my steaks had come out at dinner, then wondered when the taste of food had last been memorable.

Angela was right. I did feel more awake. “Yeah. Maybe. I guess I’m finally settling in.”

But Jess had been going in an entirely different direction. “Are you sure it didn’t have anything to do with the cute boy you were talking to?”

Oh. “Jacob? No,” I answered hurriedly, “I – we – my dad used to leave me behind with his sisters when we were little. He goes fishing with Jacob’s dad.”

“He was cute.”

 “He’s fifteen.” He’d looked young enough that Mike had dismissed him as a threat, looking Jacob over with mockery and relief after he’d come back from the hike to see us sitting together.

Jess stared at me for a few extra seconds, as if the strength of her gaze would make me reveal the conspiracy she seemed to think I was a part of. Then she sighed. “Still, he was cute. Even Lauren thought so,” she said, twirling spaghetti onto her fork. “And what’s two years anyway? Angela’s dad is seven years older than her mom.”

Angela nodded serenely. “It’s different though. Seven years at 33 and 40 than two years at fifteen and seventeen, I mean.”

I shot her a grateful look.

Jess nodded. But then she said “Lauren also said you guys sat really close at the bonfire and laughed the whole time. Said it was the first time she’d seen you laugh.”

“I’m surprised she cared enough to notice.”

Jess made a dismissive sound. “Her actual words were ‘Nice to know Bella Swan has teeth’ and ‘I thought her face was gonna crack’, but she did have a point. I noticed. You looked really happy when Mike and I came back from the shop that day.”

Jessica’s words made something in me itch. Right along with annoyance at Lauren’s vitriol (and over a boy!) and a wave of self-consciousness, a harsh pang of something a lot like homesickness hit me, right in the middle of the chest. It wasn’t a longing for Phoenix, which I missed often enough to know. It was a yearning for something else, some sense of comfort and belonging –

- I shoved the thought away. Instead, I groaned. “Do you think she’ll stop hating me if I run Tyler over?”

Angela and Jess laughed, and in the end, so did I.

Later that night, after Jessica had brought me home, I lay wide awake for hours, listening to the sound of swaying trees, nocturnal animals and my own anxious thoughts.

I knew my life in Phoenix hadn’t been a spiral of misery, not by a long shot. Phoenix was warmth and contentment, it was Forks that was misery and rain. Back there I’d had my mother, and I’d had my fair share of group projects, school fairs and even the occasional birthday party (no dances though, not ever). I wasn’t exactly invited to everything, but I had indeed stepped out of my house. Sometimes, I'd even managed to enjoy some of the social obligations I’d wound up in.

But that was it. My true friends all these past years had been Renée and my books. Nobody called my house just to chat or hung out with me outside school when nothing was happening. And nobody, other than the principal and whoever had handled my transfer paperwork, had been told I was leaving Phoenix.

Jess and even Angela had balked at that. Even when I explained how many people there were in my grade alone and how much bigger Phoenix was, with distance and variety that didn’t really lend itself to building connections, the “I didn’t have any friends” had sounded both harsh and unbelievable to them.

I understood though. Not having any friends in Forks meant you’d shut down everyone’s efforts to bring you into the community, or you’d been too big a jerk to everyone who’d tried.

 (Or you’d run away in the middle of the day with your infant daughter and broken one of the town’s most beloved police officer’s heart).

I had had two constant lunch companions my last year, Jessica Landry from History and Lana Fox from English, but we hadn’t seen each other outside school on purpose, not ever. I’d sent them awkward goodbye emails the day before my flight, but it felt more like a formality. Anne Elliot from Persuasions, taking her leave of the people of the parish, even though her absence wouldn’t make much of a difference to them. Their answers had been very kind, but I hadn’t emailed them since I’d arrived in Forks, and neither had they. Things just weren’t like that between us.

Outgoing Renée had a revolving door of friends, picked up wherever her flavor of the week was, but none of them stayed past the decline of her interest in the club, church or group that had brought them together. Before Phil, she’d had a revolving door of boyfriends too.

Both of us were solitary, so we’d just clung to one another despite our differences. It wasn’t bad. I’d never met anyone, at school or otherwise, who seemed interested in joining my small, quiet world. Sometimes  – especially once puberty hit my grade and drama of all kinds erupted, from boyfriend stealing to breakups to elaborate friendship betrayals – I was even grateful for the isolation.

But I’d seen something, felt something, that day on First Beach. It reminded me of being seven years old and curling up in a corner of the elementary school library, a pile of The Babysitter’s Club books on hand. Seven-year-old Bella had loved them, with their small town adventures and their incredible friendship: imagine that, having a whole group of friends to call if you were sad! And they’d care! And even do something about it, outside of school hours! Seven-year-old Bella had been sure she’d meet her own gaggle of best friends any day now, and start having adventures.

(Seven-year-old Bella was also pretty sure she’d be the shy, clumsy Mary Anne Spier of that gaggle of best friends, but it would all be OK because timid Mary Anne was the first of the whole group to get a boyfriend, and those were as good as princes).

That hadn’t happened and I’d been OK. My friendship with Forks-Jessica seemed in line to match with Phoenix-Jessica, polite and comfortable but distant in the end. Angela and I seemed to share our shyness and our silence. A little too much perhaps.

Maybe there was something to what Jacob Black had said, and how we’d sort of known each other since he was born. Maybe that day on the beach had been a one-off, and Jacob’s friendliness would vanish the minute a different willing body crossed his path, like Eric or even Mike to a degree. Maybe I’d go down to La Push one of these days. Maybe I was nuts.

 Maybe, just maybe, the part of me that was eager to go, that felt like good things were waiting for me beyond my comfort zone, as Renée would put it, was right.

At some hour of the night or morning, my exhausted mind finally decided I’d look for the next safe, impersonal chance to visit La Push to see what was up. Course clear, my thoughts finally stopped running in circles and let me go to sleep.

I dreamed I was walking through a forest, restful under the starless, moonless sky. I walked through the pitch black beneath their branches, stumbling here and there, but somehow managing not to trip. Where’s east, I wondered, where’s east? I’m supposed to be going east. The darkness was disorienting and yet hardly frightening. Almost friendly. Where’s east?

East is where the sun rises, I thought. I reached out to the trunk of a nearby tree for support and eased myself to the ground, settling in to wait for sunrise.

Chapter Text

Even with my mind made up, my chance didn’t come for a good few days. I wasn’t about to trundle down to La Push after school, yelling at anyone I met on the road for directions to the Black house and announcing to a bewildered Jacob that I was there to make friends once I rumbled into his driveway. I wasn’t an idiot (not completely at least).

(It did occur to me, as I worked on yet another lab I remembered from back in the AP class in Phoenix, that it could have been that way if I’d met Jacob Black as a little boy. I could have just walked up to seven or eight or nine-year-old Jacob during a summer in Forks and asked him what he was doing, then let him drag me into his games without too much talking, the way little kids do.

It might have been easier than awkward silences with the twins. It might have ended up with less tantrums from me over Charlie and Billy’s fishing trips.

 The thought made me sad, so I tucked it away and tried to balance finishing the lab in time with not offending my partner Lisa-with-the-braces, who was really struggling with this unit).

I handed in my Macbeth essay, where I had a good time ragging on how everyone but Lady Macbeth was portrayed as struggling with an actual conscience. I agonized over Trig problems. The numbness kept dropping away slowly: I noticed the frozen pizza from school tasted pretty good (for frozen pizza at least), that Charlie ate his greens with less grumbles when I provided homemade dressing. I noticed Jessica didn’t like me every day, and couldn’t help but feel sad about it. I prayed that the passing weeks, my now legendary clumsiness and, y’know, the sight of my face would finally persuade Lauren and Jess that I wasn’t secretly a gorgeous cheerleader, come to ensnare their males with my wily Arizona ways.

I lived and I waited, telling myself I was biding my time instead of dithering because I was scared witless at the idea of leaving my comfort zone.

In the end, it was Charlie who gave me the push.

The phone rang while I was baking fish one night, two days from the much awaited Sadie Hawkins Dance. I heard Charlie’s murmured ‘hey Billy’ and the quiet rumble of the usual pleasantries. Then something in his voice changed, and all I heard were low, tense oh’s from Charlie every few minutes.

It wasn’t like the comically terrified oh’s from when Renée was overloading him with information, or the sad dejected ones that happened when a game was cancelled. These were serious oh’s. Charlie radiated silent tension after the phone call, and there was something limp and dejected in the way he sliced the fish.

“Everything OK?”

“Billy hasn’t been feeling well. He called to cancel the next fishing trip.” It wasn’t the first cancelled fishing trip ever, but the set of Charlie’s face told me it was different from the rest.

“Is it the diabetes?” I asked carefully.

Charlie nodded. He stared down at his plate, poking at a piece of baked fish for so long I thought he wasn’t going to speak again. “Billy…he stopped caring, really caring, about his health after Sarah,” he said finally.

I knew Sarah Black had been dead for years in the same way I knew the grass was green. Memories of her were fainter than memories of Billy. I must have known her though, because someone had to have stayed behind to look after Rachel, Rebecca, Jacob and I while Billy and Charlie went fishing. I tried to remember something, her face or her voice or even her funeral, but drew a blank; the year she had died was probably one of the years I hadn’t come to Forks on vacation, which meant Charlie had gone to visit me instead. Months after the fact, most likely, with his stoic mask long since in place and eager for a few angst-free days with his daughter.

I’d noticed that too, that Charlie had a stoic mask. It was slightly different from his usual expression. He was wearing it now, in fact.

“It’s been better since Jacob got old enough to keep an eye on him,” he continued, unaware of my wandering thoughts, “but sometimes…well. Valentine’s Day’s coming up.”

It was the closest Charlie had ever come to voicing his feelings with actual words. I felt a pang of sadness on his behalf, even moreso when it occurred to me that the kind of deep, lifelong connections I’d been quietly yearning were exactly the ones that bound Charlie Swan and Billy Black together. He’d probably known Sarah Black. He’d probably liked her – and he probably hurt at her absence, even if he hurt less than Billy himself did.

Billy. How would it feel to lose someone you’d loved enough to marry and have three children with?

“You should go anyway. To see Billy, I mean. I’ll make him something,” I said, already wracking my brains for Grandma Marie’s brownie recipe. They’d been legendary, and somehow, when her pancreas gave out and she’d tinkered it into something diabetes friendly, they’d lost none of their punch. Then, realizing fate had all but slapped me with a chance: “Um. I’ll come too.”

Charlie stared at me in shock for all of a second before giving me a gruff, “thanks, Bells” and digging into dinner with a firmer grip on his fork.

We set aside the day of the Sadie Hawkins dance to go see Billy Black. I got up before Charlie did on the day of to make a batch of brownies, wrapped the pan in the bath towels we used the least, and took them with me to school.

Nobody seemed to have Gran’s actual recipe. I remembered some of the basics, but whatever magical ingredients had made them so good despite the lack of sugar escaped both me and my mom. Not to be deterred, I’d compiled the ingredients I could recall, made educated guesses on the ones I didn’t, then made five batches of brownies over two days. The first two had been decent, if a little bland, and the third was so terrible it had to be left out for the squirrels. The fourth, however, had made Charlie ask if I was sure I hadn’t put in real sugar and milk chocolate by mistake.

Batch number five, which went to school with me, was a repeat of batch number four. Charlie, by way of his long-suffering nature and having been subjected to my mother’s cooking experiments, could eat (even enjoy) anything. I needed a second opinion, even a third or fourth if I could manage. I couldn’t give a grieving man subpar brownies.

Everyone at the table stared when I brought in the pan during lunch. Mike blinked up at me as I cut the brownies as evenly as I could with the dull cafeteria knife. “Are you selling them, Bella?”

“Nope. They’re free,” I pried one of the corner brownies out and dropped it on Mike’s tray. “Just tell me if they’re good.”

Mike’s face lit up just as Jessica’s darkened, and I realized my mistake far too late. Mike exulted the brownie of course, prompting Tyler and Eric to demand one too and begin trying to out-compliment Mike. On the day of the dance, with Jessica, Angela and Lauren right there. It was all I could do not to dive out a window. Damn this school and its single story.

 To my unending relief, Angela piped up that she wanted one through the chorus, smiling when I handed her a brownie and nibbling thoughtfully on one of the corners.

“The chocolate is good,” she said, “but it tastes...” We both ignored Lauren’s triumphant ha as Angela cast around for the right words. “It’s good, but there’s something different about them.”

“It’s not actually sugar in them. They’re sugar free, low-carb. Diabetes-friendly brownies.” I’d used dark chocolate, and Charlie had caught someone from the station who’d be driving down from Seattle in time to have them get fancy low-carb flour and lots of stevia.

Mike wrinkled his entire face in disgust at the words ‘sugar free’, but they had the opposite effect on Jessica. She held out her hand for one eagerly, taking a large bite and chewing with gusto. “You can barely tell, they’re good.” She broke what was left in two and deposited one half into Lauren’s hand. She stared like Jessica had given her half of a dead roach.

“Maybe more chocolate,” Jessica said at length, “and some berries on top for balance. I had something like that on a trip to Washington. Can diabetics eat berries?”

Eric said he thought so, Angela nodded, and Jessica and Mike promptly began discussing their experience with diabetics, any tiffs forgotten. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Lauren pick up her piece of brownie with the tips of her fingers. She bit off a corner. Chewed.

She didn’t say anything. After a while she raised the brownie to her mouth again, and I hid a smile.

The Blacks' house was vaguely familiar, a wooden one-story cabin with narrow windows, external walls painted a dull red. A memory wrenched itself free of the grey fog that covered most of my time in Forks as a small girl: eight or nine-year-old me had hated being left behind during fishing trips, but the sight of the house had always made me happy. It had felt like something out of a fairy tale, a little red house hidden amongst the trees that Charlie seemed to find as if by magic.

(The dream was over once Rebecca, Rachel and myself were inside, staring at each other, and Charlie and Billy were out the door, of course.)

Charlie, batch number six (more chocolate, no berries but a bit of powdered, unsweetened cocoa sprinkled on top) and I got out of the cruiser and trudged up to the house in the waning light of day. I looked around as we waited on the porch: the trees, the driveway, everything there felt familiar too, even if no specific memories emerged.

Jacob Black opened the door. His hair was loose, swept back and rumpled as if he’d only barely bothered to draw it off his face before he came to let us in.

“Hi there, Charlie,” he said, easy familiarity in his tone. Then he looked past my dad and his eyes widened. “Bella!”

“Hi,” I said, raising the tray. “I brought brownies.”

Jacob stared at me in what seemed to be abject terror. “Thanks, that was really nice of you. Come on in, I’ll –ah…” he opened the door wider to let us in and bolted. As he escaped down the narrow hallway, I caught sight of a broad back. A broad, bare back.

Jacob had been only in his boxers. I begged the powers that be that my blush would cool down by the time he got back.

Charlie let himself in, unfazed by the casual nakedness and the informality. “Billy? Did you tell Jacob we were coming?”

Billy Black was parked in the small living room, head tilted back, eyes fixed as if the ceiling were too interesting to miss by blinking. “Might have slipped my mind,” he said with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He lowered his eyes, then caught sight of me. “Hey there, Bella.” He rolled over to meet us, eyeing me curiously.

Billy Black’s shoulder length hair was still dark, thick and shiny like Jacob’s. He had a deep, resonant voice and piercing eyes. Even though he was wheelchair-bound, there was an air of strength to him, and I wondered how I’d managed to forget him.

I knew he was Charlie’s age, but Billy looked so much older. Older and tired. He smiled for real this time, and it struck me that Billy wasn’t aged as much as he was careworn. “It’s been a while.”

“It has,” I answered, apologetic. “I brought you some brownies. For you,” I babbled, as if I hadn't already clarified they were his. I meant to say that they were sugar free and that I’d made them with him in mind, but my tongue got all tangled and the thought of calling this man anything that could be construed, even distantly, as weak to his face made logical sentence construction scamper away from me.

Billy huffed once with a brief hint of suppressed laughter. “I’ll give them a try if you can plate them up. I’d grab one as is, but the crumbs are a bitch to clean out from under my legs.”

I nodded wordlessly and escaped to the kitchen, treating myself to another round of distant recognition. The Black’s house made me feel oddly comfortable, even though I hadn’t set foot in here since Sarah Black was alive.

 I opened a cabinet and found small plates on the first try. I opened drawers in search of cutlery and spent a few minutes admiring a small spoon with its bowl bound in white rubber. The tip of its handle had the fading imprint of a frog with a little smile on its face.

When I returned to the living room with four plated brownies, the frog spoon came with me.

Charlie and Billy ignored the non-froggy spoons I offered them and dove immediately into speculation about the coming baseball season; I let them, settling on the recliner to watch. Even though I couldn’t understand a single word, it was entertaining to watch them, Billy loud and cheerfully insolent (if they had a Swear Jar, it must be the most lucrative thing for miles), Charlie quiet as always but engaged and responsive. At length both men remembered the brownies: I held my breath as Billy bit into his, then died a little inside when he frowned. “This is good,” he declared, confusion wrinkling his brow, and the bits of me that had died groaned back to life.

“It’s dark chocolate and stevia,” I blurted out. “And coconut flour.”

Billy turned the confection over. “Well shit.” Looking over my shoulder, he said. “You take a bite of this, Jacob, and tell me if it tastes like the health food Sue keeps trying to cram down Harry’s throat.”

Jacob had reappeared behind me, clothed and with his hair tied. He took the brownie from his father’s plate, then polished the rest off in two bites. “This is sugar free?” he asked incredulously, licking his thumb for good measure.

Charlie smiled proudly, “Bells is a pretty good cook, if I do say so myself.”

“You don’t think you could lend her to us sometimes, Charlie? Between Dad and I, the closest we get to gourmet is a drive to the diner in Forks. And the things Mrs. Clearwater drops off here to get them away from her husband.”

“And the shit Harry dumps here when Sue’s on a health kick,” added Billy.

“She’s still trying?”

“Never gives up. Remember the New Year’s brussels sprouts?” Both men were off on a reminiscence after that, so I seized the chance to hand Jacob his brownie. He smiled brightly at me, then glanced at the handful of spoons I was holding.

“Hey, it’s the froggy spoon!”

“Oh, yeah. I thought it was sort of cute.” I turned it over in my hand. Why had I brought it again? It was too blunt to cut, and too small to eat with. “Was it yours?”

“Actually, I think it’s yours.”

I stared at Jacob, then at the spoon. “Mine?”

He nodded resolutely “Everything Rache and Becc had was a matched pair, and there’s only ever been one froggy spoon. Mine was the, ah, doggy spoon. Hey, don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, trying in vain to stifle my giggles, “it’s just the way you say it is really cute.”

Jacob stared at me in affront. “Am not. I’m a very manly man.”

“Who had a doggy spoon and a froggy spoon. Sure, manly.”

“Extremely manly.”

“It’s OK Jacob. Manly men were manly boys at some point.”

“Were not!”

“Were too.”

“Were not.”

“Were too!”

“Okay fine, fine, I was a manly boy with a doggy spoon once,” he conceded, “but the froggy spoon is yours, I’m sure. It’s been here forever. And whenever one of our spoons was dirty and we had to use it, we complained a lot. It wasn’t mine, or Rache and Becc’s.”

It made sense. Once upon a time, I must have spent time here whenever Charlie couldn’t keep an eye on me, and not only during his fishing trips.

“Your house does seem familiar.”

“You’re welcome any time,” he said without missing a beat. The appreciation I’d noticed weeks ago on First Beach was back in his eyes, but it didn’t aggravate me the way Mike’s or Tyler’s or Eric’s gazes did. Talking to them felt a lot like trekking through a minefield on the bad days. On the good ones, it wasn’t too bad, except for how I could tell they held back a lot, worried as they were about making a good impression.

Talking to Jacob, on the other hand, was as easy as breathing, even now. “Thanks,” I said at length, “I may just take you up on that. I’m not having the best time at school.”

“How come?”

“Um…” I glanced to the other side of the small living room, where Billy and Charlie were now back on channel baseball.

“Come on, you can tell me.” Following my gaze, Jacob raised an eyebrow. “They wouldn’t notice a brass band marching through the kitchen while they discuss Mariners strategy. Trust me.” He dragged the worn settee closer to the recliner. “You can whisper it. C’mon. I can keep a secret.”

If it had been anyone else, I would have deflected the question with vagaries and assurances that I’d settle in eventually. I would have smiled and laughed until they gave up. But Jacob sounded so sincere when he asked, and I’d worked so hard to keep this from Renée and Charlie and even myself, to a degree…

…I cracked.

 I told him about being a curio when all I wanted was to just blend in, about Jessica’s fair weather affections and Lauren’s hatred, about Mike and Eric and Tyler (“Mike, the guy who acted like your boyfriend on the beach?” Jacob asked, and I nodded forlornly), about how I didn’t have the foggiest idea what to do. I told him about how nobody ever wanted to date me in Phoenix, even my theory about how familiarity had bred contempt (Jacob frowned but said nothing). I told him about loving my mother and loving Phoenix but hating keeping her from Phil, about taking care of Renée more than she took care of me (something unreadable crossed Jacob’s face then).

When I was all talked out, I slumped sideways on the recliner. “You must think I’m a horrible little whiner,” I said forlornly. “My biggest issue is that a few dumb guys like me too much, and that one mean girl took offense of it. Oh woe is me.”

Jacob laughed. “Naw. You’re just a regular new girl who’s gone a long time without venting. And a bit of an overthinker.” He paused, contemplating something. “Kind of like your dad.”

I glanced over at said dad, who was nodding gravely at something. “But they did sign Adrián Beltré,” Billy was saying authoritatively, “so there might be something to look forward to.”

Jacob smirked. “I told you. They’ll go on like this until they get hungry, and only then they’ll realize it’s nighttime.”

“What?” I looked out the nearest window. Sure enough, darkness and pattering rain had swallowed up the cruiser. It looked like dinner time. I wasn’t in too much of a hurry to leave.

“I wish you could stay for dinner,” said Jacob, a little wistfully.

“Me too,” I confessed. I felt lighter than I had in a long time. I was ashamed of whining to Jacob. I was incredibly grateful to Jacob. “Would you…I mean, it’s OK if you don’t want to, but I could make you guys dinner.”

Jacob slumped. “You can’t.”

“Why not? I am a pretty decent cook, after all.”

“Unless you can make something out of ice shavings and one frozen pizza, there’s nothing anyone can do. We haven’t gone grocery shopping yet.”

I winced. “And what’ll you guys be having?”

Jacob grimaced. "Ice shavings and frozen pizza.”

Our dads regained their awareness of time right in the middle of me passionately defending Romeo and Juliet from Jacob’s derision. Billy escorted us to the door, even though it was right there, and he and Charlie had to be pried apart anyway. I hugged Jacob goodbye, then wondered what had gotten into me. But then Jacob hugged me back, warm and welcoming, and I didn’t regret it for a second.

We were on our way home, my eyes almost hypnotized by the wipers on the windshield, when I remembered the reason for our visit. “Billy seemed OK.” The one diabetic I’d known had been decades older and much frailer.

Charlie sighed. “I just hope he doesn’t…he better take care of himself.” 

Neither of us said a word after that, the patter of rain on glass and things unsaid filling the silence for us.

Chapter Text

The phone rang, loud in the empty house, the following day.

“Hey Bella! It’s -”

“Jacob? Hi! How’d you get my number?”

He snickered. “Maybe ‘cause our dads have been best friends forever? I could dial your house in my sleep. How are you?”

“Good, good.” I paused. “Charlie’s not home yet.”

“Well, that’s too bad, but I was actually calling you.”

My heart swelled. “That’s really nice of you.”

“Yeah, I’m just a real nice guy.”

“Washed your doggy spoon lately, Mr. Nice Guy?”

Jacob made exaggerated wheezing noises. “That was way below the belt, Bells. But I’ll forgive you, ‘cause I really am a nice guy. How was school?”

“Oh, good.” I didn’t say anything about him calling me ‘Bells’, but it felt nice. Friends used nicknames. Were we friends? My chest fell warm at the idea. Only my immediate family used any kind of nickname (Bella didn't count). Some people had tried to call me 'Is' or 'Izzy'. The mere thought of it hurt my ears, like the shrill sound a guitar made when it toppled onto its strings.

“Good. Sure." after a pointed pause, Jacob insisted. "Now tell me how you're really doing."

I laughed. “I really am doing OK. Lauren’s all cheerful with post-dance bliss. Mr. Varner does keep calling on me when I have no idea what it is and it’s like he has it in for me…”

We chatted for a while, about everything, until the darkening windows warned me it was time to get dinner going.

“Did you get around to grocery shopping?”

There was a tense silence from the other end. “Oh shit. I knew I was forgetting something. Guess it’s ice chips tonight.”

I winced. “You could always come to dinner. Charlie says you’re always invited.”

“Thanks, Bella,” he said gratefully “And so are you, by the way. But if I don’t go to the store now, I’ll get busy and it’ll be ice chips for another three days.”

I was a little sad to hang up.

When the phone rang at approximately the same on the following day, I told myself it wasn’t Jacob. I told myself it was silly to be hung up on this.

“Hey, Bella!”

“Hi Jacob!” I said, warm relief suffusing me, “how were the ice chips?”

“No idea. It was overdone steaks and unevenly sliced raw carrots last night. And it was almost 10 when we finally did eat.”

“That sounds…pretty awful, actually. No wonder you wanted me over there to make dinner last time.”

Jacob laughed. “We’re not actually that hopeless, we just lost track of time what with unloading the groceries and getting the fridge things into the fridge and then a shelf in the pantry collapsed – let’s just say I’m just glad it they were still more steak than cinders.” Jacob huffed. “Dad looked like he was about to cry when I tossed it on the plate.”

“Did he eat it?”

“Oh yeah. I think he bitched more about the raw carrots than the steak.”

“Him too, huh?” I shook my head, even though Jacob couldn’t see me. “Charlie doesn’t complain, but he’ll eye anything that didn’t have a mother suspiciously for a quarter of an hour before he puts it in his mouth. Unless I bathe it in salad dressing. Then he wolfs it down.”

“Wish I could do the same with Billy,” he said wistfully, “but anything they sell that I’ve seen has added sugar.”

I gasped. “That’s ridiculous. Get a pad of paper and something to write with, I’ll tell you how to make one.”

On Monday, Jacob rhapsodized about the vinegar and Dijon mustard salad dressing I’d tipped him off about. I remembered the brownies, and asked how they’d liked them.

“We might have licked the pan clean. OK, I licked the pan clean.”

"Words a cook lives to hear," I said, pretending to be smug about it. "Just don't eat the pan, I don't know where the rest of them are yet."

"I'll do my best to contain myself."

“I just wish I’d used my Grandma Marie’s actual recipe – I swear, nobody could tell they didn’t have sugar.”

“Uh, Bella, that’s exactly what happened. Dad literally told you he thought they had sugar.”

“I know, I know, but hers were just so good.” I sighed. “But that’s OK. Would you like the recipe for them too?”

“Naw. I’m not a baking kind of guy. We’ll just wait until you come back around.”

“Can I…can I come one day anyway? Without brownies I mean?” I cringed at how small my  voice sounded.

There was silence on the other end. Great. Now I’d done it. I scared Jacob off with my neediness. I was so, so bad at this friendship thing –

“You’re always invited Bella, I told you. Brownies or not,” he said in a quiet, solemn way. But then it passed, and he was his usual sunny self again, “Just…warn me in advance, so I can make an extra batch of ice chips okay?”

On Tuesday, when Jacob got English homework about Romeo & Juliet and had the gall to complain, we ended up stuck in a passionate argument that lasted until Charlie got home. I gave Jacob hurried goodbyes and hung up, embarrassed about the phone bill, but Charlie only smiled at me oddly.

“Was that Jacob Black?”

“Yeah, he was trashing Romeo and Juliet. I couldn’t take that lying down. I mean, he had a point, the play’s about the dangers of loving unwisely, but –“

I’d ranted at Charlie for about five minutes before I knew what I was doing.

“ – and I think I’ll, shut up now?” I coughed. “sorry Dad.”

Charlie shook his head, still smiling.

On Wednesday, halfway through our call, Jacob went quiet. “Something’s up with my Dad,” he confessed in a whisper. “I’m not sure what it is, but he’s been…not himself these past few days.”

Uh oh. “Is he taking his meds? Should we come over?”

Jacob hesitated. “No,” he said at length, “Not while I’m not sure what’s wrong. He’s not sick, not as far as I can tell, but he’s not acting normal either.”

“You know you can call us anytime, right?”

“Of course. I told you, Charlie’s been my Dad’s best friend for decades. I could dial your house in my sleep.”

I hesitated. I dithered. And then I gave up. “You can call my cell too.”

Silence.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, hi, I’m still here,” blustered Jacob. “I’ll write it down.”

I rattled off the numbers. Jacob repeated them. “Call me anytime. I’m serious.”

“OK,” there must have been a sound somewhere on his end, because Jacob’s voice dropped even lower, “Dad’s coming out of the bathroom, so I can’t talk about it anymore. But thanks. Thanks.”

The words were out of my mouth before I could think them through. “We’re friends, don’t thank me.”

“Of course we are.”

On Thursday, Jacob reported that Billy’d been better, relief in his tone. I breathed a sigh myself. “That’s so good to hear Jake.” Besides, Billy was growing on me, constant swearing and all.

“Heh.”

“What?”

“You called me Jake.”

“I guess I did,” I said, a little shyly. “You call me Bells.”

“And now I have a nickname too. Now we’re actual, official friends.”

I laughed, even as my mind went into overdrive. “What do you mean ‘actual official friends’, I said we were friends just yesterday! You agreed!”

“Huh, you did.” A pause. “Well, now it’s a binding contract, and you can’t get rid of me if you tried.”

“Oh, I won’t be trying.”

 Jacob and I kept talking for another ten minutes, even while my mind went over his words with a passion in the background. I thought of all my careful plans, all my nightly obsessing. Of how I hadn’t really been thinking it in the end (or was it the beginning?), how it went and happened all on its own while I was busy doing other things. It had all clicked, like corresponding puzzle pieces.

On Friday, long after Jacob and I had hung up, Billy Black had a seizure.

Chapter Text

The ride to the hospital felt so long that only years of keeping Renée calm during emergencies stopped me from devolving into an eleven-year-old. I looked out the window, watching the drizzling rain and the trees all but crawl by. Are we there yet?

Even with my eyes fixed on the window, the tension that rolled off Charlie in waves hit me like a space heater. I hadn’t wasted a minute of precious time arguing over what car to take, but in retrospect, the police cruiser was a good idea: in a pinch, everyone would give way to a police car.

His grip on the cruiser’s steering wheel was normal, his face set into forcible calm. If anything had happened to Billy –

 - don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about it. Billy Black would be OK. He had to be.

We found Jacob quickly enough in the grid of waiting room chairs, collapsed in the middle of the third row with his head in his hands. He got to his feet and stumbled out from between the chairs the moment he saw us, looking so young and lost something in me ached.

Charlie reached him first. “How is he?”

“I don’t know,” Jacob said tiredly, “they let me ride in the ambulance, but then we got here and I had no ID and they kicked me out when they realized I was a minor.” That was the entire reason we were here first: Charlie was Billy’s emergency contact. The hospital had called him directly.

“I’ll go in there in a moment, and I’ll figure it all out,” Charlie said evenly. Then his voice went very, very gentle. “Has Billy been eating, Jacob?”

“Oh, he has,” Jacob replied, a bitter edge creeping into his tone. “I found a carton of caramel ice cream when I went looking for his wallet in the kitchen. Looks like Billy’s been working on it all week, ‘cause it was nearly all gone.”

Charlie swore.

Unthinking, I slung an arm around Jacob’s shoulders. “It’s not your fault,” I said gently, “it’s not. I bet Billy was sneaky about it. I bet you didn’t catch him once. It’s not your fault.” God knew Renée bought costly things she didn't need or got involved with groups that weren't good for her, no matter what Phil or I told her.

Jacob’s face was grim, but he nodded anyway. Then his spine curled and his entire body was folding towards me until his face pressed into my shoulder. His body was tense with contained emotion, but the tiniest squeak of a sob escaped him, muffled against my sleeve. The reverberations seemed to snake down my arm and cut right through the center of my heart.

“I’ll go in now,” said Charlie, “I’ll be back out with news as soon as I can.” When Jacob seemed too fraught to speak for himself, I nodded to Charlie. He nodded back before walking resolutely towards the closest desk, where whoever was on duty leapt to her feet at the sight of him. Thank god for Chief of Police superpowers.

Jacob was boneless as I led him back to his seat, face still hidden resolutely in my shoulder. I thought nothing of tightening the arm that I kept around him, kneading his shoulder gently with my thumb.

After what felt like a long time, Jacob finally extricated his face from my shirt. “He’s done this before”, he croaked. “When my sisters were still around. Except he starved himself that time and then kept lying about taking his insulin and not too many years down the road he was in the wheelchair.” A sigh. “It was around this time, too. His and mom’s anniversary.”

“His and your mom’s - ?”

“They were married on Valentine’s. Right out of high school. They didn’t really plan it that way though, it had to be on a day when their witnesses were all free and it happened to be on a February the 14^th.”

I thought about what Charlie had said, about Valentine’s and how Billy had stopped really caring after his wife died. If I’d heard the story third hand, I would have thought it sad, but romantic. Right now, all I thought of was how nice it would be to grab Billy Black by the shoulders and give him a good shake.

I held Jacob tighter. “You were right Jake. Romeo and Juliet were really stupid.” The little idiot didn’t even have to stop wanting to kill himself, all he had to do was put it off for a few hours, even a few minutes, and then the play wouldn’t have ended in tears.

He snorted wetly against my shoulder. “You’re so weird, Bells.”

A few minutes later, hurried footsteps heralded the arrival of Embry Call in the waiting room, a shorter, muscular boy I vaguely remembered from the bonfire hot on his heels. Both of them froze at the sight of me and Jacob, making my arm around his shoulders burn – I fought the urge to pull away. We’re friends, Jake needs comfort, I told myself, even as a blush heated my cheeks, and I can be here. I belong. After a few seconds, Embry recovered. His friend, whose mouth was actually hanging open, followed suit.

“Hey Jake. Bonfire girl,” said Embry with a smile, “We would have gotten here sooner, but my mom wasn’t around and when I went to Quil’s, Old Quil wanted a lift too and then all the old people knew and – yeah. We got a ride from Mrs. Littlesea. Everyone’s on their way, though.”

‘Everyone’? My hand on Jacob’s shoulder started to sweat.

The other boy stared at me for a moment before shaking himself out. “How’s your dad?” he asked, turning to look at Jacob for a moment before his eyes sprung to me again.

“I don’t know,” admitted Jacob, “Alive, I guess.”

“My dad’ll be out in a moment with news, I think.” I offered nervously. “I’m Bella Swan.”

“We know,” answered Embry. “I’m Embry Call. I saw you when the town kids came over way back when.”

“Yeah, I remember.”

“I’m Quil Ateara,” said the other one, edging closer to me slowly and offering me a hand. His stare was beginning to get to me, but then Jacob coughed and Quil’s head whipped around so fast, his neck must have hurt.

Quil sat to Jacob’s left while Embry sat in the row of chairs in front of us, turned around to talk. The two launched into what I could only describe as a two-person comedy routine, talking about their day and someone called Kim emptying her entire bottle of Cherry Coke on someone called Jared (I offered this unknown girl all of my solidarity), about the horrors of English class and the final score of a softball game they’d improvised during lunch. I laughed or groaned, amused at the stories (which they really had a flare for) and relieved that the weight of conversation wasn’t on me. I kept my arm firm on Jacob’s shoulder too.

More and more people filtered in as one of the longest hours of my life wore on, so many that it wouldn’t have crossed my mind that they were all here for Billy and Jacob if they hadn’t all come to acknowledge Jake before they sat down. Some of them recognized me and said hi, but just as many spoke only to Jacob, as if I wasn’t there. They did the same to Quil and Embry, but I couldn’t help feeling it was different for me. I recognized Harry and Sue Clearwater (well, actually just Harry, Sue by association), who were very kind. I didn't recognize almost anyone else. One or two of the older people looked at me severely.

Young people filtered in too. Instead of acknowledging Jacob and leaving, they crowded in around us, taking their cue from Quil and Embry and talking about teachers I’d never known, people I’d never met and parties I’d never gone to. Nobody gave me strange looks, but I began to feel overwhelmed.

Overwhelmed and terribly, stridently out of place. When Jacob got up to share a manly clap of the back with a giant named Sam Uley, more man than boy, I let my arm slip off his shoulder and didn’t put it back.

 At some point I got up to find the bathroom. When I came back, a boy who looked thirteen at most had taken my seat, looking up at Jacob with what could only be called worshipful awe.

Every seat around them was taken. I leaned against the wall, wrapping my arms around my middle and wondering why I suddenly felt so sad.

Before I could start moping in earnest though, the noise in the waiting room died abruptly. I turned to see Charlie walking out of a side door, and so did everyone else. Harry and Sue Clearwater broke away from the crowd to meet him halfway, Harry slinging a friendly arm around Charlie the moment he was within reach.

“He’ll make it,” Charlie said, and a collective sigh of relief was heaved. Someone clapped. “Billy will have to stay here for two days, more if his blood sugar stays high - ”

“That sneaky little bastard,” Sue Clearwater seethed.

“ – but they’re sure he’ll make it. Hospital staff also wanted to ask everyone but the immediate family to please vacate the waiting room. This is a small place, folks, and there’s other patients’ families to think about.”

About half of the crowd slowly dispersed at Charlie’s command. Sue and Harry stayed, and so did Charlie. I followed his cue.  The remaining crowd, save for the Clearwaters and ourselves, folded in around Jacob, lending him their strength, and I was suddenly very glad they were here. Jacob seemed to thrive on company.

