Page 3

Billy was in the tiny square living room, a book in his hands. He set the book in
his lap and wheeled himself forward when he saw me.
"Well, what do you know! It's good to see you, Bella."
We shook hands. Mine was lost in his wide grasp.
"What brings you out here? Everything okay with Charlie?"
"Yes, absolutely. I just wanted to see Jacob—I haven't seen him in forever."
Jacob's eyes brightened at my words. He was smiling so big it looked like it
would hurt his cheeks.
"Can you stay for dinner?" Billy was eager, too.
"No, I've got to feed Charlie, you know."
"I'll call him now," Billy suggested. "He's always invited."
I laughed to hide my discomfort. "It's not like you'll never see me again. I
promise I'll be back again soon—so much you'll get sick of me." After all, if
Jacob could fix the bike, someone had to teach me how to ride it.
Billy chuckled in response. "Okay, maybe next time."
"So, Bella, what do you want to do?" Jacob asked.
"Whatever. What were you doing before I interrupted?" I was strangely
comfortable here. It was familiar, but only distantly. There were no painful
reminders of the recent past.
Jacob hesitated. "I was just heading out to work on my car, but we can do
something else…"
"No, that's perfect!" I interrupted. "I'd love to see your car."
"Okay," he said, not convinced. "It's out back, in the garage."
Even better, I thought to myself. I waved at Billy. "See you later."
A thick stand of trees and shrubbery concealed his garage from the house. The
garage was no more than a couple of big preformed sheds that had been bolted
together with their interior walls knocked out. Under this shelter, raised on cinder
blocks, was what looked to me like a completed automobile. I recognized the
symbol on the grille, at least.
"What kind of Volkswagen is that?" I asked.
"It's an old Rabbit—1986, a classic."
"How's it going?"
"Almost finished," he said cheerfully. And then his voice dropped into a lower
key. "My dad made good on his promise last spring."
"Ah," I said.
He seemed to understand my reluctance to open the subject. I tried not to
remember last May at the prom. Jacob had been bribed by his father with money
and car parts to deliver a message there. Billy wanted me to stay a safe distance
from the most important person in my life. It turned out that his concern was, in
the end, unnecessary. I was all too safe now.
But I was going to see what I could do to change that.
"Jacob, what do you know about motorcycles?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Some. My friend Embry has a dirt bike. We work on it together
sometimes. Why?"
"Well…" I pursed my lips as I considered. I wasn't sure if he could keep his
mouth shut, but I didn't have many other options. "I recently acquired a couple of
bikes, and they're not in the greatest condition. I wonder if you could get them
running?"
"Cool." He seemed truly pleased by the challenge. His face glowed. "I'll give it a
try."
I held up one finger in warning. "The thing is," I explained, "Charlie doesn't
approve of motorcycles. Honestly, he'd probably bust a vein in his forehead if he
knew about this. So you can't tell Billy."
"Sure, sure." Jacob smiled. "I understand."
"I'll pay you," I continued.
This offended him. "No. I want to help. You can't pay me."
"Well… how about a trade, then?" I was making this up as I went, but it seemed
reasonable enough. "I only need one bike—and I'll need lessons, too. So how
about this? I'll give you the other bike, and then you can teach me."
"Swee-eet." He made the word into two syllables.
"Wait a sec—are you legal yet? When's your birthday?"
"You missed it," he teased, narrowing his eyes in mock resentment. "I'm sixteen."
"Not that your age ever stopped you before," I muttered. "Sorry about your
birthday."
"Don't worry about it. I missed yours. What are you, forty?"
I sniffed. "Close."
"We'll have a joint party to make up for it."
"Sounds like a date."
His eyes sparkled at the word.
I needed to reign in the enthusiasm before I gave him the wrong idea—it was just
that it had been a long time since I'd felt so light and buoyant. The rarity of the
feeling made it more difficult to manage.
"Maybe when the bikes are finished—our present to ourselves," I added.
"Deal. When will you bring them down?"
I bit my lip, embarrassed. "They're in my truck now," I admitted.
"Great." He seemed to mean it.
"Will Billy see if we bring them around?"
He winked at me. "We'll be sneaky."
We eased around from the east, sticking to the trees when we were in view of the
windows, affecting a casual-looking stroll, just in case. Jacob unloaded the bikes
swiftly from the truck bed, wheeling them one by one into the shrubbery where I
hid. It looked too easy for him—I'd remembered the bikes being much, much
heavier than that.
"These aren't half bad," Jacob appraised as we pushed them through the cover of
the trees. "This one here will actually be worth something when I'm done—it's an
old Harley Sprint."
"That one's yours, then."
"Are you sure?"
"Absolutely."
"These are going to take some cash, though," he said, frowning down at the
blackened metal. "We'll have to save up for parts first."
"We nothing," I disagreed. "If you're doing this for free, I'll pay for the parts."
"I don't know…" he muttered.
"I've got some money saved. College fund, you know." College, schmollege, I
thought to myself. It wasn't like I'd saved up enough to go anywhere special—and
besides, I had no desire to leave Forks anyway. What difference would it make if
I skimmed a little bit off the top?
Jacob just nodded. This all made perfect sense to him.
As we skulked back to the makeshift garage, I contemplated my luck. Only a
teenage boy would agree to this: deceiving both our parents while repairing
dangerous vehicles using money meant for my college education. He didn't see
anything wrong with that picture. Jacob was a gift from the gods.
6. FRIENDS
THE MOTORCYCLES DIDN'T NEED TO BE HIDDEN ANY further than
simply placing them in Jacob's shed. Billy's wheelchair couldn't maneuver the
uneven ground separating it from the house.
Jacob started pulling the first bike—the red one, which was destined for me—to
pieces immediately. He opened up the passenger door of the Rabbit so I could sit
on the seat instead of the ground. While he worked, Jacob chattered happily,
needing only the lightest of nudges from me to keep the conversation rolling. He
updated me on the progress of his sophomore year of school, running on about
his classes and his two best friends.
"Quil and Embry?" I interrupted. "Those are unusual names."
Jacob chuckled. "Quil's is a hand-me-down, and I think Embry got named after a
soap opera star. I can't say anything, though. They fight dirty if you start on their
names—they'll tag team you."
"Good friends." I raised one eyebrow.
"No, they are. Just don't mess with their names."
Just then a call echoed in the distance. "Jacob?" someone shouted.
"Is that Billy?" I asked.
"No." Jacob ducked his head, and it looked like he was blushing under his brown
skin. "Speak of the devil," he mumbled, "and the devil shall appear."
"Jake? Are you out here?" The shouting voice was closer now.
"Yeah!" Jacob shouted back, and sighed.
We waited through the short silence until two tall, dark-skinned boys strolled
around the corner into the shed.
One was slender, and almost as tall as Jacob. His black hair was chin-length and
parted down the middle, one side tucked behind his left ear while the right side
swung free. The shorter boy was more burly. His white T-shirt strained over his
well-developed chest, and he seemed gleefully conscious of that fact. His hair
was so short it was almost a buzz.
Both boys stopped short when they saw me. The thin boy glanced swiftly back
and forth between Jacob and me, while the brawny boy kept his eyes on me, a
slow smile spreading across his face.
"Hey, guys," Jacob greeted them halfheartedly.
"Hey, Jake," the short one said without looking away from me. I had to smile in
response, his grin was so impish. When I did, he winked at me. "Hi, there."
"Quil, Embry—this is my friend, Bella."
Quil and Embry, I still didn't know which was which, exchanged a loaded look.
"Charlie's kid, right?" the brawny boy asked me, holding out his hand.
"That's right," I confirmed, shaking hands with him. His grasp was firm; it looked
like he was flexing his bicep.
"I'm Quil Ateara," he announced grandly before releasing my hand.
"Nice to meet you, Quil."
"Hey, Bella. I'm Embry, Embry Call—you probably already figured that out,
though." Embry smiled a shy smile and waved with one hand, which he then
shoved in the pocket of his jeans.
I nodded. "Nice to meet you, too."
"So what are you guys doing?" Quil asked, still looking at me.
"Bella and I are going to fix up these bikes," Jacob explained inaccurately. But
bikes seemed to be the magic word. Both boys went to examine Jacob's project,
drilling him with educated questions. Many of the words they used were
unfamiliar to me, and I figured I'd have to have a Y chromosome to really
understand the excitement.
They were still immersed in talk of parts and pieces when I decided that I needed
to head back home before Charlie showed up here. With a sigh, I slid out of the
Rabbit.
Jacob looked up, apologetic. "We're boring you, aren't we?"
"Naw." And it wasn't a lie. I was enjoying myself—how strange. "I just have to
go cook dinner for Charlie."
"Oh… well, I'll finish taking these apart tonight and figure out what more we'll
need to get started rebuilding them. When do you want to work on them again?"
"Could I come back tomorrow?" Sundays were the bane of my existence. There
was never enough homework to keep me busy.
Quil nudged Embry's arm and they exchanged grins.
Jacob smiled in delight. "That would be great!"
"If you make a list, we can go shop for parts," I suggested.
Jacob's face fell a little. "I'm still not sure I should let you pay for everything."
I shook my head. "No way. I'm bankrolling this party. You just have to supply the
labor and expertise."
Embry rolled his eyes at Quil.
"That doesn't seem right," Jacob shook his head.
"Jake, if I took these to a mechanic, how much would he charge me?" I pointed
out.
He smiled. "Okay, you're getting a deal."
"Not to mention the riding lessons," I added.
Quil grinned widely at Embry and whispered something I didn't catch. Jacob's
hand flashed out to smack the back of Quil's head. "That's it, get out," he
muttered.
"No, really, I have to go," I protested, heading for the door. "I'll see you
tomorrow, Jacob."
As soon as I was out of sight, I heard Quil and Embry chorus, "Wooooo!"
The sound of a brief scuffle followed, interspersed with an "ouch" and a "hey!"
"If either of you set so much as one toe on my land tomorrow…" I heard Jacob
threaten. His voice was lost as I walked through the trees.
I giggled quietly. The sound made my eyes widen in wonder. I was laughing,
actually laughing, and there wasn't even anyone watching. I felt so weightless
that I laughed again, just make the feeling last longer.
I beat Charlie home. When he walked in I was just taking the fried chicken out of
the pan and laying it on a pile of paper towels.
"Hey, Dad." I flashed him a grin.
Shock flitted across his face before he pulled his expression together. "Hey,
honey," he said, his voice uncertain. "Did you have fun with Jacob?"
I started moving the food to the table. "Yeah, I did."
"Well, that's good." He was still cautious. "What did you two do?"
Now it was my turn to be cautious. "I hung out in his garage and watched him
work. Did you know he's rebuilding a Volkswagen?"
"Yeah, I think Billy mentioned that."
The interrogation had to stop when Charlie began chewing, but he continued to
study my face as he ate.
After dinner, I dithered around, cleaning the kitchen twice, and then did my
homework slowly in the front room while Charlie watched a hockey game. I
waited as long as I could, but finally Charlie mentioned the late hour. When I
didn't respond, he got up, stretched, and then left, turning out the light behind
him. Reluctantly, I followed.
As I climbed the stairs, I felt the last of the afternoon's abnormal sense of wellbeing
drain from my system, replaced by a dull fear at the thought of what I was
going to have to live through now.
I wasn't numb anymore. Tonight would, no doubt, be as horrific as last night. I
lay down on my bed and curled into a ball in preparation for the onslaught. I
squeezed my eyes shut and… the next thing I next I knew, it was morning.
I stared at the pale silver light coming through my window, stunned.
For the first time in more than four months, I'd slept without dreaming. Dreaming
or screaming. I couldn't tell which emotion was stronger—the relief or the shock.
I lay still in my bed for a few minutes, waiting for it to come back. Because
something must be coming. If not the pain, then the numbness. I waited, but
nothing happened. I felt more rested than I had in a long time.
