Hi. Sorry for starting a new story, but the idea for it was beating me up, so I had to. There are two other stories I may be starting soon, too. Just a heads up.

They're all part of the Imprint series, by me and -xAndromedaBlackx-. We're writing stories about each of the wolves (maybe even barely-mentioned ones like Collin and Brady, or whatever) and their imprints. Yeah.

This story was partially inspired by "Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth," the most hilarious story in the world of Twilight fanfiction (or at least one of the most hilarious stories in the world of Twilight fanfiction). It's by Krum Cake. I strongly recommend reading it, especially if you need a good laugh or some cheering up. It's made of win. Pure win. And that's a high compliment. :D

Now, onwards~

According to Leah, approximately fifteen people have died or been seriously injured (was it each year? I didn't really remember) from vending machines falling on top of them, because said people had been shaking the vending machines in hopes of a free soda, or trying to hijack it for the cash inside, or something.

She'd spouted off this factoid at me only last week, when she and I had taken a little sojourn to a local mall to buy some new clothing (we both needed new clothes because we kept phasing out of our current ones, and we were the only two wolves in Jake's pack who refused to wear the clothing the Cullens gave us—well, Quil wouldn't wear leechy-smelling clothes either, but he had been too busy with Claire that day to come shopping with us). We'd passed by a food court, and Leah had glanced at the vending machines there and then back at me, and then she'd told me that fact about vending machines falling on people. And then there'd been this Evil Glint in her eyes, and it totally said, "A vending machine falling on Embry doesn't seem like such a bad idea right now, you know?"

Needless to say, I had been very glad to move on past the food courts (even though it was unlikely a falling vending machine would kill me, because of the whole werewolf/shape-shifter/whatever thing, but still). Leah Clearwater was scary as hell when she wanted to be. (And she usually wanted to be. It sucked.)

Nothing had come out of that particular day except my newfound knowledge about vending machine deaths, though. Apparently, someone (and it was so not me) had forgotten the money (you know, to buy clothing) back at La Push or whatever. Leah insisted it was me (lies, all lies), and I insisted it was her, and we'd gotten into a rather loud and sort of violent argument about it in the mall, and we'd been kicked out by security guards… but either way, our plan to buy new clothes—and hopefully not rip them to shreds immediately—had failed.

Which was why we were going again today. Back to the same mall, back to find a clothing store, back past the food courts and the Evil Vending Machines of Doom… and this time, I had money with me. In my pocket. This time, Quil was with us as well—"Hopefully," Jake had said, amused, before we'd left, "he'll prevent the two of you from killing each other." That kind little comment had been directed towards me and Leah.

Jacob never had any faith in us. I never would have killed Leah.

Just, you know, maybe severely injured her a little. Just a little. (If she made any more rude comments about my mom, that is.)

But I digress.

Anyway, here I was, shuffling awkwardly through a mall with Quil next to me. The poor guy looked distinctly uncomfortable, but I couldn't blame him… I mean, on his other side was Leah. If she decided to randomly blow up at me for no reason whatsoever, he'd get caught in the middle.

That, and he clearly wanted to be back at La Push, playing Ken to Claire's Barbie. Or maybe he wanted to be the Barbie, and Claire and her toddler friends could put makeup on him or something. Whatever Quil wanted, though, it was obviously not what he was getting right now.

We were attracting a lot of stares as we walked around, searching for a suitable clothing store to make purchases from. It was probably because of our height.

"You know, I'm hungry," Quil commented.

Leah shot him a disbelieving look. So did I.

"Well, I am," he muttered defensively.

"The sooner we get out of here, the better," I proclaimed.

"Yeah, the less time I have to spend around you two, the better," Leah snipped.

"Bitch."

"Bastard."

"Shut up, you two," Quil said mildly. He never yelled anymore—whenever he started to get mad, all he had to do was drift off into his dream world of Claire and her My Little Pony dress-up set or whatever and he'd be all calm again. "I'm going to go get a bag of chips or something; there's a food court and some vending machines over there. You wanna come?" he addressed this last bit to both of us.

"I'll go," Leah and I said simultaneously. She turned to glare at me.

"I'm going," I corrected her.

"Whatever. As long as I'm away from you," she shot back. "See ya, Embryo."

"Don't call me that, bitchface."

If you haven't noticed, Leah and I weren't exactly the best of friends.

And I was going with Quil to a mall food court with vending machines now, without her around, which meant I didn't have to watch my back for falling vending machines that were falling because of her.

Score for Embry Call.

The nearest vending machine with chips was just across the… corridor, or whatever it was called, next to the food court that sold burgers and other fast food, on the other side of the corridor hall thing. (Whatever it was called. Yeah.) I didn't exactly make a habit of shopping at malls all the time. The whole werewolf thing kinda took a lot of my time away.

Anyway, the vending machines were right there. Four, count them. One sold soda, one sold bottled water, one sold ice cream, and another sold chips and candy.

The problem was, there was someone standing in front of the vending machine that sold the stuff (a bag of chips) that Quil wanted.