Charlie sat down heavily a few rows back from the crowd. Harry and Sue sat in front of him: Sue went off on her husband about high cholesterol, trans fats and cardiac arrest the moment her backside touched the seat. I didn’t think twice about sinking into the seat beside Charlie. I was far more used to adults – besides, the crowd around Jacob was so thick, I’d need a crowbar to get back to him.

“ – and for the love of fucking god, Harry,” Sue was saying, “at least try to stop guzzling grease. Do you think the kids or I like it, not being able to go to McDonalds? Do you think it's easy for me to do the whole housewife thing? Try, dammit!”

Harry nodded “Yes, dear.”

“I’m serious Harry.” Then Sue’s tone lost all its poison. “Think about what it would do to us, all of us, if something happened to you. You saw Jacob’s face.”

A grey pall descended upon our little group. Then Charlie spoke up: “I wouldn’t be too worried about Billy. He was awake and aware when they let me see him.” Harry and Sue turned as one to look at him.

“Awake. Aware. That’s good,” muttered Sue, who I dimly remembered was a registered nurse.

“What’d he say?”

“Oh, not much,” hedged Charlie, “I…may have called him a son of a bitch. So he told me to shut the fuck up.”

Harry laughed good-naturedly, but Sue’s face sharpened. “The least that man deserves is to be called a son of a bitch.”

“Jacob said he’s been eating caramel ice cream behind his back,” sighed Charlie. Harry’s face fell, and Sue lost all her fight, slumping into her husband.

"We're all going on a diet, Harry," she mumbled. Her husband laid a hand on her head.

"Dad?" Charlie turned. "What's all that about the caramel ice cream? If it's OK to ask, I mean. it's OK if - "

"It's fine, sweetie," answered Sue, clearly making an effort to make me comfortable. "See, Billy and Sarah were poorer than church mice when they got married. They didn’t have a honeymoon, barely had any money for the reception itself. We all pitched in of course, brought a dish or something,” she added, smiling for real now, “but of course they were cleaned out by the end. So, when the new Mister and Mrs. Black went home as husband and wife that night, Sarah gave Billy a carton of caramel ice cream. Her present to him.” Sue sniffled. “Pathetic sop,” she spat, then turned and hid her face on Harry’s shoulder.

The crowd dwindled even more over the next few hours. Most of the young people left when Charlie used his Chief of Police powers again to have Jacob escorted in to see his father despite his age, and the older people filtered away in small groups after that. When Jacob returned from seeing his father, only Sue Clearwater (Harry took himself and their children home) and I were left.

Jacob, who looked ready to collapse, perked up at the sight of me. “Bells. I thought you’d left.”

I shook my head. “How’s Billy?”

“Looking rough, but everyone keeps telling me he’ll make.”

“He will, dear, I promise,” said Sue reassuringly, “Billy’s too stubborn to just up and die without a fight.”

Jacob looked like he believed her, but his forehead didn’t uncrease. “They’re not letting me stay the night with him.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for," she quipped back smartly, "and lucky for all of you, I know my way around a hospital."

Still using his Chief Swan voice, Charlie began: “Mandy Littlesea will come switch with you in the morning –”

“ – and then Charles Longtree, and then Audrey Lahote, and so on and so forth until that piece of shit is out of here,” interrupted Sue darkly. “Just let me at him, Charlie. He’ll have such a miserable night, he’ll be begging for discharge by tomorrow morning.”

Charlie looked vaguely amused as he gestured Sue Clearwater through to whatever ward Billy was being held in. Then he frowned. “Where’s Jacob?”

I found Jacob leaning against a vending machine, gazing absently at a chocolate bar. The machine’s lights washed the color out of his skin and cast deep shadows under his eyes.

“Hungry?”

“Huh? Oh – no, not really.” He exhaled. “Long day.”

That was an understatement if I’d ever heard one. “Charlie’s going to drive us home.” When Jacob stiffened, I amended. “Our home. As in my house. He says you’d better stay with us. It’s closer to the hospital, and there’s actual food in it.” Jacob didn’t look any better. “We’ll swing by your place and get anything you need, and then you can go to school or not, go to school, it’s not like they’ll make you, except tomorrow's Saturday right, wo –”

“No no, it’s OK. It’s – thanks, I really don’t want to be hanging out at home alone,” he said. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, tell me about it.”

With a sigh, Jacob unstuck himself from the vending machine and walked up to me, gesturing for us to start walking.

“Hey, Bells" he said after a few steps, "thanks. For today, I mean.”

“Like we would have let you go through all this alone.”

“I know, I know. I’m glad it was you here first though.” I must have looked confused, because Jacob offered me a tired smile. “I’m happy so many people turned up for Billy – ”

“ – and you.”

“- and me. But it was nice that you were here. Nice to have someone who’d shut up for five seconds and just, lend me some strength.”

“I didn’t know I had any strength to lend,” I blurted out.

Jacob reached out and felt my arm. “You might be right.” I laughed, and Jacob smiled. “Being Billy’s son, sometimes people expect things from you. Sure, there’s Quil and Embry, who know me, and Leah who just thinks I’m stupid even if I go on to save the world from the undead or something...but then there’s the tribal council and everyone saying I’m so strong and making Ephraim Black proud and…” he shuddered. “It’s nice to have someone who’s just there.”

I thought about being That Girl From Phoenix to some people, Private Enemy Number One to Lauren and sometimes Jessica, Chief Swan’s Daughter to so many others, stumbling around in a haze until I was finally just Bella (Bells) to Jacob. “Yeah,” I whispered, “it really is.”

The lingering sadness from the last hour evaporated and we walked back to Charlie in silence, Jacob’s sleeve brushing against mine.

At home, I hauled out the leftover chicken to make sandwiches I was half sure nobody would have the stomach to eat, while Charlie took Jacob for his school bag and a change of clothes. I fretted over what bedclothes to put on the couch and whether I could persuade Jacob to take my bed instead (of course not, he’d argue his manliness all night).

Once they were home, Charlie ate his sandwich at a leisurely pace. Jacob ate his and, after a bit of poking, ate mine too. Then he went to ‘test out his bed’, laying his head on the couch’s armrest and squirming around for all of a minute before the day’s exhaustion shut his eyes. 

Charlie popped back up again as I tried to drape a blanket over Jacob without waking him. "Jake's a good boy," he said. It felt like a question.

"I know, I said." Then, like it was an answer, "he's my best friend." 

Chapter Text

The sound of the phone woke me early on Saturday morning. I stumbled blearily out of bed, wondering if it might be Jacob calling before I remembered the previous day and lurched out of bed –

- only to end up face first on the floor as an invisible force held me back. Crap.

No Charlie came barging through the door at the bang, which meant he was either at the precinct or at the hospital (hopefully getting us better news).

The phone stopped ringing, which meant Jacob had picked up. When no further sound came from downstairs, I released my foot and made my way down.

Jacob was sitting cross-legged on the couch, still in the previous day’s clothes, ear to the phone and a thunderstruck expression on his face. As I came nearer, I could hear the voice of a young woman coming through the receiver. He caught sight of me, pointed to his ear and mouthed Rebecca.

I sat down beside him, feeling him tense more and more as the call progressed without a word from his side. Finally, after close to ten minutes, Jacob seemed to have had enough:

“Becca. Beck, listen I know – yeah, I’m sorry, I know it was earlier for you than it was for – I know you’re worried, so am I and so is Rache and – how was I supposed to know?!” He gestured wildly, forgetting his sister couldn’t see him, then put a hand over his face. “OK. I will. Love ya. OK. Bye.” He reached over and hung up before deflating like a balloon. “I forgot to tell Rebecca and Rachel I wasn’t going to be home last night.”

I gasped, outraged on their behalf. “Jacob!”

“Please Bells, not you too,” he said with a wince. “I’ve heard it, at several different volumes, in Quileute and in English, from both of them.” He rubbed a hand across his face. “They called the police.”

“Of course they did. That's what you do when your little brother goes missing!”

Jacob exhaled, tired. “I’m lucky your dad’s the chief, he told them where to find me before they could file a missing person’s report, which would have been big because I’m a minor.” He huffed. “I am so sick of hearing that over and over. I’m not over eighteen, I get it, damn, I get it.”

Sensing he'd suffered enough, I let him off the hook. “You’ll miss being able to say that one day.”

“OK, grandma. Never mind that you're still underage for a few more months.”

I whacked him in the arm with one of the bolster pillows. “Any news from the hospital?”

“Yep,” he answered, smiling contentedly, “dad’s been a model patient. He's let everyone stab him in the veins and push pills down his throat like a perfect little angel. He told the guy who went to babysit him this morning that he’d strangle himself on his IV if someone didn’t keep Sue Clearwater away. And yeah, he’s doing better. Release time’s still set for tomorrow afternoon.”

I remembered her threats and smiled. “I think I like Sue Clearwater.”

Jacob’s smile had an oddly tender quality to it. “I think she liked you too.”

“Is that weird?”

He blinked. “Not really, but it’s nice to know you’re getting along with people down at La Push.”

I made my way over to the kitchen, where Charlie had helpfully left us eggs and some toast. “As long as they don’t expect me to remember all those names from yesterday, I’m sure we’re good.”

“Meh, I’m fine with you knowing which one’s Quil and which one’s Embry for now.”

“Embry’s the thin tall one, Quil’s the one with the big muscles. See? Easy.”

Jacob didn’t say anything for a moment, trailing into the kitchen. “Quil’s a gym rat, yeah,” he said quietly.

“I could tell. But I think I like Embry the most so far. Quil’s really quiet. And man can he stare,” I turned on the stove, setting the egg pan on the flame.

Something about my words made Jacob laugh. “A lot of the girls on the rez would freak out if they heard you say that.”

“How come?”

“Quil’s the next big thing, apparently.”

Huh? “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jacob sighed. “It means he’s beating girls away with a stick right now.”

I turned to look at him, surprised. “Really?” Then it struck me that I was putting down Jake’s childhood friend right there in his face. “OH! I’m sorry – I mean – It’s not that he’s ugly or anything - ”

But my fretting only made Jacob laugh. “It’s OK. Quil’s always been really good at reading girls, and with his exercise regime, things are…a little hectic, but he’s a decent person. You saw how he was one of the first people out there for me. After you, of course.”

I wasn’t wholly convinced. “How is a guy that reads girls not aware that staring isn’t very friendly?”

“OK, at reading some girls.”

“He sure misread me.”

Jacob smiled so hard, I wondered if his cheeks hurt.

“What?”

“Oh nothing, nothing,” he said, affecting nonchalance. “Could we maybe fry some bacon too?”

On Sunday afternoon, Billy Black was taken back to La Push on what had once been his Chevy pickup, with a police escort to boot.

It was the best we could settle on, as the Blacks had no car yet (Jacob wasn’t done fixing his Volkswagen Rabbit). Anyone for miles would have leant them a truck in a heartbeat, but while Charlie was willing to turn a blind eye in case of emergencies, there was no way he’d let unlicensed, underage Jacob drive a car on his watch (and with his newly hospital-released father at his side, no less). The cruiser might have sufficed, but a moment watching Billy and Jacob treat each other to an angry silence assured me I didn’t want to spend even a minute trapped in a cab with them.

With Jacob in the cruiser, Billy and I were left with only the ancient radio for company. I found an old rock station that he didn’t seem opposed to, letting it fill the silence as the trees flitted past the windows. Once or twice, I thought I caught him staring at me, but the very next minute he seemed to have been looking out the window, or at something over my shoulder. In the end, I was sure I’d imagined it all.

We finally pulled up to their house as the sun set. Jacob stared balefully as we parked next to the cruiser, then moved to unload the wheelchair before I’d even cut the engine. With angry, jerking movements he brought the wheelchair up to the passenger’s side door and wrenched it open, making to grab Billy under the armpits.

Billy put a hand on his chest. “I can do it.”

Jacob huffed. “No, you can’t.”

“I’ve been getting out of this car for the past – ”

“Yeah, when you had legs. Legs that worked, at any rate. But there’s time, Billy. Maybe next time you try to off yourself, you’ll finally get rid of them.”

Billy glared. “Fuck them. As long as I can wipe my own a – ”

“Maybe next time, Billy. Now stop being a baby and just let me – ”

“Do not,” intoned Billy, “talk down to me, boy.” His voice made me want to apologize for anyone who'd ever talking down to him, in the history of the universe.

But Jacob didn’t back down. He stared at his father, nose flaring, for a whole extra minute before positioning the wheelchair diagonally, as close to the truck as possible, and throwing on the brakes. Billy grabbed the handle of the car’s roof and, like an acrobat dismounting, tossed himself into the chair.

Billy was right, he’d managed. But Jacob was right too: the landing was rough, uneven, and could have ended with Billy on the hard earth, or stabbed in the butt on the handles, even the wheels.

Jacob had noticed, and he was seething. He and Billy scrabbled for a moment, both of them trying to position man and vehicle comfortably, until Billy relented, letting himself be settled, before Jacob released the brakes to wheel him inside.

“Bye, Bella. Charlie. Thanks for everything,” Jacob bit out over his shoulder. Billy only raised a hand as goodbye. A fumbled key later, both were in the house. The door slammed behind them.

A beat. Another. Then the sound of something crashing and two snarling voices erupted from the house. I was out of the truck and halfway to the door when Charlie caught me.

“Easy Bells,” whispered Charlie, “I know it sounds bad – ”

“- It sounds awful!”

“ – but it’s not. Jacob would never raise a hand to his father, Billy’s never raised a hand to any of his children, and besides, he’s in a wheelchair. Jacob could run into the woods and watch Billy get stuck on a tree root if it came down to it.”

The wind was knocked clean out of my sails. A snort escaped me, then a whimper, and then a few tears. I hung in my father’s arms, listening to the irate voices switch back and forth between English and what I guessed was Quileute. “That sounds so bad.”

“I know sweetheart. I know. But Billy’s been careless, and Jacob’s just a kid in the end. Both of them were scared, and both of them really love each other.” He sighed. “It’s best to let them hash it out.”

I sniffled. I opened my mouth to protest, then closed it again. Then I finally extricated myself from Charlie’s arms. A hand cupped my chin, and suddenly I was looking deep into my father’s eyes.

“Listen, Bells,” he said, gentler than I’d ever heard him. “I’ve lived here for a long, long time, and I’ve known the Blacks for longer than you’ve been alive. I know a few things about them that you’re only just learning, and I – I love them, quite a bit. I wouldn’t let them get hurt. Can you trust me on that?”

I stared. Then a stubborn little part of me, the one that urged me to independence in the face of Renée, the one that didn’t like to admit help, and the one that (I admit it!) babied Charlie, even maybe looked down on him a little bit, huffed and relented.

I nodded. Charlie got into the cruiser, I got into my truck, and then it was my turn to be escorted home by the cops.

After school the next day, I drove straight to La Push.

It wasn’t that I doubted Charlie (because I didn’t). It wasn’t that I thought either of the Blacks needed my help, because just like it had been with the hospital stays, the community had taken it in shifts to check on Billy while Jacob went to school. It even wasn’t that I didn’t want to be at my own house either: I felt comfortable there now. I’d even caught myself calling it “home” sometimes.

 It was just that I wanted to be with Jake, and knew I’d be welcomed, even if I had nothing to contribute.

Jacob let me in, smiling a little sheepishly, so I knew not to ask why the TV was conspicuously absent. Billy was hiding in his room, but Jacob assured me he was more tired than angry at anyone. “People have been coming in all day with food and well wishes and all that. There’s meatloaves and casseroles and Harry Clearwater’s fish fry…” he walked to the kitchen, where the entire counter was covered in pots, pans and trays. “I think there’s cakes and cookies with actual sugar too. Better get rid of those before he gets any ideas.”

He said it with mild annoyance only, so I let it go. “I could use some cookies to sweeten the Trig homework.”

“Take one. Take twenty. Hell, I’ll bundle them all up, you can take them home to Charlie.” There was a knock on the door. Jacob sighed. “Here we go again.”

Jacob opened the door just in time to cut off an argument. A tall man with a severe face turned away from a surly looking teenager who held a towel-wrapped pan, both still frowning. “Hello Jacob,” said the man after a moment. “My sister tells me Billy’s been better.”

“He has Mr. Lahote. Tell your sister thank you for me,” answered Jacob, words careful and tone formal, as if he were speaking to a teacher. “Please come in”. Then he turned to the teenager.

Instantly, the tension in the house became thick enough to cut with a knife. Jacob put his shoulders back and stepped away from the door. “Paul,” he said by way of greeting, cold instead of polite.

Paul entered the house before Mr. Lahote did. He was taller and more muscled than Jacob, probably by way of being one or two years older than he was. Trailing along with him came the smell of something baked, perhaps a meat pie, and the pungent scent of cigarette smoke. Finally, way past the polite moment to say so, Paul bit out: “Jacob,” barely opening his mouth to form the words.

Mr. Lahote stepped in at last, barely suppressed rage coming from him in waves. His eyes flicked to me, surprise bringing down his anger just a notch. “Oh. Good afternoon.”

“This is Bella Swan,” Jacob intervened. “Bella, these are Andrew and Paul Lahote.”

“Hi Mr. Lahote, hi Paul.”

Paul looked at me as if I were a desiccated centipede squished on the Blacks’ wooden floor. Again, he waited until the air was thick with expectation before deigning to flick his head at me and say “Hey.” Then he turned to Jacob. “Where do I unload.”

“Kitchen,” replied Jacob curtly. As Paul moved past him, I saw Jacob draw himself up, and half expected Paul to do that silly macho shoulder shove guys in movies did. I’d even seen it in person once, back in Phoenix, seconds before a brawl broke out in a parking lot at dusk.

I saw the colors rise in Mr. Lahote’s face. He didn't say anything else to anyone, focusing instead on Paul’s progress to the kitchen with unblinking eyes. When Paul lumbered back, the older man’s hand shot out, grasping his son’s upper arm in what looked like a vicelike grip. He all but marched Paul towards the door. “Tell Billy we hope he makes a full recovery,” he said over his shoulder. Paul didn't say a word. Is that what Charlie looked like when he took suspects to the cruiser?

“Thank you, I will.” Jacob closed the door behind them. The sound of another argument reached us anyway.

I breathed out, gratefully letting go of the tension. Jacob abandoned the door and came to me then, squeezing my shoulder. “Sorry about that.”

“Who was that?”

“I told you, those were Paul Lahote and his dad.”

I rolled my eyes. “I know, I remember. I think you missed the part where you explained why everyone seemed seconds away from lunging at each other’s throats.”

“Mr. Lahote was in the army or something. He likes order and discipline. Paul doesn’t like either.” Jacob exhaled “And he has an awful temper too. He has people he hangs out with, but he doesn’t like anyone, and everyone returns the favor, except girls going through their bad boy phase. Or so says my Dad, anyway.”

But something still didn’t make sense. The surly teenagers I’d interacted with in the past hated everyone equally. Where Paul had treated his father and I to the expected annoyed disdain, he’d seemed personally offended by Jacob. “Does he…I mean, maybe I’m wrong, but – has it occurred to you that he might hate you extra special hard?”

I expected Jacob to deflect, but he ducked his head, hiding a smile. “Yeah. I think he does hate me more than he hates everybody else,” he said slowly.

“What? Why?”

Jacob shrugged. “It’s been that way forever. He won’t speak to me, just at me, unless he’s really pissed, and then he refers to me as ‘princess’. I figure it has something to do with Billy being a tribal elder. Maybe even the ancestry thing, except Paul’s way too young to be hung up on that stuff.”

Uh oh. I tried to parse through the grey fog of my memories. Billy was on the tribal council? 

“You didn’t know about that, did you?”

“Sure I did,” I said, even though it was futile. Somewhere in the past few weeks, Jacob had gotten as good at reading my face as I’d gotten at reading his. Maybe even better.

“Sure Bells,” he said, mock disappointed. He stalked to the couch and let himself down on it. “But yeah, Dad’s on the tribal council. So is Quil’s grandfather and Harry Clearwater. That’s a big thing, by the way,” added said with a smile. “There’s two other spots, and they’re elected every three years, but him, Harry and Old Quil get reelected every year.”

“Why would Paul hate you over a spot his father could run for?”

“Because Andrew Lahote is too hotheaded, and because…well, we don’t have an actual card-bearing one, but if there’s anything like a chief here, it’d be Dad.”

“Wow. Really?” 

“Yep,” he said, “Anyone can technically put their names up for the council, but in practice you have to have the right genes to get the really traditional people to vote for you, then be a good leader and stuff to sway the rest. Old Quil is…old, so he’s in, even if he’s too stuck to the really dead ways sometimes. Harry has the genes, he’s gentle and he’s really good at smoothing things over when there’s fights, but he’s more of a follower. My Dad has both the genes and the leadership parts, believe it or not. He’s a direct descendant of chief Ephraim Black, he can be nice when he has to, he can be really mean (but you already knew that, right?), and he has just the right balance between traditions and new ideas to get things done. Sometimes he’s the only one who can get through to Old Quil.”

I had no idea who Ephraim Black was, but he sounded important, and Jacob did share a last name with him. “So that’s why there were so many people at the hospital the other day.”

“Kind of, yeah. He has this funny mix of likeability and respect that makes people do stuff like that. Like he’s everyone’s dad, or maybe like he’s the alpha of a pack of wolves.”

“That answers every question, except one: why does Paul hate you?”

Jacob shrugged. “I swear, I don’t know for sure. People like his dad well enough, and they’d like Paul more if he weren’t a little shit all the time. Mr. Lahote did try to get on the council – and failed,” he added, smiling grimly, “he dealt with it in time, but sometimes I think Paul made up a story in his head about his dad being passed over for his ancestry alone.”

“And did they?”

“No way, never,” Jacob exclaimed, shaking his head, “Andy Lahote’s a decent man, but he has a temper, he’s not patient or a team worker or – Dad says he’s sure he was a good soldier, but what makes a good soldier doesn’t make a good captain. Let alone a tribal elder.”

“That’s unusually wise of Billy.”

“Hah. I told you, underneath his whole pissy old man routine is a pretty decent chief.” And despite the days he’d been having, Jacob smiled proudly. “Anyway, I think Paul thinks there’s something to being Billy’s son that he isn’t getting. Which you've probably noticed, there isn’t.”

I wasn’t so sure. Even heartbroken and scared, Jacob had handled the hospital crowd admirably. He’d been gracious and animated, even though he confessed he’d been overwhelmed – and nobody had noticed. My thoughts flew back to the day we met: Jacob had been the only one brave enough to approach one of the strangers without backup. He’d taken Embry’s little jab and turned the entire group on him. He’d handled Lauren without offending her. He’d read Mike’s vaguely possessive demeanor and handled it carefully. Just now, he’d handled Paul’s aggressions without backing down. No aggression, but no weakness either.

“I think it’s just that you don’t let him walk all over you.”

“Could be. Paul’s scary. Quil and Embry give him a wide berth,” he said, contemplative. Then he shook himself. “It doesn’t matter anyway. Help me figure out what we can leave out and what we better get rid of before my Dad’s finished with his beauty sleep.”

We spent the rest of the afternoon eating enough sugar to kill Billy three times over and doing our respective piles of homework, in between fielding more well-wishers. Embry came by, prodding and poking him until Jacob playfully kicked him out of his house. Quil appeared too, more talkative and less staring (which automatically made him more likable), but he left quickly, giving Jacob a thumbs-up as he did.

“What was that all about?” I asked him once he’d shut the door on Quil’s retreating back.

“I have no idea.”

A beautiful young woman with glossy black hair and long, supermodel eyelashes stopped by closer to twilight, swinging a bag of small boxes and vials. "Special delivery," she quipped as she came inside. "Mom'd like me to remind you that you should put the insulin in the fridge, which I'm sure you've been doing for years since Billy's still all alive and shit, but she said to tell you anyway, especially if he was in earshot, so he'd know he'd been, I quote, an ass."

Jacob laughed hard. "I'll be sure to pass on the message." The girl cracked a smile, revealing a sliver of perfect, even teeth. A surge of inadequacy hit me on the back of the head like a slap. 

"I do have to hand it to Billy though, he got my parents so riled up, I recited I Sing the Body Electric to Sam over the phone, right there in the living room while Mom stomped around, and I don't think she even knew I was there."

I giggled. The girl turned, raising an eyebrow at me quizzically.

"Sorry. I-I just thought it was funny. I think Charlie would have a coronary if I spoke of 'appetites' and 'passions' to anyone on the phone."

The girl kept staring at me. "Or nipples."

I blushed. "That too. I love it though," I confessed shyly, "I liked that Walt Whitman kept saying men and women are the same." Particularly after so much Shakespeare.

"I hated how he went on about women squirting out kids," she said, though not derisively. Then recognition lit up her eyes. She nodded at me. "Hey there, Bella." 

My head spun with a mixture of embarrassment, pride and terror "Um. Hi?"

She stalked closer. "Leah Clearwater. I trashed your copy of...some book about these babysitter chicks getting snowed in all over their little town, when we were kids. It was awesome, I tried to take it into the bathtub with me. Sorry."

Leah didn't sound sorry. She sounded like she'd never been sorry about anything in her entire life. But she'd inadvertently touched on the key to my heart, if there even was one: books. "Snowbound," I said.

"What?"

"Snowbound, by Ann M. Martin. It's from The Babysitters Club series."

Leah pondered on it. "Great. Maybe I'll see if it's aged better than Goodnight Moon one of these days. Between Sam's stuff and school I don't get stuff I can just burn through anymore." She finally looked back at Jacob and nodded to him again, "anyway, good luck with the meds." She saw herself out, sweeping out of the house like a storm.

I turned to see Jacob smiling at the door, and my heart fell a little. Interesting, clever, and gorgeous. Lauren would definitely have a coronary about Leah Clearwater. I couldn't dislike anyone I'd ever shared a literary moment with, even if I did want to shrink into myself and disappear from sheer inadequacy.

But the smile didn't fade when from Jacob's face when turned to me. "Now that," said Jacob at last, "was weird." At my confused glance, he pointed to the door with his chin. "Leah doesn't like a whole lot of people."

I stared at him. Jacob had gone insane. "And you think she liked me?"

He had the gall to laugh at me. "Are you kidding? I think you may have impressed her. Leah likes reading almost as much as you do. She has this whole thing about keeping up with Sam - that's her boyfriend, Sam Uley - because he's in college, says she won't let him get bored of her. So she reads at his level as much as she can."

Surprise, confusion, and just a hint of relief made my head spin. "I - wait- Leah - she has a college boyfriend?" Then the memory of a man with that name popped up. "Hold up - didn't we met a Sam Uley at the hospital?"

"That was him. They've been together for years though, way before Sam left for college. It looked a little less cradle-robbey back when they started."

I finally laughed at that. "And you say Leah liked me?"

"I'd bed good money on that. You'll be friends in no time," he said, the tender smile from before returning.

The last of the day's visitors were a small cadre of older women, all of them eyeing me with varying degrees of disapproval. They (pointedly) addressed only Jacob, barely reacting to my own hellos. The moment they turned their backs, I checked myself over obsessively: no boobs hanging out (not that I had much to worry about in that department, anyway), no underwear sticking out. For the first time, I wondered if it had something to do with being a white outsider who’d only just crash-landed into town. That bothered me: I'd taken it for granted that I was welcome at La Push, what with Charlie's comings and goings, plus the way my own friends had interacted freely with the rez kids. Then I wondered if they saw Renée when they looked at me, if she’d somehow offended them years ago and now they couldn’t help but glare at her carbon copy.

A few days later, I’d realize I’d been half right: they did see Renée when they looked at  me, but it wasn’t themselves they were worried about.

Chapter Text

Of all the things my mother picked up on her brief flirtations with religions, the whole karma thing was one of my least favorites (or at least Renée’s interpretation of it). What was the point of being punished for something you didn’t remember doing, something that you’d done in another time and place, when you were a whole different person? How did it teach you anything? How could you grow from there?

Having bad things happen to bad people was a little more welcome, if only because it was more satisfactory, but a half hour of watching the news or reading the newspapers made me wonder where the heck karma was these days. I was almost relieved when Renée moved on to Wiccanism and began expounding on the Golden Rule instead.

But, once in a blue moon, I came very close to believing the world really was conspiring to keep the nice-to-crappy ratio running on a strict 1:1. My first spring in Forks was one of those lunar events.

It wasn’t an endless whirlwind of disaster, of course. But it seemed like life was determined to charge me for every little bit of acceptance I’d carved out for myself.

“There’s going to be a party at Mike’s on Friday,” stated Jessica with a smile. Mike himself was absent from the table on some sports club meeting, but she was more than happy to act as mouthpiece.

Everyone at the cafeteria table stirred from their trays at the announcement. “Oh. Is it his birthday?” asked Eric, sounding as excited about Mike’s potential birthday as he might have been about root canal.

Thankfully, whatever was going on between Jess and Mike seemed to render her incapable of taking offense. “Nah, just an ordinary weekend party,” she elaborated breezily. “You’re all invited thought.” She smiled at all of us, even at me. I felt silly for being relieved that we were back on friendly terms.

“That sounds cool.”

“Yeah, awesome,” I elaborated, glad for some goodwill.

Tyler blinked up at me. “Are you going, Bella?” Lauren stiffened beside him ever so slightly. The air of goodwill took a slight nosedive - but I had exactly the right words to turn it back up. “Sorry, I’ll be busy. I’m helping Jake with a potluck.” It was mostly true. There really was going to be a potluck – but it was on Saturday, and the whole thing was already set up, courtesy of a small group of rez mothers. All we had left to do was decide what to make and show up – which I'd probably do the Friday of Mike’s party.

“Oh.” Tyler deflated, Lauren perked up, and Jessica scrunched her nose. “You’re spending an awful lot of time down at La Push. I’m sure they’ll survive if you don’t visit every day. Just in case, y’know, you ever want to see us outside of school again someday.”

“I have? Oh. Well. I hadn’t really noticed…” I knew I had been going to La Push a lot, particularly when Charlie had late nights. I just didn’t feel like it counted as ‘going out’. Going to Jacob’s, doing our homework together, sometimes even making dinner, felt like staying in at my own house.

Jess rolled her eyes. “Yeah, you have. Even total strangers know that. Mrs. Bucket even told Mike’s mom the other day that she’d seen your truck going down towards La Push road almost every day.”

Inwardly, I sighed. Small town gossip had been one of the things I’d been the least eager about when I chose Forks. All told, it had gone easy on me, anticipating my arrival and lingering on the topic of Bella Swan for only a bit before moving on to more interesting targets. Until now, it seemed.

“Jacob Black lives there, and he’s my best friend,” I said, trying not to sound defensive. “You spend plenty of time at Lauren’s. And how come this Mrs. Bucket person knows I go there?” I didn’t know a Mrs. Bucket, but she clearly knew me.

Jess nodded, acknowledging my point. “I guess it’s just how everyone knows your truck. Plus, people don’t usually go there just for fun.”

“We went there for fun back in January” I pointed out, “we hung out at First Beach and built a bonfire. Some of the rez kids even joined in.”

Nobody said anything for a long moment. Then Jess shrugged. “Meh. Never mind. It just something some of the old people get hung up on.”

“It’s from way back when the reservation wasn’t so open,” added Eric helpfully, “not to outsiders at least.”

“Some people still aren’t real eager to go there,” said Tyler contemplatively.

After a brief silence, Angela spoke up. “Dad says the people on the reservation have always been very open and kind to him.” Angela’s father was a minister, I recalled. “Don’t worry too much about it, Bella,” she said, offering me a tentative smile. Then Jessica remembered Mike’s party and began expounding on all the food and (with a giggle) drink there would be, shifting the focus back to her.

I picked at my sandwich thoughtfully. I’d wondered what people on the reservation felt about having a white outsider (one who wasn’t Charlie at least) hanging around a lot in the past few days. The glares and subtle hostility from some made it clear they weren’t all thrilled. But I hadn’t even considered that the people back in town might have opinions about that too.

 Charlie had been best friends with Billy Black and Harry Clearwater since before he’d met Renée. He’d been going to La Push whenever the urge struck him for years. Billy even said that he was “always invited”, meaning he could drop by anytime. He’d never heard a peep from anybody that I knew of –

- except Charlie was a cop, duh, of course nobody would disparage him to his face, Bella, for crying out loud.

Then again, Charlie had been born and raised in Forks; had he been friends with the Blacks and the Clearwaters since they were children? Had he gotten hard times for it back then? If he had, he’d never mentioned being troubled for it. That wasn’t saying much though since Charlie never complained about anything.

I got an answer, of sorts, the following day, right as lunch ended.

Our table buzzed with activity for the entire hour, with Jessica and Mike half-planning, half-boasting about the details (food, music and the forbidden cases of Miller Lite some senior had gotten them). People kept stopping by to tell them how excited they were to be going, or to assure Mike and Jess that they’d see them there. Lauren had been made part of the prep team, and the attention made her glow.

I was happy too. The party was definitely not going to be my thing, with tons of people and intense speculation about who’d be going with who, or who’d make a move on who. Mike had belatedly told me I could bring Jake, but I’d declined again.

The end-of-lunch bell rang. I finished what was left of my sandwich and hurried to the trashcans. On the way there, I walked past a tableful of girls who were in the slow process of rising, one of them complaining about an essay she hadn’t finished –

- before abruptly shutting up when I passed. My nerves rose (is my underwear showing? Did I step on something?) even as I kept walking. When I passed them on my return trip, the girl was still at her seat, clearly stalling since her tote bag was already on her shoulder and the table was clear. She waited until she thought I was out of earshot before tittering. “No feathers,” she said.

“Next thing you know, she’ll be wearing beads and howling at the moon,” remarked someone else.  The whole group laughed, a malicious kind of laugh that made you feel like you’d been flicked with dirty, smelly mud just to hear it.

My legs kept on moving, but all the sound in the cafeteria seemed to vanish, along with all the air. My lungs struggled for breath. After a few more steps awareness returned, and I turned around, horror and fury fighting in my chest, but the little group had vanished.

The nasty feelings, anger and disgust with a hefty dose of nausea, stayed with me through the last classes of the day and right on to La Push road. I turned on the radio, then snapped it back off, opened my window, then rolled it back up. A few flyaway drops of rain flew into my face though, and the slight shake didn’t disagree with me.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, I chanted, I should have run after them – maybe Jess or Angela or heck, even Lauren would tell me who they were. I should have stopped, but I just couldn’t, my legs just went on walking. What did they mean? Is it me? Am I the problem? Is it the rez? Is it both? Were they disparaging the reservation, or just me? I’ll say something the next time but I hope there’s no next time, how can anybody be so stupid?

By the time I rolled up to Jacob’s, the emotions had receded just enough for me to act normal. The rain had weakened to a light, misting drizzle you could walk in without an umbrella, turning the forest around the house into something out of a fairytale. It was soothing. (And strange. I didn’t think there was any variation of rain I could have the slightest appreciation for. Goes to show me how much I know.)

Jacob had stopped running out to meet my truck weeks ago, but he was there to open the door as I made it past the porch, and the bad feelings shrunk to a tiny, barely smoldering kernel. His smile flickered when he caught sight of my face. “What’s wrong, Bells?”

Did it really matter that some girls whose names I hadn’t learned yet were being stupid? It was me they were making fun of after all. “Just a long day,” I said, which was close to the truth, “and all everyone talked about was that party at Mike’s, too.”

Jacob eyed me. “You sure you didn’t want to go? I could have gone with you.”

 “And miss your first cake? No way!” I gasped exaggeratedly. “Are you trying to avoid having your baking class?”

Jacob’s face immediately went straight. “Not a chance.” He closed the door behind him, pocketing the key and striding towards my truck with decision, “C’mon, let’s get this show on the road. Store, then kitchen.”

Jacob had decided he wanted to try his hand at baking for the upcoming potluck. I’d offered to make him a cake to bring, something sweet to go with the meat pie I’d planned, but somewhere in between it had turned into something else. With Jacob swearing up and down that he’d make a decent cake on the first try and me trying to stifle giggles, we’d come up with a bet: if he could make good on his posturing (with three lifelines from me), I would grant him the honor of being a year older. If he failed, he’d be knocked back to his current age.

(We’d argued about ages – mine, his, heck, even Quil Ateara’s – and the right way to calculate them weeks ago. While we’d both agreed that maturity was important, Jacob had argued hard to factor in size, then ‘adult’ abilities like car fixing. That proved to be a shot in the foot, given how important cooking abilities were, and now he was determined to secure that department too).

The reservation’s closest general store was alive with Friday shoppers. Young people stocking up for parties and get-togethers blended in with people going about their grocery shopping at a more sedate pace. Four boys, one of whom I recognized (and my stomach did an ugly little cartwheel) as Paul Lahote were huddled around the open door of a car in the parking lot, lifting cans of what was definitely not soda to their mouths every so often. Jacob laughed when I parked as far away as possible in the tiny lot.

“His bark is worse than his bite,” he said, after my glare finally persuaded him to stop chuckling.

“Uh-huh. I’m not taking any chances.” I cut the engine and checked to make sure we could give him a wide berth on the way.

“He looks like he’s having way too good a time to bother with anyone.”

“He’s drinking. What if he’s an angry drunk?” I didn’t drink myself, but I’d heard plenty about what happened to people inclined to rage when you mixed them with alcohol.

“He probably is,” Jacob conceded, “but it’s not like we’re going to walk over and wave.”

“Still wish he weren’t here,” I said glumly.

“As long as we don’t mess with him, he’ll leave us alone.” A beat. Then another. And then Jacob’s eyes flicked towards me, and his voice became soft and low. “’Sides, if he really came looking for trouble…I could probably take him.” He was looking at me subtly from underneath his eyelashes. They were long and dark, Disney princess eyelashes that had no business on a boy’s face. I had never noticed them before.

