AN: Yes, I wrote another story. This is the story of Twilight (and beyond hopefully) through Jacob Black's eyes. I personally like Jake, so I hope some other people out there do too. I'm not sure if it's any good or not, so you could tell me(: Review! Comments, constructive criticism, questions, and anything else you want to say are much appreciated!

I'm hoping to get enough positive reviews to post the second chapter, so if you like it, tell me(:

Thanks!(:

"Jacob Black!"

I jumped slightly, and snapped out of my reverie. "Wh– What?" Some of the class laughed, and the teacher looked sternly from behind her glasses. A girl next to me giggled; I turned and flashed a charming smile. Her cheeks tinted pink, and she looked down smiling.

"Please pay attention," the teacher, Mrs. Down, said. I nodded, and leaned back in my chair. I had been thinking about my new project. I wanted to get home already to work on it. Billy had helped me buy an old 1986 Volkswagen Rabbit– my very own car. Well, car being a vague word; it needed to be completely taken apart and rebuilt from scratch. I smiled at the challenge; I hope this project will take a long time. I loved working on anything mechanical, and this would probably be my biggest project yet.

Coming back out of my daydream– again; I scribbled down what notes were on the board, and slipped my book and my notes in my bag. I glanced at the clock, and the bell rang, giving us permission to leave.

"Hey Jake, wait up!" I heard Embry say from behind me as I walked down the hall. "Hey, are you planning on spending the afternoon in the garage? I want to see the Rabbit!"

I laughed, "Yeah come over later today. Tell Quil to come too, you guys can both see." Embry Call and Quil Ateara are my two best friends. They both live close, on the reservation, and our parents– and grandparents– are old friends. Embry is tall and lanky–like me, and Quil is shorter and more heavyset.

He smiled, and agreed, and left. I stopped at my locker, and pulled out my textbooks, shoving them quickly into my bag.

I pushed open the door, and winced when the screen slammed against the back wall. "Oops." I muttered, and stepped into my tiny kitchen. I opened the fridge, looking for a soda, and heard the wheels of Billy's wheelchair squeak against the linoleum. I turned. Billy rolled in the kitchen, holding an empty plate.

"Hey, Jacob, how was school?" my dad, Billy, said in his gravely voice.

"Here, let me get that," I said, taking the plate and setting it in the sink, "School was great, thanks!" Billy smiled, showing the contrast between his dark skin and white teeth. The wrinkles around his eyes fanned out; wrinkles there from years of smiling. There was a pause; I sensed the conversation was over. Shrugging, I pulled on the strap of my bag, and started toward my bedroom.

"Excited to get out to your car?" Billy said, behind me.

"Yeah," I said, turning back around, "I'm going to take it apart today, and see what needs to be replaced." I thought about the car again, and grinned at the prospect of taking the entire thing apart. My car, I thought, and the corners of my mouth pulled up wider, my very own car. "Quil and Embry are coming over to watch I think."

At the sound of my friends' names, Billy hmmmed. I shook my head, probably another one of the old man's superstitions. "Okay, well take some sodas out of the cupboard, they won't fit in the fridge." I smiled again and nodded. I started down the tiny hallway towards my bedroom.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the mirror hung on the wall. I stopped, and grinned at my reflection. The Jacob in the mirror was missing the top of his head. I laughed. The mirror was hung at Billy's eye length before he was in his wheelchair. I was taller than he had been; I was having another growth spurt. 6'1", I thought proudly, And still growing. Besides the height, I noticed my reflection. Like my dad, I had russet brown skin, and dark eyes. My hair is black, and down to my shoulders. A true Native American, I thought, and laughed again. I turned away from the mirror and started toward my room, thinking. That's the reason my dad is so superstitious. He is an elder of our tribe, the Quileute tribe, and believes in all the old legends and superstitions.