A blonde female someone.

A blonde female someone with really great legs.

A blonde female someone with really great legs who was fucking shaking the vending machine.

Leah's fact about vending machines falling on people who shook them and then crushing them had not escaped my mind. I turned to look at Quil, who was staring at the sight with a sort of incredulous expression on his face.

"Did you know," I said to him, "that approximately fifteen people die each year from vending machines falling on top of them because they were shaking them in the hopes of a free soda?"

So I totally didn't know if it was each year or what. Big freaking deal. At least I sounded knowledgeable.

"Not a good idea for her to be doing that then, huh?" Quil remarked.

"No, probably not." I raised my voice, deciding to give the chick fair warning. After all, she had pretty great legs, from what I could see. That probably meant she had a boyfriend, and her boyfriend would probably be pretty disappointed if his girlfriend got crushed by a vending machine. (But if that happened, he could sue the mall and win a million dollars. It depended on what he'd like more, tons of money or a girlfriend. Probably the money. Such was the sad state of the world today. But I digress. Especially since I didn't even know if the girl actually had a boyfriend or whatever. Anyway…) "Hey! You there! With the blonde hair!" For a moment, I'd thought I was going to blurt out "the chick with the legs" instead of "with the blonde hair." Thank the love of all things good and holy and leech-hating I didn't.

The blonde girl turned around, pausing in her vending-machine-shaking, clearly wondering if the person who'd just shouted was directing his shout at her. She met my gaze with an irritated expression on her face, and the world exploded.

Seriously. The world fucking exploded. That's the only way I can think of to describe it. One moment, the world was perfectly fine and intact and all that shit, and then I met Miss Vending-Machine-Shaking's cool green (I think they were green) eyes and the world blew up. Everything died. (Depressing, no?) Well, everything except me and that girl, that beautiful, amazing girl who was quite suddenly the only bright spot I could see in the whole entire dead universe. That girl who I was quite suddenly and forcefully (but willingly, of course) connected to with a really long white (it's guesswork here, people) beam of… light, I guess. (Shut up.) That girl who I'd just… oh, hell.

"Hey, Quil," I said, tearing my eyes away from hers (it was very hard, let me tell you) to glance over at the friend I was referring to. He had a sort of shocked expression on his face, and his eyes kept flicking back and forth between me and the girl. "I think I just fucking imprinted."

"No kidding, I think you did," he breathed back. (I don't think I've heard a single swear word leave his mouth since he imprinted… on a two-year-old. Whose legs were not nearly as great as my imprint's. Ha.)

"What?"

Oh, God, that voice. I recognized it immediately, and it was the most beautiful, smooth sound ever, comparable to a chorus of angels singing (even though no one's probably ever actually heard a chorus of angels singing, so who knows, maybe angels sang horribly… but everyone in history said they didn't, so whatever) and—

Crap. When did I get so mushy-gushy? I'd always been Embry, (usually) quiet and (often) reserved and (sometimes) sensible. I wasn't the type of person to start spouting sentimental romanticisms. (Ooh, big words.)

… oh, right. I'd probably gotten all mushy-gushy around the time I freaking-ass imprinted.

Speaking of imprinting… "Were you talking to me?" the beautiful girl with the great legs and awesome voice demanded. Oh. My imprint was talking to me! Because… I'd called her before! To warn her about vending machines! I should probably respond then, huh?

"Um. Yeah." My voice came out kind of scratchy, and I cleared my throat quickly. "My name's Embry Call."

What about vending machines again?

The girl gave me a critical and sort of (I hated to admit it) snobby stare. But I'm sure I deserved it. After all, she was perfect. She could do no wrong. (Hey, I'd just imprinted on her, hadn't I? That proved it.)

"Well, if you're done hitting on me, then…" the girl let her sentence trail off before giving me another harsh stare and then spinning back around towards the vending machine.

"Ouch," Quil said sympathetically.

Ouch indeed. That did sort of hurt. A lot.

… Wait. She'd just turned back towards the vending machine. Which she was now shaking again. She was shaking the Evil Vending Machine of Doom!

It was going to fall on her and kill her! I had to save her!

… Except that the vending machine didn't look like it was about to fall over anytime soon. Probably because my imprint was a girl. A slender, beautiful blonde girl with great legs in high heels.

… I needed to stop thinking about her legs.

… Anyways, she had thin arms. Thin arms that didn't look capable of bringing down a vending machine.

I silently thanked God—even though I'd never believed in Him, but whatever—for not making my imprint a weightlifter. It totally reduced her chances of dying a death (I don't care if that statement was redundant; shut up) by vending machine.

Completely ignoring the irony of that previous statement, I decided that since it was unlikely my imprint was about to die soon, I could just call her again and warn her of the possible consequences instead of rushing over and pushing her out of the way of the Evil Vending Machine of Doom. Something (common sense?) told me she wouldn't appreciate it very much if I did that.