After a minute of gaping, I came back to my senses. “He’s bigger than you!” I exclaimed, upset by how serious he sounded…and the strange, anxious-yet-not feeling that rose in my throat at his covert glance.

Lucky for me, the spell broke: Jacob drew himself up indignantly, ponytail whipping around as he turned to look at me. “Since when does that matter? I could! I’ve wrestled Quil to the ground, and he actually works out!”

“Quil’s your friend!”

“He’s solid muscle!”

“Solid muscle who isn’t out to tear you to pieces! Paul has it out for you, Jacob! He wouldn’t hold back! I can’t believe you would go and give him the fight he keeps poking around for – you of all people!”

Jacob’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t believe you don’t have any faith in me.”

“Wha – well sorry for caring about you enough to not want your face broken in!”

My assurances didn’t make Jacob happier, but a sudden movement cut the argument short. Paul and one of his companions broke from the group and made for the store, the other guy weaving ever so slightly. I could feel the color draining from my face.

“You should stay here, Bells,” said Jacob, following their progress too.

“No way.”

“C’mon, you’re terrified.”

I raised an eyebrow. “And you being alone in the store will make me feel better somehow?” Oh god, I could see it in my head: Paul would run into Jacob at the cash register or something, make a jab about his girly pastimes or something, and that’d be that. I’d be dragging Jacob’s limp form into my truck by the hair, hoping the hospital wasn’t too far away.

Jacob sighed. “OK, let’s do this: why don’t you move up a few spaces? That way you can see into the store. You stay in the car; I go in and out within ten minutes. And I promise not to even look at Paul, no matter what he says.”

I dithered. Jacob deflated even more. “C’mon Bells, I’m a decent guy. You don’t have to babysit me.” He smiled tentatively. “Would you let me go alone for ten years?”

Ten whole years? Jacob was insane. “Why are you so eager to go in there without me?”

“Because I – you – “ he began, starting to look frazzled, “it’ll just be easier to ignore Paul if you’re not there. I can take some roughing up. Verbal roughing up,” he amended at my glare, “but I don’t think I’ll be half so patient if he gets you involved.”

“You’re a big boy, Jake. Big boys control their feelings. Besides, I don’t care what Paul Lahote thinks of me.” For once in my life, I meant it. I didn’t know much at all about Paul, but he was a real ass to Jacob, and that made even me lose interest in his opinion.

(When had I started swearing? Even in my head? Hanging around all these boys dropping f-bombs all the time was taking a toll on me.)

“Trust me, he can get really unpleasant. And you’re my best friend, y’know?” he said it just a little bit softer. “I’d let him run his mouth about me all he wants, but I probably wouldn’t feel like reigning it in if he got into Embry for not knowing who his dad is, or if he called one of my sisters a skank.”

That softened me right up. I would probably feel just as indignant if anyone mistreated him. “Alright. Don’t take too long though, or I’m going in after you.” I started the truck back up as I spoke, taking it as close as I could to the store’s front walk without occupying a handicapped space.

“Trust me, you’d know if something happened. People will start running out, and you’d hear the noise. Shouting and bangs.” And he was off.

I rolled down my window and crossed my arms over the edge, pretending I was watching the comings and goings instead of fretting. To my relief, Paul and his friend emerged from the store not five minutes after Jacob had gone in, lugging a case of something I figured was beer. I could have sworn Paul glanced back at me for a second as they came level with the truck…

…but they were a good several feet away. At that distance, he could have been looking at anything in my general direction, from the tree line, the road and the other arriving cars to the group of girls approaching the store from the other side of my truck (my money was on the latter).

Fistfights no longer a concern, my mind flitted to the next source of anxiety: what had happened to Jacob just then? He hadn’t been flirting with me exactly, but he had definitely been edging away from friendly territory.

I did remember his appreciative glance, what felt ages ago on First Beach, of course. But that was before the phone calls, the visits, the hospital. Since then, I’d told him all about my petty concerns, my annoyance at Mike and the others, my boring nights and my numerous pet peeves. Familiarity should have bred contempt – affection beyond like. More than half the reason I was so happy to spend time with Jacob was how genuine he seemed, caring about my life and everything in it, from the large to the frankly stupid, just because.

Our friendship wasn’t some elaborate plot to secure a date with me. It couldn’t be. I’d dried his tears, met his friends, bantered with his Dad. I’d even spent time with Quil and Embry, and I would swear on Grandma Marie that Jacob was just as caring to them as he was to me.

No. Jacob really was that nice, I’d seen it with my own eyes during Billy’s convalescence. Besides, we were comfortable enough to tease and even offend each other. Eric and Tyler, and even Mike on his off days, were always wary of saying the slightest harsh word to me – and their kindnesses reeked. They knew, and knew that I knew, that most of what came from them had strings attached.

I sighed. What was that thing Mr. Darcy said about there being a base ugliness to flirting?

“ – and she’s here again, by the looks of it.”

“I did tell you Ruby wasn’t exaggerating.”

I glanced behind me without turning. Three women, two who couldn’t have been much older than me and a woman with a few threads of silver in her dark hair, were passing the side of my truck opposite from where I sat moping. Huddled down as I was, with the opposite window’s glass up, they couldn’t see me. I froze like an animal who’d scented a predator. I hadn’t looked too closely (and I wasn’t about to turn now!), but I thought he older one looked familiar

“At this rate, we’ll be seeing her at bonfires soon.” I had to fight the urge to turn, but I could almost feel the contempt radiating at me.

“And with Billy Black’s son.” said the older one sadly.

“Our very own Cherokee princess,” sneered one of the younger ones, “I bet – ”

They walked on briskly, the other younger one with one last nasty look at my truck that I caught through the windshield, their voices fading. I stayed where I was, frozen, not fully understanding. Hurt flooded my chest anyway.

Jacob did almost infuriatingly well for a first timer. His large hands weren’t clumsy (“you can’t be when you tinker with engines, Bells”) and he was more patient than I would have given him credit for when it came to measuring out the dry ingredients. He fumbled two of the eggs and kept up a litany of “shit shit shit” as he fished the bits of shell out of the bowl with a fork; his batter looked a little under-mixed and he realized too late that his chosen recipe required nuts (which he hadn’t bought), but all in all his chocolate sheet cake looked like it would be perfectly edible – if covered in little tunnels (which served him right for not using his lifelines; I wasn’t about to give out free advice like the fairy from Legend of Zelda). As he slipped the sheet into the preheated oven with a bomb technician’s care, I admitted to myself that Jacob was probably going to earn his sixteenth year.

“OK. So, it’s what time?”

I stared at him.

“Are you seriously going to charge me a lifeline for asking the time?”

“You could always use the kitchen clock?”

Jacob huffed. “I swear that piece of shit’s slower every time I look. C’mon Bells, do I really have to go all the way to my room for the alarm clock? Can’t you pull out your cellphone and tell me?”

I shrugged unhelpfully.

He groaned and ran off, like an extra minute would make the cake explode. He set up the alarm clock like some people set up cameras for a shot and sat himself in the best possible vantage point to watch it – which was the flour-covered kitchen countered.

“Jake! You’ll get a floury butt!”

He snickered.

“I should dock you a whole year for that. Fifth graders don’t laugh at those jokes anymore.”

“A flowery butt is an excellent double entendre.”

I sighed and went to lean my hip on the counter beside him “If you say so”.

A few minutes ticked by in companionable silence. Then the question that had been bouncing around the back of my head slowly crawled to the forefront until I was choking on. “Jake,” I started hesitantly, “what’s a Cherokee princess?”

His eyes went very wide. “Where’d you hear that?”

I knew it. The tone had said it all. “Some women recognized my car at the parking lot. I think one of them was with the group that brought you – something. I didn’t really look though, they didn’t really seem to like me.”

“They called you a Cherokee princess?” Irritation colored his words.

“Not to my face. They thought the truck was empty – what does it mean? Is it very bad?” They’d clearly meant it as an insult, but the Cherokee were a tribe, and a princess didn’t sound like too terrible a thing to be.

Jacob frowned, deeper than I’d ever seen him do it. “It’s – ah, there’s no such thing as a Cherokee princess. Way back when having a Native American ancestor started getting cool, all these people started coming out of the woodwork saying they were descended from a Cherokee princess, and they’d get laughed out of the room by actual tribe members ‘cause the Cherokee’ve never had princesses. It’s like saying your grandfather owned the Brooklyn Bridge. And now,” said Jacob with a sigh, “it’s…uh, what we call white people who pretend to be Native Americans.”

“What?”

“It’s not like calling someone a slut or anything,” Jacob said consolingly, “but it’s not nice. And it can be an accusation. Like you’re stealing our identity or…well, mocking it.”

All the indignation left me in a rush. “I haven’t…you would have told me right? If I’d spit on your traditions or something?” My mind swirled. “They said something about bonfires,” I recalled, “did we break some sort of tradition by lighting that fire on First Beach – “

Jacob had his arms around me in a second. “ – no, no of course you haven’t done anything. I’d never let you humiliate yourself. And you’re thoughtful - ”

“You mean anxious,” I corrected dully.

“You’re thoughtful,” he insisted, “so I doubt you’ll, I don’t know, show up with a one shoulder dress and stuffed raccoon, and ask where we’re hiding the talking willow or something.”

I couldn’t suppress a laugh – which was probably just what Jacob wanted. “Are you talking about Pocahontas? The Disney Pocahontas? I can’t believe you’ve even seen it.”

“Rache and Becca rented it years ago.” I felt him shrug against my own shoulder. “It was good for a few laughs. We didn’t tell Dad though.”

I sagged against Jacob’s comforting warmth. “I’m not breaking any sort of taboo by going to the potluck, right?”

“No,” Jacob answered vehemently, “The potluck’s just a chance to eat a lot of food and hang out. I wouldn’t expose you like that. Never. If I ever do take you where you aren’t supposed to, I’ll tell you. Let you decide.” His arms tightened around me. “And just for the record, you’re not a Cherokee princess. You’re not even like the visitors who come here expecting us to be all noble and magical and wise.”

“The noble savage trope,” I answered automatically.

“Gesundheit.”

I laughed yet again. “No, I mean – it’s something, it’s a way people used to write about Native Americans.”

“Yeah, like we’re noble and magical and wise. See, I knew it, but not the word for it. That’s probably worth another year.”

“Jacob!” I poked him hard in the stomach, which made him flail and let go of me.

“Okay, okay, no year, don’t get violent,” he said, fending off my finger with a smile. “Killing me might be offensive to my culture, though.”

“Jake!”

He laughed. “Sorry.” Then the alarm went off and Jacob lunged, first towards the clock and then towards the oven, before realizing he needed the kitchen towel to avoid burning his fingers and veering off towards it instead. I laughed, just to spite him, as he began to slide the sheet pan as slowly and carefully as if it were a soufflé.

He wasn’t entirely wrong though; the cake could collapse on itself - if it hadn’t baked all the way through. Given that Jacob hadn’t even been sure if it still worked when he switched it on (chances were good his mother had been the last person to use it), the Black household’s oven might play exactly that kind of mean trick on him. I felt bad. “Wait.”

Jacob almost dropped the sheet. “What! What’s wrong!”

“Nothing. Just let me –” I hurried to the drawer closest to the stove and rummaged for the toothpicks I knew I’d find there. I got one out and knelt next to Jacob, poking it deep into the cake. I pulled it out. It came out clean.

I smiled. “OK, your cake’s ready.”

Jacob stared at me. “Why’d you stab my cake!?”

“When your oven’s old and might not heat to the dial’s temperature, or when you just want to make sure the cake’s baked through, you put a toothpick in it and see if it comes out clean. If it does – which it did – then it’s OK.”

“Oh.” Then he took a deep breath and looked straight ahead as he grasped both sides of the pan in towel-covered hands and slowly rose to his feet.

Another bit of the overheard conversation (and with Billy Black’s son) drifted back into my mind. I gasped. “Those ladies think we’re dating!”

“Shit!” Jacob started, almost losing his grip on the pan. “Stop trying to sabotage me! For fuck’s sake, I won that year fair and square!” He rushed to put the pan on the counter and raised both hands in front of him like the cake was aiming a gun and yelling ‘this is a stick-up’.

“I’m sorry,” I said breathlessly, “it’s just that those ladies think we’re dating.” Their vitriol seemed excessive, but given what Jacob had told me before, about how some people were hung up on lineages and things, it made just a little more sense.

Jacob lowered his hands slowly. “Oh?” He didn’t turn around.

“Yeah, I’m almost sure. They said I was with you like they thought I was with you with you. I mean, I guess they could have just been upset I’m spending all this time with you, but that doesn’t make any sense, does it! And I was with you at the hospital, and then I was with you here and – ”

A strange silence had descended over the kitchen. Jake’s back was still to me, but he’d turned his head just slightly to look at me over his shoulder. With his hair up in a haphazard bun, I could see his right eye, lash lowered.

“…Jake?”

He sighed. “If they do, they’ll figure out they’re wrong in no time. Relax, Bells. Quil knows, Embry knows, even Leah knows, which means Sam knows too.” His tone was strange, detached. Almost sad. Then he turned to his creation and jolted.

“The cake’s full of holes! Why’s my cake full of holes!?”

Chapter Text

As I’d predicted, Jacob’s under-mixed batter had made his cake full of holes and tunnels. When I promised him it would still taste fine, that he could hide the holey top with frosting, any frosting he liked, he had of course brightened.

But, like Icarus and his wings, Jacob had flown too close to the sun: in his inflated good mood, he had decided to make his cake’s frosting without any help from me. He also resolved that it had to be blue. Seattle Mariners blue.

It had been the right color earlier, he’d told me when I arrived. He’d been about to slap it on happily, but sheer dumb luck drove him to taste a bit – and promptly choke on its bitter taste. Whoever had given him the recipe (Mrs. Littlesea, I’d learn later) had, amongst other things, forgotten to mention that colored frosting darkened the longer it sat. By the time I got to Jacob’s house the afternoon of the day for the potluck, the bowl where Jacob’s first frosting sat held a bitter, runny gruel that had darkened to midnight blue.

He’d begged and cajoled until I agreed to make him some frosting, any frosting – at the cost of two years – then haggled it down to one when he said he’d put it on himself. With the chocolate frosting I improvised, it ended up looking a little like a child’s model of a muddy backyard. He’d actually pouted. Even Billy, body and temper now fully restored, had made his way over to peer at the cake and make his own pointed observations about it.

“It’s a pretty cute sandlot, son.”

“Shut up, dad,” Jacob replied, without any real bite to his words. He’d used a small plastic knife to ice it, some remnant from takeout orders past, and the knife’s little teeth had left rake marks and funny lines all over. “You’re not getting cake anyway.”

“We could go looking for your sisters’ old Polly Pocket dolls, decorate the cake real good – ”

Jacob had raised his hands, dirty knife still held in the right one. “OK. You’re both hilarious and my cake looks like mud. Please. Stop it.”

Billy howled, and I lost it to giggles soon after.

The last of the day’s sunlight was fading away when Jacob and I pulled up to the reservation rec center. The rain was being very kind (falling gently and thin, no storming or heavy downpours), enough that Jacob joked that we should hold the umbrellas over the food instead.

“My cake deserves it,” he said mock seriously. “It can’t be all soggy for its debut. It’d dilute the flavor.”

“Don’t worry, you piled enough frosting on top of it to protect it.”

He wrinkled his nose and shoved me with his elbow. “You’re just jealous of my innate baking talents.”

I tried to hide my smile in vain, “Talents that lost you a whole year.”

He groaned. “You’re gonna rub it in forever. I can tell. You’ll be going on about this when we’re 90.”

“I’ll be ninety, you’ll be eighty-eight.”

“You’ll be begging for those years off when we get there,” he muttered.

We hauled our offerings out of my truck and walked briskly to the rec center’s wide door. The building was larger close up than it had seemed as the we’d trundled our way up the path. It had the feel of a ski lodge, all wood and wide picture windows, though it was only one story high. Jacob, who didn’t suffer of chronic clumsy, got to the threshold first, holding his sheet in one hand like a waiter. When I caught up, he took off again, and so he was the first through the door of the room the good mothers of the Quileute Nation (some of them, at least) had booked for The Spring Potluck.

I peered in: a knot of chairs sat close to the front of the room, where Harry, Sue and Billy (who’d caught a ride here with someone else, due to the space constraints in my truck) and other adults I didn’t recognize sat with paper cups. I recognized little Seth Clearwater sitting by his father; he whipped his head around when Jacob walked in, following his progress across the floor like a rock star had entered the room. Behind the group lay a stone hearth, and on the wall to its left a door was opened to a small deck, with people coming and going from it animatedly. The young people sat on the outer rim of the adult cluster or gathered in little knots around the room. A corner held four tall stacks of chairs.

And, right across the entrance where I stood, three tables were placed end to end against the wall, looking like the contents of a modern Horn of Plenty had spilled out onto them.

A loud chorus of hellos greeted Jacob as he made his way to the tables, and then a tidal wave of young people surged out to meet him, stopping me in my tracks.

This had been my least favorite part of every party I’d ever been to in my life (all four of them): the grand entrance. After the first, heart-stopping time I’d walked into someone’s yard to see every head turning to look at me (because that’s what humans are hardwired to do) I’d always waited for people arriving in a group and gone in as close as I could without looking like I was trying to pick their pockets.

But before I could work up a good sweat, Embry appeared behind me. “That smells good, Bella, what is it?” He sniffed again. “It’s like old Mrs. Crowfoot’s house at Christmas.”

I beamed. “Bacon-wrapped meatloaf.” I knew, after the ulcer I’d nearly given myself over Billy’s cake, that I should pull out some of my best material, and this was it: a step down from the Thanksgiving ham, but fancy in its own right.

Embry made a sound like he was dying. “It better taste as good as it smells.” Me and my escort made it to the table in time to watch Jacob pull back the kitchen towel from his cake.

“Why’s the frosting on all uneven?” Quil asked, materializing behind Jacob’s elbow. “And why does it look like someone drove toy cars on it?”

Embry looked at it contemplatively “Did you put the frosting on with a toy rake?”

“Keep it up, guys,” Jacob said finally, teeth gritted.

“OK, OK, I’m sure it’s tasty,” said Quil placatingly, “just don’t put it next to Emily’s pies, or it’ll look bad.”

“Quil…”

“It’s true! Everything looks bad next to them!” And he pointed to a trio of pies sitting dead center. They were large, with a perfect, golden, latticed crust straight out of an illustrated story book. Tantalizing hints of the fruit underneath peeked from in between the strips of crust, begging for a taste.

Jacob dragged his cake protectively to the side.

“Yeah, Emily’s cooking makes you want to hate her,” said a voice from behind. Leah was walking towards us, a liter of Diet Coke under her arm. A taller, slimmer girl with a sweet smile followed in her wake. She, like Leah, had glowing skin and glossy black hair, and, also like Leah, she was incredibly beautiful.

“Lucky for me, people tend to forgive me when they try it. Hi,” she said when she reached us, “I’m Emily.” She held out her hand to me, smiling like she really was pleased to meet me.

“Bella,” I said. Emily nodded, her smile growing wider. Unlike Leah’s more sultry looks (small, thick lips, cruel eyes), Emily’s beauty was kinder. Even once she relaxed, her lips seemed poised to smile at a moment’s notice, and her small, dark eyes were warm.

“You’re the Bella who was friends with Leah when they were kids, right?”

“Yep, she’s the white chick,” answered Leah, depositing the Diet Coke on the table with a thunk. “Emily’s my cousin, but she likes to pretend she’s my mother sometimes.”

“Leah!”

“See?” The boys all laughed. Leah smiled, then sauntered to Jacob’s side. “So. That’s your cake.”

“That is my cake,” agreed Jacob, closing his eyes and reaching up to massage his temples.

 “It looks like a square of dirt from your front driveway,” she said blithely. Then her hand shot out and she stole some frosting from the edge of the pan. “Tastes decent though.”

“Thank you, Leah. I was going to go cry in that corner like a little bitch if my cake somehow wasn’t up to your standards. My life has meaning again.”

“That’s good to hear,” said a new voice. The hulking form of Sam Uley broke through the small crowd, and I realized that we’d been something like the central show. Sam bumped fists with Jacob, then threaded a hand into Leah’s hair, carding his fingers gently through it. “Sue says that’s about it for dishes,” he said, addressing everyone, “so we can all line up and help ourselves.” Everyone dashed gratefully for the paper plates stacked on the very end of the final table at that, the adults moving to join us.

“I thought you said Sam was in college,” I whispered into Jacob’s shoulder as I lined up behind him.

Jacob shuddered, and I worried that my lips were cold. He cleared his throat. “He is, but he goes to University of Washington in Seattle. Just a little over three hours away. It’s not like he’s here every weekend, but sometimes, if something’s going on, or if he’s not too busy and he can afford the gas, he’ll be here.”

“That’s nice of him.” I meant it, too. Only a very special few of Renée’s pre-Phil boyfriends went out of her way for her. Mike’s relationship with Jess was too new to speculate about, but if I was honest, I couldn’t see it lasting for years and through one of them moving away to college. I sneaked another glance at them: Leah was telling him something animatedly, Sam gazing at her as if she were the only thing worth looking at in the entire room. I captured the brightness of that look and reminded myself not to settle for anything less than that look, when the time came.

Once we filled our plates, Jacob and I grabbed some of the empty chairs and dragged them together. Embry and Quil joined us once they’d gone through the line. To my shock, Leah dragged her chair up to me, Sam behind her, while Emily sat, ankles crossed and back straight, across from Jacob. Seth Clearwater materialized on Jacob’s opposite side at some point; he hung onto Jacob's every word with idolizing eyes.

“He saw Jacob punch Paul, years ago when Paul was being his usually charming self and terrorizing some kids for tripping over him or something,” Leah whispered. “He thinks Jakey shits rainbows ever since. I try not to burst his bubble too often.”

I laughed. “Is that why Paul hates him, you think?”

Leah shrugged. “Could be. I think Paul’s hated Jacob forever though, a cats-and-dogs kind of thing. And I’m sure everyone’s told you by now that anger and hatred are Paul’s natural state of being.” I must have started looking around warily, because she snickered. “Chill. He’s not here. Worst case scenario, his dad’ll drag him in late and angry, he’ll stuff his face and scram.”

I took a bite of the first thing on my plate, which was my own meatloaf. It was good. The bacon was tasty. Had to remember to bake it a little less, to conserve more moisture. Next I took a bite of Harry Clearwater’s legendary fish fry. It was perfect, of course.

“This is so good.”

Leah grinned smugly. “I know. Dad really knows his–”

“Hi Leah!” interrupted a girl. Her dark hair was in pigtails, a streak of red going through one of them. She was passing by our cluster of chairs with her own plate, smiling beatifically at Leah. “Hi Quil! Embry! Oh, hi Sam!” Then her smile widened to show all of her teeth. “Hi Jacob! I haven’t seen you since the last dance.”

A few seconds passed before I realized I was being deliberately snubbed. Jacob fidgeted. “Hi Ruby,” he said finally, polite but distant.

The girl’s smile relaxed a fraction in response to Jacob’s unwillingness to match her excitement. “It was nice to see you! ‘Till next time, Jacob. Bye guys!” She was off, hopefully to join her own little cluster far from us, and I released a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

Jacob edged closer, leaning his weight on me. “That’s Ruby.” He gave me a slow blink and it dawned on me: this was probably Ruby that the women who’d been disparaging me outside the store had mentioned.

“She doesn’t look like a terrible person.” She really didn’t, even though it was hard to argue otherwise when she’d made a point to say hi to everyone except me (and Seth, but he looked too young to know her from a hole in the wall anyway).

“Well, she is one,” Leah declared. Emily nodded discretely. “What’s the story though? Did you kick her in the shin or something?”

I told them about the store parking lot, and how I’d recognized one of the older women from before.

“That’ll be Mrs. Frazier, Ruby’s mother,” said Sam gravely. “She’s a little difficult.”

“Which is to say she’s a harpy.”

“Leah…”

“She is, Sam. She writes her damn ‘strongly worded letters’ to every business she visits if they, I don’t know, breathe wrong, she complains to the tribal council over everything, and even though everyone avoids her she still thinks she’s prom queen or something. Looks like she’s rubbed off pretty nicely on her little crotch goblin, too.”

“Leah!” Sam rebuked again, even though everyone was laughing, him included.

“She is right though, Sam,” defended Jacob, “Mrs. Frazier thinks everything’s wrong until she rights it.”

“And Ruby is a self-centered little butthole. See Sam? I didn’t call her a shithole. I’m so nice.”

“I don’t think she actually disapproves of you for being white,” said Emily gently. When Leah stared, she insisted. “I don’t! Lena Frazier might, she’s old enough, and she gave me a hard time for being Makah all those years ago when she taught at the school. That woman, I swear…” she flushed red. “But Ruby’s probably just pretending she does.”

“She’d find reasons to hate you if you were Quileute, black, or purple with forest green polka dots,” added Embry helpfully, “because she has a crush on him”, and here he pointed at Jacob. “Or she thinks she has one at least. I’m not sure. Either way, she thinks Jacob’s a prince and that she’ll be the princess she knows she deserves to be if she dates him.”

“Which is a deluded idea that we really should move on from,” Jacob said hurriedly. At his odd tone, I glanced at him. He was blushing. Actually, truly blushing. “There haven’t been chiefs since Ephraim Black.”

Quil shoved the side of Jacob’s head. “Like Ruby cares about that. Her mother might, but all she wants is to be popular. And maybe give you a kiss. Or twenty.”

Embry cackled while Jacob grimaced. “I can’t believe we’re what passes for popular around here.”

“Relax Embry, we’re not,” said Jacob, scoffing a little, “Ruby just thinks so.”

“Awww.”

“Drat.”

“And here I thought I’d accomplished something today.”

Quil laughed. “Then what are we, the geeks? ‘Cause my grades are definitely not up to par. You’ll have to disown me, guys.”

“Nah. There aren’t enough people around here for those kinds of dynamics,” Leah said.

“That doesn’t mean it’s all unicorns and rainbows in here,” cautioned Sam. “There’s people you might like. There’s people who’ll just hate you, and who you’ll just hate. There are a few old-fashioned paranoids who think we should go on lockdown and remain pure and stuff…but I guess there’s always one, no matter where in the States or the world you go.” he shrugged.

“That’s true,” I said, thinking about the nameless girls at school and the equally enigmatic Mrs. Bucket. There were nice people and not so nice people and outright buttholes, like Leah said, everywhere – something I’d always known in theory, but had always been way too shut away from people to experience in practice. It didn’t really make my situation any more fun, though.

“Cheer up, white girl,” said Leah merrily. “At least they think you’re risking it for royalty. They could think you’ve gone behind enemy lines to date Protein Shake here.”

Quil glared. “I’m right here, Leah.”

“I know. God knows the steroids have shrunk your dick and not your piehole.”

“Leah!” He hissed at her, then rubbed his hands across his face, “Sometimes I can’t believe you’re not the local bitch.”

“That’s because she’s honest,” I blurted out.

Sam chuckled. “Ain’t that right.”

Leah laughed outright, “and that,” she said, “is why I like you, Swan. You’re all skittish, but you’re not a simpering little bitch pretending she agrees with everyone on everything.”

Jacob raised his eyebrows at me. Told you, they said. I was glad he’d been right, because I was starting to like Leah Clearwater too.

Embry tapped a fork to his plate. “I like her too. You better stick around Bella, that meatloaf was incredible.”

“You made it? It was good,” said Quil. “Wow. I’d marry a girl for this meatloaf alone.”

It was my turn to blush, which made everyone laugh for how brightly the red stood out against my pale cheeks. Then someone mentioned Emily’s pies, and everyone but Jacob, Emily and I were left seated.

Emily sighed. “I better go cut the slices for them, they always make a mess of my crust,” she said, sounding like a fond mother rather than a girl close in age to the boys she walked after. As I watched her go, Jacob nudged my shoulder.

“Overwhelmed?”

“Not at all,” I said honestly. “It’s…I feel really comfortable.” I did. I wasn’t tired, and I hadn’t mentally left the conversation once. I didn’t cringe at the swearing (though I didn’t love it). I’d even participated. “Your friends are really nice.”

Jacob nodded thoughtfully. “I guess they are. I see them so much, I guess I forget, or start thinking things are more exciting in town.”

“The grass does always seem greener on the other side.”

“Nah, it’s more like you get so used to it, you forget to step back and appreciate.”

We lapsed into silence as I wondered at how all these people, who I’d only met a handful of times, felt closer than my lunch companions had after months. Angela was a sweetheart, and Jessica wasn’t really bad, but I fit in here, in ways I just didn’t up at Forks High School.

“Maybe I am a Cherokee princess,” I mused aloud.

Jacob cringed. “Not that again…” he sighed. “OK. Listen. Never wear our regalia, never show up at the bonfires, or anywhere else you’re not expressly invited. Don’t ask about stories we don’t tell you. Some are forbidden to outsiders. You can wear bracelets from the store, from fairs or anything we give you though. There’s even arts and crafts classes you can take, just say you made it and don’t sell it as real Native American art or anything.”

I turned to stare at him. “And…?”

“And that’s about it. I can make up a few more if you feel like it. How ‘bout ‘don’t go down to First Beach on the full moon’? Or ‘don’t wear plaid overalls on odd days’?”

I started to laugh. “I think I can handle that.”

“Oh, and you can’t marry Quil, no matter how much he flatters your meatloaf.”

“Shoot,” I said, snapping my fingers for good measure. “What about the rest? Can I marry any of them?” I turned to look around. When the silence behind me grew a little too long, I turned back to Jacob. “How about Old Quil, then? Quil but older?”

Jacob’s eyes widened in surprise, and he finally laughed at that, but I had the slightest inkling that there had been a funny expression on his face before.

The star of the evening was Harry Clearwater’s fish fry, without a doubt. Sue promised me she’d packed some away for me to take back to Charlie, who’d been unable to come and sincerely regretted missing it – and the Clearwater’s sympathy was the only reason he’d be getting it. They had brought two sheets, and the pans had been all but licked clean an hour after eating began. My own meatloaf did pretty well too, enough that Quil repeated his oblique offers of marriage until Embry pinched him in the thigh.

And our little group, while not the popular crowd, was unabashedly fun: Embry and Quil did their comedic duo thing again, with a lively Jacob to make snide asides now and then. Leah had a snarky remark for everything, but she was clever enough to get away with a few real zingers from how smart her comments were, occasionally reined in by Sam. He was proud of her though, proud that the girl everyone had to be on their feet around was his girl. Emily was the sweet to Leah’s spice, gentling her cousin's words and even defending Leah’s targets.

And Jacob, of course, was his usually sunny self. He could parry Leah's blows without batting an eye, turn any jab of Embry’s right back at him, even get Sam to talk to him. He could go as far as to make fair remarks on the people Leah tore to pieces without invoking her wrath, or go quiet, but he never melted into the background.

We’d long since moved on to the desserts (Jacob’s ‘sandlot cake’ did well, though with Emily’s pies for competition he really was out of his league) when someone I vaguely remembered was called Jared let out a low whoop.

“That,” he said, staring at the door to the deck, “sounds like trouble.”

The noise in the room went down a few notches. Hidden under the din of people, talking over each other and laughing, was the sound of several voices raised in anger, filtering in from the parking lot – we were just a few feet and a wall away from it, after all. Conversation in the room died completely, but so did the argument. A girl closer to the deck gasped. “Hey, someone ran past there.”

Jacob made a low sound, almost like a growl. “Past there’s the parking lot,” he said echoing my earlier thoughts. The adults began rising to their feet. We did too. We hurried out of the room and towards the door and on to the rec center entry way, spilling out into the night.

There had been a downpour at some point, drenching the cars in the front lot and cooling the night until my breath misted in front of me. Drops of water beaded hoods and windshields, shining in the tiny floodlight affixed to the front of the rec center. Its beam left large swaths of shadows in between the cars.

Several darker lumps, darker than the shadows, had descended on my truck

I gasped.  Someone shouted “hey!”, and before I could react, Sam, Jacob and Leah had broken from the group and charged into the dark. Emily barely caught the back Leah’s shirt.

“The fuck, Em? I can deal with them.”

“I know,” answered Emily with surprising conviction, “but two against one is more than fair. Add you in, and it’d be a murder.” Leah struggled a little less hard after that.

The shout had sent a few of the shadows flying, but one was too far under the front wheel to escape. Sam’s longer legs got him to my truck first, but Jacob was close behind, and both dropped to the ground. Angry shouts started one on top of the other, the gravel crunching and flying.

“Jacob!” Billy had come up behind us. His firm voice had an immediate calming effect on the struggle. The shouts died down, though a loud motherfucker rose over the rest.

Someone behind me gasped. Embry’s face scrunched up. “Paul?”

Oh, no.

The sound of gravel crunching announced their arrival. Sam came into the light, all but frogmarching Paul, with Jacob flanking both of them. Paul was glaring murderously at the ground in front of him.

“Let me through.” Billy wheeled himself to the front of the group, people parting like the ocean before him. Sam, Paul and Jacob came to a halt before Billy.

“Hey there, Paul.” Paul didn’t look at him. “What where you boys up to over there in the dark?” Billy spoke conversationally, like Paul had been caught picking apples or watching stars.

Jacob held up a lighter and a screwdriver. “Slashing tires, it looks like. Or trying to, at least.”

Murmurs broke out. Leah muttered “amateurs”, but I was too indignant to laugh.

Billy, however, only nodded, like he’d just been informed that there’d be rain later tonight. “Did they damage Bella’s wheels?”

Jacob shook his head. “Doesn’t look like it. I’ll have to take a closer look, but I’m almost sure.”

Billy nodded again. “I’m afraid the rumors will make it to your father, so there’s not much point in swearing us to secrecy. But you can tell him we’ve been informed, and that we consider the matter over and done with.”

Paul didn’t look up. Harry Clearwater sighed, “let’s get back inside. It’s kind of cold, and we have plenty picking up to do.” Two thirds of the crowd started moving back into the room. Then most of the final third followed – except Emily, still holding fast onto Leah, Sam, Jacob, Paul and me.

Sam dropped Paul’s arms. “Get out of here,” he said wearily.

“What the fuck is your problem Paul?” said Jacob in an angry whisper.

Paul spat at the ground in response. “I don’t answer to you, princess.”

“You’ll answer to my foot in your groin though,” said Leah sweetly.

“No, I don’t think I will you – “ Paul began, but Sam grabbed a handful of his shirt and gave him one mighty tug before he could disparage Leah. The two stared at each other until Paul wisely closed his mouth. Sam let go. Beside me, Leah struggled harder, and Emily wrapped her arm across Leah’s chest like a seatbelt.

Nobody moved or spoke for a long moment. “Get out of here.” It was Jacob this time. Paul glared at him, still unwilling to leave. Did he think not listening to them made him more macho?

“What is wrong with you?!” I blurted out into the silence. My voice sounded more upset than angry, but right then I didn’t care. “I’ve never even spoken two whole words to you. What is your problem?!”

Paul laughed. It was a nasty, bitter sound. His dark eyes bore into mine, hard and unreadable. “I don’t know. I guess I just fucking hate your face.”

Confusion swallowed my anger, but Jacob made an inarticulate sound of rage. “Get out of here, Paul.” A definite sense of danger filled the night, and Paul finally listened. He walked all the way to the edge of the light; he turned, then curtsied to Jacob, holding imaginary skirts at his hips and everything. Then he looked directly, unequivocally at me, and did the same, before walking out into the shadows.

Back inside, the party was, if anything, more animated. People whispered, argued and made loud soliloquies. A few people stole glances at Sam and Jacob.

Emily sat down, finally loosening her grip on Leah’s shirt when her cousin's rear touched the seat. “Well, that was exciting,” she said.

Jacob collapsed on the seat beside me. “We’re gonna have to check your truck before you leave.”

Leah scoffed. “Meh. They couldn’t have done much damage with a blunt little screwdriver, no matter how much they heated it.” Every head whipped around to stare at her. “What?”

Sam wrapped an arm around her. “Do I even want to know how you know about tire slashing, babe?”

“Nope. Also fuck you, Sam Uley,” she said angrily, even as she let the arm settle around her middle. “Never go swinging on weirdoes in the dark. You’re lucky Paul’s not an actual psycho, or that screwdriver could have wound up in your chest.”

Cold creeped up my back: Leah had a point. Sam’s words from earlier returned to my mind. There’s always one, no matter where you go.

“But nothing happened,” Sam tried soothingly.

“I don’t care. Fuck you.”

“But–”

“I said fuck you!”

Dazedly, I got up towards the tables, stumbling towards one of the liter bottles. I filled a paper cup for myself with shaking hands –

- and then a pair of warmer, larger hands cupped mine. “What’s wrong?”

I looked up into Jacob’s face. “Leah’s right. That could have gone very, very wrong.”

“OK, maybe it was a little careless. But we have such a low crime rate here…”

“It was still careless.” Behind us, Leah continued disparaging Sam. “Don’t go running in the dark after bad guys alone again. Or with Sam.”

“What if I bring everyone else with me? Quil and Embry and hell, why not, Leah?”

“I’d still rather you didn’t.” I raised the cup with shaky hands and took a long drink. I glanced back at our seats and saw Leah and Sam kissing. Kissing, gestures gentle. I stared. There were, I was sure, a couple of fuck you’s still hanging in the air from no longer than ten seconds ago.

Jacob looked over his shoulder and smiled. “I forget you haven’t actually been here for a long time. That’s their thing,” Jacob said, unfazed by the mood whiplash going on in the room. “They fight and they argue but it’s all part of how they love each other. Some of the guys say they both get off on the violence – “

“Which I’m almost sure they do,” interrupted Quil loudly, reaching for a muffin, “I mean look at them! And can you imagine Leah in le –“

“- but it’s more than that,” Jacob continued. “Leah’s smart, and so’s Sam. I think it’s like sparring. Y’know, being witty and loud at each other.”