After dropping my bag in my room and grabbing some sodas out of the cupboard, I headed out on the lawn towards my garage. I passed Billy's truck; a 1953 Chevrolet red pickup. I had helped him fix it up, but now that he couldn't drive, I don't know what he was going to do with it. I think he said he might sell it, but couldn't remember. When I was to the garage, I saw Quil and Embry come up from the direction of the road.

"Oiy! Jake!" Embry yelled; he and Quil jogged down the slight hill towards me. "Caught you right in time," he said, smiling.

I laughed, and opened the door, stepping inside the tiny garage. Quil and Embry followed behind me; I heard Quill's intake of breath. I smiled, pleased that they approved.

In the middle of my garage, held up on cinderblocks, was my new car. Well new to me. Being mechanically adept, my two friends could actually tell it was, in fact, a car. I grinned at their faces. The Volkswagen I had sitting in my garage looked more like a hunk of grey metal than anything else. It had no tires– which is why it was perched on four cinderblocks– no steering wheel, and the hood I had already taken off to examine the engine.

I stepped over the hood sitting on the floor, and bent over the front of the car, looking at the engine. "1.8-liter, 4-cylinder, 90-hp engine and 5-speed manual transmission," I said proudly. "Billy helped me buy it off one of his old friends, and I'm going to fix it up. It's going to take awhile though; I'm going to need some parts. Well, a lot of parts. The whole thing has to be rebuilt. I don't know if I could find some parts at the junkyard, or if I'm going to have to buy them new. . ." I trailed off, thinking about how I could get whatever I couldn't find at the junkyard; which was guaranteed to be most of the car.

Embry, Quil and I spend almost the entire afternoon in the garage, taking apart the car. They didn't actually help much, just drank sodas and kept me company. I loved working on this project. A few hours passed, and the number of pieces laid out on the dirty rag increased. Soon enough, Embry and Quil had to leave, and I grudgingly had to come back up to the house.

"How's the car coming?" Billy asked when I was seated at the counter, eating a slice of pizza. Two more slices sat on my plate, next to an entire liter of soda. I swallowed, and replied to his question excitedly. We spend dinner talking about how much I had taken apart, what was still applicable, what parts I thought I could find at the junkyard, and what parts I would have to buy new. I loved talking about it, and was glad to see how interested my dad was in what I was doing.

The next few weeks passed without incident. I was happy with my life, exactly the way it is. Every day I went to school, and came home to work on my car; sometimes with the help of my friends. My dad and I were on good terms as always; he agreed to helping with part of the car, for which I was immensely grateful. I helped drive Billy to wherever he needed to go, which I loved, considering I wasn't yet 16. I was still growing, surprisingly; I was almost 6'2". I was just . . . Happy. Simple as that.

"Shoot." I muttered as I sliced my hand on a piece of sharp metal. Stupid thing. Figuring I'd need a rag or something to wrap my hand in, I made my way out of the garage and up towards the house, thinking about my car the whole way. I had taken apart most of it, and cleaned the pieces. I found which pieces I could still use, which wasn't many. I hadn't even gotten to the hard part; the corners of my mouth pulled up in a smile at the thought.

I opened the door to the face of a surprised Billy. "Oh, Jacob, there you are," he said, "I need you to do me a favor."

"Yeah, sure, lemme just grab a rag or something," I said, holding up my bloody hand. Billy sighed and shook his head, moving so I could get into the kitchen. "Its fine, I just sliced it trying to pull out the break line. I think it's broken. This isn't good, considering they can be expensive, especially if I have to buy them at Dowling's. I don't know where else I can get a new one. . ." I trailed off, realizing that Billy was nowhere to be seen.

Figuring the old man had better things to do than listen to me ramble on about car parts, I went back to the task of bandaging my hand. I remembered we had some bandages in the hall closet; after my hand was cleaned and wrapped up; I went to find my dad.

He was outside, looking at his pickup. When I walked up behind him, he said, "Does it run well?"