I didn't trust this to last. It was a slippery, precarious edge that I balanced on, and
it wouldn't take much to knock me back down. Just glancing around my room
with these suddenly clear eyes—noticing how strange it looked, too tidy, like I
didn't live here at all—was dangerous.
I pushed that thought from my mind, and concentrated, as I got dressed, on the
fact that I was going to see Jacob again today. The thought made me feel
almost… hopeful. Maybe it would be the same as yesterday. Maybe I wouldn't
have to remind myself to look interested and to nod or smile at appropriate
intervals, the way I had to with everyone else. Maybe… but I wouldn't trust this
to last, either. Wouldn't trust it to be the same—so easy—as yesterday. I wasn't
going to set myself up for disappointment like that.
At breakfast, Charlie was being careful, too. He tried to hide his scrutiny, keeping
his eyes on his eggs until he thought I wasn't looking.
"What are you up to today?" he asked, eyeing a loose thread on the edge of his
cuff like he wasn't paying much attention to my answer.
"I'm going to hang out with Jacob again."
He nodded without looking up. "Oh," he said.
"Do you mind?" I pretended to worry. "I could stay…"
He glanced up quickly, a hint of panic in his eyes. "No, no! You go ahead. Harry
was going to come up to watch the game with me anyway."
"Maybe Harry could give Billy a ride up," I suggested. The fewer witnesses the
better.
"That's a great idea."
I wasn't sure if the game was just an excuse for kicking me out, but he looked
excited enough now. He headed to the phone while I donned my rain jacket. I felt
self-conscious with the checkbook shoved in my jacket pocket. It was something
I never used.
Outside, the rain came down like water slopped from a bucket. I had to drive
more slowly than I wanted to; I could hardly see a car length in front of the truck.
But I finally made it through the muddy lanes to Jacob's house. Before I'd killed
the engine, the front door opened and Jacob came running out with a huge black
umbrella.
He held it over my door while I opened it.
"Charlie called—said you were on your way," Jacob explained with a grin.
Effortlessly, without a conscious command to the muscles around my lips, my
answering smile spread across my face. A strange feeling of warmth bubbled up
in my throat, despite the icy rain splattering on my cheeks.
"Hi, Jacob."
"Good call on inviting Billy up." He held up his hand for a high five.
I had to reach so high to slap his hand that he laughed.
Harry showed up to get Billy just a few minutes later. Jacob took me on a brief
tour of his tiny room while we waited to be unsupervised.
"So where to, Mr. Goodwrench?" I asked as soon as the door closed behind Billy.
Jacob pulled a folded paper out of his pocket and smoothed it out. "We'll start at
the dump first, see if we can get lucky. This could get a little expensive," he
warned me. "Those bikes are going to need a lot of help before they'll run again."
My face didn't look worried enough, so he continued. "I'm talking about maybe
more than a hundred dollars here."
I pulled my checkbook out, fanned myself with it, and rolled my eyes at his
worries. "We're covered."
It was a very strange kind of day. I enjoyed myself. Even at the dump, in the
slopping rain and ankle-deep mud. I wondered at first if it was just the aftershock
of losing the numbness, but I didn't think that was enough of an explanation.
I was beginning to think it was mostly Jacob. It wasn't just that he was always so
happy to see me, or that he didn't watch me out of the corner of his eye, waiting
for me to do something that would mark me as crazy or depressed. It was nothing
that related to me at all.
It was Jacob himself. Jacob was simply a perpetually happy person, and he
carried that happiness with him like an aura, sharing it with whoever was near
him. Like an earthbound sun, whenever someone was within his gravitational
pull, Jacob warmed them. It was natural, a part of who he was. No wonder I was
so eager to see him.
Even when he commented on the gaping hole in my dashboard, it didn't send me
into a panic like it should have.
"Did the stereo break?" he wondered.
"Yeah," I lied.
He poked around in the cavity. "Who took it out? There's a lot of damage…"
"I did," I admitted.
He laughed. "Maybe you shouldn't touch the motorcycles too much."
"No problem."
According to Jacob, we did get lucky at the dump. He was very excited about
several grease-blackened pieces of twisted metal that he found; I was just
impressed that he could tell what they were supposed to be.
From there we went to the Checker Auto Parts down in Hoquiam. In my truck, it
was more than a two hour drive south on the winding freeway, but the time
passed easily with Jacob. He chattered about his friends and his school, and I
found myself asking questions, not even pretending, truly curious to hear what he
had to say.
"I'm doing all the talking," he complained after a long story about Quil and the
trouble he'd stirred up by asking out a senior's steady girlfriend. "Why don't you
take a turn? What's going on in Forks? It has to be more exciting than La Push."
"Wrong," I sighed. "There's really nothing. Your friends are a lot more interesting
than mine. I like your friends. Quil's funny."
He frowned. "I think Quil likes you, too."
I laughed. "He's a little young for me."
Jacob's frown deepened. "He's not that much younger than you. It's just a year
and a few months."
I had a feeling we weren't talking about Quil anymore. I kept my voice light,
teasing. "Sure, but, considering the difference in maturity between guys and girls,
don't you have to count that in dog years? What does that make me, about twelve
years older?"
He laughed, rolling his eyes. "Okay, but if you're going to get picky like that, you
have to average in size, too. You're so small, I'll have to knock ten years off your
total."
"Five foot four is perfectly average." I sniffed. "It's not my fault you're a freak."
We bantered like that till Hoquiam, still arguing over the correct formula to
determine age—I lost two more years because I didn't know how to change a tire,
but gained one back for being in charge of the bookkeeping at my house—until
we were in Checker, and Jacob had to concentrate again. We found everything
left on his list, and Jacob felt confident that he could make a lot of progress with
our haul.
By the time we got back to La Push, I was twenty-three and he was thirty—he
was definitely weighting skills in his favor.
I hadn't forgotten the reason for what I was doing. And, even though I was
enjoying myself more than I'd thought possible, there was no lessening of my
original desire. I still wanted to cheat. It was senseless, and I really didn't care. I
was going to be as reckless as I could possibly manage in Forks. I would not be
the only keeper of an empty contract. Getting to spend time with Jacob was just a
much bigger perk than I'd expected.
Billy wasn't back yet, so we didn't have to be sneaky about unloading our day's
spoils. As soon as we had everything laid out on the plastic floor next to Jacob's
toolbox, he went right to work, still talking and laughing while his fingers
combed expertly through the metal pieces in front of him.
Jacob's skill with his hands was fascinating. They looked too big for the delicate
tasks they performed with ease and precision. While he worked, he seemed
almost graceful. Unlike when he was on his feet; there, his height and big feet
made him nearly as dangerous as I was.
Quil and Embry did not show up, so maybe his threat yesterday had been taken
seriously.
The day passed too quickly. It got dark outside the mouth of the garage before I
was expecting it, and then we heard Billy calling for us.
I jumped up to help Jacob put things away, hesitating because I wasn't sure what I
should touch.
"Just leave it," he said. "I'll work on it later tonight."
"Don't forget your schoolwork or anything," I said, feeling a little guilty. I didn't
want him to get in trouble. That plan was just for me.
"Bella?"
Both our heads snapped up as Charlie's familiar voice wafted through the trees,
sounding closer than the house.
"Shoot," I muttered. "Coming!" I yelled toward the house.
"Let's go." Jacob smiled, enjoying the cloak-and-dagger. He snapped the light off,
and for a moment I was blind. Jacob grabbed my hand and towed me out of the
garage and through the trees, his feet finding the familiar path easily. His hand
was rough, and very warm.
Despite the path, we were both tripping over our feet in the darkness. So we were
also both laughing when the house came into view. The laughter did not go deep;
it was light and superficial, but still nice. I was sure he wouldn't notice the faint
hint of hysteria. I wasn't used to laughing, and it felt right and also very wrong at
the same time.
Charlie was standing under the little back porch, and Billy was sitting in the
doorway behind them.
"Hey, Dad," we both said at the same time, and that started us laughing again.
Charlie stared at me with wide eyes that flashed down to note Jacob's hand
around mine.
"Billy invited us for dinner," Charlie said to us in an absentminded tone.
"My super secret recipe for spaghetti. Handed down for generations," Billy said
gravely.
Jacob snorted. "I don't think Ragu's actually been around that long."
The house was crowded. Harry Clearwater was there, too, with his family—his
wife, Sue, whom I knew vaguely from my childhood summers in Forks, and his
two children. Leah was a senior like me, but a year older. She was beautiful in an
exotic way—perfect copper skin, glistening black hair, eyelashes like feather
dusters—and preoccupied. She was on Billy's phone when we got in, and she
never let it go. Seth was fourteen; he hung on Jacob's every word with idolizing
eyes.
There were too many of us for the kitchen table, so Charlie and Harry brought
chairs out to the yard, and we ate spaghetti off plates on our laps in the dim light
from Billy's open door. The men talked about the game, and Harry and Charlie
made fishing plans. Sue teased her husband about his cholesterol and tried,
unsuccessfully, to shame him into eating something green and leafy. Jacob talked
mostly to me and Seth, who interrupted eagerly whenever Jacob seemed in
danger of forgetting him. Charlie watched me, trying to be inconspicuous about
it, with pleased but cautious eyes.
It was loud and sometimes confusing as everyone talked over everyone else, and
the laughter from one joke interrupted the telling of another. I didn't have to
speak often, but I smiled a lot, and only because I felt like it.
I didn't want to leave.
This was Washington, though, and the inevitable rain eventually broke up the
party; Billy's living room was much too small to provide an option for continuing
the get-together. Harry had driven Charlie down, so we rode together in my truck
on the way back home. He asked about my day, and I told mostly the truth—that
I'd gone with Jacob to look at parts and then watched him work in his garage.
"You think you'll visit again anytime soon?" he wondered, trying to be casual
about it.
"Tomorrow after school," I admitted. "I'll take homework, don't worry."
"You be sure to do that," he ordered, trying to disguise his satisfaction.
I was nervous when we got to the house. I didn't want to go upstairs. The warmth
of Jacob's presence was fading and, in its absence, the anxiety grew stronger. I
was sure I wouldn't get away with two peaceful nights of sleep in a row.
To put bedtime off, I checked my e-mail; there was a new message from Renee.
She wrote about her day, a new book club that rilled the time slot of the
meditation classes she'd just quit, her week subbing in the second grade, missing
her kindergarteners. She wrote that Phil was enjoying his new coaching job, and
that they were planning a second honeymoon trip to Disney World.
And I noticed that the whole thing read like a journal entry, rather than a letter to
someone else. Remorse flooded through me, leaving an uncomfortable sting
behind. Some daughter I was.
I wrote back to her quickly, commenting on each part of her letter, volunteering
information of my own—describing the spaghetti party at Billy's and how I felt
watching Jacob build useful things out of small pieces of metal—awed and
slightly envious. I made no reference to the change this letter would be from the
ones she'd received in the last several months. I could barely remember what I'd
written to her even as recently as last week, but I was sure it wasn't very
responsive. The more I thought about it, the guiltier I felt; I really must have
worried her.
I stayed up extra late after that, finishing more homework than strictly necessary.
But neither sleep deprivation nor the time spent with Jacob—being almost happy
in a shallow kind of way—could keep the dream away for two nights in a row.
I woke shuddering, my scream muffled by the pillow.
As the dim morning light filtered through the fog outside my window, I lay still
in bed and tried to shake off the dream. There had been a small difference last
night, and I concentrated on that.
Last night I had not been alone in the woods. Sam Uley—the man who had
pulled me from the forest floor that night I couldn't bear to think of consciously—
was there. It was an odd, unexpected alteration. The man's dark eyes had been
surprisingly unfriendly, filled with some secret he didn't seem inclined to share.
I'd stared at him as often as my frantic searching had allowed; it made me
uncomfortable, under all the usual panic, to have him there. Maybe that was
because, when I didn't look directly at him, his shape seemed to shiver and
change in my peripheral vision. Yet he did nothing but stand and watch. Unlike
the time when we had met in reality, he did not offer me his help.