I thought of Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy. “I get it.”

“I bet she’s into leather,” Quil said dreamily. He must have something of Mr. Darcy in him, if he could think so fondly about the girl who happily dug into him about his love of the gym.

“Well, maybe, just maybe,” said Jacob sweetly, “Sam’ll agree to dress up in leather when he beats you into a bloody pulp for talking like that about his girlfriend.”

Quil turned grey, eyes darting around the room to make sure Sam was well out of earshot. He was, and still absorbed in Leah, to boot. Quil was safe.

“ – and Sam was so hot,” exclaimed a voice before quickly lowering, drowned in giggles.

“And did you see Jacob all taking charge?” A squeal.

“I don’t know, I think Paul was my favorite. All broody and angry and oh my god, he’s like Patrick Verona.”

I looked past Quil and Jacob to see four girls, between Seth and me in age, giggling. Entertained with each other, and with the boys turned, they hadn't noticed one of their topics of conversation were a stone's throw from them. I had to bite my lip not to laugh.

Quil wrinkled his nose. “Eurgh. Man, how come girls just like you no matter what you do? Nobody gave me the time of day when I got in trouble for fighting last year.”

“You’re welcome to Paul any day,” Jacob said, his face indecisive between amusement and horror, “hell, you don’t even need to wait. Follow him around, he should give you a chance to do something heroic before an hour’s gone by”. He glanced at me. “And what is it with girls and fighting?”

“I’m the wrong person to ask,” I answered, raising the hand that wasn’t clutching the cup of warm soda. “All I want when a fight starts is have it end.” The one fight I’d seen in my life, the one in the Phoenix parking lot after a sports match of some kind, had filled me with nothing but terror. A part of me had thought the blonde guy in the team jersey was handsome, but nobody’s faces mattered when the yelling began. I hadn’t even thought about it much since then, but I was pretty sure, had I recognized any of the fighters at a coffee shop, I would have been less than eager to stay. Let alone find any of them cute.

Quil looked at me contemplatively “OK then, what is it with bad boys? Why do you all want the one with anger management problems and academic probation and leather jackets? Why not the nice guys?”

“Is it the tragic backstory?” said Embry, appearing out of nowhere and startling the three of us, “because some of us could give Paul a run for his money and nobody looks our way.” He said it lightly enough, Quil and Jacob nodding mock sagely, but there was a sad little tug at my heart. They had a point: two boys each without a dad, one boy without a mom.

Jacob sensed the dark path my thoughts were going down and quickly changed the subject. “So? Are you gonna join the Paul Fan Club too?”

I laughed. “No way.” If this were a novel, or even a romcom, I’d probably be consumed with a desire to find Paul and fix him. I’d discover his issues and slowly heal him while he healed me of…chronic clumsy, I guess, and at the end a reformed Paul, wearing a white dress shirt under his robe, would address his graduating class as valedictorian. The working title could be something like “the chief of police’s daughter and the juvenile delinquent, star-crossed lovers”.

But if I’d learned anything from living with Renée most of my life, it was that people had to choose to fix themselves for any change to happen. She would probably always be flighty, spontaneous and forgetful, but at some point, she’d decided to stop tolerating men who didn’t want all of her, the good and the bad. She’d decided to be a little less selfish and listen to other people instead of talking about herself, but also to be a little more selfish in how much she was willing to put up with – which was to say no trying to rescue her boyfriends from themselves. Phil had walked into her life eight months after her plan went into action.

(How did I know all of this? In true Renée fashion, she’d told me all about it, in detail).

No. If Paul, or anyone, ever wanted to change, nobody could do it for them. And I for one had done enough adult-sitting of my mother to know that trying to pre-empt someone else’s mistakes was stressful, no matter how much you loved them. I couldn’t imagine doing it for someone who was actually looking for trouble. With how late he roamed, Paul would need a handler every hour of the day, late into the night. Just imagining the whole scenario put me out of spirits.

Out loud though, all I said was, “dating a bad boy only sounds fun in theory. I’m pretty sure I’d pass.”

Jacob smiled, seeming proud of my answer. Embry, however, looked thoroughly put out. “Why do we only hang out with the weird girls? I honestly thought you’d be able to tell us the Female Secrets. Leah's almost a guy herself, and Emily's a 45-year-old den mother in a young, hot chick's body. ”

“Girls like guys with muscles,” Quil replied automatically.

“They do, until you open your mouth. We clearly need more help.” Quil gasped at Embry, affronted, but didn’t seem to have anything to reply to that.

I laughed again, shrugging. “Maybe try Ruby?”

Quil scoffed. “Nope. She’s all ‘I’m not like other girls, I'm so different’. She has super good grades, reads big books. It’s a shame she hates your guts, her and you and Leah could start a book club.”

Quil and Embry got into a heated exchange about what they were now calling ‘female secrets’ while I pondered. If this were a romcom, I thought idly, she’d be an evil, preppy cheerleader with no brain. Life was a lot more like good books than it was like bad TV. Bad guys were complex, good people had flaws, and nothing was color coded for your convenience. No wonder I didn't bother too much with TV outside of Christmas specials.

I took another drink of warm soda. It was soothing, strangely enough. Jacob sidled closer and lowered his voice. “So, no Female Secrets you can share? Like what you go do in bathrooms when you leave all together?”

“Nope. But maybe you could help me with a male secret, instead: why does Paul hate me now?” It was hard to fathom someone developing a burning hatred of me when all I'd ever said to him in my life before that were the words "hi" and "Paul": Even my rant in the parking lot hardly had anything discomfiting to it.

Jacob laughed. “Honey, I haven’t figured out why he hates me, and that’s been going on for years. I’m as lost as you are, trust me.” He sighed.  “C’mon. The party’ll be winding down in a bit. Let’s get the truck, drive it into the light so I can make sure Paul didn’t do any damage. That way everyone will still be here to ask if you need a ride.”

He turned. I wondered if I should ask him why he’d called me ‘honey’, but it sounded nice enough coming from Jacob. I let it go.

Chapter Text

“So, Bells. There’s this bonfire in a couple of days. To celebrate the start of Spring Break”

A gasp. “Jake! You told me never to go to any bonfires!”

“Wha – no wait! This isn’t that kind of bonfire! This is a bonfire without, uh, culture. A party that happens to have a very big fire in the middle! It’s not even down at First Beach.”

“…”

“The elders and the council go to the bonfires you can’t go to, and this is just some people from school. ‘Sides, I’d never smuggle you in like that anywhere, I’d tell you everything first. And if I thought you didn’t want to go? I’d never take you.”

“OK. So it’s just a party with a big fire…?”

“To celebrate Spring Break starting. You’re staying, so I thought you’d like things a little less boring.”

“…”

“Please?”

“I hate parties Jake. Really. I do. I feel awkward coming in, and I never know what to do with my hands, and –”

“This one’ll be different! Quil and Embry will be there. Leah too. Sam’s not arriving until the weekend though.”

“Oh no. Can’t go to a party without Sam. Guess I won’t be going. Bummer.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you two really hit it off with that sentence or two you said to each other.” A scoff. “C’mon Bells.”

“...you said Leah would be going?”

“Yeah.”

“And you swear she likes me?”

“Yep.”

“OK…” a long, long, silence. “CouldyougivemetheClearwatersnumber?”

“What?”

“Could you…could you give me the Clearwater’s number?”

“Sure. Can I ask why?”

“Well…I’ve never gone to a party, and Leah’s going. Maybe she can tell me what it is girls do before parties.”

“Does that mean you’re going?”

“I guess it does.”

A whoop. “This is going to be so cool. You just wait.”

“Swan. Fancy hearing from you. Everything OK?”

“Hi Leah. Yeah.”

A short silence.

“This is an incredible conversation we’re having. You should call more often, I haven’t been this amused in ages.”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s just…are you going to that party thing in a couple of days?”

“Seems like it. Why? You too?”

“I think. I’m not sure.”

“Why ‘not sure’? Sounds like fun.”

“I…back in Phoenix, I didn’t really go to any parties, and I’m not sure…I just don’t know what it is girls do before or how to dress or anything.”

Another short silence. “Holy shit. You’ve never gone to a party?” Leah’s voice is curious rather than critical.

“Just one or two. I never stayed long. Parties aren’t my thing and I’m always tired after one, like I ran a marathon.”

“That’s called being hungover.”

The sound of choking. “I don’t–”

“Ha! Yeah relax, I’ve heard it. It’s OK, it’s not like this is a wild frat party. You can get ready at my house.”

“Huh?”

“See, there’s this ancient ritual enacted by the females of our species. It dictates we get together at a designated house before a social event of this nature and pick out clothes and put on makeup together. You can take the truck to my place, and I’ll drive you back there after.”

“Really?”

“Sure. I’ll even help you a bit. Just don’t expect a princess transformation montage. I can do my own face, and probably add some color to yours, but if you want the whole Michael-Corleone-and-Apollonia thing, you’re in the wrong place.”

“I’m fine with not being laughed at. And besides, I’ll just be seeing friends there. No need to impress anyone.”

“Oh, really?”

Bella missed the pointed tone. “Yeah. Sometimes it’s not so bad, how small this place is and how easy it is to get to know everyone.”

A beat. “Alrighty then. See you Friday, Swan.”

Chapter Text

“How’d we get roped into this again?”

The afternoon sun was barely peeking through the clouds, but Embry, Quil and I were sweating like Dad when anyone told him nurse Clearwater would be attending to him that day. We smelled like a gym bag that had been sprinkled over with pine needles and sap. Chips of bark clung to Embry’s long hair.

Quil hoisted his armful of dry wood more securely to his side. “Because we’re too broke to chip in with refreshments.”

I thought back to the beginning of the week, blowing my tiny allowance splitting a pizza with the guys. “Why did we think cheese and pepperoni were worth this?”

“I don’t know.”

The party was at Randy Quehpa’s house. Randy was Quil’s cousin, so of course he asked for some help with the party, hopefully a few bags of chips or liter bottles of soda. When we couldn’t turn up enough money to not look like jackasses, bringing a one-person bag of chips as a group of three, Quil had gone and asked how we could help, c’mon cuz, we’re family. And now we were hauling wood across the forest, cranky and stinking.

A bonfire sounds really nice in your head. Then it’s the day of and you’re wasting the afternoon trying to find a twig that hasn’t been rained on, wondering why you didn’t just have an indoor pizza party and called it a day.

“We’re gonna have to go change.”

“This is what I was wearing tonight.” Embry slapped sadly at his white shirt, drenched in sweat and streaked with dirt. He’d worn his black leather jacket on our way here; now it hung on one of his shoulders, dusted grey with bark chips. “I’ll have to look like I do every day at school and Julia Roundtree won’t care.”

Quil looked up at him, confused. “What’s wrong with your other shirts?”

“This one’s special.”

“I don’t look that different with one shirt or with another.”

Embry huffed in frustration. “Not all of us look like Eric Schweig with a buzz cut, Quil.”

Wisely, Quil let his mouth fall shut. Being thin, wiry and cursed with delicate, almost pretty features had been wearing more and more on Embry, no matter how gently Emily told him he’d catch up or how Leah (in her rare benign moods) insisted he’d be a “fine piece of ass” in a year or so. In the present, girls were fascinated with his hair in a where-do-you-buy-your-shampoo way, and not much else.

“Maybe you could wipe off the bark bits?” I tried.

Embry only sighed. “It stinks too, and leather’s a bitch to wash.”

“And you’re sure, you’re absolutely sure you can’t –” Quil started carefully.

“Yes I’m sure! This shirt is the only one that has a bit of a V-neck that makes my chest look less pathetic and the jacket packs my arms!”

We were quiet for a while after that. Then Quil sighed. “It’s not like I’m doing much better. The chicks that want to talk to me sound all glad when I talk about protein and reps and the Mariners the first time, then all of a sudden don’t want to talk to me anymore. Don’t,” he said, seeing me open my mouth, “I know, that means they didn’t care all along. But would it kill them to say that straight out instead of stringing me along for a week? How do I know what they want to talk about if they just agree with me and agree with me, no matter what I ask, and then one day just up and ignore me when I say hello between periods?”

Embry softened a little at that. “Yeah…I guess that sucks.”

“Yeah,” Quil agreed forlornly, “If you want to hate on someone, that’s your man.” And the little traitor pointed to me.

“What the – I’m as single as both of you!”

“Every chick ever seems to like you, then even more after you open your mouth.”

“You could be married if you wanted to!”

“First, it’d be illegal, and second, you guys are full of shit! The only girl who’s ever asked me out is Ruby Frazier! Do you want her hanging around, talking about how much smarter she is and how she’s not superficial like all the other girls ever? ‘Cause you’re welcome. Hell, I’ll pay you.”

“She’d think I’m too dumb,” said Quil with a smile, raising his hands innocently, “sorry.”

I turned to Embry. “She knows my name, and that’s about all she cared to know about me.” he shrugged. “Quil has a point though, all that being raised with Leah and your sisters probably did something to you. You really know how to not blow it.” He stared at me, as if the secret would pop up on my face if he looked hard enough.

“I can’t believe I’m having this conversation,” I said bitterly. “Ruby Frazier’s a bitch, and all the others do is act like I’m not there, then talk about me behind my back – and they just do that for five seconds after I do something that only sounds cool before moving on to, I don’t know, how dreamy Paul looked when he broke Mrs. Roundtree’s window. If I’m such a catch, they should talk to me. Or let me know they want me to talk to them. Something. I don’t know.”

Quil was unconvinced. “Pick one. Work the magic.”

I made a low, guttural sound of disgust.

Embry cackled. “I don’t know Quil, maybe he did, and the magic didn’t work.”

I tried hard not to think about Bella. I failed.

“You suck.” I walked as quickly as I could without losing my grip on the wood. Both of them followed, heckling me as we made our way back to Randy’s.

Embry had given me a hard time after the hospital, all song and dance about me and “bonfire girl”. Quil, on the other hand, had asked me every little detail about Bella, trying to be casual when he asked if she was single – I don’t know what face I made then, but his interest in Bella had stopped real fast after that day, and thank god for that.

I wasn’t lying though: I wasn’t macking on Bella. I might have…a little bit…when we met on First Beach. Of course I remembered her from when Charlie brought her around, and there had been something about her, the fire and the sunny day – I didn’t know for sure, then or now. I just knew I had to talk to her.

But now Bella was a major part of my life, and she hadn’t shown promising hints indicating that she knew I wasn’t another girl. Embry teased that it was the long hair.

It wasn’t that I’d asked, and she’d said no – I just had no idea what she thought about me. Months of talking to her made me aware that she was fretful, thinking things way too long and hard, and that she often missed what was right in front her (especially if they were things about herself). Sometimes, I got the idea that what I said or did cause the slightest bit of interest to flicker in her eyes, and other times I was sure Embry might be right, the little shit. I wanted to know, I couldn’t help myself from knowing, and so, every so often, I pushed the boundaries of platonic friends just slightly. Nothing major so far. She hadn’t run for the hills, though.

But that still meant nothing was happening tonight. I wasn’t about to make a move on her without some idea of where we stood. I would be happy enough eating, drinking, maybe sneaking a beer if I was feeling daring. If anyone brought marshmallows, and someone else brought the Graham crackers, I’d show Bella how to make an s’more. Just a fun night with my friends and the pretty girl who happened to be my best friend.

There was always a chance she’d meet someone, maybe from town, or maybe from the rez, who finally caught her attention. Maybe even tonight. I’d be…a little miserable if it happened, it didn’t cost me too much to admit it. But I wasn’t about to rush things over that – Bella was my friend now. Besides, she’d been immune to Quil, Sam (who was taken but who distracted plenty of girls, girls who knew better than to make a move on him, of course, or suffer a painful death) and Paul so far. She wouldn’t just go to pieces over any old guy with a decent face, I knew. She seemed the type to grow into feelings.

All the better for me. My experience so far consisted of smiling at girls I’d like to go out with, and living with the “Rache, Becca, Leah and Emily” category of girls, who I wanted to date as much as I wanted to kiss Quil (which was to say hell no). Being with Bella was as easy as being with Emily or Leah, talking to her was as easy as talking to Quil or Embry (sometimes easier) – until she laughed loudly or stumbled just lightly, sending her hair in a shiny wave across her face, and my mind would insist I really should go card my fingers through it, see if there really were hints of red in there. Bella needed a category all her own.

I hoisted the wood tight against my side again, trying to ignore as the guys teased me about striking out and Bella, stopping just short of dropping her name.

 We made it back to Randy’s with the wood for a blessed, sainted reward of icy cold cups of Coke, then hauled ass back home to wash off the scent of pine forest and guy’s locker room. Ms. Call was kind enough to pick each one of us up and drive us to Randy’s again later, Embry all forlorn against the window of her 1996 Chevy, lamenting the loss of his planned outfit.

“Well, I happen to think you look very handsome,” said Ms. Call.

“You’re my mother. You’re supposed to think I’m handsome, no matter what I look like.”

“I also happen to think you look like a hobo when you skip your bath on Sundays, and you look nothing like a hobo now,” she said sweetly, sending Quil and I into howls of laughter and managing the crack of a smile from Embry.

The party hadn’t quite started when we arrived. The last of the sunset’s colors were only just bleeding out of the sky when we walked through the house to the back, where the future pyromaniacs of La Push were figuring out how to light the pile of wood up. I noticed that one of the guys expounding on the merits of packing newspapers in the wood was Ezequiel Thrasher, part of Paul Lahote’s crew, and my stomach did a bit of a flip. A quick look around told me there was no Paul anywhere, but that was no guarantee.

I walked up to where Randy leaned against the newly installed refreshment table, happy to have someone else toiling over his pile of wood. The food and the liters of soda were arranged strangely tidy, with a long yellow tablecloth I hadn’t thought Randy would care to put on it. His mother might have, but her and Randy’s stepdad were in Seattle for the weekend.

“So,” I started, “Zeke’s here.”

“I had to let him in, nobody else could get me the Miller Lite!” Randy confessed in a whisper. He raised the tablecloth, letting me catch a glimpse of the cases of beer hidden away.

“Ooookay…and you’re sure Paul’s not coming.”

“I didn’t invite him.”

“I don’t think he cares.”

“I know, man. But I needed Zeke.”

I exhaled. “Do you think he’s coming?”

Randy looked at me blankly. “C’mon Jacob. Like you don’t know him.”

I frowned. “Touché.”

Paul wasn’t the type to be at every party (his being invited or not didn’t seem to factor into his decision, though). He’d show up to some, sometimes so late nobody even expected him, skip out on others, sometimes even disappear from public gatherings completely until the more malicious gossips started saying his dad had killed him, just like he had done with Paul’s mother. Never mind that the former Mrs. Lahote was second cousins with someone from La Push, who still talked to her on the phone every week, and who said she was alive and well in Tacoma. The rumors would go on and on until the guy popped back up, no bruises or shiners.

So, he might be here, he might not. I sighed and prayed he wouldn’t, for Bella’s sake.

Half an hour later, the girls started pouring in, all looking like themselves and yet not thanks to the magic of makeup. When piñata-and-clown parties tapered off into this kind, I hadn’t thought much about how many hellos I fielded; I’d known most of these girls growing up, knew their names, why wouldn’t they say hello? But with Embry and Quil’s teasing ringing in my ears, I decided to pay attention.

Shelly Fuller and Bonnie Clark said hello like normal, but they looked at each other and giggled when I thought I couldn’t hear them. Jared Cameron’s cousin Riley winked at me. Julia Roundtree got so close, I almost thought I could hear her mind telling her to do something stupid, so I pretended I had to run to the bathroom (the least I could do was communicate to her that I wasn’t the way, since I couldn’t grab Embry and dump him into her arms).

Alright, maybe I had a tiny bit of a fan club.

It’s not like I was deaf. I heard girl sometimes – like at the potluck – saying stuff, but since none of them had ever said anything to me, it really took an effort to believe they thought about me even five minutes after they left the scene.

Right then, not one of them asked me to come sit with her or offered to share her chips or anything: a literal fan club, giggling from a distance but not coming to close to the guy. It was probably the same with Sam – and probably the reason Leah tolerated them instead of doing what I expected her to (hunt them down and grind them into patties, push the remaining bits out into the ocean maybe).

Ruby showed up, too. She stood talking to me for a while, throwing in asides about books that Bella and Leah would have appreciated. They did that too, but Leah did it ‘cause she could, even if nobody understood her, and Bella did it for love of books. Ruby just did it to sound smart, and it made the asides half as interesting. Eventually, she moved on, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

I talked. I ate. I laughed at Randy’s terrible joke routine, winced at Quil striking out with Ellie Lake (he went off about bacon, she was a vegetarian), had to hear another one-sided conversation of Ruby’s, heard a much better routine from Embry (Quil, it seemed, had gone off somewhere to recoup from Ellie calling him a heartless beast). I was having fun, even though a part of me was waiting.

Finally, a hundred years later, Leah’s voice cut through the din. She hurried to my side, pointing at Zeke, who claimed to be trying to make the line of liquid from his beer catch fire – by walking as close to the bonfire as he could and trying to pour the alcohol out, whiplike, shouting about Balrogs. “Is that Zeke Thrasher about to die like a XVII century heathen?”

“It is. Hi Leah.”

She ignored my hello, staring at the scene like the idiot pretending to be Gandalf had offended her personally. She made a derisive sound, then frowned. “And is that Miller Lite?”

“Yep.”

 “Hah. I leave you alone for five minutes…”

When it got clear Leah wasn’t going to volunteer the information, cleared my throat. “Hey, weren’t you driving Bella too?”

She jerked her thumb over her shoulder, barely suppressing a smile. I managed two very casual steps before a few people moved away from the crowd –

-  and there she was.

I recognized the long-sleeved shirt she was wearing as Leah’s, but on Bella it looked completely different. The brown looked bronze against her pale skin and looked like it belonged on her, meshing with her tone and bringing out color. There was this thing about girls who never wore makeup, the thing where you could tell straight away that something was different about them, too – I couldn’t have told anyone what had happened where on her face, but Bella had gone up several degrees in babe. I wondered why people weren’t turning to look at her like in the movies. She smiled when she saw me jogging towards her, and I had to remind myself not to stop dead.

“Hey!” she exclaimed, reaching for me, “I was worried you were the idiot by the fire Leah was yelling about.”

“Nope, I’m not that idiot. But the night’s young.”

She gave me a playful slap. “Leah warned me, you know. That people get stupid here.” She looked up and lost another bit of self-assurance. “Where did she go?”

“She’ll circle back around eventually, don’t worry.” Leah would be making the rounds, saying hi to her friends and looking for trouble, before coming back to settle with us.

 Bella didn’t look too sure though. She craned her neck, trying to size up the crowd. "There’s really a lot of people here.” There was concern in her tone.

“There’s friends too if you wanna say hi.” I wondered if she’d let me hold her hand, then thought better of it (too many people, too early) and tucked her arm into mine, like in those period romances she liked so much. It helped though, because she brightened.

“OK,” she said, tightening her grip, “let’s go find them.”

We found Embry shoveling chips and salsa into his mouth, and he greeted Bella warmly enough to make her relax some more. A few familiar faces from the potluck also said hi, calling Bella ‘the girl who made the meatloaf’. Randy popped up too, and I introduced him, being the host and Quil’s cousin – Quil himself was missing, though.

“Thank you for having me,” she said sweetly.

“No prob. We should probably consider adopting you into the tribe or something: you’re at the potluck, you’re at Jakes…” Randy was joking, but Bella beamed so brightly, I thought I might just pick the guy up and give him a bear hug.

A few girls from my apparently-for-real fan club crossed our path too, and I was glad to see they were all more curious than upset at the sight of Bella on my arm. Julia Roundtree did look a little put out, but she was nice and polite to her. I could only tell she was unhappy by how her shoulders slumped once she’d moved past us. I’d never given her reasons to be jealous, so it was only natural that she behave like an actual human person toward Bella.

Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for Ruby.

She popped up from somewhere in the dark when we were trying to get closer to the bonfire. Bella had, of course, never gone camping with Charlie, and some of the more nostalgic souls had brought the marshmallows, chocolate and crackers, just like I’d hoped. The older crowd, plus Zeke, had been chased out by the uncoolness of using the bonfire for kiddy stuff like roast marshmallows – one of the perks of not being cool, though, was getting to do the fun stuff without them pissing on the fun.

And then her voice cut through the dark. “Hi Jacob, I haven’t seen you since our chat earlier,” she said, coming towards us with a smile. Well, towards me - she didn’t even glance at Bella. I almost groaned out loud.

Still, I wasn’t about to let Ruby Frazier of all people ruin my night. “Hi Ruby,” I said, trying to sound like I was glad to see her. Ruby instantly brightened, her smile growing, her eyes growing both cheerful and calculating. They bore into mine – and I allowed myself a little gotcha. “Hey, remember Bella? Bella Swan, from the potluck?” And I tugged Bella gently in front of me, leaning down a little to rest my chin on her shoulder. If she dared try and ignore her now, I might just pick Bella up and shove her into Ruby’s arms. Bella, of course, froze against my chest like a deer in the headlights.

Ruby froze too. “Oh – oh, yeah, Bella, I remember,” she said, sounding like I’d reminded her she had an appointment for root canal. “Hi.”

“Hello, Ruby.” And, being Bella, more words came tumbling out of her after a tense few seconds. “Um. Your mother’s chicken casserole was really good.”

“It was,” I agreed with a smile. Mrs. Frazier might be the local bitch, but she knew her way around the kitchen.

“But – you mean the casserole from when your dad – thanks?” She was torn between realizing Bella ate with us, being flattered, being offended, and being really, really confused. It was beautiful.

“That really is a compliment.” I turned toward Bella – or rather Bella’s ear. “That’s high praise coming from you.”

She gasped “What? No way, my meatloaf was dry.”

“And tasty. It sold out at the potluck.”

“Mr. Clearwater’s fish fry sold out twice as fast!”

“We can’t all measure ourselves up to Harry Clearwater’s fish fry, Bells. ‘Sides, he’s got like 20 years of practice on you.”

“Okay well, I’ll be on my way,” interrupted Ruby loudly, upset by a conversation that didn’t include her, “see you around.” A beat, then another. “It was nice meeting you, Bella,” she bit out, sounding like every word drew blood, then hurried off.

Bella sagged against me. “How did you do that? You shut her down and you got her to be nice to me!”

“I just wanted her to stop ignoring you,” I admitted, “I played the rest by ear.”

“You have a very good ear, then.”

“Looks like it. Come on, lets go grab some ingredients.” I steered us closer to the bonfire. Bella let out a tiny sound of content as the heat washed over us, and I realized she’d come without a jacket – probably Leah’s idea, to show off the shirt. Knowing Bella, she’d probably been trying to come up with an excuse to go back to Leah’s car for her jacket for a while now without making it look like she was trying to escape the party.

I eased my own jacket off and slid it over her shoulders. It wasn’t like the thick parkas Bella kept around – I ran hot, she ran cold – but it was better than nothing. “You could have just told me to go back for your jacket, you know.”

“Leah and the keys are still gone, remember? But the fire’s nice,” she said. Randy had dragged out larger logs, too heavy and wet for burning, to act as chairs close to the bonfire, and I picked an unoccupied one as close to the fire as I could. Not a whole minute later, Jared Cameron came up to us, all business, handing out chocolate, crackers, marshmallows and skewers without asking a single question. “Enjoy your stay at Maison Quehpa,” he said, in a terrible faux-French accent, before moving on.

Bella glanced at me, equal parts confused and charmed. I shrugged.

“So. You’ve never gone camping.”

She shook her head. “I don’t even know if people camp in Phoenix. I guess they do. I just…Mom’s done a lot of things, but survivalism hasn’t come up. Yet. And Charlie probably figured I’d hate it, so he never asked.”

“You’d probably liked it better than parties,” I pointed out, leaning against her a little and feeling so glad when she leaned back. “Quiet, nature, no people…”

“So camping isn’t some sort of bacchanalia like in the movies?” She was joking though.

“Not if you don’t want it to,” I said, skewering a marshmallow as I did. “It can just be hiking, cooking fish over an open fire and telling scary stories at night.”

“That does sound better,” she whispered, watching me hold the marshmallow away from the fire. “Shouldn’t you stick it in?”

“And burn it? No way, marshmallows taste best when they’re just lightly toasted. Some people like it though – toasters have an 11 setting after all.” I turned to look at her with a fake frown. “You’re not one of them, are you? ‘Cause I might have to friend-break up with you in that case.”

Bella laughed, an honest laugh that made her face relax and her eyes sparkle. My free hand twitched, eager to touch the color that glowed in her cheeks right then. I closed it into a fist – I’d sit on it if I had to. “I have standards! No, no break-ups, please. Who’s going to tell me what sounds wrong in the truck if I lose you?”

“Using me for my mechanical ability.” I tutted. “You’re lucky we’re friends. Anyway: look. This is what a good roasted marshmallow looks like.” I brought it in from the fire, holding it well away from her hands as I did, because this was Bella Swan, and if anyone could suffer accidental second degree burns from a marshmallow, that was her. “You could eat it like it is, and it’d be great, but s’mores,” I shook exaggeratedly, like s’mores turned me on.

“OK then, show me these s’mores you’re so rabid about.”

“With pleasure.” I broke the Graham cracker in two, broke off some of the chocolate to lay it in one half, then slid the marshmallow on top and carefully laid the other half of the cracker on top. “You wanna let the chocolate melt a bit, and the marshmallow cool,” I explained, waving it a bit in the cool night air. “And then…” I took a bite, letting the perfectly balanced sweet-and-savory-ness flood my mouth. It took a bit of self-control not to pop the rest in my mouth, but I managed, tapping the rest of it against Bella’s lips. I made car noises when she didn’t open up.

“You’re a dork,” she said. Then she took it from me…with her hand. That wasn’t disappointment I was feeling, it was just an, uh, a cool spring draft. Bella took a generous bite, and her eyes went wide. “This is really good! It’s not all cloying or anything.”

“Told ya.” I handed her a cracker and some chocolate as she skewered another marshmallow. “Remember, away from the fire.”

“Away from the fire,” she repeated dutifully. She edged forward too far, though, thrusting the marshmallow into the fire. Of course, it caught.

“Oh no!” I felt her arm beginning to retract instinctively.

“Shit.” I clamped my hand over hers just in time. “Rookie mistake: don’t just fling the skewer at you if it catches fire. This’ll happen,” I said, flicking the skewer to the side, well away from Bella and any innocent bystanders. The marshmallow, softened by the heat, splattered flaming droplets over the grass. “It’d be kind of embarrassing to explain second degree burns by marshmallow down at the hospital.”

She blushed. “It really would. Ok, let me try again…” Bella started over. She looked ponderously at the cracker halves. “OK. Marshmallow or chocolate first?”

I snorted. “Whatever you want is ok. ‘Sides, you can just flip it over once you’re done if you’d rather have the top be something else.”

Bella blushed again, darker. “Whoops. You’re right.” She blew on it softly, then crammed it into her mouth so eagerly I laughed. And then she made a small, frustrated sound. “I didn’t let the chocolate melt enough! It didn’t taste like yours,” she complained around her mouthful.

I laughed even harder. “Well of course. I happen to be a five-star s’more chef.” I made another s’more, using the very last of Jared’s offerings. It came out way smaller than the rest, made with the remnants as it was, but it’d be tasty. I made a point to hold it close, letting the chocolate melt really good, then held it up to Bella’s lips again. She closed them tighter, a playful glint in her eyes.

“Seriously Bells? Do I have to go full out choo choo train on you? Yeah? OK, fine,” in the absolute most annoying voice I could manage, I went “here comes the airplane, ready for landing! Choo choo!”

Bella cracked, of course. “You know, I have it on good authority that planes don’t go ‘choo choo’”.

“Emily’s niece didn’t care, and neither should you. Open up, or I’ll eat the last s’more.” As far as Claire was concerned, airplanes could go oink, just as long as they made some sort of noise. No noise, no open mouth.

I tapped the s’more against Bella’s barely parted lips, which she then closed rebelliously, just like Claire did when the vehicle carrying her meal refused to play nice. I glanced up into her eyes, bright and playful, pretending to glare at her.

Something shifted. I didn’t know when it did, but suddenly the corners of Bella’s stubbornly closed mouth weren’t turned up. Curiosity and something else replaced the playfulness, and a swell of emotion closed up my throat. I couldn’t look away. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t even breathe.

Eyes still locked on mine, Bella slowly opened her mouth and bit into the treat, her top lip brushing my thumb as she closed her mouth. A small hint of heat brushed the pad of my pointer, and some still-functioning part of my brain realized it was her tongue. She pulled away just a little, brown eyes still boring into mine, like she was trying to tell me something.

Rache and Becca had stolen food from me my entire life. It was annoying and even violating, seeing them get the last bite I’d wanted. And Leah – holy shit. Just a few months ago, she’d popped up behind me on the couch, while the guys and I broke in my hard-earned copy of Resident Evil 4, and chomped the square of brownie I’d been holding right off of my fingers, digging her teeth into them in the process.

I’d felt rage at the unexpected pain, then indignation and disgust. I’d yelled at her, forgetting to keep it vanilla (earning an answering yell and later a talking to from Dad, about not calling Leah a bitch no matter how much she deserved it), then hauled ass to the bathroom to wash my hand. I swore I could smell the stench of saliva on the fingers she'd put her snout on, so I washed up twice. I glowered at Leah’s triumphant face and complained about needing a tetanus shot and a rabies shot. It registered in my mind as Leah being an immature asshole and nothing else. (Quil had said thoughtfully that Leah could bite him anytime. I’d threatened him with restrained access to my GameCube if he mentioned sex and Leah in the same sentence around me again – which only earned me a week’s reprieve anyway.)

This was completely different. The air between us suddenly felt charged and full of something, promising like a Christmas morning, only less innocent. The fire lit up Bella’s face, bringing out the hints of red in her hair and softening all her features. I leaned in closer, and Bella leaned in too. Like it had a mind of its own, my hand was suddenly on her cheek. My thumb was almost on the corner of her mouth. Bella leaned further into my touch, like she loved the feel of my skin.

It was wonderful. It was magical.

And it didn’t last a second longer, because the universe hated me.

Distant, angry shouting broke the night’s silence. Even though it was brief, it cut through whatever was between Bella and I like a knife through silk. Heavy thumps on the wet grass made me jerk my hand away, and then someone (a guy in the year below mine, with a short name ending in an i) came running out to us. “Jacob! Jacob Black! You’re friends with Quil Ateara right?!”

“Yeah.” Oh no.

The guy (Ali? Tali?) pointed towards the house agitatedly. “He’s about to get the shit beat out of him by Zeke Thrasher!”

“What?” The universe hated me. There wasn’t any other explanation. Fury, disappointment and cold, chilling distress filled my chest. I looked into Bella’s eyes again (large, bright, dazed eyes like she’d just woken up from a nice dream), wishing I could tell her to wait right there, to not move ‘cause I’d be right back, but I knew better. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to cram the words full of my very real disappointment, and then I was up and running.

The universe fucking hated me. I’d offended it sometime, somewhere, and now it was calling in my debts.

I found Quil in the middle of a ring of guys out at the front yard. He was yelling at Zeke, an endless string of profanities mixed in with “my father would never” and “grandpa would have kicked his ass” and “Embry’s already my brother anyway”.

Oh, shit.

Embry’s mother had arrived at La Push, alone and pregnant, from the Makah reservation years ago. The Quileute and the Makah were like cousins, so while it didn’t happen every day, it wasn’t strange to see some relocation happen between tribes. Ms. Call had been welcomed in, had the tribal council’s protection extended over her, and that would have been that. Except, as Embry grew, people started whispering that he looked eerily like Quil the Third in his youth.

According to Dad, the rumors really got going when Embry made friends with Quil in the third grade: people started swearing up and down that they looked like brothers, that like attracted like and they were friends through magical blood awareness or something. Someone even insisted that they’d gone through Embry’s maternal family tree (probably bullshit, since doing that required documents and an authority only the tribal council could use to request them from Ms. Call, and they sure weren’t interested in Embry’s paternity), that there wasn’t even a distant common ancestor between the Calls and the Atearas, so the only way to explain the similarity away was by assuming that Quil and Embry really were brothers, half-brothers through Quil the Fourth. Quil the Fourth, who’d died a real tragic death, and who’d been happily married right up until his death.

Ms. Call refused to say a single word about Embry’s parentage, just like she’d done when she arrived, and between her silence and Quil’s mother refusing to get mixed up in the whole mess, the scandal died down. But the rumor never did (what rumor ever does?), and every time it rose out of its grave, there was always someone eager to tell Quil what an asshole his dad had been, leaving his mom barefoot and pregnant to get someone else barefoot and pregnant and then not being around to take care of either of them. It pissed Embry off (which was normal, I’d get angry too if anyone called my mom a whore), but Quil had a way more explosive temper.

 So, here we were, at a showdown between a dumb hothead and a (probably) drunken asshole. Quil was ripped, way more than reedy Zeke, but he was also out of his mind with rage. And Zeke was an asshole. I wasn’t too sure he didn’t have a shiv or something on him. This could end badly for either or both of them.

I shouldered my way towards him. People moved, thankfully, sensing that this could get ugly, and I reached over to put a hand on Quil’s shoulder mid tirade.

He shrugged it off angrily. “I’m gonna kill him.” He pointed to Zeke, as if I needed clarification. Zeke smirked at both us, postured a bit, then gave me a little wave. Oh yes, I hated him.