I stepped forward to open the hood of the old pickup, and said, "Yeah, it runs great; I don't think it will have any problems for awhile. Why?" I examined the engine, and remembered the long summer Billy and I put so much work into the red monster. That was when I first became interested in all things mechanical, and got my ambition of building cars from watching my dad. I smiled at the memory, and the look of the engine, pleased with mine and Billy's achievement.

"Remember Isabella Swan?"

I tried to match the name with a face from my memory, but came up blank. "Uh, no?"

"Charlie's daughter? She used to come fishing with us, a long time ago." A light bulb went off in my head; I remembered the small, clumsy brown-haired girl. I smiled; she used to be friends with Rachel and Rebecca.

"Oh yeah, I do remember! What about her?" I tried to think of the last time I'd seen her, it had to be more than a few years ago. I remembered she was older than me, so she had to be around 16 or 17 by now. I tried to think of any reason the truck could be associated with her, but couldn't think of anything.

"Well she's coming up to live with Charlie," She is? If I remember, she hated Washington, I thought to myself. There wasn't much I remembered about the girl except the fact that she hated Forks, Washington. "Charlie wanted to buy her a present." Billy finished, sounding happy.

I made the connection in my head; Charlie was buying our old truck for Isabella. I hoped she would like it. I tried to remember if she was a girly girl or not, but couldn't recall. Well, either way, I was glad the truck was going to good use.

"So, want to drive me up to Charlie's?"

I agreed, and helped Billy into the cab of the truck. After getting his wheelchair in the bed, I hopped in the truck and took the keys from Billy. The truck started easily enough, but loudly. I laughed as the truck idled at top volume. I could remember the way to Charlie's well enough, though I hadn't been there in awhile. I could almost feel Billy stiffen next to me when we crossed the boundary that separates La Push from Forks. I silently wondered why, but didn't bring the subject up.

When we arrived at Chief Swan's little house, I pulled into the driveway and hopped out of the truck. After Billy was in his wheelchair, I pushed him up to the front door and knocked. While we waited, I looked around. It wasn't a very big house, a little bigger than my house down on the reservation. It was nestled in a quiet part of Forks, right next to an entire forest, which gave the house a comfortable feel. I remembered the house, and the police officer who lived there, but to my annoyance, couldn't remember hardly anything about his daughter.

Chief Swan opened the door, and a grin broke out on his face. "Billy, Jacob, nice to see you!"

"Hey, Charlie, Jake and I here brought up your truck." Charlie glanced at me– I smiled. I'm sure he heard the implication that I was driving without a license, but didn't say anything.

"That's great, thanks Billy," Charlie said. He stepped out into the light rain; it always rained here. Forks was covered by a near constant blanket of dark clouds. Charlie took a look at the old red truck, and grinned. "She will love it, I'm sure. Here, let's go inside; it's raining, and I need to get you your money, Billy."

I pushed my dad up the step into Charlie's house, and we followed Charlie into the kitchen. It was small, with a counter and high stools, and bright yellow cupboards. Ahead was the living room; I could see the edge of a couch, and the subtle light coming from the T.V. The dining room was to the left, which was just a small table, and a chandelier that would hit my head if I were to walk under it. To the right were the stairs. Billy and Charlie sat down at the table, discussing money, and I walked into the living room.

The T.V. was on; Charlie must have been watching the game when we got here. There was a mantle and a fireplace, and a small blue couch. Noticing pictures on the mantle, I looked closer.

In the first few picture frames, I saw the Isabella I recognized from my vague memories of her. They looked like professional pictures, and they got to the point where it was the same girl I recognized, except she got progressively older with each picture. I guessed they were her school pictures up until last year. There were a few other pictures; there was a wedding picture of Charlie and a woman I didn't recognize, and another picture of Isabella and the woman, who was obviously her mom.

I looked away from the pictures, and made my way back into the kitchen, and Charlie invited us to stay for the game. Later that night, Charlie gave us a ride back to La Push, and told Billy he'd call when his daughter arrived. I said goodnight, and went to my room, tired from the day. That night, I dreamed about Isabella Swan.

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