Charlie stared at me during breakfast, and I tried to ignore him. I supposed I
deserved it. I couldn't expect him not to worry. It would probably be weeks
before he stopped watching for the return of the zombie, and I would just have to
try to not let it bother me. After all, I would be watching for the return of the
zombie, too. Two days was hardly long enough to call me cured.
School was the opposite. Now that I was paying attention, it was clear that no one
was watching here.
I remembered the first day I'd come to Forks High School—how desperately I'd
wished that I could turn gray, fade into the wet concrete of the sidewalk like an
oversized chameleon. It seemed I was getting that wish answered, a year late.
It was like I wasn't there. Even my teachers' eyes slid past my seat as if it were
empty.
I listened all through the morning, hearing once again the voices of the people
around me. I tried to catch up on what was going on, but the conversations were
so disjointed that I gave up.
Jessica didn't look up when I sat down next to her in Calculus.
"Hey, Jess," I said with put-on nonchalance. "How was the rest of your
weekend?"
She looked at me with suspicious eyes. Could she still be angry? Or was she just
too impatient to deal with a crazy person?
"Super," she said, turning back to her book.
"That's good," I mumbled.
The figure of speech cold shoulder seemed to have some literal truth to it. I could
feel the warm air blowing from the floor vents, but I was still too cold. I took the
jacket off the back of my chair and put it on again.
My fourth hour class got out late, and the lunch table I always sat at was full by
the time I arrived. Mike was there, Jessica and Angela, Conner, Tyler, Eric and
Lauren. Katie Marshall, the redheaded junior who lived around the corner from
me, was sitting with Eric, and Austin Marks—older brother to the boy with the
motorcycles—was next to her. I wondered how long they'd been sitting here,
unable to remember if this was the first day or something that was a regular habit.
I was beginning to get annoyed with myself. I might as well have been packed in
Styrofoam peanuts through the last semester.
No one looked up when I sat down next to Mike, even though the chair squealed
stridently against the linoleum as I dragged it back.
I tried to catch up with the conversation.
Mike and Conner were talking sports, so I gave up on that one at once.
"Where's Ben today?" Lauren was asking Angela. I perked up, interested. I
wondered if that meant Angela and Ben were still together.
I barely recognized Lauren. She'd cut off all her blond, corn-silk hair—now she
had a pixie cut so short that the back was shaved like a boy. What an odd thing
for her to do. I wished I knew the reason behind it. Did she get gum stuck in it?
Did she sell it? Had all the people she was habitually nasty to caught her behind
the gym and scalped her? I decided it wasn't fair for me to judge her now by my
former opinion. For all I knew, she'd turned into a nice person.
"Ben's got the stomach flu," Angela said in her quiet, calm voice. "Hopefully it's
just some twenty-four hour thing. He was really sick last night."
Angela had changed her hair, too. She'd grown out her layers.
"What did you two do this weekend?" Jessica asked, not sounding as if she cared
about the answer. I'd bet that this was just an opener so she could tell her own
stories. I wondered if she would talk about Port Angeles with me sitting two seats
away? Was I that invisible, that no one would feel uncomfortable discussing me
while I was here?
"We were going to have a picnic Saturday, actually, but… we changed our
minds," Angela said. There was an edge to her voice that caught my interest.
Jess, not so much. "That's too bad," she said, about to launch into her story. But I
wasn't the only one who was paying attention.
"What happened?" Lauren asked curiously.
"Well," Angela said, seeming more hesitant than usual, though she was always
reserved, "we drove up north, almost to the hot springs—there's a good spot just
about a mile up the trail. But, when we were halfway there… we saw something."
"Saw something? What?" Lauren's pale eyebrows pulled together. Even Jess
seemed to be listening now.
"I don't know," Angela said. "We think it was a bear. It was black, anyway, but it
seemed… too big."
Lauren snorted. "Oh, not you, too!" Her eyes turned mocking, and I decided I
didn't need to give her the benefit of the doubt. Obviously her personality had not
changed as much as her hair. "Tyler tried to sell me that one last week."
"You're not going to see any bears that close to the resort," Jessica said, siding
with Lauren.
"Really," Angela protested in a low voice, looking down at the table. "We did see
it."
Lauren snickered. Mike was still talking to Conner, not paying attention to the
girls.
"No, she's right," I threw in impatiently. "We had a hiker in just Saturday who
saw the bear, too, Angela. He said it was huge and black and just outside of town,
didn't he, Mike?"
There was a moment of silence. Every pair of eyes at the table turned to stare at
me in shock. The new girl, Katie, had her mouth hanging open like she'd just
witnessed an explosion. Nobody moved.
"Mike?" I muttered, mortified. "Remember the guy with the bear story?"
"S-sure," Mike stuttered after a second. I didn't know why he was looking at me
so strangely. I talked to him at work, didn't I? Did I? I thought so…
Mike recovered. "Yeah, there was a guy who said he saw a huge black bear right
at the trailhead—bigger than a grizzly," he confirmed.
"Hmph." Lauren turned to Jessica, her shoulders stiff, and changed the subject.
"Did you hear back from USC?" she asked.
Everyone else looked away, too, except for Mike and Angela. Angela smiled at
me tentatively, and I hurried to return the smile.
"So, what did you do this weekend, Bella?" Mike asked, curious, but oddly wary.
Everyone but Lauren looked back, waiting for my response.
"Friday night, Jessica and I went to a movie in Port Angeles. And then I spent
Saturday afternoon and most of Sunday down at La Push."
The eyes flickered to Jessica and back to me. Jess looked irritated. I wondered if
she didn't want anyone to know she'd gone out with me, or whether she just
wanted to be the one to tell the story.
"What movie did you see?" Mike asked, starting to smile.
"Dead End—the one with the zombies." I grinned in encouragement. Maybe
some of the damage I'd done in these past zombie months was reparable.
"I heard that was scary. Did you think so?" Mike was eager to continue the
conversation.
"Bella had to leave at the end, she was so freaked," Jessica inserted with a sly
smile.
I nodded, trying to look embarrassed. "It was pretty scary."
Mike didn't stop asking me questions till lunch was over. Gradually, the others
were able to start up their own conversations again, though they still looked at me
a lot. Angela talked mostly to Mike and me, and, when I got up to dump my tray,
she followed.
"Thanks," she said in a low voice when we were away from the table.
"For what?"
"Speaking up, sticking up for me."
"No problem."
She looked at me with concern, but not the offensive, maybe-she's-lost-it kind.
"Are you okay?"
This is why I'd picked Jessica over Angela—though I'd always liked Angela more
—for the girls' night movie. Angela was too perceptive.
"Not completely," I admitted. "But I'm a little bit better."
"I'm glad," she said. "I've missed you."
Lauren and Jessica strolled by us then, and I heard Lauren whisper loudly, "Oh,
joy Bella's back."
Angela rolled her eyes at them, and smiled at me in encouragement.
I sighed It was like I was starting all over again.
"What's today's date?" I wondered suddenly.
"It's January nineteenth."
"Hmm."
"What is it?" Angela asked.
"It was a year ago yesterday that I had my first day here," I mused.
"Nothing's changed much," Angela muttered, looking after Lauren and Jessica.
"I know, I agreed I was just thinking the same thing."
7 REPETITION
I WASN'T SURE WHAT THE HELL I WAS DOING HERE Was I trying to
push myself back into the zombie stupor? Had I turned masochistic—developed a
taste for torture? I should have gone straight down to La Push I felt much, much
healthier around Jacob This was not a healthy thing to do.
But I continued to drive slowly down the overgrown lane, twisting through the
trees that arched over me like a green, living tunnel My hands were shaking, so I
tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
I knew that part of the reason I did this was the nightmare, now that I was really
awake, the nothingness of the dream gnawed on my nerves, a dog worrying a
bone.
There was something to search for. Unattainable and impossible, uncaring and
distracted… but he was out there, somewhere. I had to believe that.
The other part was the strange sense of repetition I'd felt at school today, the
coincidence of the date. The feeling that I was starting over—perhaps the way my
first day would have gone if I'd really been the most unusual person in the
cafeteria that afternoon.
The words ran through my head, tonelessly, like I was reading them rather than
hearing them spoken:
It will be as if I'd never existed.
I was lying to myself by splitting my reason for coming here into just two parts. I
didn't want to admit the strongest motivation. Because it was mentally unsound.
The truth was that I wanted to hear his voice again, like I had in the strange
delusion Friday night. For that brief moment, when his voice came from some
other part of me than my conscious memory, when his voice was perfect and
honey smooth rather than the pale echo my memories usually produced, I was
able to remember without pain. It hadn't lasted; the pain had caught up with me,
as I was sure it would for this fool's errand. But those precious moments when I
could hear him again were an irresistible lure. I had to find some way to repeat
the experience… or maybe the better word was episode.
I was hoping that déjà vu was the key. So I was going to his home, a place I
hadn't been since my ill-fated birthday party, so many months ago.
The thick, almost jungle-like growth crawled slowly past my windows. The drive
wound on and on. I started to go faster, getting edgy. How long had I been
driving? Shouldn't I have reached the house yet? The lane was so overgrown that
it did not look familiar.
What if I couldn't find it? I shivered. What if there was no tangible proof at all?
Then there was the break in the trees that I was looking for, only it was not so
pronounced as before. The flora here did not wait long to reclaim any land that
was left unguarded. The tall ferns had infiltrated the meadow around the house,
crowding against the trunks of the cedars, even the wide porch. It was like the
lawn had been flooded—waist-high—with green, feathery waves.
And the house was there, but it was not the same. Though nothing had changed
on the outside, the emptiness screamed from the blank windows. It was creepy.
For the first time since I'd seen the beautiful house, it looked like a fitting haunt
for vampires.
I hit the brakes, looking away. I was afraid to go farther.
But nothing happened. No voice in my head.
So I left the engine running and jumped out into the fern sea. Maybe, like Friday
night, if I walked forward…
I approached the barren, vacant face slowly, my truck rumbling out a comforting
roar behind me. I stopped when I got to the porch stairs, because there was
nothing here. No lingering sense of their presence… of his presence. The house
was solidly here, but it meant little. Its concrete reality would not counteract the
nothingness of the nightmares.
I didn't go any closer. I didn't want to look in the windows. I wasn't sure which
would be harder to see. If the rooms were bare, echoing empty from floor to
ceiling, that would certainly hurt. Like my grandmother's funeral, when my
mother had insisted that I stay outside during the viewing. She had said that I
didn't need to see Gran that way, to remember her that way, rather than alive.
But wouldn't it be worse if there were no change? If the couches sat just as I'd last
seen them, the paintings on the walls—worse still, the piano on its low platform?
It would be second only to the house disappearing all together, to see that there
was no physical possession that tied them in anyway. That everything remained,
untouched and forgotten, behind them.
Just like me.
I turned my back on the gaping emptiness and hurried to my truck. I nearly ran. I
was anxious to be gone, to get back to the human world. I felt hideously empty,
and I wanted to see Jacob. Maybe I was developing a new kind of sickness,
another addiction, like the numbness before. I didn't care. I pushed my truck as
fast as it would go as I barreled toward my fix.
Jacob was waiting for me. My chest seemed to relax as soon as I saw him,
making it easier to breathe.
"Hey, Bella," he called.
I smiled in relief. "Hey, Jacob," I waved at Billy, who was looking out the
window.
"Let's get to work," Jacob said in a low but eager voice.
I was somehow able to laugh. "You seriously aren't sick of me yet?" I wondered.
He must be starting to ask himself how desperate I was for company.
Jacob led the way around the house to his garage.
"Nope. Not yet."
"Please let me know when I start getting on your nerves. I don't want to be a
pain."
"Okay." He laughed, a throaty sound. "I wouldn't hold your breath for that,
though."
When I walked into the garage, I was shocked to see the red bike standing up,
looking like a motorcycle rather than a pile of jagged metal.