“He might kill you. C’mon Quil, you’re smarter than this.” I’d talked him down enough times to know the whole ‘he’s not worth it’ bullshit didn’t work on Angry Quil – every fight was worth it, and how dare I say his dad’s honor wasn’t worth defending.

“He’s talking shit about my father! And Embry’s mom!”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Embry’s not here.” I prayed he wouldn’t come either, not until I’d defused this shit. If Zeke got mouthy enough, Embry might just join Quil. Hell, I might lose my temper too. Zeke would end up in the ER, and we might make it to juvie.  Quil made to dart forward, and I threw my entire weight at him.

“Let me, c’mon Jake, we can do it, we can make him learn – “

“No Quil.”  I pushed him back a step. I was clear-headed, but he was heavy with muscle. If he decided he’d bowl me over to get to Zeke, that’d be that. “He’ll be talking shit as you break his neck. This is what he wants. Don’t be an idiot. Don’t give him what he’s looking for.”

“C’mon Quil.” Said someone way in the back.

“Let it go, Quil.”

“Bro, bloody up my yard and I’ll kill you,” said Randy gently, wriggling through the crowd to clap Quil on the back.

Quil huffed like an angry canine. “You all just think he’ll kill me. I’ll show you. One of these days.” He stared Zeke down for a long, tense second before his shoulders slumped. It was all the opening I needed: I grabbed one arm, Randy grabbed the other, and we both dragged Quil through the dispersing crowd. Zeke went “ha!” and the muscles in Quil’s arms tensed, but I only clenched tighter, determined to get out of range.

A shorter figure popped up ahead of us as we marched Quil to the back again – Bella. She was wearing my jacket like a shawl over her shoulders, one of its arms thrown across her shoulders like a scarf. Her eyes were wide in her pale face. When we got closer, she shuffled over to meet us.

“Nobody’s hurt?”

“Nope.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m glad.”

At her words, I felt the remaining tension vanish from the arm I had a death grip on.

Heh. Fucking Quil. He’d shrugged off the friends he’d been raised with, begging him and reasoning with him, but one chick told him she was glad there was no fight, and he went all soft. I made a mental note of it for the next time this happened.

I raised a hand to his neck and gripped gently. “C’mon Quil, we need to talk.” I felt like I was channeling someone, Dad when one of us was really upset, maybe even Mom.

Randy chuckled. “Shit Jake, you’re gonna break up with him after all that?”

Quil glowered. He didn’t fight me, but he didn’t look like he was very happy with the plan either. I sighed. “Come on, let’s go sit at that nice bonfire over there and you can tell me who chopped the hair off your Barbie.” I glanced around, catching Bella’s eyes, and mouthed a slow, heartfelt I’m sorry. She smiled at me and nodded, nodding towards the house. The cold was probably getting to her.

Turning away from her was really, really hard, but I did it. I also congratulated myself on not giving Quil shit for…well, cockblocking, as we maneuvered towards the fire.

All three of us settled heavily on one of the logs. Shelly and Bonnie, who’d been sitting nearby and chattering animatedly, got up and actually ran off when we did, eager to escape the deadly aura of fight. Randy chuckled. Quil just looked grim, like we were his police escort to the electric chair.

“So. Nice night, right?” Randy looked up into the sky, where clouds had gathered. Quil’s lip curled silently, and Randy sighed. “Guess I’ll leave you two to it, then.” He got up with a slight groan and left me with the prisoner.

“Nice night?” I tried, attempting humor.

Quil raised an eyebrow at me, then raised his hand, middle finger held up high.

A hundred years later, Quil and I were still sitting by the fire.

He’d clenched his teeth and cussed at me and ground his teeth, but I knew him like I knew my sisters. I waited him out, poking him here and there with dumb asides about the weather or if he was done with his hissy fit – he knew I wasn’t really belittling him, just provoking the words out of him. Eventually, the floodgates opened, and he’d let me in on all his frustrations: falling short of his grandfather’s expectations of him, in school and life in general (because Quil the Fourth had been some sort of god amongst men, as far as his old man was concerned), his mom fretting over the fights he kept getting into (I didn’t rub his face in it, but she had a point), and being both distracted by girls and “fucking terrified” of them and their wily, female ways. The well went deep.

Halfway through his story about how Old Quil just shook his head and turned away when he’d found a failed Geometry quiz that he’d been too slow to hide, I realized my head had turned slightly towards the house. The cold knot in my stomach pulsed. I’d abandoned Bella. I’d abandoned her after the night had gone so well, and damn if I didn’t feel annoyed. What choice did I have though? Tell Quil to go find someone else to break down on? Go find Bella and tell her to sit tight while one of my best friends poured his guts out? Maybe I could ask him to start from the beginning, couldn’t have her miss the juicy bits. By the way Bells, did I mention Quil sort of liked you? Don’t worry though, looks like he backed off because I have an even bigger crush on you.

 I’d apologize to her later. I’d do it on my knees if I had to. Right now though, Quil needed me, desperately. Quil, my friend, no, my brother. With effort, I tilted my face back towards him. I felt like one of my eyes might tilt to the side anyway, like a chameleon.

Finally, a thousand years later, Embry popped up from the darkness carrying a paper cup, just as Quil was close to talking himself out. He handed him the cup – full of ice and coke, thank god, the last thing we needed was alcohol in him – and perched on Quil’s other side. “So,” he said gently, “what’s going on?” He knew, of course he did, nothing went faster around a party than news. He’d probably been circling around close by, waiting for the best time to come up to us.

“Nothing. My life’s just such a shit show.” He’d started calling everything shit. Good. After that, he got quiet, and then he bounced back, ready to be distracted from all the shit for a while.

Embry’s eyes got even more sympathetic. “Oh. Sorry to hear that”. He scooted closer, nudging Quil as he did. Embry knew the drill too. “Is it something in particular, or is it a general thing?”

“Everything. School is shitty, and so is back home, and so is Math, I hate Math so much…”

I seized my chance. “I’ll be right back, guys.” I was on my feet in a second, making for the house as fast as I could without making anybody think I was escaping a snake in the grass or something. Just a quick “I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you,” and a promise that I’d be with her in a few, for real this time. Things had gone badly, but at least they couldn’t get any worse, right?

Chapter Text

“What?” The universe hated me. There wasn’t any other explanation. Fury, disappointment and cold, chilling distress filled my chest. I looked into Bella’s eyes again (large, bright, dazed eyes like she’d just woken up from a nice dream), wishing I could tell her to wait right there, to not move ‘cause I’d be right back, but I knew better. “I’m sorry,” I said, trying to cram the words full of my very real disappointment, and then I was up and running.

I didn’t follow Jacob right away. The moment his footsteps faded, I hid my face in my hands.

What was I thinking? What had gotten into me? This was every badly written steamy moment from Renée’s checkout line novels, ever. Taking food from his hand and licking him? Revisiting the scene, even for a second, made me want to recoil in embarrassment. Hopefully, nobody had noticed what an idiot I’d been making of myself. Jacob would be laughing at me until we were 90.

But that brought me up short, because Jacob had looked anything but uncomfortable. A strange, satisfied part of me insisted that he’d looked awed, almost eager, and when the other guy had come to ask for him (to take him away, the oddly possessive thing lamented) he’d looked so unhappy -

It was way too much to think, to feel right now. I grabbed the sides of the too-large jacket and brought them up over my head, hiding like a meerkat once it had sighted a predator. The inside was dark, warm and smelled like…well, Jacob.

It was a novel thing, realizing over the past few months that he had a scent, and one I’d begun to recognize at that. It wasn’t aftershave (he didn’t need to shave yet, which he complained about often) or cologne, it was the scent of his sweat, his hair. It wasn’t a stench, but confusingly enough it wasn’t a smell I’d present to other people as nice; it was something bright and warm and distinctly his.

I poked my head back out, more confused than distressed. My chest felt raw, heart turned outwards like an orange after juicing, all its delicate contents poured out. It was good that Jacob left. In this brittle state, I would have done something stupid, I felt it in my (very tingly) skin. Even alone and kept at bay by the idea of an issue I couldn’t fix (too small to deter combatants, too intimidated by violence to intervene), I felt a gentle tug, urging me to go find Jacob and…lend him my strength, I guess. I hadn’t known I had any to give back at the hospital, but my presence had done some good. Maybe it would do good again, even if I hung back from the action?

An image popped into my head of running up to Jacob in the dark and burying my head against his back, inhaling his scent and warming my cold-stung cheeks against his white shirt. I groaned and rubbed at my face, willing the scene away. Whatever had malfunctioned in me clearly needed more time to settle back down.

By the time I felt settled enough to go looking for Jacob, there didn’t seem to be any fighting going on in the yard, though there was still a large collection of boys standing around with grave, tense babbling for background music. It took me a bit of darting about the edges of the crowd, but I found them in minutes: Jacob and the host were escorting an unresisting Quil away from the places where people thronged the thickest, all three grim but unhurt. Relieved, I shuffled up to them, avoiding the strange, soft look that lit Jacob’s eyes at my approach (too much, too soon, I’d do something stupid I knew it don’t look Bella) and focusing on Quil instead. He let the other two guide him, but he looked a hair away from bursting into action, aggression radiating from him like heat from the bonfire. My worry returned.

“Nobody’s hurt?” I asked anxiously.

“Nope.”

I relaxed. “I’m glad.” Quil’s eyes darted up to me and I smiled, trying to communicate my genuine relief to him. His eyes darted back down, but he seemed to give up then, shoulders slumping. The waves of aggression tapered off.

Jacob collared Quil gently. “C’mon Quil, we need to talk.” His voice was gentle, but it left no room for discussion.

Randy chuckled. “Shit Jake, you’re gonna break up with him after all that?” I giggled, more from nerves than from actual humor, but Jacob didn’t look at either of us. He stared down at Quil, who didn’t look up, almost like a child about to be given a stern talking to. I knew he could feel that stare, though. It reminded me of the rare few times Charlie had summoned his cop persona to deal with me: that stare could leave blisters.

And Quil wasn’t immune to it. He softened, defeat coming from him in waves. Jacob softened his gaze in response, concerned friend instead of bad cop. “Come on, let’s go sit at that nice bonfire over there and you can tell me who chopped the hair off your Barbie.”

He caught my eyes then. A hundred emotions flashed through me in a split second (joy, fear, tenderness, worry), and I wondered if it was a bit of projection on my part of if I really had seen them mirrored in Jake’s dark gaze. Then regret flashed clearly into his eyes and he mouthed I’m sorry.

I understood. He had to get Quil far away from the fight, and he had to talk to him. The tug returned even as I thought it, wordless and irrational, but this was a private matter. Turning away from Jacob made me feel…unhappy, like I’d slept through a movie I’d been eager to see, but I managed. I nodded, then tilted my head towards the house: he’d know where to find me when he was done.

Thankfully, I ran into Leah the minute I trudged through the sliding glass doors; some sort of small parlor. She sat up from a pile of cushions she was holding court on when she saw me and reached me in three steps, a can of beer clutched tightly in one hand.

“Please tell me,” she said slowly, “that I heard wrong, and Steroids didn’t go picking a fight with Paul’s BFF.” That was news to me. The potential opponent had been part of Paul’s gang? No wonder everyone had been so worried. And did that mean Paul was here? I swallowed through a dry throat, reminding myself that he hadn’t turned up anywhere, and nodded. Leah hissed. “Just when I think they can’t get any dumber. Where are they? Did someone have the sense to call an ambulance?”

“There was no fight. Jake stopped him and took him off somewhere.”

“Thank fuck,” she exclaimed, all the tension leaving her. “Jacob will manage. He’s all peace and love.”

“He is?” Hearing nice things about Jacob made me proud, and just a little bit giddy for some reason. I took it as a sign that the strange, vulnerable mood I was in hadn’t passed yet. Leah didn’t know that, though. She didn’t have to. I could let her tell me about Jacob shamelessly.

“Oh yes,” she said, half fond, half exasperated. “Mom says it’s from how Billy had to cart him around sometimes, after their mom. Billy used to be a brawler - you had to be back then – but then he was on the tribal council and he’d married Jake’s mom, who hated violence, so he had to learn how to fix things without his fists. And sometimes nobody could babysit, or Rache and Beck were in school, so he’d take Jacob along to make peace with people. Jacob seems to have absorbed something, somehow.” She shrugged. “And somehow, people listen. Don’t ask me how though. Whatever kumbaya magic he makes only kicks in during a crisis.”

My heart swelled. Then I frowned. “Wait, what do you mean people ‘had to’ fight?”

She frowned. “Well, you know. People had to fight then.” At my confused look, she softened. “This is History 101 at our school. I’m guessing you guys still get how Christopher Columbus was a jolly old soul?”

I blushed. “Yeah, pretty much.”

“Well, long story short, Native Americans got screwed over by the government really often. When Old Quil was young, we used to get carted off to boarding schools to get deprogrammed. Y’know, get our culture and our stories beaten out some we could be nice, upstanding third-class citizens. Hair cut off. And when our parents were young, plenty of people still thought we were third class citizens, so knowing how to throw a punch was handy.”

I thought about what Jess and Angela had implied, the comments of the girls I didn’t know and the unknown Mrs. Bucket, feeling vaguely sick. “Oh.”

Leah took a swig from her beer and nodded. “Oh’s right. I’m not supposed to know, but sometimes my parents say things that make it sound like your dad got plenty of shit for hanging around rez kids.”

This, too, was news. I’d always taken Charlie’s closeness with Billy Black and Harry Clearwater for granted. The sky was blue, Forks was rainy, and Harry, Billy and Charlie were best friends. Thinking anyone felt anything other than acceptance for what was clearly the natural order of things had never crossed my mind. “I had no idea,” I confessed in a fraught whisper. Guilt lashed at me too. Charlie was far better at adulting than Renée, that I knew. But every new story reminded me that I barely knew my father beyond that. Or rather, that I hadn’t bothered to.

Leah gazed at my distressed face, thankfully misunderstanding its source. “It’s OK. Sounds like your dad handled it.”

“How?”

“He punched back at anyone who messed with them. Hard.” I must have made a real face then, because she chuckled and patted my shoulder. “You need to get out more, Swan. Ask people annoying questions, at least. Real life’s a bit of a shit show, but you’ll die under that bell jar. Or worse.”

I’d read The Bell Jar too, and I hadn’t been sure how I felt about it back then. Now, my first weeks in Forks returned to memory, weeks of walking around with the feeling of being heavily anesthetized. “What’s worse than dying under the bell jar?”

She wrapped a warm hand around my arm and led me to the small group. “You could live a really long life under it. Now sit.”  Sitting in the cushions were three girls who’d said hello to me earlier that night, and four that I’d never seen in my life. They said hi again and had soon picked up their conversation, a discussion about a movie about a date specialist that I hadn’t seen.

I must have been reaching my quota of social interaction, because try as I might, my mind felt too tired to accommodate all these voices (it was one of those introvert things, unrelated to the nature of the interactions; Leah’s friends were nice enough). My own thoughts turned inwards, and Leah’s earlier words progressed through my brain. How had Charlie ended up with Harry and Billy for best friends? They would have gone to school on the rez, wouldn’t they? How had a boy from town grown up to be “always invited” to Billy Black’s in the middle of tense racial relations? I knew the limitations of the History classes I’d gotten, knew history was written by victors and survivors. But I guess I hadn’t known how much I hadn’t known. Shame wriggled in my stomach – I’d see what books I could borrow on the subject.

I thought of how hard I’d taken the staring during my first few weeks, and the ache of Lauren’s harsh words. I couldn’t wrap my head around actual harassment, let alone having people try to beat you up over your choice of friends. Frustration and gratitude chased each other around in my chest, because I wasn’t used to being taken care of. But it was nice, to know my dad had my back instead of the other way around. Renée, who I loved to pieces, handed her burdens over to me without a second thought.

Bobbing along right below these thoughts, Jacob was still present. Right below my conscious thoughts and my hang-ups and my embarrassment, the straightforward, vaguely possessive Bella that had woken up amidst the fire and the tenderness insisted something still had to happen. I waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

After a long time, social exhaustion began setting in earnest.

Leah’s discussion really was interesting (was it wrong or was it right to hide something when initiating a relationship? What was lying and what was becoming better?), but I hadn’t seen Hitch and the people around us, nice as they seemed, felt like total strangers. I never seemed to get tired by Quil, Embry, Leah and Sam, signs that I’d grown comfortable around them, but they were, of course, not the crowd I was in. Amongst so many relative strangers, I receded. I really didn’t want to offend Leah’s friends by looking bored though, so when the time felt ripe, I muttered an excuse about the bathroom, then trudged off deeper into the house.

Randy’s house was arranged in a rough Y shape, with the parlor I’d been in on one of the prongs, a hallway that led to the bedrooms (blocked off with furniture; smart of him), a dining room in front of the hallway, a living room and the kitchen in the other prong. That meant the people in the parlor and the people in the living room couldn’t see each other, separated by walls as they were. The living room was also empty right then, thank ye gods, so I headed there, sinking gratefully down into one of the couches and reveling in the (relative) silence. I’d had about five minutes of rest before a whoosh of depressed cushions sounded to my left.

Leah had perched on the seat next to me. “What’s up Swan?”

“Just tired,” I said, straining for words. “Recharging with silence.” It was hard to describe to someone who clearly didn’t have my hang-ups.

A short silence. “Oh, OK.” Leah reached over, pulling my cellphone free from my unresisting hand, then booted up a game. Without looking away from the screen, she waved a hand as if to say proceed.

Intense gratitude flooded me. Jake was my best friend, but Leah came in a close second, even though we hadn’t gotten to the part where we shared our innermost thoughts with each other. Right now, she was something like my advocate, doing small things like leaving her friends to sit in the quiet with me.

But it would be a long time before I attempted a party again, I decided. If my mood was any indication, it was time I rolled over and admitted I just didn’t like them: the dressing up part had been a hassle, even with Leah helping, the anxiety had been significant, and while I’d spent time with Jacob, I could do that in any number of different ways. Potlucks, movie nights…they were more ‘come as you are’. Parties were too much pretense and pageantry.

 (And where was Jacob, anyway?)

As if to affirm my swearing off of parties, we were joined by two people half an hour into my recharge. A girl I didn’t know, and Ruby Frazier.

“Hi Leah,” she said brightly. Then “Bella”, through clenched teeth. Her eyes lingered on me, probably recognizing the jacket, but she made no comment.

I turned to look at Leah discretely, and she raised an eyebrow at me. As Ruby settled in and started talking, I raised one back.

This was outright sabotage. Ruby had to have come here after me, maybe hoping I’d lead her to Jacob, and was now staying to wait for him. Tormenting me with her presence was probably a juicy bonus.

Even though her intentions were clearly evil, Ruby made interesting points: she talked about the The Phantom of the Opera, and how the book exposed the Phantom for the monster he was while the movie romanticized how he stalked and manipulated Christine. I would have probably enjoyed discussing it, but Ruby’s attitude ruined everything. She was condescending and snobby, like all the things she knew made her so vastly superior, all us mere mortals could do was behold her awesome.

I thought back to mentally belittling Mike for not keeping up when I’d talked about misogyny in Shakespeare, and mentally kicked myself. Maybe karma really was a thing, and Ruby was here to be my object lesson in how conceited I could be when I lived in my head all the time.

Thunder began to rumble distantly. After ten minutes, Leah excused herself, barely polite and plopping my cellphone onto my lap as she escaped. I made it ten more minutes into Ruby’s lecture before I’d had enough myself.

I turned away, intending to escape too –

-  and narrowly avoided heart failure as I caught sight of the dining room.

Paul, Paul Lahote, was sitting in the dining room right beside us. Who knew how long he’d been there, protected from immediate discovery by the house’s funny arrangement? He was already looking at me when I saw him, a strange empty expression in his face as he sat on a chair he’d reversed, chin propped on the arms crossed over the backrest. Then his eyes flitted away from mine, as if he were genuinely interested in what Ruby was saying. I turned my eyes back to Ruby too, my entire body freezing in terror.

I knew, rationally, that Paul was a human being and not a t-rex. But I was alone now, and nobody else seemed aware of him. I didn’t know what to do.

When in doubt, panic.

I got up. In my peripheral, so did Paul. Oh no. Oh no. I walked quickly, no plan but escape in my mind. I needed Leah, I needed Jacob, or Embry or Quil. (I wanted Jacob). The house wasn’t very big, but as I wasn’t really thinking, I barged into the kitchen seconds later. The empty, one-entry, one exit kitchen. And Paul went in right after me.

“Swan,” he rasped, then tried again, “Bella….”

“What!” I almost sobbed, realizing I’d backed myself into a corner. “What can you possibly want!” If he came any closer, I would scream. Ruby might hate me, but there was no way she wouldn’t react to a scream of terror, and I had faith in someone outside hearing the commotion and coming to investigate.

Paul’s eyes widened, and he took two whole steps back, raising his hands defensively as if I were the threat. “Shit. Don’t scream. I come in peace. I come in peace, I swear.” He took another step back, then one to the side, leaving the door clear for escape.

I stared at him.

“I said I come in peace, dammit,” he said, exasperated. “But if you want to bring the whole house down on me, be my guest.” We stared at each other for a few tense seconds.

“OK…OK. I won’t scream.” My voice was trained from nerves, though.

Paul lowered his hands. “Good.” Another staring match ensued.

“What do you want?” I said, more calmly than before.

“To talk to you.”

Talk to the girl whose ‘fucking face’ he hated? “What about?”

“Um…well…us, I guess,” he said, perpetual confidence bleeding out of him in a rush as he gestured between him and I awkwardly, “Not like that! There’s no us, but there’s me…there’s you, and things have been fucked up -”

I’d gone mad. It had to be the only alternative. Or Paul was out of his mind drunk. “You’re drunk.”

Paul glowered at me. “No. Stone cold sober, just to come talk to you,” he spat. “Though I’m beginning to thing it wasn’t worth the fucking effort.”

Then another voice came through the door. “Hey, what – holy shit.”

Leah rushed into the kitchen, shoving Paul aside even though he wasn’t exactly in her way. “The fuck Paul? Thinking of assaulting her?” She took up what looked like a fighting stance halfway between Paul and me. I remembered Emily holding her back on the night of the potluck and, despite Paul’s overtures of peace, I felt safer.

“No,” he said in a low, dangerous voice, and my sense of security went out the window. “As I was telling your pet paleface here, I wanted to talk to her, but since you all seem to think I’m a fucking axe murderer, I should probably be on my way.”

But his words threw Leah for a loop too. “Talk to Bella? What for? What about?” She shook her head. “Whatever. Tell her what you came to tell her and move on.”

Paul wasn’t moved though. “Do I look like a fucking circus to you? I came to talk to her. If I’d wanted a motherfucking audience, I’d climb up the shingling and shout from the fucking rooftop!”

I couldn’t help myself: I cringed. Paul swore about as much as Billy, but Billy was everyone’s dad. The curses only made Paul more threatening.

Irritated, Leah turned away from him. “Should I pound his ass?”

“What? Why!? No!”

“I probably could,” she said in a perfectly even tone. “And I’d probably win. I’ve done it before.” She was serious. At my half-horrified, half-curious face, Leah rolled her eyes. “Emily had a shitty boyfriend twice this jerk’s size, and he didn’t believe in not hitting…well anyone. Everyone was fair game, Emily included. He lost it the night she broke up with him, and there was nowhere to run. Someone had to jump and protect both of us.”

The idea of anyone hitting Leah and sweet, gentle Emily was too horrible to fathom. My mind almost recoiled at the information. “And,” I whispered, mouth gone dry, “a-and that someone was you?”

“Yeah. What else was I supposed to do? Have Sam swoop in with his underwear over his jeans and save us? He was miles away, I was right beside Emily. Sometimes you’ve got to be your own Superman. Supergirl.” She shrugged. “You get me.”

“I don’t want anyone to pound anyone,” I said vehemently. “I just-“

“Should I slip out of the room while you ladies discuss stuff?” Paul interrupted sarcastically, “or can you make up your mind?”

I looked to Leah and then to him, thoughts churning. “Is this thing you need to talk to me about important?”

“Yeah,” he answered immediately.

“And you’re sure you can’t say it in front of Leah?”

“How many times do I have to tell you, I need to talk to you.” He glared at Leah, and she glared right back.

With a deep breath, I made my decision. “Then…OK. Yeah, I’ll…I’ll talk to you.”

I expected Leah to swivel back around and yell at me, but all she did fix me with a probing stare. “And you’re sure you want to talk to him?”

“I guess.” He really did seem sober. I took in his appearance then: he was in ratty jeans and a black t-shirt that had sported a logo of some kind many, many washings ago, a loose thread hanging down from one of its sleeves. His long hair hung limply past his shoulders, untied and sweaty. He looked like he’d been lounging at home not five minutes ago. Even a guy whose entire thing was not caring wouldn’t turn up at a party like that.

It seemed Paul really had appeared just to talk to me, angry as usual but sober. And peaceful. “Yeah, yeah I do.”

“OK, fine,” Leah conceded softly, “but not where I can’t see you.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Paul threw his head back and covered his face.

“Oh shut up. You’re the one who’s got his panties in a twist over this,” she shot back, annoyed. “If you’d just tell her what’s up and leave, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.”

“I’m not gonna repeat myself.”

I suddenly, desperately wished I could just go home. My fantasies right now involved slipping under the covers in clean pajamas. “I wish this night would end,” I said wistfully.

“It’s sure been eventful,” Leah conceded, shooting Paul a dirty look he didn’t technically deserve. “Let me burn off the beers a bit, and I’ll take you back to your truck.”

To our shock, Paul spoke up. “Uh…how about I drive you home?” Leah and I looked at him in surprise. “I drive you home. Empress Clearwater here can follow behind us in her car. I’ll tell you what I need to say on the ride to yours, her majesty can see me off, you get to go home. Everybody wins.”

“That’s the first logical thing that’s ever come out of your mouth,” Leah said contemplatively. “OK, let’s go.”

“Leah, you’ve been drinking. What if you crash?” I had no desire to forgo Leah’s protection, but I also didn’t want her in any danger. “And it’ll probably storm soon.” The rumbling I’d detected during Ruby’s soliloquy had continued. The party would be coming to an end soon, whether the guests wanted it to or not.

“Then I’ll ride with you.”

“That kinda defeats the purpose,” said Paul, boredom in his tone. The gall of him – he was the reason we were even having this discussion in the first place!

“Fine,” she huffed, “then wait until I’m safe.”

“Nope. Deal’s off in that case.” Paul thought he was being nonchalant, but I detected a hint of nerves. As if to confirm my suspicions, his eyes darted towards the kitchen door.

Of course: once the rain started, everyone would run to the sanctuary of the house. We’d have an audience in minutes. Was Paul embarrassed of being seen with me? Even if he wasn’t, we’d probably cause the second scene of the night. Everyone would have something to say about it – Jacob would probably have something to say about it. What he’d say exactly though, I had no idea whatsoever. He’d seemed less dismissive of Paul than many other people, but trusting him to drive me home was a whole different matter.

Jacob. I didn’t want to leave, not without…whatever it was I’d been irrationally waiting for all night. But there hadn’t been a hint of him for hours and hours. Bitterness sank my heart…and an idea popped into my head. I turned away from Leah’s glowering and pulled out my cellphone, quickly dialing Charlie.

He picked up on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hi Dad,” I said in a rush, before fear at how it was me and I never called unless something bad had happened sent him into a five alarm Dad episode. “Can you call the house in twenty minutes?”

“Wha – Bells – uh, sure, what for?”

“Because I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

“Oh,” he said. There was a hint of steel in his voice when he spoke next. He’d realized something was up. “Bella, if you’re in danger and can’t tell me - ”

“I’m not, I promise. It’s just that the roads are dark and it’s raining, and Leah’s driving me straight home…” I was a pathetic liar, but I focused hard on how I really wasn’t in danger, and how I really was anxious about getting in a vehicle with the guy who’d inexplicably hated me from the moment he saw me, and it came out pretty OK.

“Oh.” He said it in a slightly different tone. “Well, that’s cautious of you. OK.” He didn’t believe me all the way, but he trusted me not to be doing anything truly lethal.

“And I’ll call you if I get there sooner.”

He sighed. “Stay safe. If you don’t call and don’t answer, I’ll have the cruiser there within ten minutes.” The calm resolution in his tone informed me it was a solemn promise.

“Deal. Bye Dad.”

“See you in a bit, Bells.”

 I turned to Paul resolutely. “You have twenty minutes to get me home, starting now, or Chief Swan will be out looking for me.” It took me fifteen minutes to get from my place to Jacob’s house, which was farther off from Randy’s, and that was if I was driving slowly. Paul could have me home in twelve.

Leah smiled, and I could almost hear the good thinking, Swan in her head. “I’ll be calling too, in twenty-five. I’ll call Billy Black if she doesn’t answer, and you” she added, pointing towards Paul, “will wish I’d deballed you right here.”

Paul looked from me to Leah and back. Shock, worry, and a hint of what might have been admiration flitted through his face in rapid succession. “Fucking fine then,” he said finally, “let’s go, before I end up in jail.”

“What about my truck?” It was still at the Clearwater’s.

Leah shrugged. “I can take it to you tomorrow. If you’re sure, and you want mister Future Ten Most Wanted to drive you, that is.”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I guess it is what I want.” Paul scoffed and walked out of the kitchen once he'd heard my answer.

“You be careful,” Leah said in a low voice, one eye on Paul’s retreating back. “I don’t think Paul’s a psycho, but hell, I could be wrong. So…” she gestured for my phone and hurriedly typed in a number. “That’s Randy’s  - y’know, this house’s - number. Call your dad first, of course, he’s a cop, but there you go. For backup. I'll camp out at the phone.”

“You won’t try and stop me.”

“Nope. Like I said I could be wrong…but I know evil, and Paul Lahote’s not it. I think he could offend you and make you cry and ruin your self-esteem. Break your windows, hurt your truck. But I don’t think he’d hurt you, or, y’know, try anything. Besides, you’re a big girl. If you want to climb into the local Rebel Without a Cause’s car, well hell, do it. Just make sure you’re safe.”

Her words tickled at me. Then the other meaning of safety popped into my head, and I blushed bright, deep red. “Leah!”

She started laughing at me. “I meant buddy system, make-sure-I-got-home-alive safety. God Swan, who knew you could manage a single dirty thought!”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “I didn’t. It’s all the time I’m spending around you people. I…I used to be pure as driven snow.”

She cackled. “I know.” Then her face morphed into a look of utter innocence. “What should I tell Jacob?”

My heart clenched. I’d waited and I’d waited, through exhaustion and discomfort, and no Jacob. Even if Paul revealed the secret of clean energy and world peace to me on the way home, I couldn’t help but feel my night had been a letdown, even for a party (which was a waste of my night by definition). “Tell him to call me when he can,” I said gloomily.

Paul didn’t say anything for the first five minutes of our drive. Not a single word.

He hadn’t even looked at me after I’d clambered into his car. He stared out the windshield with the same blank expression he’d fixed Ruby with, as if he weren’t really there. The much-heralded storm had finally broken, and the harsh pounding of the rain, which washed the view out the windows to blue-black smears, was the only thing filling the silence. With Paul in his strange trance though, it hardly felt uncomfortable. I might as well be back home.

After many long minutes, he twitched. Then he moved a hand off the steering wheel to press a button on the radio. Howls poured from the speaker.

Who's that I see walkin' in these woods?

Why, it's Little Red Riding Hood

The sound finally jolted Paul to life: terror lit up his eyes. “Shit,” he whispered, swatting at the radio ineffectively.

Hey there Little Red Riding Hood

You sure are looking good

You're everything a big bad wolf could want

Listen to me –

Paul finally managed to whack the radio off. A CD popped halfway out, and I realized whatever had been playing had been his own personal mix. As if the night couldn’t get more surreal: I was in Paul Lahote’s car in the middle of a storm, listening to a song written by what sounded like the Big Bad Wolf. Giggles tickled their way up my throat and out my mouth.

Paul frowned out the windshield. “The fuck are you laughing at?” he grumbled, barely parting his lips to shape the words – a sign of genuine anger, I knew now.

“Nothing,” I managed between giggles, “it’s just this whole situation.” When his glare didn’t ease, I elaborated. “I’m in a car in the middle of a storm, with the guy who wanted to slash my tires and said he hated me, listening to howls on the radio. This must be a dream.” If I’d been completely honest, I would have called it a nightmare, but I realized in time that it wouldn't be very smart to risk offending Paul at this point.

His glare melted into something less angry, but equally humorless. “Yeah, I…I see your point,” he said, voice unexpectedly soft.

“It’s not bad, just weird.”

“I get it.”

“I wasn’t crapping on your music either. It just took me by surprise.”

He snorted. “Were you expecting death metal?” he asked, sarcasm heavy in his tone.

I’d never listened to death metal, but what with ‘death’ in the name, I figured it would work. Maybe Mozart’s Requiem, or a soundtrack of haunted house special effects. I willed my mouth shut before something even dumber made it out of my mouth.

Just when I thought we’d wind up in another long silence, Paul hissed. “Shit. This is going all wrong. We’re doing this all wrong.” He stole a quick glance at me. “Listen, Bella,” he said, stumbling over my name like it was an unfamiliar word. “I just…I brought you out here to say sorry. Yeah…sorry.” He paused. “Sorry,” he repeated more firmly, “I mean it.”

It had crossed my mind that he might say that, because what else had happened between us but things to apologize for? That didn’t lessen my shock, though. I had to check to make sure my mouth wasn’t hanging open.

Paul must have mistaken my silence for disbelief, or confusion. “What I’m trying to say,” he tried again in a strangled voice, “is that I’m sorry for everything. For trying to slash your tires and treating you like shit every time I see you. I…I don’t really hate you,” he finished softly.

I stared.

Paul Lahote and I had never spent more than the past ten minutes together. I could barely read his face or his tone, even though I tried desperately. But strange as it was, I had to admit it: I believed him. I could feel, like the tonal shift in a novel, that no aggression remained in him. It wasn’t his body language; it wasn’t his words. It was in the air, somehow. Paul really was sorry and really didn’t hate me.

But that didn’t lessen my confusion. if anything, it left me even more adrift. “Then what was it? Why were you so awful to me? I barely know you.”

Paul’s nostrils flared. “Well, I knew you. I knew who you were. I knew you had this whole history with the Blacks, and him,” he spat the word, no doubt between us about who this ‘him’ was and making anger flare in me. “I…I just figured you’d hate me. Being his girl and all. Figured I’d hate you first, and more. And with all the shit going down at my place…I guess I just felt extra special asshole-y.”

His answer almost made my anger vanish. Before Phil made enough to support the entire household, when Renée still taught at elementary schools on the regular (instead of being a substitute teacher like she was now), she’d heard that from the “Problem Kids” often. Everyone saw the label that had been slapped onto them before they ever saw the kids themselves: other children were wary, teachers were on their guard, school psychologists had their files on the ready. If any issues ever involved them, everyone would always assume it was their fault, no matter what. Problem Kids learned that nobody cared for them, so they protected themselves by not caring for others first.

The realization almost appeased me. Almost.  “That’s really stupid,” I said, not bothering to stop myself, “that only makes people hate you back, even when they start out thinking they’ll give you a chance.” Jacob had even said people in the rez would like Paul better if he’d liked them.

Paul scoffed. “Don’t pretend he didn’t warn you about me.”

Protective anger flared in my chest. “Jake didn’t say a single bad thing about you!” I snapped. “He told me you had a bad temper, but that people would be willing to like you if you didn’t hate them all first, and that you left people alone if they did the same!”

“Sure,” he whispered incredulously, “holy fucking Saint Jacob.”

Sensing the futility of it, I bit down hard on my defense. Paul hated Jacob too much to believe he’d gotten fair treatment from him – even though Leah and even Billy Black seemed to share his opinion. He was more transparent than he realized. “Why do you hate him? What has he ever done to you?”

“None of your business,” he replied, anger seeping back into his voice.

“Fine.”

Paul huffed. “And just so we’re clear, this doesn’t mean we’re friends either.”

That threw me for a loop all over again. “Huh?”

“You heard me,” he said, sounding once more like the jerk who’d looked over his shoulder at me at Jacob’s house. “We aren’t friends. Don’t talk to me when you see me around. Don’t bother trying to get me to go comb your dollies with the Clearwater bitch and Den Mama Emily.”

“Don’t call my friend a bitch!”

 “It’s what she is,” he bit back, almost snarling at me. “We talked, you’re home. Get out before your father calls and misses you and takes my ass to jail.”

I looked out the window, surprised. Through the deluge, I could make out the familiar street and the outline of my house. “I didn’t bring an umbrella,” I said, more to myself than to Paul.

But he had no trouble replying anyway. “Too fucking bad. Get the fuck out of my car.” He grabbed something that had pooled onto the seat – Jacob’s jacket – and thrust it at me, “and don’t leave this shit here.” He had no way of knowing it was Jacob’s, but it clearly belonged to a male that was bigger than I was, and he could always just assume.

 “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I replied shortly, wrenching the jacket from his hands and watching Paul’s eyebrow twitch. I slid sideways out of the car and slammed the door behind me, not bothering to look back as I half stormed, half ran towards my doorway, jacket cradled in my arms. I thanked any deity that was listening that I hadn’t done something embarrassing to ruin my dramatic exit – then stumbled up the steps to my own house for my efforts. The car roared away before I’d finished fumbling the door open.

I burst into the house, shaking from both cold and anger and shucking my wet, muddy boots aside. I almost hung the jacket on the peg before thinking better of it, clutching it to my chest again as I stomped towards the kitchen in bare socks to wait for the phone to ring. I should have held the jacket over me as I ran. Now I was a hair away from sopping wet while the thing was only damp.

Stupid Paul. Stupid party. Stupid stormy, rainy Washington.