So I called her. "Hey! Um…"

I had no idea what to say after that. I mean, I couldn't very well call her the girl with the blonde hair anymore, could I? She was my imprint—you didn't call your imprint stuff like that. I needed to find out her name.

But first, I needed to warn her about the vending machines.

Luckily, she seemed to recognize that she was being spoken to again… she probably recognized my voice. (I inwardly rejoiced at the very thought.) She spun around again, her long blonde mane of hair flying out behind her. Wow.

"What?" she snapped.

I determinedly ignored her annoyed tone of voice. Instead, I said, "Hi."

Ugh. Vending machines. Evil Vending Machines of Doom. Must focus.

"Ugh, are you, like, going to stalk me or something?" my imprint demanded. No! I'm just going to love you forever! Because you're perfect and everything. I really needed to learn how to be more eloquent. "'Cause this is already getting old."

Vending machines! Vending machines! The thought of my perfect imprint dying because of a stupid, evil vending machine finally made me focus on the issue at hand. "Um, I just wanted to tell you that approximately fifteen people die each year"—the whole each year thing made it seem more urgent, I decided, so I went with that, and besides, it was what I'd told Quil—"because a vending machine fell on them, 'cause the person was shaking the vending machine for a free soda or something, so you might wanna… be careful…"

My voice trailed off at the end, because the most beautiful—and only, in fact, at least for me—girl in the world was giving me a derisive look. "You've got to be freaking kidding," she muttered under her breath, but I could hear her perfectly, and the beam of light (you know, the one that now connected us) twitched along with my heart. Not a very pleasant feeling, I assure you. Louder, the girl said, "I don't want a free soda, asshole." Asshole. Ouch. That hurt, it really did. "First of all, this thing doesn't sell soda. Idiot," she added, for good measure. And she was so clever, too! "Second of all, the stupid thing ate my dollar bill. I'm trying to get it back. Third of all, will you quit staring at my legs, you perv?"

What?! I was so totally not staring at her legs!

… Was I?

I must have voiced this thought out loud, because Quil told me, "Actually, yes, you were."

Oh, shit. Now she hated me because I'd been gawking at her (I was unaware of that, but still, that was no excuse) like a perverted bastard. (And at any other time, I would've thought something along the lines of Leah would agree, especially with the 'bastard' part, but Leah was the farthest thing from my mind right now.) Stupid me! I suddenly had the urge to punch myself. Instead, I settled for, "Crap, was I really?"

My imprint seemed faintly amused now. She looked down her beautiful, dainty nose (oh, shut up) at me and informed me, "Yes, you were."

"Crapcrapcrap," I chanted. "Crapcrapcrapcrapcrap. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

She looked like she wanted to raise an eyebrow at me but didn't quite know how. "Well… that's different," she commented, probably more to herself than me, but I wasn't complaining. "Most people don't apologize." This word was said the way most people said "rape." (Or something.)

She was so capable of shooting people down! I felt proud.

… Well, I probably shouldn't when it was me being shot down, but still.

I must have had a stupid grin on my face or something, because Quil deigned to inform me, "Embry, you are an idiot."

"Shut up," I responded automatically.

My imprint had turned back to the Evil Vending Machine of Doom by now, and she gave it one final shake (and a kick, too) before turning away. "Screw it," I heard her mutter. "It's only a freaking dollar."

She was a few steps away from the sucky thing when my brain finally caught up with my eyes, and I registered what was going on. "Hey!" I shouted after her. "Are you leaving now?"

She stopped and shot me an incredulous look over her shoulder. "What's it to you?"

I stopped short at that. Well, I couldn't very well tell her she was my soul mate or something, or the reason how I knew that, because blabbing out the whole werewolf—excuse me, shape-shifter—thing wouldn't be a very smart idea right now. Especially not in a crowded mall.

I was still contemplating this when Quil poked me in the shoulder. "Uh, Embry," he said. "She's gone."

"What?! What do you mean, she's gone?" I whirled around to stare at my friend, and then at the area my imprint had just occupied.

… only she wasn't there.

Holy fuck. I'd just imprinted, and now she was gone, and I didn't even know her freaking name.

The white beam of light protruding from my chest yanked at my heart. It hurt. A lot. (I needed a thesaurus.)

Quil was speaking again.

"Um, no offense, Embry," he said, looking sort of uncomfortable, "but she seems sort of… you know." His voice lowered, and he coughed. "Bitchy."

Especially since it was the first swear word ("crap" and "dang" and stuff like that didn't count) I'd heard the guy utter since he found his imprint, I think I was totally justified in jumping at him and pummeling him with my fists.

Jake had been right. Quil had totally prevented me from killing Leah, and vice versa… but nothing stopped me from killing him.

The mall's security guards recognized me from last week and asked me not to come back again. I think they didn't like me.

And if Quil wanted to find someone who was actually a bitch, all he had to do was look at Leah. She laughed at me the whole way home.

I need another category to put this in… ideas? (I don't like just having one category for a story. It's an OCD of mine.)

Reviews are appreciated.