"Jake, you're amazing," I breathed.
He laughed again. "I get obsessive when I have a project." He shrugged. "If I had
any brains I'd drag it out a little bit."
"Why?"
He looked down, pausing for so long that I wondered if he hadn't heard my
question. Finally, he asked me, "Bella, if I told you that I couldn't fix these bikes,
what would you say?"
I didn't answer right away, either, and he glanced up to check my expression.
"I would say… that's too bad, but I'll bet we could figure out something else to
do. If we got really desperate, we could even do homework."
Jacob smiled, and his shoulders relaxed. He sat down next to the bike and picked
up a wrench. "So you think you'll still come over when I'm done, then?"
"Is that what you meant?" I shook my head. "I guess I am taking advantage of
your very underpriced mechanical skills. But as long as you let me come over, I'll
be here."
"Hoping to see Quil again?" he teased.
"You caught me."
He chuckled. "You really like spending time with me?" he asked, marveling.
"Very, very much. And I'll prove it. I have to work tomorrow, but Wednesday
we'll do something nonmechanical."
"Like what?"
"I have no idea. We can go to my place so you won't be tempted to be obsessive.
You could bring your schoolwork—you have to be getting behind, because I
know I am."
"Homework might be a good idea." He made a face, and I wondered how much
he was leaving undone to be with me.
"Yes," I agreed. "We'll have to start being responsible occasionally, or Billy and
Charlie aren't going to be so easygoing about this." I made a gesture indicating
the two of us as a single entity. He liked that—he beamed.
"Homework once a week?" he proposed.
"Maybe we'd better go with twice," I suggested, thinking of the pile I'd just been
assigned today.
He sighed a heavy sigh. Then he reached over his toolbox to a paper grocery
sack. He pulled out two cans of soda, cracking one open and handing it to me. He
opened the second, and held it up ceremoniously.
"Here's to responsibility," he toasted. "Twice a week."
"And recklessness every day in between," I emphasized.
He grinned and touched his can to mine.
I got home later than I'd planned and found Charlie had ordered a pizza rather
than wait for me. He wouldn't let me apologize.
"I don't mind," he assured me. "You deserve a break from all the cooking,
anyway."
I knew he was just relieved that I was still acting like a normal person, and he
was not about to rock the boat.
I checked my e-mail before I started on my homework, and there was a long one
from Renee. She gushed over every detail I'd provided her with, so I sent back
another exhaustive description of my day. Everything but the motorcycles. Even
happy-go-lucky Renee was likely to be alarmed by that.
School Tuesday had its ups and downs. Angela and Mike seemed ready to
welcome me back with open arms—to kindly overlook my few months of
aberrant behavior. Jess was more resistant. I wondered if she needed a formal
written apology for the Port Angeles incident.
Mike was animated and chatty at work. It was like he'd stored up the semester's
worth of talk, and it was all spilling out now. I found that I was able to smile and
laugh with him, though it wasn't as effortless as it was with Jacob. It seemed
harmless enough, until quitting time.
Mike put the closed sign in the window while I folded my vest and shoved it
under the counter.
"This was fun tonight," Mike said happily.
"Yeah," I agreed, though I'd much rather have spent the afternoon in the garage.
"It's too bad that you had to leave the movie early last week."
I was a little confused by his train of thought. I shrugged. "I'm just a wimp, I
guess."
"What I mean is, you should go to a better movie, something you'd enjoy," he
explained.
"Oh," I muttered, still confused.
"Like maybe this Friday. With me. We could go see something that isn't scary at
all."
I bit my lip.
I didn't want to screw things up with Mike, not when he was one of the only
people ready to forgive me for being crazy. But this, again, felt far too familiar.
Like the last year had never happened. I wished I had Jess as an excuse this time.
"Like a date?" I asked. Honesty was probably the best policy at this point. Get it
over with.
He processed the tone of my voice "If you want. But it doesn't have to be like
that."
"I don't date," I said slowly, realizing how true that was. That whole world
seemed impossibly distant.
"Just as friends?" he suggested. His clear blue eyes were not as eager now. I
hoped he really meant that we could be friends anyway.
"That would be fun. But I actually have plans already this Friday, so maybe next
week?"
"What are you doing?" he asked, less casually than I think he wanted to sound.
"Homework. I have a… study session planned with a friend."
"Oh. Okay. Maybe next week."
He walked me to my car, less exuberant than before. It reminded me so clearly of
my first months in Forks. I'd come full circle, and now everything felt like an echo
—an empty echo, devoid of the interest it used to have.
The next night, Charlie didn't seem the smallest bit surprised to find Jacob and
me sprawled across the living room floor with our books scattered around us, so I
guessed that he and Billy were talking behind our backs.
"Hey, kids," he said, his eyes straying to the kitchen. The smell of the lasagna I'd
spent the afternoon making—while Jacob watched and occasionally sampled—
wafted down the hall; I was being good, trying to atone for all the pizza.
Jacob stayed for dinner, and took a plate home for Billy. He grudgingly added
another year to my negotiable age for being a good cook.
Friday was the garage, and Saturday, after my shift at Newton's, was homework
again. Charlie felt secure enough in my sanity to spend the day fishing with
Harry. When he got back, we were all done—feeling very sensible and mature
about it, too—and watching Monster Garage on the Discovery Channel.
"I probably ought to go." Jacob sighed. "It's later than I thought."
"Okay, fine," I grumbled. "I'll take you home."
He laughed at my unwilling expression—it seemed to please him.
"Tomorrow, back to work," I said as soon as we were safe in the truck. "What
time do you want me to come up?"
There was an unexplained excitement in his answering smile. "I'll call you first,
okay?"
"Sure." I frowned to myself, wondering what was up. His smile widened.
I cleaned the house the next morning—waiting for Jacob to call and trying to
shake off the Litest nightmare. The scenery had changed. Last night I'd wandered
in a wide sea of ferns interspersed with huge hemlock trees. There was nothing
else there, and I was lost, wandering aimless and alone, searching for nothing. I
wanted to kick myself for the stupid field trip last week. I shoved the dream out
of my conscious mind, hoping it would stay locked up somewhere and not escape
again.
Charlie was outside washing the cruiser, so when the phone rang, I dropped the
toilet brush and ran downstairs to answer it.
"Hello?" I asked breathlessly.
"Bella," Jacob said, a strange, formal tone to his voice.
"Hey, Jake."
"I believe that… we have a date" he said, his tone thick with implications.
It took me a second before I got it. "They're done? I can't believe it!" What
perfect timing. I needed something to distract me from nightmares and
nothingness.
"Yeah, they run and everything."
"Jacob, you are absolutely, without a doubt, the most talented and wonderful
person I know. You get ten years for this one."
"Cool! I'm middle-aged now."
I laughed. "I'm on my way up!"
I threw the cleaning supplies under the bathroom counter and grabbed my jacket.
"Headed to see Jake," Charlie said when I ran past him. It wasn't really a question.
"Yep," I replied as I jumped in my truck.
"I'll be at the station later," Charlie called after me.
"Okay," I yelled back, turning the key.
Charlie said something else, but I couldn't hear him clearly over the roar of the
engine. It sounded sort of like, "Where's the fire?"
I parked my truck off to the side of the Blacks' house, close to the trees, to make
it easier for us to sneak the bikes out. When I got out, a splash of color caught my
eye—two shiny motorcycles, one red, one black, were hidden under a spruce,
invisible from the house. Jacob was prepared.
There was a piece of blue ribbon tied in a small bow around each of the
handlebars. I was laughing at that when Jacob ran out of the house.
"Ready?" he asked in a low voice, his eyes sparkling.
I glanced over his shoulder, and there was no sign of Billy.
"Yeah," I said, but I didn't feel quite as excited as before; I was trying to imagine
myself actually on the motorcycle.
Jacob loaded the bikes into the bed of the truck with ease, laying them carefully
on their sides so they didn't show.
"Let's go," he said, his voice higher than usual with excitement. "I know the
perfect spot—no one will catch us there."
We drove south out of town. The dirt road wove in and out of the forest—
sometimes there was nothing but trees, and then there would suddenly be a
breathtaking glimpse of the Pacific Ocean, reaching to the horizon, dark gray
under the clouds. We were above the shore, on top of the cliffs that bordered the
beach here and the view seemed to stretch on forever.
I was driving slowly, so that I could safely stare out across the ocean now and
then, as the road wound closer to the sea cliffs. Jacob was talking about finishing
the bikes, but his descriptions were getting technical, so I wasn't paying close
attention.
That was when I noticed four figures standing on a rocky ledge, much too close
to the precipice. I couldn't tell from the distance how old they were, but I
assumed they were men. Despite the chill in the air today, they seemed to be
wearing only shorts.
As I watched, the tallest person stepped closer to the brink. I slowed
automatically, my foot hesitating over the brake pedal.
And then he threw himself off the edge.
"No!" I shouted, stomping down on the brake.
"What's wrong?" Jacob shouted back, alarmed.
"That guy—he just jumped off the cliff! Why didn't they stop him? We've got to
call an ambulance!" I threw open my door and started to get out, which made no
sense at all. The fastest way to a phone was to drive back to Billy's. But I couldn't
believe what I'd just seen. Maybe, subconsciously, I hoped I would see something
different without the glass of the windshield in the way.
Jacob laughed, and I spun to stare at him wildly. How could he be so calloused,
so cold-blooded?
"They're just cliff diving, Bella. Recreation. La Push doesn't have a mall, you
know." He was teasing, but there was a strange note of irritation in his voice.
"Cliff diving?" I repeated, dazed. I stared in disbelief as a second figure stepped
to the edge, paused, and then very gracefully leaped into space. He fell for what
seemed like an eternity to me, finally cutting smoothly into the dark gray waves
below.
"Wow. It's so high." I slid back into my seat, still staring wide-eyed at the two
remaining divers. "It must be a hundred feet."
"Well, yeah, most of us jump from lower down, that rock that juts out from the
cliff about halfway." He pointed out his window. The place he indicated did seem
much more reasonable. "Those guys are insane. Probably showing off how tough
they are. I mean, really, it's freezing today. That water can't feel good." He made
a disgruntled face, as if the stunt personally offended him. It surprised me a little.
I would have thought Jacob was nearly impossible to upset.
"You jump off the cliff?" I hadn't missed the "us."
"Sure, sure." He shrugged and grinned. "It's fun. A little scary, kind of a rush."
I looked back at the cliffs, where the third figure was pacing the edge. I'd never
witnessed anything so reckless in all my life. My eyes widened, and I smiled.
"Jake, you have to take me cliff diving."
He frowned back at me, his face disapproving. "Bella, you just wanted to call an
ambulance for Sam," he reminded me. I was surprised that he could tell who it
was from this distance.
"I want to try," I insisted, start ing to get out of the car again.
Jacob grabbed my wrist. "Not today, all right? Can we at least wait for a warmer
day?"
"Okay, fine," I agreed. With the door open, the glacial breeze was raising goose
bumps on my arm. "But I want to go soon."
"Soon." He rolled his eyes. "Sometimes you're a little strange, Bella. Do you
know that?"
I sighed. "Yes."
"And we're not jumping off the top."
I watched, fascinated, as the third boy made a running start and flung himself
farther into the empty air than the other two. He twisted and cartwheeled through
space as he fell, like he was skydiving. He looked absolutely free—unthinking
and utterly irresponsible.
"Fine," I agreed. "Not the first time, anyway."
Now Jacob sighed.
"Are we going to try out the bikes or not?" he demanded.
"Okay, okay," I said, tearing my eyes away from the last person waiting on the
cliff. I put my seat belt back on and closed the door. The engine was still running,
roaring as it idled. We started down the road again.
"So who were those guys—the crazy ones?" I wondered.
He made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. "The La Push gang."
"You have a gang?" I asked. I realized that I sounded impressed.