(No ‘stupid Jacob’. It was everyone else being stupid that had taken him away all night!)

But as my cold, shivering form dripped water on the kitchen chair, irritation was all I felt. Any hatred I’d ever meant to harbor for Paul Lahote had died: he wasn’t a public menace, but he wasn’t some suave, troubled bad boy, either. He was part insecure teenager, part moody toddler. He was jealous of how people gravitated towards Jacob, of how people liked him and gave him their trust without too much prodding. He would have hated Jacob, no matter what his last name had been, because all those enviable things were his very essence.

Truthfully, I felt sorry for Paul. He and I would never be best friends (not that I wanted him to, Jake had already taken up that position and Paul had very clearly stated he didn’t want to), but a part of me felt sure the tire-slashing incident was the last I would see of vandalism from him. Hidden somewhere in his bizarre apology was an offer of truce I was sure he'd uphold.

I stared at the phone, willing Charlie to call. Thoughts of Leah circled in my mind, then of Paul and then of Jacob, and a half-formed thought batted at the back of my mind like a moth in the night. I’d noticed something back in Paul’s car  –  or I’d missed something. What was it? There had been something about him, something in his eyes or his silence. Yes, that was it, it had been in the silence, right before he’d put on that silly old song.

 The phone rang loudly, and my train of thought escaped. As I greeted Charlie, who sounded relieved I’d picked up on the first ring, it occurred to me that I’d never explained to Paul that I wasn’t Jacob’s girl (not the way he’d implied I was, at least). But that wasn’t the missing bit of information, and try as I might, I didn’t recall even a hint of it.

I hung up. The phone hadn’t been in the cradle for thirty seconds before it rang again.

“Hello?”

“Swan!” said Leah’s voice from the other line, “thank fuck I wasn’t wrong. Did he treat you ok? He’s not in there with you though, is he? Say ‘I could really go for a pizza’ if he’s there and you can’t talk but need rescuing.”

I laughed. “No, Paul’s gone and I’m safe. He didn’t even wait until I got inside before he left.”

“What a dick. Not that I’m surprised or anything. What did he even want?”

“He wanted to explain that he didn’t hate me. That he just figured I did, so he tried hating me even harder.”

 A beat. “You’ve got to be shitting me.”

“Nope. He even apologized.”

Leah whooped.

“I know,” I sighed. Then I couldn’t help myself any longer. “Has Jacob turned up?”

“Nope. Still talking down the macho man somewhere out there. But you really should talk to him. A lot of people saw you leave with Paul Lahote, and he’ll take my word for it that you’re safe, but you really might want to talk to him anyway. So he can hear it from you that you’re OK.”

“Tell him to call me the minute you see him.”

“Will do.”

“Thanks. And thank you for watching out for me, Leah.”

“Anytime. The sisterhood should stick together,” someone talked to her from somewhere nearby, “OK, someone else needs the phone, so it’s time to go nighty night. Talk to you later, Swan. I’ll kiss your truck good night for you.” And she hung up without ceremony. I abandoned the jacket and ran up the stairs then, heading for dry clothes and a towel.

I came back down once I’d changed, meaning to camp out by the phone until Jake called. I didn’t want him to worry (and I wanted to speak to him for just a minute). But I was tired, and exhaustion insisted I could wait just as well lying down on the couch as sitting up on a chair. The phone would be just a sprint away, and Jacob had my cell number anyway.

On my way to the couch, I retrieved the jacket. The outside of it was damp, but the inside was dry and still comforting, so I tucked it up under my chin once I’d settled in. I laid the cellphone next to my head, then decided to switch the ringer off – I’d had the phone chime in my ear often enough to know it hurt.

Maybe I was too tired to notice. Maybe my finger pressed too long on the volume keys. Either way, I unwittingly turned both ringer and vibration off, then promptly fell asleep.

The sound of Charlie coming in woke me, seconds before a vicious thunderclap illuminated the whole house. I sat up in terror.

“Just a thunderstorm Bells,” Charlie said soothingly, “though you better go up to bed now. That couch’s hardly comfortable.”

I nodded, already feeling uncomfortable tension in my back. Then a horrible thought dawned and I reached for my phone. Several missed calls from 'RANDYS PLACE' flashed on the screen, along with Jacob’s house number.

I got up, throwing Jake’s jacket off of me, and headed for the phone at a dead run.

“Woah there,” exclaimed Charlie disapprovingly, “it’s past three am!”

Surprise nearly sent me sprawling. “I had no idea. I thought I’d only just drifted off.” Frustration welled up in me. I’d missed Jacob, again, and this time it was all my doing. What if he and Leah hadn’t run into each other? What if he thought Paul had killed me?

Then he would have called Charlie, you idiot, I reasoned. And judging by my dad’s serene entrance, Charlie still thought Leah had brought me here.

Thinking of Leah reminded me of the accidental innuendo. Cold washed over me: what if Jacob thought that Paul and I…! And with ‘a lot of people’ watching me leave, and Ruby, who actually hated me there. She would happily swear Paul and I had driven off to get married in Las Vegas.

For a second, earning myself the wrath of Charlie and Billy seemed a very small thing compared to making sure Jacob knew what had happened (or what hadn't happened, in this case). I couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was so terrible about Jacob believing a few silly rumors for a few more hours, but it made me anxious all the same.

Logic reasserted itself in the end. I slumped up the stairs under Charlie’s enquiring eyes, and took forever to fall back asleep.

Chapter Text

I woke up to a very dark room. The thunder and lightning had abated sometime in the small hours, but the storm, it seemed, wasn’t over.

My neck ached, which made me remember, and curse, the couch. This brought on a deluge of memories (couch jacket Paul OH NO JACOB), and I lunged towards my night table. Regardless of the darkness outside, it’d been hours. It had to be a decent time to call Jacob.

As I grabbed for my cellphone, the blank, dead face of my digital alarm clock stared back at me. It was a solid, trustworthy thing the size of a brick that ran on power.

Which could only mean the power was out.

Stretching a little further, I grabbed my cell. After holding the power key for what felt like forever, I had to accept that it had run out of battery sometime in the night.

Darn it. Darn it, darn it, darn it, really darn it all. If Leah had somehow not found Jacob that night, chances were good he thought I’d ditched him. Or been murdered by Paul. Or ditched him and then been murdered by Paul.

Or maybe, just maybe, he’d run into Ruby Frazier, and he thought I’d ditched him for Paul.

My last chance was the phone.

I found Charlie downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table with two candles, firmly planted inside old jam jars that we sometimes used for drinking glasses. These weren’t tealights, they were plan old, utilitarian candles, bottoms too rounded to stand without effort. As I came up, Charlie was fixing a third: he held the lit candle over the jar, letting wax drip and pool at the bottom. Then he turned the still lit candle and dropped it in, where it stuck molten wax (if a little crookedly).

I wondered how many ways I might have caused myself accidental harm doing that. It took me long enough that Charlie felt eyes on him. “Morning, Bells.”

“Morning Dad.” Maybe I hadn’t inherited all my clumsiness from him. “Any word on when the power will be back?”

He set the makeshift lantern down. “It shouldn’t be long. Rain messes with the electricity every so often around here.”

I nodded, then inched towards the phone.

“It’s out too. A tree or some such took out some lines.”

My urgency melted into misery, and I edged one of the chairs out for myself. The universe didn’t want me to talk to Jacob Black, it seemed – or it was punishing me for pumping out bad juju, or whatever it was dharma-era Renée had told me about back then. Whatever supernatural entity was in charge of balance had really picked out a fitting payback.

 “Sorry I overslept,” I said, trying to keep the gloom out of my tone. “Breakfast should be ready in a bit.”

“That’s fine. I fed myself, got some scrambled eggs in the pan,” at my mild surprise, he blinked. “You stayed up late – and you like them. Right?” A hint of insecurity leaked into his tone.

I was always surprised at Charlie doing things. I kept treating him like he was…well, Renée, even though he’d been living by himself for well over a decade. Even though he’d taken care of me pretty well when I’d visited as a younger kid, and the house, though needing some love, was in better shape than it might have been if it’d been left in the hands of someone like my mother.

Even though he left me breakfast sometimes, when he thought I’d had a hard day and could use a reprieve. I mean, he’d left Jacob and me breakfast after Billy’s seizure. I even neglected asking him for information he didn't volunteer; it was like I expected him to tell me his every stray thought, like Renée did.

Maybe it was the tidbits of knowledge Leah had shared with me. Maybe it was my frustration of not getting through to Jacob. Maybe it was an urge to do something right. “I’m sorry.” When Charlie gazed at me in confusion, I went on. “I – you, well. I…I keep treating you like you can’t do a lot of stuff. I forget.”

Charlie froze. Deep, personal emotions was one of his least favorite topics. “You just like taking care of others.”

I frowned. I’d taken care of Renée because I had to, even though loving her had made me want to do it more. I’d made the sugar-free brownies for Billy Black because I was morose. And I took care of Charlie because I thought he needed it. It was hardly the implied altruism my father was trying to make it out to be. “I-I don’t have to make others feel un-useful.”

“I’m an old man, Bells. You’d have to try much harder to hurt my feelings.” He smiled, not quite as uncomfortable as he had been. “I’m not as good a cook as you are. But I can make things sometimes, if you like.”

“I like cooking. It’s fun,” which was the honest truth. Cooking came with instructions, while also being a safe place to experiment. It was how I dealt with things when my mind was too full to read. “But it’s OK if you want to help. Cooking I mean, like the scrambled eggs. Or when I’m up late. But, but it’s not like you have to, it’s not like you have to change your schedule to cook - ”

“Bella - ”

“- I know you have a job and it’s a hard job, so it’s not like you need to make cooking your job - ”

“Bella.”

I finally shut up. Then I wondered when I’d become comfortable enough around my father to babble at him.

“It’s good to know you like cooking. Just remember I’ll be happy to help when you need it.” The moment held the usual awkwardness that hung between me and Charlie. But then he smiled, and I smiled, and it felt OK, despite the awkwardness.

“I’m off to work now. Stay safe.”

“Sure. Um. Have a good day, Dad.”

The door had shut before I remembered I’d been on my way to a good mope before. With no other choice, though, I took a serving of Charlie’s scrambled eggs (airy, with just the right amount of salt) and willed the kitchen bulb to flicker to life. It remained dull and lifeless.

The power and the phone were still absent when the sound of a car pulling up on my driveway, at the wrong time for it to be Charlie, made me drop Sense and Sensibility with a nervous jitter. The bright flash of red I spotted through the front window eased my mind though: I'd know that shade of red anywhere. My truck, with Leah aboard, was performing a smooth park on my driveway when I made it outside.

“You in the dark too?” Leah said, craning her neck out the driver's side window to look at my house.

I nodded. “And my cellphone ran out of power in the night.”

Leah made a hiss of commiseration. Then she blinked at me and frowned. “And that’s what has you looking all ready to join a screamo band?”

“I - I never could talk to Jacob.”

Leah’s eyebrows rose ever so slightly. “I did run into him though. He didn’t look super thrilled at the turn of events, but he believed me.”

“Did you tell him I made it home OK?”

Leah’s expression turned pained. “I ran into Jacob after you’d left, but before you got home. He beat it after he talked to me, hitched a ride with somebody or other.”

The anxious energy of before returned. “He doesn’t know I’m OK. Oh no. Oh no.”

“Easy, Swan. He would have had somebody drive him here if he’d thought you were hurt, never mind the time of day. You're right though, he's out there with the wrong half of the story.” Leah’s eyes turned to the sky. “Well, the storm looks like it’ll hold off for a bit. And the roads didn't look too bad. Maybe you should drop by, now that you’ve got your wheels back.”

“That’s a great idea!” I stood awkwardly outside the truck, looking inside with happy expectation, while Leah stared at me.

“Oh, right,” she said after a moment. “I think I got addicted to the feel of wheels that weren’t my mom’s for a moment there.” But she got out of the cab all the same. “Mind if I hitch a ride back?”

“Of course! I’d never make you walk back to La Push,“ I gasped. “And. Um. Do you…can you come with me to Jacob’s?”

Leah snorted as she shut the copilot’s side’s door. “Need witnesses?”

“Yeah!”

What I meant was that she could help assuage Jacob’s concern that I might have been in danger last night. It occurred to me that Leah was thinking of something else when she snickered in response.

Jacob was in the garage when we arrived. As eager as I’d been, for hours, to see Jacob, a strange shyness came over me once I was out of the truck. I was thankful for the way Leah started walking towards the back of the house without a hint of trepidation, cursing at the mud’s steadfast clinging to her ballet flats. My bought-with-rainy-Forks-in-mind hiking boots (which had never seen a day’s hiking) got me to the door faster. The sound of metal on metal and the two voices (Embry and Quil, it seemed) made the tiny space raucous. Candles affixed to paper plates and a large halo of light made it bright and welcoming.

The odd trepidation returned. I waited for a lull in the banging to force my mouth open. “Jacob…?”

Even though it came out like the squeak of a distant chipmunk, there was a clatter of metal as Jacob abandoned whatever he was doing and came around the Rabbit.

I was taken aback by the sight of him. He looked like everyday Jacob, hair rumpled, wearing the faded Underdog shirt he used to work on his future car - but there was also something different about him. He'd always had nice eyes, a straight nose, fine features, I knew. I'd been seeing that face for months. And yet they struck me differently today, subtly beautiful. Oblivious to my weird musings, Jacob, smiled, bashful, then opened his arms in invitation.

The rush of warm, giddy relief that came over me at the gesture made me forget Leah, Embry and Quil for a moment: I ran into Jacob’s arms. As natural as physical awkwardness was to me, in that moment it felt like Jacob and I had been hugging like this forever.

“Hey Jake,” I sighed.

 “I am so, so sorry about last night Bells,” he said into my hair. “I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

“It’s OK. You were, what, doing the Lord’s work?”

Jacob barked a short laugh against my head. “Try ‘damage control’. Or ‘crises intervention’. Or ‘putting out fires’.”

“You did it though.” Why had I been so nervous? It was hard to think about anything being wrong with a Jacob hug pulling all my loose ends together. I reveled in the warmth and the comfort.

From over Jacob’s shoulder, I saw Quil and Embry appear from behind the Rabbit. “Hi guys.”

“Hey Bella,” said Embry with short, high, downright uncomfortable giggle. He made towards the garage door, only for Quil’s unmoving form to roadblock him. Quil uttered a brief “hey”, then flicked his eyes all over, avoiding us both.

Was he embarassed over last night? Edging my face a little further over Jacob's shoulder (he'd been almost my height when we'd met, was he going through a growth spurt?), I tried to catch Quil's gaze. "I'm glad to see you both." Embry stared at me. Quil still avoided me. The tension in the air only thickened.

“Embry. Steroids.” Leah ambled into the garage. “Lovely to see you. Come on, I need to show you some trees. Now.” Embry and Quil all but ran towards her, Quil heaving a sigh that struck me as one of relief. I caugh a "thank you, Leah" from Embry before the three of them were out of earshot.

Oh, well. 

"What's up with them?"

"Hell if I know."

I eased out of Jacob’s arms after a moment. “I’m sorry too. I didn’t want to worry you. I kept trying to reach you but then my cellphone died and we lost power and…”

Jacob took a deep breath before releasing an equally deep sigh. “I’ve got to admit,” he said after a beat, “you running off with Paul Lahote was the last think I expected.” His eyes roved all over me. I told myself he was checking me over for bruises – I blushed anyway. “You okay?”

“Yes, I promise. He was kind of a jerk, but he didn’t lay a finger on me.” That didn’t lift the trouble look on his face. “He wanted to apologize.”

Jacob’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline.

“I know, I think I made the same face when I heard it. See, Paul thinks everyone thinks terrible stuff about him, and he figured everyone would tell me terrible stuff about him too, so he thought he’d hate me first, and harder.”

Jacob snorted. “And that was gonna help, how?”

“I think it’s a defense mechanism. If he hates people first, he can’t be hurt when they decide they hate him right off the bat. It happens all the time in schools. Or so says Renée, anyway.”

“Wasn’t your mom a primary school teacher? Like, third to fifth grade?”

I laughed. “Yep. You’d be surprised at how much big kids are like small kids.” Which was an oddly insightful statement for someone who’d spent most of her life isolated from people. Books really did help you in the real world.

To my surprise, a similar sentiment came out of Jacob’s mouth next. “Y’know, for how much you complain that you’re all unsociable and don’t understand people, you really get it. When you pay attention.”

“I pay attention all the time!”

“Yep. To all the wrong things. Then you throw in a helping of neurosis and poof: welcome to Bella’s world. Everyone’s out to get you and everyone hates you.”

“I don’t sound like that,” I tried, but my heart wasn’t in it. He had a point.

Jacob reached a hand into my hair, ruffling it like I was the younger one. “Don’t get all sad, it’s OK. It’s part of you. There’s no Bella without all the overthinking.”

I prepared to tell him I felt that the hair-ruffling was a sign that he’d forgotten who the eldest was. I even settled on demanding two extra years for the audacity. But then Jacob’s fingers moved to the front of my head, gentle fingers brushing away a couple of wayward strands. We hadn’t moved very far away from each other after the hug. It was the bonfire all over again.

Jacob licked at his lips in nervousness. “So…Paul apologized. That’s weirdly nice of him, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever heard of him being that nice. Maybe to his girlfriends, a little.” He paused, an arm going across his middle. “Is anything…happening? Not that it’s any of my business! I mean you’re your life! You’re free to date whoever you like, I'd never tell you who to date - ”

The warm, intimate moment broke in seconds. “What? Jacob, are you trying to ask me if I’m dating Paul?”

Jacob seemed at a loss for a second. “Kind of?”

I laughed out loud. “Of course not. I mean, I think I don’t hate him. But he’s still a bit of a jerk. He kind of swore we’d never be friends, then ordered me out of his car and into the rain.”

This time, Jacob’s shoulders sagged in relief. “Phew. I mean!” The tension returned in a flash. “I’d never tell you who you’re supposed to date or anything! And Paul’s not an axe-murderer. But he’s…you deserve- I mean.”

I reached out and clasped the hand Jacob was gesturing with furiously. “It’s OK Jake. I get it.” And I smiled “You’re my closest friend. My best friend. I don’t think we could be closer if we were siblings. I’d get worried too if I thought you were dating someone who might not be good for you.”

Jacob’s face seemed to freeze for a moment. And then, like a cold breeze had leaked into the garage all of a sudden, all the vitality seemed to drain from Jacob. “Oh.”

I frowned. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said, too quickly.

“What’s happening?” I insisted, concerned. “I just told you we’re best friends! Come on, you can trust me.”

“Yeah…I know. Best friends. Siblings," he parroted, tone vague, as if his mind were somewhere else altogether.

We stared at one another, silence descending over the garage. It had a tension to it, unlike the one from before: it seemed full of words, all of them darting just out of my reach. Jacob's eyes were searching again, concentrating on my face. It was as if he could see me struggling to find the right words - no, as if he wanted me to say something.

I tried, I really did. If I'd had paper and pencil in front of me, I might have managed. But I didn't. We stared at each other, expectation slowly being replaced by something ineffably sad. Then there was a distant roar; the bare bulb that hung like an overripe fruit from the roof of Jacob's shed flickered to life. 

“Oh, the light’s back on!”

“Yeah. I guess I can see now,” came Jacob’s answer, sadder than anyone had a right to be about the electricity coming back on. Or for the loss of that strange, painful moment we'd just gotten through. He turned away from me, heading for the miniscule window that opened into the Black's house. He'd definitely grown a little, able to look out the window by standing on tiptoe now.

I strove for levity. “Did you like the dark?”

“A little,” he said in a whisper. Then he went back to standing on his feet and moved towards the candle he'd put close to an open toolbox. “Help me put out the candles?”

“I was about to tell you they’re a fire risk.”

“What?” He frowned at me, some of his lost liveliness returning, “Bells, the Rabbit has no fuel. Pretty much everything in here’s metallic. What’s in here that could possibly catch fire.”

“The walls are wood! And you with all these open fires!”

“It’s not like I was gonna put them right up against the wall.”

“The wind could have knocked them over!” And then, with a burst of inspiration, “this unsafe behavior is worth at least five years.”

“What?!”

Jacob’s mood still seemed a little off for the rest of the visit. He rallied a little once we called Leah, Embry and Quil back inside, even though all three of them kept glancing at Jacob and me like something was the matter. Once the shed was no longer a fire hazard, Jacob asked us if we’d like to stay and have some snacks with them with what seemed like his usual friendliness (it was a no though, I wanted to get back and check if we had power too, Leah had a scheduled call to Sam). But I could have sworn there were hints of relief in his face when Leah and I said our goodbyes. The whole of our interaction that day sat in my stomach, like a lump of something I couldn’t digest, as I drove in silence towards Leah’s house.

I felt Leah’s eyes on me for a long time. Then she coughed.

“So.”

“…so?”

“Nice visit?” She wasn’t interested in small talk about the visit, of course, but I couldn’t fathom what she really meant.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

Leah waited. Then she harrumphed. “Sooooo. It’s none of my business what goes, or doesn’t, go on between you and the half pint,” she began, “but since I think I’ve had my fill of idiots this weekend, I’m going to give this a try.” After a deep, theatrical breath, Leah continued, “Isabella Marie Swan, what exactly do you think happened just now?”

“Huh?” I couldn’t tell what of all the weirdness in Leah’s proclamation had wrong-footed me the most: hearing my name, realizing that Leah knew my full government name, or the question itself.

Leah sighed so deeply, a small mist of condensation appeared on the windshield of my truck for an instant. “Back at Jacob’s garage. You used a few words, a few turns of phrase. They caused an impression, and I’m pretty sure you haven’t realized what it was.”

“I did?”

“Sure as hell.” Once it was clear to her that I really wasn’t playing dumb, Leah proceeded. “You called Jacob your friend, your best friend, said you were as close as siblings, yadda yadda. I wasn’t trying to listen, exactly, so I’m not sure if you also said you thought he was gay, or actually a girl, or if you might have said he had neither dick nor balls. But if you did, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

For all that Renée was flighty and capricious, she really had done a heck of a job teaching me to drive. With the way my brain completely lost the ability to form the most basic thoughts, my hands should have faltered on the wheel and sent us in a diagonal cruise, straight to our deaths.

The truck stayed in its lane. My hands stayed firm on the wheel, my feet planted in the right places. My mouth, though, opened and produced a low, pathetic sound of confusion.

“Yep,” Leah said, satisfaction in her tone. “Thought so.”

“Wait. But…wait.” I exhaled through my nose, hard. “Wait.”

What I meant for her to wait for, I had no idea, but Leah did wait. She didn’t say another word, only giving brief indications so I’d know where her house was. When the Clearwater house was in sight, she waited some more, tapping her feet in the rhythm of some song I couldn’t possibly identify by the sound of ballet flats on my truck’s floor. She kept time well, though.

“I didn’t…isn’t that what Jacob needed to hear?” I said at last. I wanted to comfort him, to assure him that nothing was going on between me and Paul. Most importantly, I wanted him to know he was welcome to state his opinion about my life. He was part of it, and an important one, at that.

Leah didn’t answer right away. I could almost hear her mind whirring though, constructing her response with care. “Is that what you wanted to say, Swan?” When teachers called me Swan (or, god forbid, Isabella), it felt cold, even contemptuous. When Leah said it, it sounded gentle, like it could have been Bells, maybe even sweetie or honey.

(It wasn’t like how Jacob called me honey, though.)

“Huh?”

“Do you, in fact, feel like Jacob is your younger brother? Or your younger sister? Do you think he’s like that girl, Angie or whatever, that you sit with at lunch?” She stopped for a second, as if to let the words sink in. “When you’re around him, do you really feel like you do when you’re with a girl?”

“…no.” It came out in a tiny voice. No, I didn’t think Jacob was a taller, more striking Angela. He wasn’t Leah. He wasn’t Quil or Embry or the Jessica from Phoenix. It hadn’t crossed my mind even once in our entire acquaintance, not until Leah had said it just now, but I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jacob was, in fact a boy. If ever I’d doubted it, something in his eyes or his voice last night had dispelled any possible misconception I could have ever had.

But that was all I could say. If Leah had chosen to hold a gun to my head and demand a straight answer about what I was feeling about (for?) Jacob, I would have had to ask her to pull the trigger, because I couldn’t have put it into words, not even under duress.

At best, I could say it was warm. Different.

Leah tapped her feet some more. “Thought so.” She stared out the window to her house. I looked too: someone was moving from one of the first story windows to the next, swinging a flashlight to and fro. In the gloom of the storm, the little light seemed miniscule compared to the shadows it dispelled.

"Just so we're clear, you don't like girls right?"

"Huh? What? Um. No."

Leah nodded. She scanned my face, shrugged, and exited my truck. "Seth, power's back! You can keep pretending you're a Ghostbuster though!"

The next weeks were off.

I still called Jacob, every day, and he still picked up. We still talked about everything from our fathers to homework. I even went to his house, twice a week at least.

But the conversation lacked something, a nameless though much missed something. It made me hang up faster, and leave the garage sooner, feeling close to tears and utterly, thoroughly confused as I made my way back up La Push road. It wasn’t annoyance, dislike or hatred.

Close to three week after the thrice damned party, it occurred to me that whatever was wrong with Jacob was a sad thing. Had I made him sad? Would I be sad if Jacob had somehow told me he thought I was a boy?

…well. Yeah. Maybe.

I tried to fix it that very same day. “I do know you’re a boy,” I blurted out, halfway through a rant of his on the unfairness of math.

“Huh?”

“I just wanted you to know I do know you’re a boy. Not a girl.”

“Okay Bells, thank you, but that still doesn’t explain why I need to learn this bullshit.” He was amused by the outburst though.

Time eased the sadness out of Jacob, eventually. Almost before I knew it, we were back the way we were before.

Some nights, in the instant before I fell asleep, a part of me would remember those moments of charged tenderness we’d had by the bonfire, and I’d wish for another. I'd quickly move on to call myself silly and go to sleep.

(I kept forgetting to give Jacob back his jacket.)

Chapter Text

I was kind of relieved once we'd seen Bella and Leah off. Kind of. Once our old truck was out of sight, I finally let my face relax. There wasn't much else I wanted to do in the garage, so I drifted back into the house, Quil and Embry on my heels. 

I’d been a wet blanket most of the afternoon and yet they were still here. Fucking troopers. I loved them.

“Any chance you brought your Wii?” I could go for some Resident Evil 4. I was in the right mindset for a gloomy Spanish village full of zombies. And of everyone walking off the game as single as they started. If the girls had stayed, and maybe asked to see a romance film, I might've gone and broken the TV all over again.

“No. Sorry,” Embry replied with a shrug. “We could try Mario Kart if your old N64 is still kicking.”

“It is. Don’t really feel like playing though. You guys can do it.” I ambled into the living room and gestured to the cabinet where the Nintendo, two controllers, and the handful of cartridges that still worked, lived in. They knew they could help themselves. The TV, repaired from my outburst after Dad’s last attempt on his own life, hadn’t seen much gamer action recently. Bet it missed it.

It’s a younger sibling thing, the whole ‘getting comfort from watching others play’. Embry and Quil always looked at me like I’d sprouted tentacles when I said it, but when you grow up with Rachel, Rebecca and Leah bullying the hell out of you, you learn there’s battles you just won’t win. One of them is being the first to play one person games on whatever console you’ve got, and you can get bitter or learn to enjoy watching others play.

(I also learned that, with enough taunting, Leah would usually hand over the control and ‘make me’ pass hard levels for her.)

Quil ducked out of Mario Kart citing ‘finger pain’, which we all knew was poor hand-eye coordination, and we settled in to watch Embry work on whatever level of Mario 64 I’d left unfinished in my childhood (which wasn’t too long ago, which made me think of how many years Bella would want me to surrender over saying something like that, which made the sadness ooze in again until I tried to focus on something else). Quil being an only child really shat on the experience though, because he kept correcting Embry’s gameplay.

You do not do that to the gamer. That’s like trying to tell someone how to drive a car.

Or, maybe, Quil might’ve been onto the same thing I’d been on when Leah still came around, because Embry did surrender the control to him. Embry had more patience, so we all enjoyed Quil losing life after life in the many sand traps and pitfalls of the Shifting Sand Land. He got so annoyed. It was so hilarious, and I was so totally into it that Embry sort of took me by surprise later.

“So…Jake.”

“Hm?” I was torn between rooting for Quil, who was trying to get Mario through to a pyramid, or for the angry-faced dice he was trying to avoid.

Embry was quiet for a moment. Then: “What happened in your garage?”

Oh. “Nothing.” And fuck wasn’t that god’s honest truth.

“I know. What I mean is, uh, what happened?”

There were harsh chimes, Bowser’s laughter, and Mario was ejected from the world after another failure from Quil. He snorted angrily. “What he means is what happened in there that made it so nothing happened.”

I looked from one to the other. “What?”

Quil, having decided that level was too much for him, was steering Mario elsewhere in the castle. “Eh. Never mind, bro.”

They would drop it if I insisted. But hell, I did want to talk about it. I watched the screen for a moment, organizing my thoughts. “Um. Bella came to tell me she hadn't ditched me for Paul."

"I told you she was too smart for him."

Quil's head snapped to Embry. "You thought Paul was macking on Bella too?"

"No, but I did know whatever was going on wasn't about Paul. And quit changing the subject." Embry looked back at me with a go on nod.

"Well, she might as well marry Paul," I went on gloomily, "because she also said I was her best friend and her little brother.”

Embry inhaled. Quil froze for a second or two before bringing up the pause screen. He actually paused the game. “Wow, bro…”

They both looked at me, like they were waiting for permission to admit they knew I had a crush on Bella and say something supportive. They should have just gone for it though; it wasn’t like it mattered. Not anymore. “It’s fine,” I said, reaching over to unpause the game, “it’s not like she led me on or anything.”

Embry shrugged, unconvinced. “I guess.”

“I could have sworn I -,” Quil started, then stopped. “Mmph. You always did say Bella was weird though. What’s the plan now?” He steered Mario towards the lower levels of the castle. I thought about all the trouble Mario went through for Peach. That was some dedication right there.

“When a girl tells you you’re like her little brother, there is no plan.”

On Quil’s other side, Embry made small sounds of commiseration.

Yeah, I know the whole sitcom thing would be to plan some elaborate thing to get her to see me as a man. Take Paul out with a single punch, save a basket of puppies from a burning building, join Quil at the gym. Force romantic gestures on her until she caved. And yeah, I might have tried something less creepy, held on hope a little longer, if it hadn’t been for the bonfire. If all that was really just me being deluded, thinking she felt the same strange stuff…

…at least I hadn’t done anything embarrassing. She might’ve decided not to be my friend anymore if I’d taken all those misread hints to heart and tried to kiss her. Or maybe given me the whole little brother spiel after and then I’d have to go dive off a cliff in a storm to regain some dignity.

Besides, I wanted Bella in my life, even if it wasn’t as a girlfriend. I kind of loved her. How that interacted with the part of me that wanted to kiss her was a mindfuck for another day.

“Guess you’re right,” Quil conceded, jumping into Bomb-Omb Battlefield before I could tell him Rachel or Rebecca had collected every star on that level years ago. “Sorry the magic didn’t work on this one.”

Not this shit again. “I was kinda hoping you’d believe me that there’s no magic now.”

“No way,” insisted Embry, “Bella’s immune, but come Monday you should start using your eyes."

It sounded as fun as nicking my fingers on rusty car parts. But maybe I would. Eventually. I opened my mouth to say so –

“SHIT!”

- and then Quil ran Mario straight into Chain Chomp. He fell into a Bomb-Omb next, couldn’t run from it in time, and lost most of his hitpoints.

“Quil. Bro. You suck.” I said it with as much love as possible. Even I didn’t get Mario killed this much, not even as a kid.

Embry curled a few hopeful fingers around the controller. “Maybe I can help?”

Quil huffed a laugh. “Fuck both of you. I’m trying the snow world next.”

Embry deflated. I refrained from telling Quil I’d cleared that world myself years ago.

It took me about a month to get over my funk about Bella.

I didn’t avoid her or anything, and I didn’t want to. Despite how completely she managed to misunderstand other people’s feelings most of the time, she picked up on the funk, and maybe even felt a little hurt about it. She kept trying to avoid me a little too, though her avoidance was more of a keep-away game with her feelings.

One day, while we were working on homework, she caught a lull in my rant about how school should teach us the Math we need for stuff like taxes, instead of this Algebra bullshit.

“I do know you’re a boy,” she said in a rush.

“Huh?”

“I just wanted you to know I do know you’re a boy. Not a girl.”

“Okay Bells, thank you, but that still doesn’t explain why I need to learn this bullshit.” And then I laughed, because it was such a Bella thing to do. God only knew what she thought she was fixing by saying that shit.

Later, of course, it dawned on me that she’d been getting close to Leah, and that Leah might have blabbed. I was angry, because I’d never told Leah anything, and now Bella would probably panic herself into fuck knew what. And I was scared shitless, because nobody would predict what Bella Swan, anxious overthinker for the ages, would do if she knew I had a crush on her.

I called the Clearwater house in…OK, well, a panic.

“Clearwater house.”

“Did you say anything to Bella?”

“Hello to you too, you asshole.”

“Yeah, hello Leah. Did you or did you not say anything to Bella.”

A sigh came over the line. “Say anything to Bella about what? Ugh. Never mind. No, I haven’t said anything to Bella. I talk to her  way less than you do. Which isn't saying much though." She laughed a little smugly, and I just breathed harder into the phone. "She called a couple days ago to ask if you were angry at her over anything, and I told her no.”

That was almost reassuring. “So you didn’t say anything to her about –“

“Yeah, I’m going to cut you off right there,” she intoned. Then, with an annoyed huff, “Listen. I know, and you know I know. But you haven’t actually told me shit, and Bella’s my friend now too. So stop trying to take my plausible deniability from me, because I don’t wanna keep shit from her. You wouldn’t do it for your two bitches.”

I blinked and tried to figure out what to say. I couldn’t.

Leah had been more friends with Rachel and Rebecca than with me. They were girls, I was younger, and we only even saw so much of each other because our moms were friends and Mom would babysit for Mrs. Clearwater a lot, what with her job and Harry Clearwater not being allowed to do physical things or move heavy stuff. After Mom, and after nobody needed babysitting anymore, we’d been left with a weird dynamic where we weren’t friends like her and my sisters, didn’t see all that much of each other one on one, but she knew me and I knew her well. She could drop by for visits unannounced, she was someone I could latch onto at public stuff if none of my friends were around. Or when they were around. Having Leah around was like having rain, just another thing that came with being alive.

I guess Leah was like one of my sisters. In her own sort of aggressive way, she was present, and supportive. (Rache and Becca had pretty much ditched once they left La Push, so in a way she was more of a sister now than they were. Yeah, I harbored some butthurt about them never coming around.)

“Hello? Did you drop dead or something?”

“Yeah. I mean no. Thanks, I guess.”

“Don’t mention it. Remind your Dad there’s fishing this weekend.” Then she hung up without waiting for an answer. Like my dad would ever forget there was fishing.

With the secret safe from Bella, at least, I eventually stopped feeling like an emo little bitch every time she smiled fondly at something. She still seemed reluctant to let any of the guys from Forks into her life, and I tried to convince myself that I was just relieved because they all sounded like pathetic little fuckboys.  

I kept waiting for the crush to go away, like it’d happened when I’d crushed on Julia Roundtree’s cousin back in the fifth grade (she went to visit relatives for the summer, I was sad for a couple weeks, then Becca scored a used Mario Kart game and I was busy for the rest of my vacation – and then, when she came back, I’d totally forgotten I’d trip up at the sight of her). It didn’t. But at least it didn’t make me sad about dumb shit anymore.

Eventually, Embry and Quil’s insistence that I should maybe try looking somewhere else worked its way through my brain, and near the end of May, I realized I was doing it.

Well. Buffy from Buffy the Vampire Slayer kept dating, even though she was forever hung up on the tall brooding dude, and she eventually fell for Spike.

(And for the record, that episode where he tried to rape her was bullshit, and they should have tried to evil Spike up some other way. It’s way out of character for everyone. It shouldn’t exist. Schools should show a clip of that episode in Sex Ed. And the whole of the Buffy series really, just because it’s awesome.)

I was surprised when I noticed the same little quartet of girls from the grade below me would hang around the lockers in between periods and chorus “hi Jacob!” at me several times a week. They weren’t giggly and obvious like in the movies. Not until I was paying attention, at least. I guess they though my being a year older made me all big and interesting. Not what I was looking for, honestly.

Back in my own grade, I noticed Melissa Gaillard dropped whatever she was carrying if I said anything to her. She was lucky her milk carton didn’t bust open over her feet when I asked if there were any tapioca puddings left as she left the lunch line. As embarrassing at it was to have that happen to you, I got this feel that she was way more uncomfortable than she should have been when she and I were the only witnesses, her sandwich stayed in its bag for the fall, and nothing spilled.

 “Jared Cameron says she’s had a crush on you since sixth grade,” Quil told me later. “He didn’t know until like a week ago, but he’s dating Kim Lewis now, and Melissa and her are friends. He says Melissa was super embarrassed and venting about being an idiot around the dude she’s liked since she was twelve. His exact words.”

Well shit. “She’s never said two whole words to me.”

Quil snorted.  “Course not. I’ve got English with her. She’s really shy. She’ll look all deer in the headlights when the teacher calls on her, even though she always knows the answer,” Then he looked at me with this contemplative expression. “Nice though. Real bookish. Your type.”

I just hit him in the arm, not too hard, and tried not to think of Bella. There was trying to get over someone, and then there was flat out using people. In the overxtended analogy (could those be overextended like metaphors? I'd ask Bella) of Buffy, Melissa would be the Buffybot. Nobody should ever be someone's Buffybot.

