A/N: I've been threatening to write about these girls for six months now, so here's the first chapter in what will hopefully be a full-fledged novella. Content note for alcohol, creepy guys, and the use of stereotypes (like "angry brown girl") that I hope I'll be able to deconstruct in a positive way over the course of this fic.
Everybody knows the Quileutes party harder than anyone else in the greater Forks area. There's not much else to do on the rez (as opposed to the rest of the town, which is chock full of nightlife. Not.), so we've had to improvise. One of the boys made passable fakes and we took turns driving to Forks to hit up the unsuspecting Thriftway. There are booze caches all over the beaches, and we hit them hard on a regular basis. Does that make us a regrettable stereotype? Probably, but they'd say shitty things about us no matter what we did.
All of which is a long and complicated way of saying that I was absolutely sloshed that night. The world was tilting as I hung onto Sam's arm, trying desperately to keep myself upright. He was laughing uproariously at something that Jared said. I missed it but I was laughing too, and the world was spinning around me. Embry passed a half-empty bottle of the cheapest flavored vodka that existed to me and I took a swig, and then another, making a face at the flowery lukewarm taste. I regretted my decision immediately and shoved the bottle away from me, back into the circle, where one of the Forks boys grabbed it.
Suddenly I was heaving, propelling myself away from Sam toward the nearest quiet dark place where I could throw up in peace. He didn't follow me—of course not, who wants to watch someone hurl?
I fell to my hands and knees between the dunes, feeling like I was about to die. Suddenly someone was with me, gently pulling my hair out of the way as I retched into the sand.
After emptying everything out of my stomach, I rolled to one side and groaned. My nameless helper picked up her water-bottle, poured part of it onto her flannel shirt, then handed the bottle to me. I gratefully took it and rinsed out my mouth, then pressed the cool bottle against the side of my face. She handed me the shirt next, and I wiped my face and then slung it over the back of my neck.
"Thanks," I said, my voice rough.
"Don't mention it," she said.
I closed my eyes for a second and opened them to Sam scooping me into his arms. "It's time to go home, Leah," he said. I leaned my head against his chest and closed my eyes again as he lifted me, feeling weirdly positive about the night.
The September night was chilly for all that the afternoon had been so warm, and I held my hands out to the fire as I sat on a driftwood log. Across the fire were a handful of Quileutes chattering animatedly to Jessica and Mike about something. Some Port Angeles boys were swapping tall tales with Rob and Tyler, and I wasn't sure where Samantha had disappeared to. I didn't mind being by myself—I almost preferred it.
"Hey, cutie."
I groaned internally and looked up to see one of the Port Angeles boys. I smiled, more out of rote politeness than anything else.
"Is this seat taken?"
"Yeah, actually, my friend—"
"I'll give it back," he smiled, settling himself on the log next to me. I sighed and looked back to the fire, hoping he wouldn't be too intrusive.
"So, uh, you live around here?" he asked.
"Yeah," I said. "You?" I already knew the answer.
"Nah, I'm from a city," he smirked.
"Seattle?" I asked, feigning surprise. His face fell ever so slightly.
"No, Port Angeles."
"Oh, that's nice." It wasn't, particularly, but I wasn't good at not being polite.
"What do you guys do for fun around here?" he asked.
"I like to volunteer with local wildlife rehab clinics," I said, hoping it would sound boring enough for him to disengage.
"Aww, that's really sweet," he said, and I realized we were in for the long haul. "I have a dog."
"What's its name?" I asked, interested in spite of the non sequitur.
"Rex," he replied. "He's a Rottweiler."
"Nice," I said. Dogs were a safe conversation topic.
"I've always heard that beach sex is fun," he said, sliding an arm around my shoulders.
"What?!" I'd always known the conversation was going to end up here, but I hadn't expected it to get here quite so fast.
"Maybe you and I should find out?" he suggested, not at all put off by the shock in my tone.
"I, uh, no, please," I stammered, pushing away from him.
"Oh, c'mon," he said, his arm suddenly like a vice. "We'd have fun."
"I don't want to," I said, trying to disengage myself.
"What, are you a lesbian?" he demanded with a sneer, his voice rising.
"Please don't yell," I begged, now trying to placate him instead of pull away. He opened his mouth to say something (and judging by the look on his face, it wasn't going to be nice) but suddenly someone was leaning over him, gripping his shirt front with two fists and dragging him upright.
"She said no," the Quileute girl stated flatly. "That means fuck off."
"What the fuck, Pocahontas?" he snarled, shoving her in the shoulders. "Nobody asked you."
She grinned and pushed him right back. "Nah, but fuck you. Oh wait, nobody wants to."
His eyes got angry and he threw a punch right at her stomach, which she blocked neatly before flinging herself at him, knocking them both to the ground. She was clearly the better fighter, avoiding all his attacks and leveraging her position on top to hit him again and again. After a moment that felt like forever, she finally stood up, meeting the shocked gazes of the combined group with defiance.
I could almost feel sympathy for the boy, who was picking himself up from the ground, looking dazed and battered, but I couldn't tear my eyes away from her, facing down the rest of the Port Angeles boys with a smile that said "I fucking dare you."
"Um, that was, wow," Jessica said. "Trent, get out of here. Nobody even invited you. Jason, I swear to god that if you ever bring him down again I'll call your mom and get her to ground you."
The Port Angeles boys slunk away with their tails between their legs and I hid a smile. Jessica might be all of five foot nothing but she was a force to be reckoned with when she was angry, albeit in a totally different way than the beatdown I had just witnessed.
"We should probably go too, Lee-lee," one of the Quileute boys said, and she jerked her chin upward in terse acknowledgement, giving one final glare in the direction of the departing Port Angeles boys before turning and stalking past me.
"Hey, um," I said, rising hastily to my feet and reaching one hand out as she approached, "thanks."
"Don't mention it," she replied curtly, but her face softened. "Boys gotta learn." She fist-bumped me and I, taken by surprise, fist-bumped her back.
Despite how stressful and violent the night had been, I felt oddly peaceful on the drive back to Forks.