He laughed once at my reaction. "Not like that. I swear, they're like hall monitors
gone bad. They don't start fights, they keep the peace." He snorted. "There was
this guy from up somewhere by the Makah rez, big guy too, scary-looking. Well,
word got around that he was selling meth to kids, and Sam Uley and his disciples
ran him off our land. They're all about our land, and tribe pride… it's getting
ridiculous. The worst part is that the council takes them seriously. Embry said
that the council actually meets with Sam." He shook his head, face full of
resentment. "Embry also heard from Leah Clearwater that they call themselves
'protectors' or something like that."
Jacob's hands were clenched into fists, as if he'd like to hit something. I'd never
seen this side of him.
I was surprised to hear Sam Uley's name. I didn't want it to bring back the images
from my nightmare, so I made a quick observation to distract myself. "You don't
like them very much."
"Does it show?" he asked sarcastically.
"Well… It doesn't sound like they're doing anything bad." I tried to soothe him,
to make him cheerful again. "Just sort of annoyingly goody-two-shoes for a
gang."
"Yeah. Annoying is a good word. They're always showing off—like the cliff
thing. They act like… like, I don't know. Like tough guys. I was hanging out at
the store with Embry and Quil once, last semester, and Sam came by with his
followers, Jared and Paul. Quil said something, you know how he's got a big
mouth, and it pissed Paul off. His eyes got all dark, and he sort of smiled—no, he
showed his teeth but he didn't smile—and it was like he was so mad he was
shaking or something. But Sam put his hand against Paul's chest and shook his
head. Paul looked at him for a minute and calmed down. Honestly, it was like
Sam was holding him back—like Paul was going to tear us up if Sam didn't stop
him." He groaned. "Like a bad western. You know, Sam's a pretty big guy, he's
twenty. But Paul's just sixteen, too, shorter than me and not as beefy as Quil. I
think any one of us could take him."
"Tough guys," I agreed. I could see it in my head as he described it, and it
reminded me of something… a trio of tall, dark men standing very still and close
together in my father's living room. The picture was sideways, because my head
was lying against the couch while Dr. Gerandy and Charlie leaned over me…
Had that been Sam's gang?
I spoke quickly again to divert myself from the bleak memories. "Isn't Sam a
little too old for this kind of thing?"
"Yeah. He was supposed to go to college, but he stayed. And no one gave him
any crap about it, either. The whole council pitched a fit when my sister turned
down a partial scholarship and got married. But, oh no, Sam Uley can do no
wrong."
His face was set in unfamiliar lines of outrage—outrage and something else I
didn't recognize at first.
"It all sounds really annoying and… strange. But I don't get why you're taking it
so personally." I peeked over at his face, hoping I hadn't offended him. He was
suddenly calm, staring out the side window.
"You just missed the turn," he said in an even voice.
I executed a very wide U-turn, nearly hitting a tree as my circle ran the truck
halfway off the road.
"Thanks for the heads-up," I muttered as I started up the side road.
"Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."
It was quiet for a brief minute.
"You can stop anywhere along here," he said softly.
I pulled over and cut the engine. My ears rang in the silence that followed. We
both got out, and Jacob headed around to the back to get the bikes. I tried to read
his expression. Something more was bothering him. I'd hit a nerve.
He smiled halfheartedly as he pushed the red bike to my side. "Happy late
birthday. Are you ready for this?"
"I think so." The bike suddenly looked intimidating, frightening, as I realized I
would soon be astride it.
"We'll take it slow," he promised. I gingerly leaned the motorcycle against the
truck's fender while he went to get his.
"Jake…"I hesitated as he came back around the truck.
"Yeah?"
"What's really bothering you? About the Sam thing, I mean? Is there something
else?" I watched his face. He grimaced, but he didn't seem angry. He looked at
the dirt and kicked his shoe against the front tire of his bike again and again, like
he was keeping time.
He sighed. "It's just… the way they treat me. It creeps me out." The words started
to rush out now. "You know, the council is supposed to be made up of equals, but
if there was a leader, it would be my dad. I've never been able to figure out why
people treat him the way they do. Why his opinion counts the most. It's got
something to do with his father and his father's father. My great-grandpa,
Ephraim Black, was sort of the last chief we had, and they still listen to Billy,
maybe because of that.
"But I'm just like everyone else. Nobody treats me special… until now."
That caught me off guard. "Sam treats you special?"
"Yeah," he agreed, looking up at me with troubled eyes. "He looks at me like he's
waiting for something… like I'm going to join his stupid gang someday. He pays
more attention to me than any of the other guys. I hate it."
"You don't have to join anything." My voice was angry. This was really upsetting
Jacob, and that infuriated me. Who did these "protectors" think they were?
"Yeah." His foot kept up its rhythm against the tire.
"What?" I could tell there was more.
He frowned, his eyebrows pulling up in a way that looked sad and worried rather
than angry. "It's Embry. He's been avoiding me lately."
The thoughts didn't seem connected, but I wondered if I was to blame for the
problems with his friend. "You've been hanging out with me a lot," I reminded
him, feeling selfish. I'd been monopolizing him.
"No, that's not it. It's not just me—it's Quil, too, and everyone. Embry missed a
week of school, but he was never home when we tried to see him. And when he
came back, he looked… he looked freaked out. Terrified. Quil and I both tried to
get him to tell us what was wrong, but he wouldn't talk to either one of us."
I stared at Jacob, biting my lip anxiously—he was really frightened. But he didn't
look at me. He watched his own foot kicking the rubber as if it belonged to
someone else. The tempo increased.
"Then this week, out of nowhere, Embry's hanging out with Sam and the rest of
them. He was out on the cliffs today." His voice was low and tense.
He finally looked at me. "Bella, they bugged him even more than they bother me.
He didn't want anything to do with them. And now Embry's following Sam
around like he's joined a cult.
"And that's the way it was with Paul. Just exactly the same. He wasn't friends
with Sam at all. Then he stopped coming to school for a few weeks, and, when he
came back, suddenly Sam owned him. I don't know what it means. I can't figure it
out, and I feel like I have to, because Embry's my friend and… Sam's looking at
me funny . . and…" He trailed off.
"Have you talked to Billy about this?" I asked. His horror was spreading to me. I
had chills running on the back of my neck.
Now there was anger on his face. "Yes," he snorted. "That was helpful."
"What did he say?"
Jacob's expression was sarcastic, and when he spoke, his voice mocked the deep
tones of his father's voice. "It's nothing you need to worry about now, Jacob. In a
few years, if you don't… well, I'll explain later." And then his voice was his own.
"What am I supposed to get from that? Is he trying to say it's some stupid
puberty, coming-of-age thing? This is something else. Something wrong."
He was biting his lower lip and clenching his hands. He looked like he was about
to cry.
I threw my arms around him instinctively, wrapping them around his waist and
pressing my face against his chest. He was so big, I felt like I was a child hugging
a grown-up.
"Oh, Jake, it'll be okay!" I promised. "If it gets worse you can come live with me
and Charlie. Don't be scared, we'll think of something!"
He was frozen for a second, and then his long arms wrapped hesitantly around
me. "Thanks, Bella." His voice was huskier than usual.
We stood like that for a moment, and it didn't upset me; in fact, I felt comforted
by the contact. This didn't feel anything like the last time someone had embraced
me this way. This was friendship. And Jacob was very warm.
It was strange for me, being this close—emotionally rather than physically,
though the physical was strange for me, too—to another human being. It wasn't
my usual style. I didn't normally relate to people so easily, on such a basic level.
Not human beings.
"If this is how you're going to react, I'll freak out more often." Jacob's voice was
light, normal again, and his laughter rumbled against my ear. His fingers touched
my hair, soft and tentative.
Well, it was friendship for me.
I pulled away quickly, laughing with him, but determined to put things back in
perspective at once.
"It's hard to believe I'm two years older than you," I said, emphasizing the word
older. "You make me feel like a dwarf." Standing this close to him, I really had to
crane my neck to see his face.
"You're forgetting I'm in my forties, of course."
"Oh, that's right."
He patted my head. "You're like a little doll," he teased. "A porcelain doll."
I rolled my eyes, taking another step away. "Let's not start with the albino cracks."
"Seriously, Bella, are you sure you're not?" He stretched his russet arm out next
to mine. The difference wasn't flattering. "I've never seen anyone paler than
you… well, except for—" He broke off, and I looked away, trying to not
understand what he had been about to say.
"So are we going to ride or what?"
"Let's do it," I agreed, more enthusiastic than I would have been half a minute
ago. His unfinished sentence reminded me of why I was here.
8. ADRENALINE
"OKAY, WHERE'S YOUR CLUTCH?"
I pointed to the lever on my left handlebar. Letting go of the grip was a mistake.
The heavy bike wobbled underneath me, threatening to knock me sidewise. I
grabbed the handle again, trying to hold it straight.
"Jacob, it won't stay up," I complained.
"It will when you're moving," he promised. "Now where's your brake?"
"Behind my right foot."
"Wrong."
He grabbed my right hand and curled my fingers around the lever over the
throttle.
"But you said—"
"This is the brake you want. Don't use the back brake now, that's for later, when
you know what you're doing."
"That doesn't sound right," I said suspiciously. "Aren't both brakes kind of
important?"
"Forget the back brake, okay? Here—" He wrapped his hand around mine and
made me squeeze the lever down. "That is how you brake. Don't forget." He
squeezed my hand another time.
"Fine," I agreed.
"Throttle?"
I twisted the right grip.
"Gearshift?"
I nudged it with my left calf.
"Very good. I think you've got all the parts down. Now you just have to get it
moving."
"Uh-huh," I muttered, afraid to say more. My stomach was contorting strangely
and I thought my voice might crack. I was terrified. I tried to tell myself that the
fear was pointless. I'd already lived through the worst thing possible. In
comparison with that, why should anything frighten me now? I should be able to
look death in the face and laugh.
My stomach wasn't buying it.
I stared down the long stretch of dirt road, bordered by thick misty green on
every side. The road was sandy and damp. Better than mud.
"I want you to hold down the clutch," Jacob instructed.
I wrapped my fingers around the clutch.
"Now this is crucial, Bella," Jacob stressed. "Don't let go of that, okay? I want
you to pretend that I've handed you a live grenade. The pin is out and you are
holding down the spoon."
I squeezed tighter.
"Good. Do you think you can kick-start it?"
"If I move my foot, I will fall over," I told him through gritted teeth, my fingers
tight around my live grenade.
"Okay, I'll do it. Don't let go of the clutch."
He took a step back, and then suddenly slammed his foot down on the pedal.
There was a short ripping noise, and the force of his thrust rocked the bike. I
started to fall sideways, but Jake caught the bike before it knocked me to the
ground.
"Steady there," he encouraged. "Do you still have the clutch?"
"Yes," I gasped.
"Plant your feet—I'm going to try again." But he put his hand on the back of the
seat, too, just to be safe.
It took four more kicks before the ignition caught. I could feel the bike rumbling
beneath me like an angry animal. I gripped the clutch until my fingers ached.
"Try out the throttle," he suggested. "Very lightly. And don't let go of the clutch."
Hesitantly, I twisted the right handle. Though the movement was tiny, the bike
snarled beneath me. It sounded angry and hungry now. Jacob smiled in deep
satisfaction.
"Do you remember how to put it into first gear?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Well, go ahead and do it."
"Okay."
He waited for a few seconds.
"Left foot," he prompted.
"I know," I said, taking a deep breath.
"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jacob asked. "You look scared."
"I'm fine," I snapped. I kicked the gearshift down one notch.
"Very good," he praised me. "Now, very gently, ease up on the clutch."
He took a step away from the bike.
"You want me to let go of the grenade?" I asked in disbelief. No wonder he was
moving back.
"That's how you move, Bella. Just do it little by little."
As I began to loosen my grip, I was shocked to be interrupted by a voice that did
not belong to the boy standing next to me.
"This is reckless and childish and idiotic, Bella," the velvet voice fumed.
"Oh!" I gasped, and my hand fell off the clutch.