Quil must have caught on somehow though, because his shoulders slumped. “Julia Roundtree still likes you.”

“Man, you like Julia Roundtree.” We didn't say that in Embry's presence, of course. As far as we knew, he'd already gotten over her calling him 'a little cutie' and thinking he was a whole year younger at Randy's party, but it seemed cruel to throw Quil liking her too into the mix.

Quil slumped. “I probably won’t for much longer though.”

It didn’t matter to me. Quil had been my friend since we were still potty training. Not to mention I didn’t even like Julia. “I don’t care. Don’t be such an idiot.”

Quil snapped back to lively in an instant, and we parted ways. I dragged my feet a little: Algebra. Gag. I went to my regular seat, pulled out the battered textbook and my (probably mostly correct) homework, then did my best to shrink into the chair.

While Bella wasn’t exactly aces at math, it helped that she’d seen all this shit before. You didn’t need to be great when you had decent recall and had the patience to teach, which Bella definitely did. My homework had never come out so good.

“Misters Kehpa and Black, please solve problems 136 and 127 on the board for us.”

The downside was that Mr. Mahood wouldn’t stop calling me up to solve shit, now that he knew it wouldn’t end in complete embarrassment over me not even having the textbook on me. We both got up like men headed for execution; Randy beat me to the board and started up with 127. Shit. I’d done 136 after Bella had left. I was sure 127 was right…the other one, I was only mostly sure.

You always feel eyes on you when you’re up on the board. I glanced behind me a few times while I wrote equations down (equal signs lined up all nice), like I was volleying them at the watchers so they’d cut it out. Until I caught one of the girls in the second row. It was Sheila Maizen.

I wasn’t sure what made me glance back a few times. I was sure though that she wasn’t waiting for me to mess up for shits and giggles, like Quil and Embry might’ve. She didn’t look away when I caught her either.

Once we were done, Mr. Mahood went over the process with both of us. Randy’s was right. “Good job, Mr. Black. Even though you made the numbers a little crooked down there. I’m sure you didn’t mean to.”

I totally meant to. If I’d gotten anything dead wrong, I’d hoped to say I’d gotten the numbers mixed up and not looked too much like an idiot. “Plausible deniability, sir.” I’d thank Leah for that one, someday.

Everyone laughed at me. Sheila Maizen caught my eye though, and she didn’t seem to think I was such an idiot; she was laughing like I’d been amusing.

Huh.

A few Math periods later, just as we were packing up to move on, Sheila appeared at my desk.

“Hey Jacob.”

“Hey.”

Sheila was one of those girls who’d always looked older than they were. From way deep in my brain, a memory of her getting shit from Mara Jones for being “the freak who outgrew her training bra” way back in the sixth grade – and Sheila smooshing a pudding in her face for it in the cafeteria. These days, the girls didn’t bother Sheila.

I had the sense not to tell her that though. “Math class was brutal.”

“Yeah,” she said, making a face of exaggerated suffering. She was really pretty, I noticed. Not the kind who made a stir, like Leah or Emily (or Bella, but this was a bad time to be thinking about Bella), a subtle kind of pretty you had to be staring at up front. Small, bright eyes, heart-shaped face. She had real pretty lips. (A thought about Bella tried flying in from left field, but I batted it away). “You’re really good at it though.”

That made me laugh. “I’m actually shit at it. I just go over it at home a lot. And one of my friends helps me.”

She blinked in surprise. “I didn’t think Embry Call or Quil Ateara were good at math.”

“They’re probably in my league. Naw, Bella Swan helps me. Chief Swan’s daughter.”

Her shoulders dropped ever so slightly. “Oh. I’d heard some stuff around.” She didn’t sound as happy as she had a moment ago.

“Bella comes around a lot, yeah. She’s my best friend.” And it felt a bit like a lie, but I wasn’t about to lay out all my problems to the first cute girl to take the initiative with me.

Sheila perked up. “Oh?”

“Yeah, since I was in diapers. She used to stomp on my mud pies.” I shrugged. “But I managed to forgive her.”

Sheila laughed. I smiled at her once the laughter stopped. She smiled back, straightened her back, a hint of a blush on her cheeks. I couldn’t lie: it felt nice to know I’d caused that kind of effect on someone. “Well, that’s a shame. I was going to ask you if you’d like to tutor me. With the year ending and all, I didn’t want to fall behind. Oh well.”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m not your guy.” A voice that sounded a bit like Quil told me to ‘seize the chance dude, come on!’, and I gave in. “But I’m not half bad for moral support. If you want me to call you, that is.”

Sheila smiled so wide, and looked so pretty doing it, no random Bella thoughts came at me. She reached into the front pocket of her jeans and brought out a scrap of lined notebook paper with a phone number on it. “So…you’ll call me?”

The Quil voice suggested I say ‘maybe’ or at least pretend I had more going on. I thought it was stupid. From what I’d overheard from the literal wails in my house on the girl’s nights of the distant past, girls only grew to resent guys who fucked around with them like that. “Today’s math night,” I said, not hiding the distaste in my tone. Besides, Bella would be around. It’d be awkward as hell to talk to Sheila with her there. “Tomorrow?”

“Sure.” And she sauntered away, putting an extra bit of sway to her hips. She was on the curvier side, so it didn’t look all awkward like when Rache and Beck had tried it out in their day. Leah didn’t saunter, she stomped.

I waited until she’d been out of the classroom for a few minutes before quietly raising a fist to myself in victory.

She wasn't my Buffy. But I guess I could be her Riley.

Chapter Text

The hopeful boop of a call attempting to come through rang in my ears for the third consecutive time. I’d never counted them, but I knew my call was close to being dropped.

My heart dropped, my stomach unclenched –

A click. “Hello?”

“Jake!”

I had dialed Jacob’s number three times, for two hours, before he finally picked up. Jacob’s line was tied up a lot lately – and the extent to which I didn’t like it surprised me. I guess it hadn’t occurred to me how much I talked to Jacob until it wasn’t a readily available thing

“Hey Bells.”

“Hey there! Where have you been? I’ve been calling a ton.”

“Shit, what time is it?” Some sounds of fumbling came over the line. “Shit. Sorry Bells. I guess I lost track of the time.”

“It’s OK. Except now you’ll have to brave your Math homework all alone.”

Math wasn’t my favorite subject either, but this was where being ahead of Jacob really came in handy. And working through the most mind-numbing of topics went down easier when Jacob was there. I couldn’t hide from my disappointment of missing out on one of our impromptu study sessions, even though we saw each other all the time.

“Ugh. Well, that’s what I get for losing track of time.”

“I didn’t know you talked that much to Embry over the phone. Or Quil. I thought they just popped up at yours without warning.”

Silence.

“Jacob?”

“I wasn’t…it wasn’t Quil or Embry.”

Something in his tone made my stomach give a funny turn. Nerves, but not the usual kind. “Oh?”

“Yeah. Um. It was someone else. From school.”

Jacob’s tone was suspicious. Silence reigned between us for another few seconds. When it became clear that Jacob would rather hold out for whole minutes instead of telling me more, I caved. “OK. Well, maybe we can get a jump on tomorrow’s Math then.”

“Actually Bells, I’ll be a little bit busy this week. How about you come the day after tomorrow? And maybe on Friday? I could hang out for sure then.”

Never had my open invitation to the Black house been conditioned in any way. Jacob had told me, in several different ways, that I could show up whenever I liked, and at whatever time I liked. Always invited, like Charlie. It stung. “Oh…oh, OK.”

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

More silence.

 “OK Bells, if you’re sure…”

I had to admit it took me aback a little that he didn’t probe; in our (relatively) short friendship, he’d become better than either of my parents at sensing the actual demands of my emotions beyond what I said.

Then again, I’d been the one thinking angry thoughts at Renée for complaining about this or that boyfriend not knowing what she wanted, after refusing to tell him that herself. It wasn’t his fault he wasn’t a mind reader…or that I was a coward.

“Yeah,” I said, with a dismissive laugh. “Hey, did I tell you about how I managed to lose us the entire volleyball game?”

Whistles came down the receiver. “The entire game? That’s a record, even for you.”

I strove to fight down the sting of (self inflicted!) disappointment as our conversation took its usual turn. We talked, laughed and lost track of time for our customary close-to-an-hour, as the disappointment gave way to sadness. That made me feel even more ridiculous, and pathetic in a bad grocery store novel’s heroine sort of way. I hated grocery store novels. (Though I might have to recant my argument that they had no basis in reality. Maybe they mixed in just enough reality to keep readers emotionally invested? I had noticed that, no matter how different the women in my mother’s erstwhile reading club were, they all felt the protagonists of those harlequin romances were “just like” each of them).

Jacob did keep our appointments though, and we had our usual fun – except when it was clear to me that something was on his mind. Even after we’d packed up the textbooks and settled in for some network TV, I’d notice him glancing away from the screen for large chunks of the movie. His phone seemed to always be busy if I tried calling without pre-arranging a time.

That weekend, for the first time since I’d become friends with Jacob Black, I couldn’t pin him down at all. He went out early, returned late, and even Billy couldn’t be sure when he’d be back.

I stopped calling on Sunday morning. My phone, landline and cellphone alike, kept their silence all weekend.

 That Monday, I headed for La Push after school.

My mind had been running in circles all day, sometimes convinced I’d insulted Jacob somehow, sometimes persuaded he’d decided to break things off and ignore me out of the blue. I’d flubbed an answer in English and almost chided Mike with a “Jake!” when he swiped a limp fry from my tray (he and Jessica were on the outs again, it seemed). The last word I would have ever used to describe myself would be ‘confrontational’, but I needed some sort of answer from Jacob. If this went on, I might wind up writing ‘Jacob Black’ on the name line for my worksheets.

We hadn’t arranged a time, but I set all my hopes upon legal custom, legal precedent, and all the rest of the Law jargon I was beginning to absorb from what Leah termed “Sam adjacent” college readings.

A part of me had reveled in that small act of defiance. (Which said a lot about my usual levels of rebelliousness, of course.) Another part of me was already bracing for the disappointment of driving up to a Jacob-less house, and the depressing drive back up to my own empty house that would ensue.

My heart returned to my chest when a distinctive dark head bobbed up in one of the front windows. Jacob was at the door by the time I was done parking the truck, warm smile in place as usual.

“Hey Bells.”

We stood gazing at each other for a minute. Once I was done thinking about how much I’d missed him, I noticed how he kept an arm’s length away, no hello hug or proximity. “Um. Hey yourself,” I said, feeling awkwardness creeping over my limbs. I’d be stumbling on air next. “I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.”

“Ugh. I’m sorry Bells. Just been busy.” He tucked his chin into his chest a little, then lay a hand on my shoulder to steer me into the house. “I missed you too though.”

 “Are you moonlighting as a superhero?” I joked, trying hard to keep the hurt out of my voice. “Because I tried to get you on the phone all weekend, to no avail.”

“Sure. Just call me Captain Native America.”

I chuckled. Jacob didn’t, even though that had been a pretty good retort. I frowned. “Is everything OK?”

He blinked at me, like he’d only just begun processing my words. “Huh? Oh, sure.”

Inside, we got a jump on homework, the same awkward silence having followed us into the Black’s living room. A few jokes were exchanged, though with far less enthusiasm, and I eventually concentrated on my English homework with more escapist gusto than I’d had in a while. Jacob was staring at the same page of his Biology textbook with a near-angry set to his lips every time I looked. (Why was I looking at Jake’s lips, anyway?)

After a while, my stomach reminded me that my lunch had been evenly split between Mike, Eric and a senior who asked me if I was going to eat that, in a bellow, upon finding me gazing at nothing - and with too much on my tray - after the first warning bell. The limp cafeteria fries came into my mind, right alongside the crisp, bright basket of fries of the Forks diner. Charlie had brought a carton of them once, left over from a late night at the precinct; even ice cold, they’d been so firm and perfectly seasoned, I’d heated them up in a pan with care and divided them between my father and myself for the next day’s lunch.

“How about some fries?” Jacob had mentioned, or rather complained, about Billy buying way too many potatoes from some discount he and Harry Clearwater had run into. He could get vociferous about Billy’s grocery decisions sometimes, but I could tell he was pleased with how Billy had started taking back household responsibilities. It had even been Billy’s idea to catch a ride with one of the Clearwaters for groceries every two weeks. We’d celebrated with loud ‘yays’ over the phone.

That, however, had been two-weeks-ago Jacob. Present Jacob felt a million miles away.

“Hey…Jake?”

He jolted. “Huh?”

Must be the vocab word of the day, I guess. “I feel like some fries. Would you like some?”

Again, he blinked at me in confusion. “From the store?”

“If you want to. I was kind of wondering if you’d let me make some.” I blushed, the awkwardness intensifying like an oven cranked to a higher temperature. Maybe they’d already cooked all those potatoes into something. Maybe he thought I was a heck of a freeloader, or just some chick who felt entitled to the food Billy’s disability barely covered.

Thank goodness, clarity came over Jacob. “Oh! Oh, sure. We’ve still got that shit ton Billy fell in love with.” He rolled his eyes, and I laughed, though partly out of relief at some return to our usual give-and-take.

I set myself up at their kitchen counter with an ancient bowl, a veritably prehistoric wooden cutting board (washed with soap and lots of hot water) and some potatoes. I felt Jacob hover over my shoulder, all but radiating curiosity at how I peeled the potatoes with an ordinary kitchen knife.

“I’ll never understand how you don’t get like half of the potato off with the skin.”

I shrugged. “Gran was old school. A peeler makes it easier, but you can do it with a knife too.” Then it dawned on me. “Crap. I didn’t ask you if you wanted yours with skin.”

“Maybe do some with, some without?”

That seemed like a great compromise, so I focused on peeling only half of the ones I’d pulled out of the pantry. The familiar rhythm of cooking smoothed over the awkwardness like a plough tilling a field: I’d cut the potatoes into fries, laid them aside to soak in several little bowls (because any large bowls the Blacks had ever owned had escaped into the woods, or so Billy would tell it), and begun to contemplate what I could fashion into condiment, when a small movement made me realize Jacob was still there.

He’d been so quiet, I’d thought he’d left, but there he was. He’d moved to the kitchen doorway, hands so deep into his jeans pockets, he looked like he wanted to shove his arms inside too. He was staring at me, a grim set to his mouth and a strange, sad look in his eyes.

“Were you here all this time?”

He nodded.

Heat flooded my face. “Sorry, you know how I get when I cook.”

He nodded again. A tiny smile broke through his face for a moment.

“So, I can probably try to make some garlic sauce if you can find the lid for your blender again, it doesn’t really take many cloves of garlic, so I’m sure – “

“Bells.” The word seemed like an effort to get out.

“Um, OK, I mean it doesn’t have to be garlic sauce, I guess we can make do with ketchup if you have any, or even honey with a little bit of, of – “

“Bells. Bella.”

Something in his eyes killed all my words.

Jacob stalked forward, every movement slow and measured. For a split second, we were back at the bonfire, and whatever warm, nameless thing had been missing from every moment we’d shared since after that wasted night was back, and I was relieved and excited…

…and then Jacob paused, an arm’s length away. I could have broached that gap between us, just by reaching out to touch him, and so could he. But neither of us moved. The moment cooled and died like a stubborn spark in the wind, and it felt like there was a vast chasm between us.

“Bells”, he started again, his voice tight. “I meant to tell you…I’ve been talking to someone. A girl.”

The words made sense. They were in English, and they were pretty basic English as far as I could remember. But somehow, I couldn’t understand them. “What?”

 “I’ve been talking to a girl,” he said, and his face did the strangest thing. He looked happy, he looked embarrassed. He was grim, but his eyes were glowing. Happy.

A knot formed in my stomach. “A girl?” I repeated, like an idiot.

“Yeah, her name’s Sheila. We’ve gone to school together for like forever, but I hadn’t really talked to her.”

“Wow,” went a voice. My voice. I was surprised, and relieved, by how even it sounded. “So, when did it happen?” Some feral part of me wanted to know, to be able to mark the moment I lost Jacob on a calendar. Because…

…because I liked Jacob. I liked Jacob the way girls liked boys, the way Jessica liked Mike, and all of Leah’s unsubtle hints came barreling at me like a truck skidding on black ice.

 I liked Jacob.

That’s why I caught myself looking at his face, at his eyes or at his lips, and feeling a mixture of excitement and guilt. That was what the whole thing at the bonfire had been. That was why, as much as my connections to other people strengthened, the one I shared with him had always held pride of place.

I liked Jacob. And he didn’t like me back. Because while I stood there, parsing through my emotions and coming to terms with them as best I could, he was all aglow with good humor as he tried to tell me about the moment he and this Sheila Maizen person finally noticed each other.

 “ – and she thought I was funny, even though Mr. Mahood didn’t,” Jacob was saying as I tuned back into the present. He really did seem to glow: the understated sadness he’d carried after the bonfire had vanished, and so had the distance – the reticence, I knew now – he’d enforced between us, unsure of how to introduce the idea of a brand new person to his best friend.

I’d said it myself after all. Best friends. No less, but no more.

I smiled at him, ashamed I’d missed the lion’s share of his story from the hum of static that had started up in my head.

Jacob didn’t seem to notice. “We swapped numbers, and we’ve been talking these past few days. Gone out a few times. I took her to see some chick flick.” Jacob looked at me then, expectant, as his brows furrowed.

Belatedly, I realized he expected me to say something about chick flicks. “Sorry, I just got busy deciding how many years you should lose over chick flicks.”

At that, Jacob’s face broke into a smile. “If we’re gonna be fair, you’ll have to lose a decade or so, Miss Pride and Prejudice.”

“That happens to be a very historical series. It’s educational.” I turned away, back to the safety of the potatoes. Even though they hadn’t soaked for nearly long enough, I set about draining the water from them immediately. I concentrated on anything I could, from the battered counter to the half collapsed shelf where the roll of paper towels lived, to my own pale hands as I lined a clean bowl with towels and tried to remember if the Blacks bought olive oil.

 “I said, when do you want to meet her?”

I jolted. “Huh?”

“Aren’t you distracted.” Jacob came a few steps closer. I waited to feel the usual huff of his breath by my ear; I was disappointed. “As I’ve said like three times, I’d like you guys to meet. When can you?”

My heart raced in an uncomfortable way. “Um, when are Quil and Embry meeting her?”

“They sorta already know her, so there’s not much point. I was thinking we could go to the movies together next week.”

“Sure, that sounds OK.” Almost desperate for something to do, I ripped off a paper towel and began to pat the fries dry. The pile of them looked daunting now, enough for an army rather than two people. Or rather one person and one pile of broken girl. The knot in my stomach had taken care of my hunger very efficiently.

Jacob hovered ever closer to my back. “Shit Bells, I didn’t want to upset you.”

In a flash, I was nervous enough to see a faint tremor in my fingers. “I’m not upset!”

“You are. And you’re kind of right.” He sighed. “I’m sorry I’ve been hiding it. It’s just – it was too early to do the whole meet the family, y’know? And she knew Embry and Quil since forever ago too, I felt so weird introducing them when we met by our lockers.”

Family. A few months ago, when I was trailing through Forks like a ghost, knowing someone other than Charlie viewed me as family would have been like a warm hug to my soul. Now it felt like someone had gone at the knot in my stomach with a hammer.

I suppressed a sigh. At least he was completely wrong about the reason for my current mental state.

“Yeah, I get it.” The fries would dry alright without my ministrations, but I needed to keep moving. Keep busy. If I stayed still, the feeling crowding in my stomach might get the better of me. “I’d – I’ll be happy to meet her.” As much as I loved Jacob, I couldn’t force the words love to meet her from where they stuck in my mouth.

“Awesome. You’re awesome, Bells.” Jacob finally hugged me then. My traitorous heart melted ever so slightly at the contact. “I’ll go figure out a time with Sheila while you finish up in here, OK?”

I nodded. Jacob always hovered when I was cooking. I’d thought he liked it. Had it always been him not having anything better to do?

I ended up oven-baking the fries, because oiling the baking sheet and arranging them in perfect little rows seemed more manual-labor intensive than dumping them in oil. I made no sauce, and try as I might, all I could manage were smiles and little one-word answers for the rest of the night.

I drove to La Push again the next day. This time though, I led my truck down turns and bends I was far less familiar with. Towards the Clearwater house.

 Leah didn’t come bounding out once my truck parked in front of it. She did open the door as I climbed out, though. Once I’d reached the door, she slung an arm around my shoulders in a comforting gesture I wouldn’t have expected from her before today.

“Hey Swan,” she said, leading me into the house. “Holding up OK?”

I had to think about that. “I think so,” I said as she led me towards the stairs. “Um. Thanks for having me over.”

Despite how terrible I’d been at keeping up with my Forks friends outside of school (the boys were hardly my friends, I’d never be sure about Jessica, and Angela and I were both so un-talkative, I could never get over the fear that any phone call between us would just be long, uncomfortable minutes of dead air), I had made a place for Leah. We talked on the phone, though less than Jacob and I did (or used to, I guess); now that she had a cellphone all her own, we’d exchange scrupulously spelled texts every once in a while. It took forever, but neither of us could stomach chat speak.

I’d called her the night before, intending to ask her – or beg her, or even flat out bribe her – to join me on the planned movie date with Jacob and his…girlfriend. I’d meant to sound animated, at least composed. But, after I’d gotten the word out with such a nice, even tone, Leah had answered with a loud, incredulous “his what!?”.

That was it: the limit of my endurance. I’d burst into tears.

It hadn’t been too bad though. Leah had listened far more patiently than I’d expected, and while she’d ridiculed my heartbreak over a guy I’d “essentially neutered” (her words), she’d been warm and empathetic too. I was beginning to understand that everything Leah did came with a layer of something like aggression, even her affection.

She’d wrapped up the impromptu confessional with an offer to hang out, no boys invited. I’d said yes, then surprised myself by not regretting it.

Leah’s room was a funny combination of very feminine and very…well. Something. Leah defied classification at the best of times.

A cadre of dusty stuffed animals sat in a little chair, a bright magenta bra hanging over its back. Three and a half posters of bands I’ve never heard about posed aggressively around the room – the last half poster, lurking behind her door, was a long-faded poster of Disney’s Beauty and the Beast. A desk, thrust against the window that faced the front of the house, had piles of big books. I’d always been more partial to literature than philosophy, but even I could tell Leah wasn’t reading primers. It would have been intimidating, if it weren’t for my own copy of Persuasion lying on top of Camus’s The Stranger, as if in defiance.

“So, we can read, but I’d really recommend you don’t do romance right now. I didn’t think to rent anything, and Disney’ll kick you in the tits with romance too. Given the circumstances,” Leah said, throwing herself on one side of her bed, “I think we should maybe try some music. I’ve got heartbreak music, but not much.” She whacked the other side of her bed with the back of her hand in invitation. “What do you even listen to, anyway?”

I flopped down beside her with far less stamina. “Uh…well, nothing.”

A shuffle of pillows made me turn to meet Leah’s incredulous gaze. “And you’re not kidding this time either. What, is music too parochial or something? Is it too much like other girls?” She struck a pose worthy of a bodice-ripper cover girl.

I laughed. “No…it’s just – Renée only liked sixties stuff that I never really caught on to. And Dad never really plays music. Just Mariners games.”

“God forbid you’d try the usual means of procuring music, Swan.”

“Which ones, exactly?” I asked with genuine curiosity.

“Well, you see, you open up your ears real wide,” Leah began, mock serious.

I wrestled a pillow out from behind my back and whacked her shoulder gently. “You promised to be supportive.”

“About boys sucking? You bet. About you being the next Victor of Aveyron, unsociable wild kid? Never. Anyway: normal people go on the radio and listen around for a bit – or at least normal people outside of Forks do. This far out you get the local news or sports. You could try MTV, too. Or you just swap CDs with your friends.”

“I think you’re my only friend,” I said, words garbled by the cushion I was clutching to my chest. Its yellow frills had fallen almost all the way over my face.

“The little jerk’s your friend too. You just have to get used to the new order of things. Who knows, maybe you and his babe will be friends. Who’s he dating again?”

“Sheila something,” I answered, fighting in vain against the ache of the words ‘his babe’.

“Sheila Maizen?”

“Yeah, that was it.”

Leah’s face scrunched up. “Whelp. No accounting for taste.”

“You don’t have to put her down just to make me feel better, you know,” I whispered.

“Have we met?” She responded with a chuckle, “Sheila’s not some sort of, I don’t know, Cokie? That’s the name of the mean girl who tries to steal the quiet bookworm girl’s boyfriend in The Babysitters Club, right?”

That had me sitting up in the bed. “Yes! Wow, I hadn’t thought of Cokie in forever. Cokie Mason.”

“Yeah, that one. Hella cop-out, just some mean girl. I mean I loved hating on her, but even Harmony the vampire had some depth.”

“Who’s Harmony?”

Leah gave me that look she gave me when she wanted to call me a savage again. “If I didn’t know you had, in fact, caught an episode of Buffy here and there, I’d be wondering if you were raised Amish. Anyway, Sheila’s not some bitch. But she is kind of…bleh, I guess. ‘Sides, I always figured the loser would link up with someone who really challenged him.”

“Like you?” I blurted out, before catching myself. “Oh my god!”

But Leah seemed unfazed. “Psh. Someone like me would send the little jerk running in under a week. Nah, I meant someone with…” she made the gesture she usually reserved to signify ‘balls’. “I don’t know. Never mind him anyway.” She went to her desk and opened a drawer, withdrawing a jewel case. “Music is how you heal a broken heart.”

I ended up taking a shine to a band called Garbage, and to some of the rock Leah had inherited from her father. My heart lurched in ways that did not, in fact, have anything to do with Jacob Black when she talked of listening to music with her Dad in the living room, on the nights when her mother was on a night shift at the hospital. I balked when she insisted I take two precious CDs home with me.

“You only ever break yourself when you klutz out, Swan. My music’s safe.”

She had a point.

Hunger finally got to us by then. Harry Clearwater was setting out a plate of warm cookies on the kitchen table when we made it to the first floor.

“There’s chips too if you ladies want something salty,” he said, face easing into a serene smile.

“Thanks Daddy,” Leah popped a cookie into her mouth without missing a beat. “Yum. Packaged cookies, reheated in the microwave.”

“If you want to have home-baked goods, you might want to call your cousin over for another visit.” He looked over to me, smile widening. “Or you could ask Bella. Billy’s spent too much time amongst boys and us old-timers to say it to your face, but he’s been raving about your brownies ever since you made ‘em for him.”

Jacob had said as much, but he had to. To have a third party confirm it was extremely complimentary – and maybe a little embarrassing. Color rushed to my cheeks. “Thank you, Mr. Clearwater.”

“Don’t mention it,” he replied, then reached for a cabinet and brought down the chips he’d promised. Leah ended up close to him in the process, so Harry bopped her in the head with the bag ever so gently.

Harry Clearwater seemed perfectly at ease around his daughter, even around me. Leah had probably never spent well over half the year away from him. Mrs. Clearwater, while less tender, was probably just as loving.

Would Charlie and I have been like that in another life?

Leah popped the bag of chips with eagerness. “So,” she began, once her father had left for either his own room or ‘the office’, “what are you going to wear to the big meet-up with Sheila?”

Oh no.

Oh no.

Oh no.

The thought hadn’t crossed my mind, not once, but now that it had, I knew I couldn’t show up as the usual, frumpy Bella. I could not.

“Wooooah, breathe in and out, Swan.”

I let go of a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. “I just…I can’t…I need to look good.”

“Doth my ears deceive me, or are you planning to try and steal Jacob back from Sheila?”

“Wha – Leah! No, of course not. I just don’t want to look like a fishwife beside her. Jacob said she was really pretty.” He might not like me, but I’d be…darned…if I put myself in a position to be pitied for being the dowdy friend.

Leah studied my face. “You can’t go full out first date y’know, if she’s insecure, she’ll assume you’re trying to upstage her. But I guess you could pass it off, say you’re hoping some other hot guy will notice you.”

“Leah.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re all about honesty and shit, but ‘I’m trying to feel a little less awful because you’re dating my crush’ is a bad thing to say when meeting your best friend’s new girlfriend.”

I hid my face in my hands as Leah began howling with laughter. “I’d do this a whole lot less if you weren’t so amusing about it, Swan. Grab the chips, let’s figure out a look for you for The Big Meeting.”

Chapter Text

My hands shook ever so slightly on the steering wheel as it trundled up to the (tiny) mall where Fork’s only movie theater lived.

I’d picked one of Leah’s CDs for the ride, thinking it would help drown out my anxious thoughts. However, in true Bella fashion, I’d chosen one that sang in harmonious chorus with said anxious thoughts.

Time, it needs time

To win back your love again

I will be there

I will be there

I guess I was going to be there. I didn’t intend to stop being a good friend to Jacob because of an inconvenient crush. Would it win his love to be a stalwart friend though? Was that the answer? Was I supposed to just sit and love Jacob until his love came to me?

Love, only love

Can break down the wall someday

I will be there

I will be there

If we'd go again

All the way from the start

I would try to change

Things that killed our love

If I could go back to that day at First Beach, or maybe talk to that Bella, I might have told her to waste no time and get Jacob’s number. Maybe shake her by the shoulders a bit.

I pushed the morose thoughts aside. It was easy, what with the thick cloud of anxious thoughts clamoring for my attention. The litany of what if I pour soda down my shirt and what if I pour soda on the people in the row in front of me and where will I sit oh no not beside Sheila helped distract me from the ache in my heart. By the time I pulled into the mall parking lot, I was at my usual level of worry.

 Getting from my car to our pre-arranged meeting spot didn’t require too many mental pep talks, thank goodness. I then had the additional relief of seeing Leah as soon as I came through the door. She got up from her elegant slouch by the soda dispensers to greet me with a smile – one I forgot to return as I took in her outfit.

 Leah was wearing a tight white shirt, sleeveless and unprinted, with a jean skirt too short to go unnoticed. She had a jacket thrown over one shoulder, a concession to the weather, even though she always seemed unbothered by the slight rain-chill that never left Forks. As she walked over to me, her loose-limbed, relaxed gait caught the eyes of two boys cutting across the theater’s front hall. One of them froze in his tracks to follow her progress.  Once they caught me looking, they hurried away. I allowed myself a small smile of sadness as Leah hugged me in greeting; I hadn’t even begun to wonder what moving on from Jacob would look like, and I was already failing at catching the attention of boys that weren’t Tyler or Mike.

I’d have to start by adjusting my expectations, of course. Boys who looked at Leah wouldn’t ever look at me. Maybe I should keep an eye out for whoever didn’t look at her?

Leah clapped my shoulder amicably after we released each other, bringing my awareness back to the present. “Swan! Fancy meeting you here.”

“Fancy is what I should be saying to you,” I quipped back, gesturing towards her shirt. It wasn’t that she didn’t look pretty: she did. Despite the...trace amounts of fabric in her outfit, Leah somehow managed not to look like a skank. I couldn’t fathom Sheila not finding Leah’s very existence upstaging, and yet the entire thing exuded such nonchalance that Leah looked like she didn’t give a single crap whether or not anyone looked her way.

 “Relax, Swan. Remember how we’ve all gone to school together forever? This,” she said, gesturing to herself, “is my normal. Trust me, she won’t bat an eye.” She blinked at me once, then twice. “You though…this isn’t the outfit we put together.”

“Yeah. I, ah, I’ve worn this to school at least three times now. It’s comfy,” I lied ineptly. The jeans were part of my usual rotation, but the cherry red, long-sleeved shirt with the V-neck was from the Renée pile.

The Renéé pile was a small subset of clothing comprised of things my mother bought, without any consideration as to my preferences, whenever she felt guilty about my being in Forks. Some of them were ridiculous, like the bright, highlighter yellow t-shirt she’d bought me right before the move. Some of them were unwearable, like the spaghetti strap, low-cut thing she sent me after I’d mentioned Mike and Tyler – in a very lovely, very prone-to-becoming-transparent-when-wet shade of cream. A very small number of them had come to my rescue in the past, like the fancy white blouse I’d unearthed for a formal presentation in English class, but the common denominator of the Renée pile was how different every piece of it was from my usual look; even when it didn’t look bad, it looked off, maybe even borrowed.

This shirt had caught my eye as I sifted through the closet in a blind panic the night before, convinced that the blue-on-black ensemble Leah and I had settled on would make Jacob forget I was even there. Going unnoticed had seemed so much worse than being pitied for being ugly.

In the harsh light of day, however, the shirt started to bother me as much as the highlighter yellow one might have. “Did I overdo it?” I ran cold, so I’d slip into my jacket soon enough (and if the nerves made me too hot, I’d still grin and bear it; I even had a stick of deodorant in my bag).

Leah looked me up and down. “Nah.” She stared at my face hard for a few seconds, then swung her purse around, towards her hands. “Will you run screaming if I try to put some make-up on you? Not party-level,” she soothed, just when my legs tensed for escape, “just a little color here and there. You’re looking pale. Paler than usual.” She was popping open a tube of lipstick before I’d even finished processing her words. “Jacob might think you’re sick and fuss over you, and then Sheila will hate you. Nobody fusses like Jacob.”

Billy would second that. I slumped in defeat, which was all the consent Leah needed. “I never wear lipstick though,” I protested weakly, gaze fixed on the tube that approached me like a death missile. “That’ll be a dead giveaway.”

“It’s not for your lips, you teenaged ignoramus,” she said with a laugh, one hand tilting my chin up, “I just don’t have the right color of blush for you.” She swiped the lipstick lightly over the apples of my cheeks, then drew her index finger across it, like it was a charcoal drawing she was fading out for effect. Once she was satisfied, she stepped back, produced a makeup wipe for her fingers – then she was on me again, mascara wand poised to poke my eye out.

Leah’s experience won out over my wriggling: a few minutes later, she stepped back with a smile, both my eyes still in my sockets and no more threatening beauty devices or makeup wipes coming from her purse. Before I could ask for a mirror (maybe even negotiate a wipe), she half turned and whispered, “there they are,” and the world stopped turning.

Sure enough, Jacob was coming our way, a pretty girl with pin-straight hair keeping pace at his side. He smiled at us so dazzlingly I almost forgot to feel bad that there wouldn’t be a hello hug once he reached us. Then I chanced a glance at his…companion, and my stomach dropped to my feet.

Where I was flat as a board and Leah was lean with hints of curves in the right places, Sheila Maizen was pop idol curvy. The powder blue top she was wearing had nothing remarkable about it, with an ordinary neckline and long sleeves, but on her it looked perfect. She had pretty, delicate features that barely required any makeup; the realization made the highlights Leah had applied burn on my face, emphasizing my inadequacy rather than any beauty that my friend might have managed to pick out. When Sheila looked at me, something unreadable flashed across before her smile came on.

A warm hand settled on my shoulder. “Bells, this is Sheila. Sheila, this is Bella Swan, my best friend.” A noisy throat clearing ensued. “And Leah Clearwater. Who you probably know since kindergarten or something.” This would have been Leah’s cue to put Jacob down somehow, but she just snorted. Our eyes met: Leah moved her eyebrows slightly and I remembered my lines.

Yes. I’d written, and rehearsed, actual lines. It had been the only way.

Leah had been reluctant to “enable my neuroses”, as she put it, adamant that I should be brave at least once in my life. She had every intention of standing her ground too, until she’d had a flashback: she’d barged into the Black’s house once, many years ago, to find me, Rachel and Rebecca standing in a rough triangle, the twins looking on in confusion while I refused to make eye contact with either of them. I wouldn’t even move. Mrs. Black had bustled out of the kitchen then, Jacob in her arms, and said in a gentle voice that it had been a half hour, and wouldn’t the twins maybe go do something else while Bella found her voice and said hi?

“I kind of remember that,” I’d said after a moment.

“Mrs. Black had to tell you to sit down, because you wouldn’t even move if someone didn’t give you permission,” Leah had answered, dawning horror on her face. “And even then, you just plopped on the floor like she’d commanded you or something. She had to clarify that you could stand if you wanted to, or maybe go to the couch…”

My throat, constricted with embarrassment, managed a very weak ha-ha. “Um. Renée says stuff like that happened since I was in kindergarten. I wanted to be very good, and I thought being good meant following the rules. Except I wasn’t sure what the rules were sometimes.”

Leah clasped her face with both hands, overcome by my idiocy. “Fine,” she’d said from between her fingers, “pass me that red notebook, there’s blank pages near the end. Let’s be real extra weird about this.”

Back in the present, I put on my best, brightest, and least threatening smile. Sheila’s eyes seemed too probing, so I focused on her eyebrows. “Hi Sheila. It’s nice to meet you.” I reached out a hand for a shake or a hand-clasp. “Jacob’s been talking all about how awesome you are. Glad to see it’s true.” The last statement was a bare-faced lie and a sentence constructed in its entirety by Leah, but it made Sheila’s smile loosen a little more.

“Jacob talks about you too,” she said, putting a tentative hand into mine. Oh no, what was I supposed to do now? I gave her fingers a squeeze, then tried not to drop it too quickly. I kept smiling.

My stomach curled in on itself in terror. My social battery hadn’t emptied as much as it had overheated and died. How I was going to make it another ten minutes, let alone the rest of the night, I didn’t know.

And then a hand was on my elbow. “Okay, how about Bella and I handle the snacks and you two go figure out the tickets? Bella’s on me tonight.” Leah prodded me towards the concession stand just as she shoved a bill into Jacob’s breast pocket. My heart thumped sadly in my chest as his handsome face turned confused, but his gaze barely lingered on both of us for a moment before he and Sheila turned towards the ticket booth, her hand winding into his as easy as breathing.

“How did that go?”