The bike bucked under me, yanking me forward and then collapsing to the
ground half on top of me. The growling engine choked to a stop.
"Bella?" Jacob jerked the heavy bike off me with ease. "Are you hurt?"
But I wasn't listening.
"I told you so," the perfect voice murmured, crystal clear.
"Bella?" Jacob shook my shoulder.
"I'm fine," I mumbled, dazed.
More than fine. The voice in my head was back. It still rang in my ears—soft,
velvety echoes.
My mind ran swiftly through the possibilities. There was no familiarity here—on
a road I'd never seen, doing something I'd never done before—no deja vu So the
hallucinations must be triggered by something else… I felt the adrenaline
coursing through my veins again, and I thought I had the answer. Some
combination of adrenaline and danger, or maybe just stupidity.
Jacob was pulling me to my feet.
"Did you hit your head?" he asked.
"I don't think so." I shook it back and forth, checking. "I didn't hurt the bike, did
I?" This thought worried me. I was anxious to try again, right away. Being
reckless was paying off better than I'd thought. Forget cheating. Maybe I'd found
a way to generate the hallucinations—that was much more important.
"No. You just stalled the engine," Jacob said, interrupting my quick speculations.
"You let go of the clutch too fast."
I nodded. "Let's try again."
"Are you sure?" Jacob asked.
"Positive."
This time I tried to get the kick-start myself. It was complicated; I had to jump a
little to slam down on the pedal with enough force, and every time I did that, the
bike tried to knock me over. Jacob's hand hovered over the handlebars, ready to
catch me if I needed him.
It took several good tries, and even more poor tries, before the engine caught and
roared to life under me. Remembering to hold on to the grenade, I revved the
throttle experimentally. It snarled at the slightest touch. My smile mirrored
Jacob's now.
"Easy on the clutch," he reminded me.
"Do you want to kill yourself, then? Is that what this is about?" the other voice
spoke again, his tone severe.
I smiled tightly—it was still working—and ignored the questions. Jacob wasn't
going to let anything serious happen to me.
"Go home to Charlie," the voice ordered. The sheer beauty of it amazed me. I
couldn't allow my memory to lose it, no matter the price.
"Ease off slowly," Jacob encouraged me.
"I will," I said. It bothered me a bit when I realized I was answering both of them.
The voice in my head growled against the roar of the motorcycle.
Trying to focus this time, to not let the voice startle me again, I relaxed my hand
by tiny degrees. Suddenly, the gear caught and wrenched me forward.
And I was flying.
There was wind that wasn't there before, blowing my skin against my skull and
flinging my hair back behind me with enough force that it felt like someone was
tugging on it. I'd left my stomach back at the starting point; the adrenaline
coursed through my body, tingling in my veins. The trees raced past me, blurring
into a wall of green.
But this was only first gear. My foot itched toward the gearshift as I twisted for
more gas.
"No, Bella!" the angry, honey-sweet voice ordered in my ear. "Watch what you're
doing!"
It distracted me enough from the speed to realize that the road was starting a slow
curve to the left, and I was still going straight. Jacob hadn't told me how to turn.
"Brakes, brakes," I muttered to myself, and I instinctively slammed down with
my right foot, like I would in my truck.
The bike was suddenly unstable underneath me, shivering first to one side and
then the other. It was dragging me toward the green wall, and I was going too
fast. I tried to turn the handlebar the other direction, and the sudden shift of my
weight pushed the bike toward the ground, still spinning toward the trees.
The motorcycle landed on top of me again, roaring loudly, pulling me across the
wet sand until it hit something stationary. I couldn't see. My face was mashed
into the moss. I tried to lift my head, but there was something in the way.
I was dizzy and confused. It sounded like there were three things snarling—the
bike over me, the voice in my head, and something else…
"Bella!" Jacob yelled, and I heard the roar of the other bike cut off.
The motorcycle no longer pinned me to the ground, and I rolled over to breathe.
All the growling went silent.
"Wow," I murmured. I was thrilled. This had to be it, the recipe for a hallucination
—adrenaline plus clanger plus stupidity. Something close to that, anyway.
"Bella!" Jacob was crouching over me anxiously. "Bella, are you alive?"
"I'm great!" I enthused. I flexed my arms and legs. Everything seemed to be
working correctly. "Let's do it again."
"I don't think so." Jacob still sounded worried. "I think I'd better drive you to the
hospital first."
"I'm fine."
"Um, Bella? You've got a huge cut on your forehead, and it's gushing blood," he
informed me.
I clapped my hand over my head. Sure enough, it was wet and sticky. I could
smell nothing but the damp moss on my face, and that held off the nausea.
"Oh, I'm so sorry, Jacob." I pushed hard against the gash, as if I could force the
blood back inside my head.
"Why are you apologizing for bleeding?" he wondered as he wrapped a long arm
around my waist and pulled me to my feet. "Let's go. I'll drive." He held out his
hand for the keys.
"What about the bikes?" I asked, handing them over.
He thought for a second. "Wait here. And take this." He pulled off his T-shirt,
already spotted with blood, and threw it to me. I wadded it up and held it tightly
to my forehead. I was starting to smell the blood; I breathed deeply through my
mouth and tried to concentrate on something else.
Jacob jumped on the black motorcycle, kicked it to a start in one try, and raced
back down the road, spraying sand and pebbles behind him. He looked athletic
and professional as he leaned over the handlebars, head low, face forward, his
shiny hair whipping against the russet skin of his back. My eyes narrowed
enviously. I was sure I hadn't looked like that on my motorcycle.
I was surprised at how far I'd gone. I could barely see Jacob in the distance when
he finally got to the truck. He threw the bike into the bed and sprinted to the
driver's side.
I really didn't feel bad at all as he coaxed my truck to a deafening roar in his
hurry to get back to me. My head stung a little, and my stomach was uneasy, but
the cut wasn't serious. Head wounds just bled more than most. His urgency wasn't
necessary.
Jacob left the truck running as he raced back to me, wrapping his arm around my
waist again.
"Okay, let's get you in the truck."
"I'm honestly fine," I assured him as he helped me in. "Don't get worked up. It's
just a little blood."
"Just a lot of blood," I heard him mutter as he went back for my bike.
"Now, let's think about this for a second," I began when he got back in. "If you
take me to the ER like this, Charlie is sure to hear about it." I glanced down at the
sand and dirt caked into my jeans.
"Bella, I think you need stitches. I'm not going to let you bleed to death."
"I won't," I promised. "Let's just take the bikes back first, and then we'll make a
stop at my house so I can dispose of the evidence before we go to the hospital."
"What about Charlie?"
"He said he had to work today."
"Are you really sure?"
"Trust me. I'm an easy bleeder. It's not nearly as dire as it looks."
Jacob wasn't happy—his full mouth turned down in an uncharacteristic frown—
but he didn't want to get me in trouble. I stared out the window, holding his
ruined shirt to my head, while he drove me to Forks.
The motorcycle was better than I'd dreamed. It had served its original purpose. I'd
cheated—broken my promise. I'd been needlessly reckless. I felt a little less
pathetic now that the promises had been broken on both sides.
And then to discover the key to the hallucinations! At least, I hoped I had. I was
going to test the theory as soon as possible. Maybe they'd get through with me
quickly in the ER, and I could try again tonight.
Racing down the road like that had been amazing. The feel of the wind in my
face, the speed and the freedom… it reminded me of a past life, flying through
the thick forest without a road, piggyback while he ran—I stopped thinking right
there, letting the memory break off in the sudden agony. I flinched.
"You still okay?" Jacob checked.
"Yeah." I tried to sound as convincing as before.
"By the way," he added. "I'm going to disconnect your foot brake tonight."
At home, I went to look at myself in the mirror first thing; it was pretty
gruesome. Blood was drying in thick streaks across my cheek and neck, matting
in my muddy hair. I examined myself clinically, pretending the blood was paint
so it wouldn't upset my stomach. I breathed through my mouth, and was fine.
I washed up as well as I could. Then I hid my dirty, bloody clothes in the bottom
of my laundry basket, putting on new jeans and a button-up shirt (that I didn't
have to pull over my head) as carefully as I could. I managed to do this onehanded
and keep both garments blood-free.
"Hurry up," Jacob called.
"Okay, okay," I shouted back. After making sure I left nothing incriminating
behind me, I headed downstairs.
"How do I look?" I asked him.
"Better," he admitted.
"But do I look like I tripped in your garage and hit my head on a hammer?"
"Sure, I guess so."
"Let's go then."
Jacob hurried me out the door, and insisted on driving again. We were halfway to
the hospital when I realized he was still shirtless.
I frowned guiltily. "We should have grabbed you a jacket."
"That would have given us away," he teased. "Besides, it's not cold."
"Are you kidding?" I shivered and reached out to turn the heat on.
I watched Jacob to see if he was just playing tough so I wouldn't worry, but he
looked comfortable enough. He had one arm over the back of my seat, though I
was huddled up to keep warm.
Jacob really did look older than sixteen—not quite forty, but maybe older than
me. Quil didn't have too much on him in the muscle department, for all that Jacob
claimed to be a skeleton. The muscles were the long wiry kind, but they were
definitely there under the smooth skin. His skin was such a pretty color, it made
me jealous.
Jacob noticed my scrutiny.
"What?" he asked, suddenly self-conscious.
"Nothing. I just hadn't realized before. Did you know, you're sort of beautiful?"
Once the words slipped out, I worried that he might take my impulsive
observation the wrong way.
But Jacob just rolled his eyes. "You hit your head pretty hard, didn't you?"
"I'm serious."
"Well, then, thanks. Sort of."
I grinned. "You're sort of welcome."
I had to have seven stitches to c lose the cut on my forehead. After the sting of
the local anesthetic, there was no pain in the procedure. Jacob held my hand
while Dr. Snow was sewing, and I tried not to think about why that was ironic.
We were at the hospital forever. By the time I was done, I had to drop Jacob off
at his home and hurry back to cook dinner for Charlie. Charlie seemed to buy my
story about falling in Jacob's garage. After all, it wasn't like I hadn't been able to
land myself in the ER before with no more help than my own feet.
This night was not as bad as that first night, after I'd heard the perfect voice in
Port Angeles. The hole came back, the way it always did when I was away from
Jacob, but it didn't throb so badly around the edges. I was already planning ahead,
looking forward to more delusions, and that was a distraction. Also, I knew I
would feel better tomorrow when I was with Jacob again. That made the empty
hole and the familiar pain easier to bear; relief was in sight. The nightmare, too,
had lost a little of its potency. I was horrified by the nothingness, as always, but I
was also strangely impatient as I waited for the moment that would send me
screaming into consciousness. I knew the nightmare had to end.
The next Wednesday, before I could get home from the ER, Dr. Gerandy called
to warn my father that I might possibly have a concussion and advised him to
wake me up every two hours through the night to make sure it wasn't serious.
Charlie's eyes narrowed suspiciously at my weak explanation about tripping
again.
"Maybe you should just stay out of the garage altogether, Bella," he suggested
that night during dinner.
I panicked, worried that Charlie was about to lay down some kind of edict that
would prohibit La Push, and consequently my motorcycle. And I wasn't giving it
up—I'd had the most amazing hallucination today. My velvet-voiced delusion
had yelled at me for almost five minutes before I'd hit the brake too abruptly and
launched myself into the tree. I'd take whatever pain that would cause me tonight
without complaint.
"This didn't happen in the garage," I protested quickly. "We were hiking, and I
tripped over a rock."
"Since when do you hike?" Charlie asked skeptically.
"Working at Newton's was bound to rub off sometime," I pointed out. "Spend
every day selling all the virtues of the outdoors, eventually you get curious."
Charlie glared at me, unconvinced.
"I'll be more careful," I promised, surreptitiously crossing my fingers under the
table.
"I don't mind you hiking right there around La Push, but keep close to town,
okay?"
"Why?"
"Well, we've been getting a lot of wildlife complaints lately. The forestry
department is going to check into it, but for the time being…"
"Oh, the big bear," I said with sudden comprehension. "Yeah, some of the hikers
coming through Newton's have seen it. Do you think there's really some giant
mutated grizzly out there?"
His forehead creased. "There's something. Keep it close to town, okay?"
"Sure, sure," I said quickly. He didn't look completely appeased.
"Charlie's getting nosy," I complained to Jacob when I picked him up after school
Friday.
"Maybe we should cool it with the bikes." He saw my objecting expression and
added, "At least for a week or so. You could stay out of the hospital for a week,
right?"
"What are we going to do?" I griped.
He smiled cheerfully. "What ever you want."
I thought about that for a minute—about what I wanted.
I hated the idea of losing even my brief seconds of closeness with the memories
that didn't hurt—the ones that came on their own, without me thinking of them
consciously. If I couldn't have the bikes, I was going to have to find some other
avenue to the danger and the adrenaline, and that was going to take serious
thought and creativity. Doing nothing in the meantime was not appealing.
Suppose I got depressed again, even with Jake? I had to keep occupied.
Maybe there was some other way, some other recipe… some other place.
The house had been a mistake, certainly. But his presence must be stamped
somewhere, somewhere other than inside me. There had to be a place where he
seemed more real than among all the familiar landmarks that were crowded with
other human memories.
I could think of one place where that might hold true. One place that would
always belong to him and no one else. A magic place, full of light. The beautiful
meadow I'd seen only once in my life, lit by sunshine and the sparkle of his skin.
This idea had a huge potential for backfiring—it might be dangerously painful.
My chest ached with emptiness even to think of it. It was hard to hold myself
upright, to not give myself away. But surely, there of all places, I could hear his
voice. And I'd already told Charlie I was hiking…
"What are you thinking about so hard?" Jacob asked.
"Well…" I began slowly. "I found this place in the forest once—I came across it
when I was, um, hiking. A little meadow, the most beautiful place. I don't know if
I could track it down again on my own. It would definitely take a few tries…"
"We could use a compass and a grid pattern," Jacob said with confident
helpfulness. "Do you know where you started from?"
"Yes, just below the trailhead where the one-ten ends. I was going mostly south, I
think."
"Cool. We'll find it." As always, Jacob was game for anything I wanted. No
matter how strange it was.
So, Saturday afternoon, I tied on my new hiking boots—purchased that morning
using my twenty-per-cent-off employee discount for the first time—grabbed my
new topographical map of the Olympic Peninsula, and drove to La Push.
We didn't get started immediately; first, Jacob sprawled across the living room
floor—taking up the whole room—and, for a full twenty minutes, drew a
complicated web across the key section of the map while I perched on a kitchen
chair and talked to Billy. Billy didn't seem at all concerned about our proposed
hiking trip. I was surprised that Jacob had told him where we were going, given
the fuss people were making about the bear sightings. I wanted to ask Billy not to
say anything about this to Charlie, but I was afraid that making the request would
cause the opposite result.
"Maybe we'll see the super bear," Jacob joked, eyes on his design.
I glanced at Billy swiftly, fearing a Charlie-style reaction.
But Billy just laughed at his son. "Maybe you should take a jar of honey, just in
case."
Jake chuckled. "Hope your new boots are fast, Bella. One little jar isn't going to
keep a hungry bear occupied for long."
"I only have to be faster than you."
"Good luck with that!" Jacob said, rolling his eyes as he refolded the map. "Let's
go."
"Have fun," Billy rumbled, wheeling himself toward the refrigerator.
Charlie was not a hard person to live with, but it looked to me like Jacob had it
even easier than I did.
I drove to the very end of the dirt road, stopping near the sign that marked the
beginning of the trailhead. It had been a long time since I'd been here, and my
stomach reacted nervously. This might be a very bad thing. But it would be worth
it, if I got to hear him.
I got out and looked at the dense wall of green.
"I went this way," I murmured, pointing straight ahead.
"Hmm," Jake muttered.
"What?"
He looked at the direction I'd pointed, then at the clearly marked trail, and back.
"I would have figured you for a trail kind of girl."
"Not me." I smiled bleakly. "I'm a rebel."
He laughed, and then pulled out our map.
"Give me a second." He held the compass in a skilled way, twisting the map
around till it angled the way he wanted.
"Okay—first line on the grid. Let's do it."
I could tell that I was slowing Jacob up, but he didn't complain. I tried not to
dwell on my last trip through this part of the forest, with a very different
companion. Normal memories were still cangerous. If I let myself slip up, I'd end
up with my arms clutching my chest to hold it together, gasping for air, and how
would I explain that to Jacob?
It wasn't as hard as I would have thought to keep focused on the present. The
forest looked a lot like any other part of the peninsula, and Jacob set a vastly
different mood.
He whistled cheerfully, an unfamiliar tune, swinging his arms and moving easily
through the rough undergrowth. The shadows didn't seem as dark as usual. Not
with my personal sun along.
Jacob checked the compass every few minutes, keeping us in a straight line with
one of the radiating spokes of his grid. He really looked like he knew what he
was doing. I was going to compliment him, but I caught myself. No doubt he'd
add another few years to his inflated age.
My mind wandered as I walked, and I grew curious. I hadn't forgotten the
conversation we'd had by the sea cliffs—I'd been waiting for him to bring it up
again, but it didn't look like that was going to happen.
"Hey… Jake?" I asked hesitantly.
"Yeah?"
"How are things… with Embry? Is he back to normal yet?"
Jacob was silent for a minute, still moving forward with long paces. When he was
about ten feet ahead, he stopped to wait for me.
"No. He's not back to normal," Jacob said when I reached him, his mouth pulling
down at the corners. He didn't start walking again. I immediately regretted
bringing it up.
"Still with Sam."
"Yup."
He put his arm around my shoulder, and he looked so troubled that I didn't
playfully shake it off, as I might have otherwise.
"Are they still looking at you funny?" I half-whispered.
Jacob stared through the trees. "Sometimes."
"And Billy?"
"As helpful as ever," he said in a sour, angry voice that disturbed me.
"Our couch is always open," I offered.
He laughed, breaking out of the unnatural gloom. "But think of the position that
would put Charlie in—when Billy calls the police to report my kidnapping."
I laughed too, glad to have Jacob back to normal.
We stopped when Jacob said we'd gone six miles, cut west for a short time, and
headed back along another line of his grid. Everything looked exactly the same as
the way in, and I had a feeling that my silly quest was pretty much doomed. I
admitted as much when it started to get darker, the sunless day fading toward a
starless night, but Jacob was more confident.
"As long as you're sure we're starting from the right place…" He glanced down at
me.
"Yes, I'm sure."
"Then we'll find it," he promised, grabbing my hand and pulling me through a
mass of ferns. On the other side was the truck. He gestured toward it proudly.
"Trust me."
"You're good," I admitted. "Next time we bring flashlights, though."
"We'll save hiking for Sundays from now on. I didn't know you were that slow."
I yanked my hand back and stomped around to the driver's side while he chuckled
at my reaction.
"So you up for another try tomorrow.'" he asked, sliding into the passenger seat.
"Sure. Unless you want to go without me so I don't tie you down to my gimpy
pace."
"I'll survive," he assured me. "If we're hiking again, though, you might want to
pick up some moleskin. I bet you can feel those new boots right now."
"A little," I confessed. It felt like I had more blisters than I had space to fit them.
"I hope we see the bear tomorrow. I'm sort of disappointed about that."
"Yes, me, too," I agreed sarcastically. "Maybe we'll get lucky tomorrow and
something will eat us!"
"Bears don't want to eat people. We don't taste that good." He grinned at me in
the dark cab. "Of course, you might be an exception. I bet you'd taste good."
"Thanks so much," I said, looking away. He wasn't the first person to tell me that.
9. THIRD WHEEL
TIME BEGAN TO TRIP ALONG MUCH MORE QUICKLY than before.
School, work, and Jacob—though not necessarily in that order—created a neat
and effortless pattern to follow. And Charlie got his wish: I wasn't miserable
anymore. Of course, I couldn't fool myself completely. When I stopped to take
stock of my life, which I tried not to do too often, I couldn't ignore the
implications of my behavior.
I was like a lost moon—my planet destroyed in some cataclysmic, disaster-movie
scenario of desolation—that continued, nevertheless, to circle in a tight little orbit
around the empty space left behind, ignoring the laws of gravity.
I was getting better with my bike, which meant fewer bandages to worry Charlie.
But it also meant that the voice in my head began to fade, until I heard it no more.
Quietly, I panicked. I threw myself into the search for the meadow with slightly
frenzied intensity. I racked my brain for other adrenaline-producing activities.
I didn't keep track of the days :hat passed—there was no reason, as I tried to live
as much in the present as possible, no past fading, no future impending. So I was
surprised by the date when Jacob brought it up on one of our homework days. He
was waiting when I pulled up in front of his house.
"Happy Valentine's Day," Jacob said, smiling, but ducking his head as he greeted
me.
He held out a small, pink box, balancing it on his palm. Conversation hearts.
"Well, I feel like a schmuck," I mumbled. "Is today Valentine's Day?"
Jacob shook his head with mock sadness. "You can be so out of it sometimes.
Yes, it is the fourteenth day of February. So are you going to be my Valentine?
Since you didn't get me a fifty-cent box of candy, it's the least you can do."
I started to feel uncomfortable. The words were teasing, but only on the surface.
"What exactly does that entail?" I hedged.
"The usual—slave for life, that kind of thing."
"Oh, well, if that's all…" I took the candy. But I was trying to think of some way
to make the boundaries clear. Again. They seemed to get blurred a lot with Jacob.
"So, what are we doing tomorrow? Hiking, or the ER?"
"Hiking," I decided. "You're not the only one who can be obsessive. I'm starting
to think I imagined that place…" I frowned into space.
"We'll find it," he assured me. "Bikes Friday?" he offered.
I saw a chance and took it without taking time to think it through.
"I'm going to a movie Friday. I've been promising my cafeteria crowd that I
would go out forever." Mike would be pleased.
But Jacob's face fell. I caught the expression in his dark eyes before he dropped
them to look at the ground.
"You'll come too, right?" I added quickly. "Or will it be too much of a drag with a
bunch of boring seniors?" So much for my chance to put some distance between
us. I couldn't stand hurting Jacob; we seemed to be connected in an odd way, and
his pain set off little stabs of my own. Also, the idea of having his company for
the ordeal—I had promised Mike, but really didn't feel any enthusiasm at the
thought of following through—was just too tempting.
"You'd like me to come, with your friends there?"
"Yes," I admitted honestly, knowing as I continued that I was probably shooting
myself in the foot with my words. "I'll have a lot more fun if you're there. Bring
Quil, and we'll make it a party."
"Quil's gonna freak. Senior girls." He chortled and rolled his eyes. I didn't
mention Embry, and neither did he. I laughed, too. "I'll try to get hin a good
selection."
I broached the subject with Mike in English.
"Hey, Mike," I said when class was over. "Are you free Friday night?"
He looked up, his blue eyes instantly hopeful. "Yeah, I am. You want to go out?"
I worded my reply carefully. "I was thinking about getting a group"—I
emphasized the word—"together to go see Crosshairs." I'd done my homework
this time—even reading the movie spoilers to be sure I wouldn't be caught off
guard. This movie was supposed to be a bloodbath from start to finish. I wasn't so
recovered that I could stand to sit through a romance. "Does that sound like fun?"
"Sure," he agreed, visibly less eager.
"Cool."
After a second, he perked back up to near his former excitement level. "How
about we get Angela and Ben? Or Eric and Katie?"
He was determined to make this some kind of double date, apparently.
"How about both?" I suggested "And Jessica, too, of course. And Tyler and
Conner, and maybe Lauren," I tacked on grudgingly. I had promised Quil variety.
"Okay," Mike muttered, foiled.
"And," I continued, "I've got a couple of friends from La Push I'm inviting. So it
sounds like we'll need your Suburban if everyone comes."