“By Bella standards? Awesome. By regular people standards?” She let her words hang in the air for a little, aware that I was dying inside every second. “Not too bad. You always come off as a sixty-year-old in a teenager’s body when you’ve panicked. Let’s call it ‘formal mode’. I guess some people might take it for you being snooty, but Sheila’s barely met you. She won’t judge you too harshly, not if she knows what’s good for her.”

I relaxed a fraction at that. “Thanks for the save.” I hadn't known how much I'd need the small break from Sheila and Jacob.

“Don’t mention it.” She handed me the stack of empty soda cups, three medium ones and a large one for Jacob. “So the loser usually has a hot dog and the largest available bucket of popcorn, I like a mix of salty and caramel popcorn, and Sheila didn’t say shit so she gets a small candy bar and the privilege of robbing the aforementioned loser of his popcorn. What’ll you have?”

The knot in my stomach pulsed with quiet menace at the thought. “Um. I’m a little worried anything I try to eat might come surging back up.”

Leah gave my shoulder a pat, a soft look in her eyes. “So. I was just kidding earlier. You know that, right? You’re doing fine. If I had a crush and he had me play nice with his girlfriend, I’d bite her head off and then leave.”

I’d suspected as much. “I hope I can keep this whole facade up.”

“You will.” Leah’s hand went to my elbow again, squeezing it hard. “Now on with the show, the couple’s coming.”

I let myself look at Jacob as he and Sheila returned with the tickets. His long hair was in a ponytail, but he’d made sure not a strand was out of place, and he was wearing a polo shirt I’d never seen before. In the shorter sleeves, the subtle muscles in his arms were more apparent, and I wondered what he’d been going on about when he’d complained of looking scrawny next to Quil. He was already smiling when our eyes met, but it grew just a few millimeters right then. Despite the hole in my chest and the storm in my stomach, his glowing expression coaxed a smile from me too.

He was happy, he was content. If I could just grab this feeling and stretch it for as long as they were together, be it another week or…god only knew…I’d be OK. Jacob being happy made all my aches less terrible.

(I owed Marianne from Sense and Sensibility a heartfelt apology. How Elinor had kept it together when the man she loved was engaged seemed like the more irrational situation now).

“So, what are we watching?”

Sheila beamed. “Dominion! I loved The Exorcist, the original one, and I heard this prequel is actually a lot better.”

“A chick who loves horror. I’m pretty lucky.” And here Jacob pulled her towards him, not hard, just enough to telegraph his happiness at her.

“Cool,” Leah responded, tone neutral. “So. Let’s go. That’s for you guys.” She gestured behind us.

Our order was ready, I guessed. I wanted to turn around. But I had trouble lifting my very heavy feet off the floor. A horror movie. A horror movie.

I’d managed to turn towards the concession stand counter when Leah was beside me.

 “Hey Swan, can I borrow your lip gloss?”

“I-I don’t have any.”

“I’ll check anyway.” Leah sidled over and began rummaging through my purse, hunched over it with exaggeration. In a whisper, she said. “Let me guess, you’re bad with horror.”

“Dad rented Hocus Pocus for us once. We never made it past the scene where they hang the witches. I was too afraid to run and hide, so I just dug into the couch cushions.”

“Shit. I’ll bet that’s the only horror movie you’ve seen, right?”

“That one and some cable Disney cartoons.”

Leah heaved the most exasperated sigh I’d heard from her yet. “Well. On the plus side, now you can just blame the movie if you’re not looking great afterwards.” She stopped looking for the imaginary lip gloss and gestured me forward.

As planned, we followed Sheila and Jacob past the usher at a snail’s pace, letting them pick their seats without pressure from us. In my nightmares, they chose two middle seats, leaving me alone between Sheila and a stranger with Leah two people away; I would not commit the faux pas of sitting beside Jacob. In real life Jacob took the furthest seat, Sheila sat next to him, and Leah catapulted herself into the third of our seats so I wouldn’t start philosophizing the seating.

The movie was both better and worse than I thought. While it started with a Nazi officer sentencing innocent people to be shot over a murder he knew they didn’t commit, the rest horror took its time. The characters were pretty good. I liked how canny and cautious Father Lankester Merrin was, and Rachel the camp-survivor doctor. The parts about the archeological dig and history were interesting – I loved how they figured out there was an underground chamber by listening to the dripping water of a spilled canteen - and restful enough that I could almost pretend it was going to be about the forbidden romance between a still-ordained Catholic priest and the (maybe Jewish?) medic he feels both guilt and affection for. Leah even got me to laugh about the weird dog-hyena things.

Once the horror started though, it was all I could do not to rip out the plush of the arm rests. Leah did her best to undermine the movie once she noticed (“the dude full of arrows isn’t hanging from the tree, see how he’s got one foot on the rock?”), but the real horror mixing with the supernatural horror made everything worse. Bad things happen to good people, children included. Bad things happen to animals.

When the priest was battling the demon in the underground church as terrible things happened all around them, Leah prodded my shoulder. “Bathroom,” she hissed.

I tried to stand, relieved, only to stumble on legs that felt like jelly. The cold of the theater, my terror, and natural Bella clumsiness all came together right then and the hand I was using to try and scramble up from the seat pushed my soda off of the cup holder. Soda splashed down my pants, but I was too frightened to care.

Leah hurried to grab both my arms above the elbow. “Use my arms to get up,” she explained, and with her holding much of my weight, it worked. I stumbled out of the theater like a newborn colt, holding Leah for guidance while my eyes tried to readjust to the light. “Thank you,” I managed. We were in a bathroom. Which was convenient, as everything from my stomach to my throat constricted. I swiveled around to the first thing I could hurl into, which ended up being the sink. Lucky for me though, all I managed were dry heaves.

“Don’t mention it,” Leah said once I was done. “It was a good call to not eat.”

“Horror isn’t my thing, I guess.”

Leah chuckled. “It was a scarier movie than I thought, I’ll grant you. Not as creepy as the original, a little pretentious, but pretty decent.” She handed me a wad of toilet paper. “It helps to remember they’re all actors and everyone is OK in real life. Even the kids and the weird plush were-hyenas.”

“They were kind of cute.” I wet the paper and dabbed it across my mouth, then my face. “Wow. And I really didn’t think of Jacob and Sheila for even a second while I was scared.”

Leah did a triumphant little shrug. “Horror is escapism too.”

“Traumatic escapism, but yes, I see. When you’re terrified about demons eating your face, it’s easy to forget about everything else.”

“Yep.” Leah tapped her feet a little, mild annoyance breaking through her comforting aura. “I’m surprised the loser didn’t put up a fight about this bullshit. He should have at least tried suggesting something else.”

“Er…I think he doesn’t know.”

“Seriously?”

I nodded. Jacob and I had watched TV together, many times in fact, but nothing horrific had ever turned up when we did. He did love this horror game whose name escaped me always, but he played it with a borrowed disc on a borrowed console and, by coincidence, never around me.

There was plenty I didn’t know about Jacob. And plenty he didn’t know about me. It should have been a natural observation, but the realization made me less numb, and more sad.

Nobody was waiting for us as we exited the bathroom. I wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Even though I offered to wander around the concession stand area until it was over, Leah refused to go back in without me.

There was a bench by the concession stand register, usually commandeered by a group of people, that Leah decided we could “wait for the loser in”, so there we camped. My soda-drenched pant legs and shoes didn’t dry as much as become sticky as we waited.

This day had been terrible in ways I’d never anticipated.  “At least nothing else can go wrong, right?”

A tall figure stopped in front of us. “Swan?”

“Yiiiikes, knock on wood before you say that, will you?” Leah turned to the new arrival. “Well if it isn’t our bestie, little Paulie!”

I looked up in time to see it was in fact Paul, heading right towards us. It didn’t matter much though; I was too exhausted emotionally to care. “Hi Paul.”

He glared at Leah, then at me. I moved a foot, which made the shoe it was drowning it produce the tell-tale squelch of wet footwear. Paul then looked down to glare at it instead.

“You look like hell.”

I shrugged. “Thank you.” He was right, after all. My scrub in the bathroom must have erased the makeshift rogue, so I must be looking especially pale on top of sad and bathed in Diet Pepsi.

A large, heavy something landed about my shoulders. “Huh?” Once I’d wrestled out of the something – a jacket - Paul had disappeared.

“So. Swan,” Leah began tentatively. “Did my grip on reality go to shit, or did Paul Lahote just leave you his coat like a XIX century gentleman?”

“I…think?”

“Thought so.” She got and helped me bundle into it. It must be long on Paul, because it fell a good few inches past my knees. It was warm though, welcome to my poor freezing legs.

“I think I should just go home now.”

Leah said nothing for a while. “Yeah. I actually think you might be right to flee.” At my confused expression, Leah shrugged. “The loser didn’t come out to see what was up with you.”

“He knew you’d take care of me.”

“He’s never just fobbed you off on anyone before if he doesn’t have to.”

“He has a girlfriend.”

“Yeah, I’m aware. So do I. I know you people all think it’s just because he’s never around, but I wouldn’t just dump my friends for Sam.” She harrumphed. “If you ask me, you should go home in protest.”

I didn’t feel like protesting. Or much at all. But I did feel like going home. “How about I go home in non-protest? This day just needs to be over.”

“Alright.”

I’d squelched half way to the doors when rapid footsteps were at our backs. Leah muttered “about time”, and that was all the warning I had before, a warm body collided with my side. Arms enveloped me in the first Jacob hug I’d had in far too long. I melted, wordless, wanting nothing more than to turn towards him and just lean there for forever.

“What happened?”

“She’s really bad at horror. I think she’s shell-shocked.”

Jacob’s hands migrated to my forearms, pushing me away just a little, then turning me so he could look me in the eyes. “Why didn’t you say anything? There’s at least two other movies we could’ve gone into.”

“You all just seemed really excited.” I tried to laugh, but it turned into a little sob halfway.

Jacob’s face was very serious as he hugged me again. “I’m sorry. I just…I’m sorry. I thought you and Leah had just gone on a bathroom break. I didn’t realize you’d been gone forever.”

“Jacob? Can I talk to you for a minute?” It took me a second to recognize Sheila’s voice. It sounded tight and high.

“Sure. Just give me a sec. Bella’s not looking OK.”

“Yep, I’ve seen more colorful corpses.”

Sheila turned to Leah, affronted. “When have you ever seen a corpse?”

“Oh, just around. I think I need the bathroom.” Leah stared at Sheila, implication that they should both go clear even to me.

“We’ll wait for you,” Sheila replied, tone a little curt. “I need to talk to Jacob.”

Jacob’s brow furrowed. “Now?” He was confused, not angry, but that didn’t temper Sheila’s mood.

“Yes, now!”

Sheila’s anger only seemed to baffle Jacob further. But he didn’t let go of me, giving me another hug instead. “I’ll make it up to you, OK? Movie night and caramel popcorn – wait, do you even like those?” He shook his head. “Anyway, I’ll make it up. Promise. Go home and we’ll talk tonight. Kay?”

“OK.”

Jacob released me and turned to Sheila, who stomped away without a word. He followed her after a second, looking back at us a few times. He even shot me a smile.

Leah nudged me back in the door’s direction. “Weelllll, you look better.”

“Maybe a little.” It was nice to see Jacob still cared about me. “What’s her issue though? I didn’t get soda on her, did I?”

Leah clapped a hand over her face.

I tossed Paul’s jacket into the washer as soon as I made it inside my house. God only knew how I’d return it, since nobody ever knew where Paul was. I didn’t feel like leaving it with his combative father would go very well for either. I waffled back and forth between washing or not washing the red top for way longer than a sane person should have. On one hand, the sight of it would forever remind me of tagging along on Jacob’s date; on the other, it had witnessed the first Jacob hug I’d gotten since he’d gotten a girlfriend.

That sounded pathetic, so I tossed everything in the hamper and spent the rest of the day engrossed in a tuna casserole recipe.

Leah texted me.

Jacob didn’t call. But Renée did.

We talked (or rather she did) about a book called The 48 Laws of Power and how great it was for a few minutes. I tuned out, confident that my knowledge of my mother’s obsessions would make me tune back in when I needed to.

“Bella, honey, are you still there?”

The day’s frustrations had taken their toll, it seemed. “Yeah mom.”

“I was asking you when we should arrange to buy your ticket home.”

That took me a little off-guard. “Huh?”

“I think I mentioned that we’d be in Phoenix for a bit during the summer?”

She hadn’t. “Oh. Well. What’s a bit?”

“A bit of June. All of July. You’ll be on your own for a week or two if the school year wraps up very early in May, but I don’t think that happens in Forks.”

A few short months ago, this news would have made me jump for joy. A few weeks ago, I would have been happy, but a little wistful at not spending a leisurely two months with Jacob. Today, I felt conflicted.

I still wanted Jacob in my life, and the summer seemed like the perfect opportunity to spend more time together, maybe figure out a place for each other in his new routine. But I’d been doing numbers in my head all day, trying to figure out when he might call, pretending I wasn’t on the edge of my seat. I didn’t want to live like this.

Maybe a bit of distance was exactly what I needed.

“I’ll check with the office, but I think we’d be OK with the first week of June. Return ticket for a week or two before school?”

“Not the day before?”

“Mom…”

“OK, OK. I know. You need time to adjust,” she chuckled. “Send me an e-mail once you know the dates for sure. I can’t wait to see you, baby!”

I went upstairs after the call, opening my closet door on a whim. Jacob’s jacket was still there. I kept forgetting to throw it in the wash, and I’d never return clothing I’d worn without washing, so it just lingered on a hanger.

I wouldn’t start the load I’d that included Paul’s jacket until a few more items joined it. Still, I could relocate it to the downstairs hamper with my jeans and my red top, and have it ready for the next washing.

I closed the closet door instead.

Chapter Text

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Hey Swan,

So how about you write to me once in a while huh? Seth told me you’d called the house while I was gone and that you asked him to tell me you were alive several times. Is this distance some kind of trauma from when you moved to Forks? You should think about getting yourself a shrink or something.

Love,
Leah

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Dear Leah,

My only two friends from Phoenix only answered my e-mails once when I first arrived. At Forks, I mean. I only wrote to them once though. I haven’t seen them around here, come to think of it. I never called them, so I can’t remember their numbers. I promise to write more, I just don’t know what to say. It’s nice to see the sun every day.

Kind regards,

Bella Swan

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Hey Swan,

Wow. If e-mails came with soundtracks, yours would be blasting some Fall Out Boy – which is a rock band with some whiny ass songs that you’ve probably never even heard of. That isn’t to say you’re whiny, but you do sound like you’re about to play Homesick at Space Camp while sitting in a darkened room, mascara dripping down your face. I would pay good money to give you a nice scrub-down with makeup remover.

Seriously though, are you OK? It was rough when you left, and I was hoping the sun would cheer you up a little. If I’d known you were going to mope in the sun, as opposed to moping in the rain, I would have tried harder to get you to stay. No offense to your Phoenix “friends”, but they’re not worth a rat’s ass. And I could tell all the way back when you told me about them that they weren’t worth a rat’s ass.

Anyway, I have some News. So I was sitting at home a good four hours after we said goodbye at the airport, minding my own business, when my phone rang, and who might it be if not Jacob “I’m a loser” Black, frantic because he called your house and your dad told him you were back in Phoenix. Apparently, being a loser also comes with some degree of brain damage, because he thought you’d moved back in secret or something, which means he didn’t speak two whole sentences to Charlie before calling me like I might have you hidden under my bed.

This would have been a perfect moment to persuade him that you had, in fact, chosen to leave and never return, but I was nice for once and explained you’d be back after summer vacation. You’d think that would relax him somewhat, but word around the rez is that he is Moping. Big time. He skipped a few meals for a couple of days, which had Billy calling my mother, but he’s back to eating enough for two losers. Word around the rez is also that his muscular pet loser has taken it upon himself to take The Moper to the gym. They’re going at it hard.

Finally, word around the rez is that he and Sheila broke up.

I hope that makes you feel better. I’d also like to add that I miss having you mope at my house. You don’t have to make your e-mails exciting, just tell me what book you’re reading, or what new thing you stress-cooked today (whatever ‘today’ is for you) or what new cult your mother’s in this week.

Tell you what: there’s this rumor that swears get your e-mail blocked, or that they get censored automatically, but fuck it. Let’s figure it out. Tell me if my asses or my fucks have been censored out when you read this. That should add a word or two to your reply.

Love,

Leah

P.S. Kind regards? Did you go southern belle on me? Because that could also be construed as code for ‘I hate you’. Oh no, wait, you thought I’d dump you because you’re not here in person or something. I’m not asking, I’m interpreting you real damn accurately. I DON’T want to dump you, and I won’t. I love you.

P.P.S. If you dare say anything to the effect of ‘oh no Jacob must be really broken up about Sheila and that’s why he starved oh no if only I could send him food’ I will end you. I swear. Try me.

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Dear Leah,

Jessica and Lana weren’t really my friends, even though they were really nice, and I don’t think I’d like to hang out with them now. It’s nice to be comfortable around your friends, and I didn’t know them well enough to be comfortable. They might feel the same.

I’m a little sad, but I’m doing better. I was sad enough that I didn’t feel like cooking for a few days, and Renée got worried, so she took me to a self-help conference at a hotel. The kind with an adjoining casino. It didn’t make me feel better, which I think won’t be surprising to you, but it was ridiculous enough that I felt like I wasn’t failing at life like I thought I was. I made plain old spaghetti and meatballs that night, and Renée gushed about how effective this...guy was. It seems too early to tell, but I think this – The Power Of Now and Who Moved My Cheese, motivational stuff about how positive thinking and the secret to success – is her new flavor. Or maybe it’s just a new stage of her New Age thing, except with less crystals and talking to angels. I’ll keep an eye on it and tell you.

Your swear words aren’t being censored. Spending all that time with you and Quil and Embry is doing me harm, I think, because I was smiling each time I saw one. It wouldn’t be an e-mail from you without them.

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Dear Swan,

See how everything is better when you share?

That sounds hilarious. Mom and Dad wouldn’t let me into any place with a casino if the fate of the world depended on it. I mean, I wouldn’t waste money on some machine when I could use it for something else, but I’d look around everywhere, maybe try a poker game. Sam says I have a great poker face, but then again he has to say everything about me is great. He’s here for the summer, thank god. I missed him.

Oh boy, self-help. There’s this nurse at the hospital that’s into that shit, keeps giving the patients these affirmations to say. Mom says she’ll break her nose if she, and I quote, “comes at me with that hippie bullshit.” I did read Jonathan Livingston Seagull, not bad, but what is wrong with everyone? An allegory? All the BE DIFFERENT and THINK DEEP THOUGHTS and shit is like right in your face. I almost want to make it my summer reading assignment so I can shit on it, I wonder if my new teacher would appreciate that.

So the loser and Sheila really did break up. He and I don’t really hang out on account of him being, y’know, a dweeb, but I ran into Sheila at a party a couple days ago. She came up to me and we chatted for a while, so I sneaked in a question about the loser and she told me. I was all ‘my most sincere condolences’ and shit, figured that was it, but she didn’t leave. I could tell she wanted something but it made her way uncomfortable to ask it, too. She finally asked me about you, and when I explained you were gone for the summer, she asked for your e-mail. Obviously I told her that I wouldn’t like it very much if someone were to send hate mail to one of my best friends, but she swore up and down that it wasn’t like that, so I gave it to her. I got this feeling like she might want to apologize, but you tell me. No, forward me the whole thing, I’ll give her hell if she lied and insulted you.

Emily says hi and that we should all hang out when you return. I told her she’d better bring dessert if she does good on that promise.

Love,

Leah

P.S. See how I mimicked your ‘dear Leah’ thing? I’m so hilarious, I know. I kept imagining I’m writing to an actual swan, like the Swan Princess. Have you seen that? Rent it if you can. I can already predict that you’ll have things to say about the main couple, but humor me and watch it if possible.

PPS. It’s based on the ballet Swan Lake, not on an actual book, just in case you get your usual fatal case of nerd and need to go looking for something written about it.

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]


Dear Leah,

I kind of liked Jonathan Livingston Seagull. So did Renée actually. She was into Hinduism back then though, so she had all these ideas about how the book had personalized messages about her past life. Sometimes I felt like we were reading two different books.

I did find the Swan Princess. It was really good, actually. I liked how Odette didn’t want to just marry Prince Derek, even though they liked each other since they were teenagers; I liked that they weren’t all infatuated when they decided to get married, but I don’t think they really got to know each other at all before that. Derek seems like he idolized Odette to an unreal degree when he set out to rescue her.

 I tried to look up the ballet. I don’t think I’d like it too much though, because in the story the prince just falls in love with Odette’s beauty in it. The movie did that better.

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Hey Swan,

Oh my god. Do you need a hospital? Are you seriously telling me you found a MOVIE more enlightening than the source material? I can help, you know, my mother is a nurse! I better not tell you about the Last of the Mohicans book versus movie. If you say that again, I’ll have a heart attack.

Yeah, the movie decided to go the route of following the original story there, but they fix it in the sequel. Did I mention there was a sequel? They’re married and dealing with married shit, so they have some problems there, but they’re happy and in love too. I liked it. It reminds me of my parents, actually. My mom is Odette. Swans can be super aggressive, did you know that?

You haven’t asked, but the Moper is doing OK. He just talks about reps and stats when I run into him though, so I make a point not to do that too much. He’s still single.

Love,

Leah

P.S. No word from Sheila?

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]
Subject: RE: Hi

--- TO: [email protected]
--- FROM: [email protected]

Hi Bella. This is Sheila Maizen, we met that one time at the movies to see Dominion.

I wanted to say I’m sorry I was a little short with you that day. I’ve had some time to think, and what happened then wasn’t your fault. I guess it wasn’t anyone’s fault. Jacob and I broke up, so I don’t know if we’ll ever meet again, but if we do, I wanted you to know we, you and me, are OK.

I hope you’re having a great summer.

S.M

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Sheila,

Thank you. I think I was acting very weird that day, so it’s not your fault. I’m having a great summer, I hope you are too.

Kind regards,

Bella Swan

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Dear Leah,

I watched that movie, Last of the Mohicans, with Renée. I think I’m going to sue you for damages. I guess you’re going to reply with a legal rebuttal here, but I hope you know we suffered.

The movie was technically outstanding and the music was incredible, but the last quarter of it was very difficult to watch. All that death, which I’m sure you knew about, was hard for both of us, but Renée most of all. She hid her face in the couch pillows way more than I did. She cried two buckets of tears over Alice committing suicide at the end too.

I felt terrible for Alice too. I’m not so sure she died for Uncas though, I think it cheapens her bravery to make it all just about a man. Renée said it was romantic, and I did like them together, but I think she decided to die to take her fate in her own two hands at the end. I think his dying did affect her thought.

As terrible as that was, it’s not why I’m going to sue you for damages: it’s because you said there was a book about it. I think you did it on purpose. Thank you for showing me a story that makes grocery store novels the height of art.

Sheila did write. I guess I can send you the e-mail without guilt because it’s pretty nice, but let’s keep up between us.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Bella

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

HOLY HELL SWAN.

I am typing from under the bed right now. I do not know of any bunkers to wait out the apocalypse in, so this is the best I can do. The two or so spiders that have lived under here are upset that I’ve trespassed into their domain, and keep trying to clamber up my laptop in retaliation, but soon we shall all be in Heaven.

Because the end times are upon us for sure. You hated a book!? You watched Last of the Mohicans to the end? Sheila was nicer than I predicted? You actually signed off on an email, which means you’re admitting you love me too?

The seal is broken, the prophecies ceased, and now we wait for the end.

.

.

.

OK, I’m done. First: wasn’t Daniel Day-Lewis a hot piece of man? I guess you’ll be partial to Eric Schweig, but as fine a man as that is, he’s starting to give me Paul Lahote airs. Damn Paul ruins everything he touches, even by just existing. How dare he ruin my eye candy with his face? Gag. Anyway, as shitty as it was that they named the movie the LAST of the MOHICANS and then made it all about the white guy, I’ve got to give them credit for avoiding the Magical Native American and Good Savage bullshit. The Natives got to be good without being perfect, and bad without being caricature evil. A good job all around. We need more of this.

Alice and Uncas should have ended up together. I agree, she totally did not die for him though, and I think it was badass that she did what she did even after Magua was giving her an out. She was courageous in a wimpy way – kinda reminds me of you sometimes.

And yeah, the book is shit. I bet you clocked this too, but, man, Jane Austen did a better job balancing dialogue with exposition and being entertaining while talking about fucking tea parties than that grown-ass man did with a story about wild wilderness adventures – and she was younger.

Fancy Sheila being all mature and shit! I’m surprised. She might be uninteresting, but I’ll be friendlier to her now. I was worried she’d be all YOU RUINED MY RELATIONSHIP, but I underestimated her. Me? If I knew some chick was out for my boyfriend, I don’t know what I’d do. Maybe break a few of her windows, without her behind them of course. Maybe.

Speaking of the unhappy not-couple, have you heard from the loser? I know he doesn’t even have internet, and calls are a little pricey, but where there is a will, there is a way.

I really have to get out from under this bed now, the spiders might be organizing a coup against me. Love,

Leah

P.S. Oh right, you thought I’d use the word of the law to refute responsibility for your trauma. I don’t need to, I never even told you to watch it! Curiosity killed the bird!

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Dear Leah,

I love how biblically accurate your apocalypse representation was. It almost made having flashbacks to the burning death scene worth it. I laughed so hard, Renée came to see who I was chatting with on the phone – and then did a double take when she realized I’ve been writing to someone and not just typing on the computer.

Now you’ve got me thinking what Jane Austen would have written if she’d been more into action. I think she handled the accident in Persuasion pretty well, I think she would have done an awesome job. I guess I shouldn’t judge him though, he was a traveler, not an adventurer, and Jane Austen always wrote about what she knew.

I hadn’t noticed what you said about the movie. I want to be more sensitive about cultural things, but I still need to learn I guess. I did notice how little screen time Uncas and Alice got.

I think we should be friends with Sheila. If she wants to. I’m also glad you wouldn’t make an actual attempt on the life of someone who wanted your man.

No, Jacob hasn’t called.

Hope to hear from you soon,

Bella

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Subject: I’M SORRY

Hey Bells,

I’m at the school today. Not for summer school or anything, I managed to pass everything. But the computers were open for use and I thought I’d write you an e-mail. I didn’t even have an e-mail address before. You’re my first…whatever you call the person who gets your mail. Hi.

Listen, I’m sorry. I am so sorry I kicked you to the curb, and I’m so sorry I let Sheila’s being insecure about things get the better of me and I’m sorry I didn’t realize a person who didn’t like all of my friends wasn’t a good match.

I’m sorry I didn’t call you either. Sheila and I got into a huge fight after that whole s*t at the movies, and I got home so late that I didn’t want to bother you. It took us a couple weeks to figure out maybe we shouldn’t be dating at all, which wasn’t easy with the year ending and exams and all that, then another week while I figured out how to apologize to you for being the s*ttiest friend ever, and by then you were gone. Leah gave me your e-mail, but as you know I don’t have a computer at home, so I’ve been s*t out of luck. Trying to get into school over the summer is a pain in the a*s too, what is wrong with teachers, they spend all this time trying to keep us in school all year, and the second we do want in, they want us out!

Forks isn’t the same without you. I keep dialing your house before remembering you’re not there. I guess you’d laugh at say that this is the way things were before you arrived, that things went back to normal. I don’t like normal.

I hang out with Quil and Embry. Work on things in the garage. I even go with Quil to the gym, the one at the rec center, a few times a week. H*lla boring, I don’t know how Quil just takes himself out here all by his lonesome almost every day.

Dad misses your cooking. He wouldn’t be caught dead saying he needs anything, but he does this thing where he wheels himself past the counter on the off chance that a tray of diabetic friendly brownies has just appeared there by magic. We try your other recipes though, and that helps keep both our spirits up. I made some sh*tty fries last week. They were limp and soggy and tasted like oil. Wish you were here to laugh at me.

I don’ know when I’ll be able to check this thing again. Maybe not until school starts up again. But please please write back. Please. Even if I can’t reply, I need to know you don’t hate me forever. Leah says of course you’re coming back after the summer, but what if you don’t want to talk to me again when you do? I don’t blame you, I wouldn’t talk to me either.

Miss you,

Jacob

P.S. Heard I can’t swear on a school computer. Sorry for all the starry things. Bet you know the name for that.

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

This is Paul Lahote. Sheila Maizen gave me your e-mail. You still have my jacket. I guess you’re not in Forks right now since nobody’s seen you. Just get it to me when you can.

Hope you’re having a good summer.

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Hey Swan,

I got into a fight with my mother earlier this week. I guess I should have realized it was Jacob’s mom’s birthday on Monday. We actually did remember, and my dad and yours had Billy Black on Stupid Suicide Attempt Watch, but we forgot that mom and Mrs. Black were really good friends too. OK, I forgot, Dad was just busy. Anyway, she came home in a mood, I got pissed because I hate it when she does the whole displaced anger thing, so I guess I got a little sassy. Next thing I know, we’re yelling and I’m telling her I can’t wait to leave for college next year, and she says I’d be off to college right now if I hadn’t gotten held back in the third grade. Which was a low blow. So I turned a chair over and ran out of the house.

It’s OK now, Dad came home from babysitting Billy and we all apologized, but yeah. I was bored in third grade, I kept not doing my homework and stuff. It’s not like I sat and studied my ass off and didn’t get anything right in tests. I did. I just never handed in my homework.

I still feel really stupid.

Don’t worry though, I know I’m not. Sam took me out for some food at the diner in town and I ate enough for two Leahs to wash away the pain. He said I was a better student than a lot of people in his classes, and reminded me how sometimes what I say helps him understand his assigned reading, and it was all OK.

Weirdest thing ever: Paul Lahote walked up to our table and asked about you. He was washed and sober and everything. It was so strange to see him in actual daylight. I told him to fuck off, then keep fucking off when he got there, and he almost used his very extensive swear word dictionary on me, but then Sam smashed a fist on the table and Paul realized he was taking his life in his hands. He dropped the whole macho stance and said that he just needed to ask for his jacket back, that he’d never had the chance to see you after That Day at The Movies. I said you’d been gone for so long that you were almost due back, but he asked for your e-mail really nicely. I still said no, but that was the nicest he’s been to me since puberty hit him, so I didn’t call him an asshole as he left.

I’m lucky I tied Sam down. I don’t know what’s wrong with this generation of rez guys, but most of them have some level of psychosis or another. Speaking of boys, have you met any there? I’m guessing, if you did, that you wouldn’t know they were hitting on you unless they screamed HEY I AM HITTING ON YOU DO YOU THINK I’M CUTE? But have you, like, seen any? Just seen with your eyes is fine.

Love,

Leah

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Dear Leah,

You are one of the smartest girls I’ve ever met in Phoenix or in Forks. I know what I just said will make you laugh, and I hope it does, but I also hope you believe it. Even though I don’t go out much anywhere, I can tell you this: I thought I was very smart until I met you. If I were dating a college guy, I’d be too afraid of his technical reading and I’d end up disconnected from him. We’d break up before the first semester. You did everything I, and a lot of girls, couldn’t have done, and then some.

Even if you weren’t incredibly smart, you are motivated like nobody else I know. I bet you could become the owner of the diner at Forks in a few years if you decide to join them as a dishwasher. I wish I had your drive.

I heard you can take college classes during the summer or something if you want to hurry up and graduate.

I haven’t really looked at colleges yet. I guess I should, but I don’t know if I should try an English degree or look at Teaching, and if I don’t even know what I want to study, how do I look at colleges? And where do I even want to go to college?

Is there a college counselor in your school, and do you know if there’s one in mine? I don’t know if I can do this without someone who knows what they’re doing. But I can promise you that we can panic over it together.

By the way, Paul wrote to me. Sheila gave him my e-mail, or at least that’s what he says. He didn’t say much.

Jacob wrote to me too. I didn’t answer.

I hope you write back soon,

Bella

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Dear Fucking Swan,

I love you. Just so you know.

And not only did you make me feel better, you reminded me that I haven’t looked at colleges like at all, even though I had a fight with my actual fucking mother about college. I’ll see what I can find online.

And hey, don’t panic. I can hear your panic straight out from between your words and coming at me with the force of a thousand anxiety attacks. Why are you even in a rush if you don’t know what to do? I mean, there’s deadlines, sure, but only to apply to programs you already know you want to attend and shit. There’s no deadlines in real life. If I’m not a loser for getting held back one year, you won’t be one either for not knowing what you want to do with the rest of your early adulthood in so little time. So, you know, either go back on your word and call me a loser or chill out.

We don’t have like an on-site college counselor, but the universities will be coming out to try and persuade us into college soon. The rez isn’t exactly full of billionaires, and higher education is expensive, so while it’s ideal, a lot of kids will go straight from school to jobs, maybe trade schools. We also have a healthy amount of dropouts, because the days of forced schooling might be over, but the job market isn’t exactly clambering over each other for us First Nation folks, so why bother. You don’t have to worry though, I’m all for finishing, Embry and Steroids are too, and so is the Loser as far as I know.

I was thinking about how Swans are super ferocious, you know? I remember I told you about your old dad being good at punching back in the bad old days, and I was thinking how that might be you too. So don’t worry, there’s a fist-throwing crazy in you somewhere, and she’ll come out when you need her. I’m sure, if you’re really determined, you could punch out a college application, or a counselor, or something.

I’m not sure I was going with that metaphor, on second thought, but I really do mean it, I think you can do anything you set your nervous-ass mind to, if you try it.

Anyway, write me back soon.

Love,

Leah

P.S. I see you totally ignored my question about seeing guys. What, you actually spent summer in the Land of the Maidens and no heroes came to rescue you or something? Mind too full of long black hair and huge, sad eyes? Whatever, keep you insider knowledge of Phoenix dudes to yourself. See if I care.

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Dear Bella,

Hi! We haven’t talked all summer! I was having ice cream with Jessica and the guys and we got talking about you, some of them didn’t know you’d been gone for the summer. I’m sure they miss you though, and the guys all say hi.

I didn’t do much myself, but I got you a souvenir from the trip to New York I mentioned? I hope you’ll like it.

What have you been up to?

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Dear Angela,

Thank you for thinking about me during your vacation. I haven’t been doing much, just watching movies, reading books, and walking around with my mom. It’s been restful.

Thank you for remembering me.

Kind regards,

Bella Swan

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Dear Leah,

I’d never thought about that. I keep saying that, I know. I guess I’ll have to read more books about it instead of insisting I don’t know.

It’s a compliment to know you think I’m fierce. Even more to know you think I’m like my Dad. I guess I realized that I’ve misunderstood him for years, and the person he might be under all the Charlie-ness is really something. I tried to find the right word for that, but I guess Charlie-ness is as good as anything else.

I think I’ve narrowed down my majors a little. But you’ll help me when I get back home right?

I’ll try and look at some Phoenix guys for you. I hadn’t realized it before now, but I guess I’m not a visual person. I need some context before something catches my eye. I do miss Jacob, but that has nothing to do with anything.

I’ll be back soon.

Love,

Bella

P.S. What would you bring as a souvenir to someone you’re not that close to, but was nice to you? It’s a girl.

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Hey Swan,

You not being a visual person makes total sense, now that I think of it. You’re like a textual person, if that’s a thing at all.

I wasn’t talking about Jacob, I meant Eric Schweig – you know, the hottie we’ve actually been talking about?

Yeah, you’re almost due back home, so let’s leave it all for a nice in-person session. Look at all the Phoenix guys, though I guess your thing is more the First Nation aesthetic, huh? You know, my parents always hoped your dad would go for a rez girl and move in, become family. Maybe you can fulfil their dreams.

Not with Jacob, of course, who probably just got mentioned because you’re fighting. But some rez guy

Anyway, enough shitting on you: when’s your flight? Do you have a ride? I guess your Dad’s picking you up, but if he can’t, you write to me ASAP. I can still go to the airport and say hi, bring a welcome home lanyard, have the guys over with confetti guns.

Just for the record, I’m kidding. I realize you’d faint and cause a scene and then wake up, only to die of social anxiety upon learning of the embarrassment you brought to the noble Swan bloodline. But I’ll be there if I can.

Love,

Leah

P.S. You just called Forks ‘home’ and I’m fucking chuffed.

P.P.S. Now that I’ve brought it to your attention, don’t take it back or I’ll have you banned from the rez

P.P.P.S. I don’t know. Something shiny? I sure as fuck hope that’s not a souvenir for me. I mean, don’t bring me anything, I’ll just be happy to have you back, but I hope you’re not saying we aren’t close. We’re bound together by the sacred bonds of puke. Or dry-heaving, whatever it was you were doing in the bathroom back at the movie theater, sure as fuck didn't check. You can’t escape me now. You’re my sister by oath now.

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Dear Leah,

It’s almost time to go. I think you might not even see this e-mail before I’m back at Forks. I’m a little nervous for some reason, I guess it’s because of college and all the things I haven’t wondered about all summer. Or ruminated, I guess.

I’m worried about how things will be with my friends now. I wonder if I’ll hate the electives I picked last year. I hope not too many things changed.

I got the friend I asked you about a bracelet. It’s colorful and shiny, but not too much, because I can’t remember her ever wearing something too bright. It’s not you. I got you something else, which I won’t spoil in case you do read this before I see you.

I guess I missed Forks more than I thought I did,

Hope to see you soon,

Bella

IN: DRAFTS [UNSENT]

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Paul,

Thanks. I hope you’ve stopped hating me. I don’t actually know what to write that won’t make you hate me.

***

TO: [email protected]
FROM: [email protected]

Jacob,
Dear Jacob,
Jake
Dear Jake

I miss you too. I’ll come back. I’m sorry about everything.

I keep wanting to tell you about what I feel but I can never put it into words. I think I love you.

I’m sorry.

I wish I could tell you.

The starry things are asterisks.