Mike's eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"These are the friends you spend all your time studying with now?"
"Yep, the very ones," I answered cheerfully. "Though you could look at it as
tutoring—they're only sophomores."
"Oh," Mike said, surprised. After a second of thought, he smiled.
In the end, though, the Suburban wasn't necessary.
Jessica and Lauren claimed to be busy as soon as Mike let it slip that I was
involved in the planning. Eric and Katie already had plans—it was their threeweek
anniversary or something. Lauren got to Tyler and Conner before Mike
could, so those two were also busy. Even Quil was out—grounded for fighting at
school. In the end, only Angela and Ben, and, of course Jacob, were able to go.
The diminished numbers didn't dampen Mike's anticipation, though. It was all he
could talk about Friday.
"Are you sure you don't want to see Tomorrow and Forever instead?" he asked at
lunch, naming the current romantic comedy that was ruling the box office.
"Rotten Tomatoes gave it a better review."
"I want to see Crosshairs" I insisted. "I'm in the mood for action. Bring on the
blood and guts!"
"Okay." Mike turned away, but not before I saw his maybe-she's-crazy-after-all
expression.
When I got home from school, a very familiar car was parked in front of my
house. Jacob was leaning against the hood, a huge grin lighting up his face.
"No way!" I shouted as I jumped out of the truck. "You're done! I can't believe it!
You finished the Rabbit!"
He beamed. "Just last night. This is the maiden voyage."
"Incredible." I held my hand up for a high five.
He smacked his hand against mine, but left it there, twisting his fingers through
mine. "So do I get to drive tonight?"
"Definitely," I said, and then I sighed.
"What's wrong?"
"I'm giving up—I can't top this one. So you win. You're oldest."
He shrugged, unsurprised by my capitulation. "Of course I am."
Mike's Suburban chugged around the corner. I pulled my hand out of Jacob's, and
he nude a face that I wasn't meant to see.
"I remember this guy," he said in a low voice as Mike parked across the street.
"The one who thought you were his girlfriend. Is he still confused?"
I raised one eyebrow. "Some people are hard to discourage."
"Then again," Jacob said thoughtfully, "sometimes persistence pays off."
"Most of the time it's just annoying, though."
Mike got out of his car and crossed the road.
"Hey, Bella," he greeted me, and then his eyes turned wary as he looked up at
Jacob. I glanced briefly at Jacob, too, trying to be objective. He really didn't look
like a sophomore at all. He was just so big—Mike's head barely cleared Jacob's
shoulder; I didn't even want to think where I measured next to him—and then his
face was older-looking than it used to be, even a month ago.
"Hey, Mike! Do you remember Jacob Black?"
"Not really." Mike held out his hand.
"Old family friend," Jacob introduced himself, shaking hands. They locked hands
with more force than necessary. When their grip broke, Mike flexed his fingers.
I heard the phone ringing from the kitchen.
"I'd better get that—it might be Charlie," I told them, and dashed inside.
It was Ben. Angela was sick with the stomach flu, and he didn't feel like coming
without her. He apologized for bailing on us.
I walked slowly back to the waiting boys, shaking my head. I really hoped
Angela would feel better soon, but I had to admit that I was selfishly upset by this
development. Just the three of us, Mike and Jacob and me, together for the
evening—this had worked out brilliantly, I thought with grim sarcasm.
It didn't seem like Jake and Mike had made any progress towards friendship in
my absence. They were several yards apart, facing away from each other as they
waited for me; Mike's expression was sullen, though Jacob's was cheerful as
always.
"Ang is sick," I told them glumly. "She and Ben aren't coming."
"I guess the flu is making another round. Austin and Conner were out today, too.
Maybe we should do this another time," Mike suggested.
Before I could agree, Jacob spoke.
"I'm still up for it. But if you'd rather to stay behind, Mike—"
"No, I'm coming," Mike interrupted. "I was just thinking of Angela and Ben.
Let's go." He started toward his Suburban.
"Hey, do you mind if Jacob drives?" I asked. "I told him he could—he just
finished his car. He built it from scratch, all by himself," I bragged, proud as a
PTA mom with a student on the principal's list.
"Fine," Mike snapped.
"All right, then," Jacob said, as if that settled everything. He seemed more
comfortable than anyone else.
Mike climbed in the backseat of the Rabbit with a disgusted expression.
Jacob was his normal sunny self, chattering away until I'd all but forgotten Mike
sulking silently in the back.
And then Mike changed his strategy. He leaned forward, resting his chin on the
shoulder of my seat; his cheek almost touched mine. I shifted away, turning my
back toward the window.
"Doesn't the radio work in this thing?" Mike asked with a hint of petulance,
interrupting Jacob mid-sentence.
"Yes," Jacob answered. "But Bella doesn't like music."
I stared at Jacob, surprised. I'd never told him that.
"Bella?" Mike asked, annoyed.
"He's right," I mumbled, still looking at Jacob's serene profile.
"How can you not like music?" Mike demanded.
I shrugged. "I don't know. It just irritates me."
"Hmph." Mike leaned away.
When we got to the theater, Jacob handed me a ten-dollar bill.
"What's this?" I objected.
"I'm not old enough to get into this one," he reminded me.
I laughed out loud. "So much for relative ages. Is Billy going to kill me if I sneak
you in?"
"No. I told him you were planning to corrupt my youthful innocence."
I snickered, and Mike quickened his pace to keep up with us.
I almost wished that Mike had decided to bow out. He was still sullen—not much
of an addition to the party. But I didn't want to end up on a date alone with Jacob,
either. That wouldn't help anything.
The movie was exactly what it professed to be. In just the opening credits, four
people got blown up and one got beheaded. The girl in front of me put her hands
over her eyes and turned her face into her date's chest. He patted her shoulder,
and winced occasionally, too. Mike didn't look like he was watching. His face
was stiff as he glared toward the fringe of curtain above the screen.
I settled in to endure the two hours, watching the colors and the movement on the
screen rather than seeing the shapes of people and cars and houses. But then
Jacob started sniggering.
"What?" I whispered.
"Oh, c'mon!" he hissed back. "The blood squirted twenty feet out of that guy.
How fake can you get?"
He chuckled again, as a flagpole speared another man into a concrete wall.
After that, I really watched the show, laughing with him as the mayhem got more
and more ridiculous. How was I ever going to fight the blurring lines in our
relationship when I enjoyed being with him so much?
Both Jacob and Mike had claimed the armrests on either side of me. Both of their
hands rested lightly, palms up, in an unnatural looking position. Like steel bear
traps, open and ready. Jacob was in the habit of taking my hand whenever the
opportunity presented itself, but here in the darkened movie theater, with Mike
watching, it would have a different significance—and I was sure he knew that. I
couldn't believe that Mike was thinking the same thing, but his hand was placed
exactly like Jacob's.
I folded my arms tightly across my chest and hoped that both their hands fell
asleep.
Mike gave up first. About halfway through the movie, he pulled his arm back,
and leaned forward to put his head in his hands. At first I thought he was reacting
to something on the screen, but then he moaned.
"Mike, are you okay?" I whispered.
The couple in front of us turned to look at him as he groaned again.
I could see the sheen of sweat across his face in the light from the screen.
Mike groaned again, and bolted for the door. I got up to follow him, and Jacob
copied me immediately.
"No, stay," I whispered. "I'll make sure he's okay."
Jacob came with me anyway.
"You don't have to come. Get your eight bucks worth of carnage," I insisted as
we walked up the aisle.
"That's okay. You sure can pick them, Bella. This movie really sucks." His voice
rose from a whisper to its normal pitch as we walked out of the theater.
There was no sign of Mike in the hallway, and I was glad then that Jacob had
come with me—he ducked into the men's bathroom to check for him there.
Jacob was back in a few seconds.
"Oh, he's in there, all right," he said, rolling his eyes. "What a marshmallow. You
should hold out for someone with a stronger stomach. Someone who laughs at the
gore that makes weaker men vomit."
"I'll keep my eyes open for someone like that."
We were all alone in the hallway. Both theaters were halfway through the movie,
and it was deserted—quiet enough for us to hear the popcorn popping at the
concession counter in the lobby.
Jacob went to sit on the velveteen-upholstered bench against the wall, patting the
space beside him.
"He sounded like he was going to be in there for a while," he said, stretching his
long legs out in front of him as he settled in to wait.
I joined him with a sigh. He looked like he was thinking about blurring more
lines. Sure enough, as soon as I sat down, he shifted over to put his arm around
my shoulders.
"Jake," I protested, leaning away. He dropped his arm, not looking bothered at all
by the minor rejection. He reached out and took my hand firmly, wrapping his
other hand around my wrist when I tried to pull away again. Where did he get the
confidence from?
"Now, just hold on a minute, Bella," he said in a calm voice. "Tell me something."
I grimaced. I didn't want to do this. Not just not now, but not ever. There was
nothing lett in my life at this point that was more important than Jacob Black. But
he seemed determined to ruin everything.
"What?" I muttered sourly.
"You like me, right?"
"You know I do."
"Better than that joker puking his guts out in there?" He gestured toward the
bathroom door.
"Yes," I sighed.
"Better than any of the other guys you know?" He was calm, serene—as if my
answer didn't matter, or he already knew what it was.
"Better than the girls, too," I pointed out.
"But that's all," he said, and it wasn't a question.
It was hard to answer, to say the word. Would he get hurt and avoid me? How
would I stand that?
"Yes," I whispered.
He grinned down at me. "That's okay, you know. As long as you like me the best.
And you think I'm good-looking—sort of. I'm prepared to be annoyingly
persistent."
"I'm not going to change," I said, and though I tried to keep my voice normal, I
could hear the sadness in it.
His face was thoughtful, no longer teasing. "It's still the other one, isn't it?"
I cringed. Funny how he seemed to know not to say the name—just like before in
the car with the music. He picked up on so much about me that I never said.
"You don't have to talk about it," he told me.
I nodded, grateful.
"But don't get mad at me for hanging around, okay?" Jacob patted the back of my
hand. "Because I'm not giving up. I've got loads of time."
I sighed. "You shouldn't waste it on me," I said, though I wanted him to.
Especially if he was willing to accept me the way I was—damaged goods, as is.
"It's what I want to do, as long as you still like to be with me."
"I can't imagine how I could not like being with you," I told him honestly.
Jacob beamed. "I can live with that."
"Just don't expect more," I warned him, trying to pull my hand away. He held
onto it obstinately.
"This doesn't really bother you, does it?" he demanded, squeezing my fingers.
"No," I sighed. Truthfully, it felt nice. His hand was so much warmer than mine; I
always felt too cold these days.
"And you don't care what he thinks." Jacob jerked his thumb toward the
bathroom.
"I guess not."
"So what's the problem?"
"The problem," I said, "is, that it means something different to me than it does to
you."
"Well." He tightened his hand around mine "That's my problem, isn't it?"
"Fine," I grumbled. "Don't forget it, though."
"I won't. The pin's out of the grenade for me, now, eh?" He poked me in the ribs.
I rolled my eyes. I guess if he felt like making a joke out of it, he was entitled.
He chuckled quietly for a minute while his pinky finger absently traced designs
against the side of my hand.
"That's a funny scar you've got there," he suddenly said, twisting my hand to
examine it. "How did that happen?"
The index finger of his free hand followed the line of the long silvery crescent
that was barely visible against my pale skin.
I scowled. "Do you honestly expect me to remember where all my scars come
from?"
I waited for the memory to hit—to open the gaping hole. But, as it so often did,
Jacob's presence kept me whole.
"It's cold," he murmured, pressing lightly against the place where James had cut
me with his teeth.
And then Mike stumbled out of the bathroom, his face ashen and covered in
sweat. He looked horrible.
"Oh, Mike," I gasped.
"Do you mind leaving early?" he whispered.
"No, of course not." I pulled my hand free and went to help Mike walk. He
looked unsteady.