"Ain't no use in complaining

When you got a job to do

Spent my evenings down at the drive-in

And that's when I met you, yeah"

-Bryan Adams: Summer of '69

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Chapter One: The Insistence of Alice Brandon

June 2nd 2008

b.p.o.v

"Get in the car," Alice says, barely able to glance at me over the top of her canary yellow Sunfire, "now." I smirk at her vertical inadequacy, and close my eyes, angling my face toward the warmth of the sun. The feel of summer on my skin is sublime. Relaxing, peaceful, humbling.

And then there's Alice.

"Bella," she whines immaturely, "you're being a dirty skank. Can we please go? I want to make it to the lot on time. It's the weekend, it'll probably be packed."

I lift my sunglasses slightly in amusement, and sit up, meeting her perturbed face. "And you think calling me a skank is going to persuade me? You're too funny." I settle back down on my towel and sigh, "You told me we could stay all day, Alice, and then go to the movie. There's still some day left."

When I speak, I can't help the minute twitch of my lip; a self-satisfied grin.

I'm resolute in my decision to piss her off beyond reason.

She purposely ruins my plans on a Friday night to do nothing – something I treasure at the end of each week – and I'm more than inclined to make her life a living hell, for as long as humanly possible. I figure it's only fair.

I hear the irritated slam of her car door before her tiny feet patter against the sand. She sinks down beside me, leaning back on her hands, huffing loudly to indicate her annoyance. I'm well aware of what I'm doing to her.

I just don't care.

"Bella, please," she whispers, "please, I want to go."

I turn on my side and push my glasses up into my hair. "What's so special about the drive-in, Alice?" I retort. I've known her long enough to see when something is important. The drive-in...eh, not so much. She has an ulterior motive.

"Well," she begins contemplatively, "if you must know..." She shrugs her shoulders and gazes down at me, her brows arched in expectation; like I'm supposed to understand her train of thought.

"Well..."

"Well," she says, "it's just that...Jasper's, sort of...back in town."

I internally groan, Jasper; the elusive 'love of her life'.

Sure.

"Seriously?" I ask, "Jasper? You're dragging me to the drive-in tonight so you can see Jasper?"

"I need you there," she replies earnestly, "you're my rock. I knew you would flake if you found out the reason I wanted to go. The drive-in...it's neutral ground," she explains, "we can talk it out. I need you there, to...mediate, or something."

I scoff, "Alice, you don't need me, you need a pack of Trojans and a soundproof room. And I," I continue, "need to be at least a hundred feet away."

I pale when I recall the last time Jasper was in town; or, more specifically, Alice's town.

Cough, cough.

"I'm not going to cave!" she growls determinedly, "He is getting none of this." She gestures to herself and crosses her arms over her chest. "He broke my heart when he left," she says dejectedly, "but I just – I want to see him again...see if he has an explanation."

I suppress my frustration and slip my glasses back down over my eyes. I can't handle how obsessed with him she still is after a whole year of him being gone. It's unhealthy. He's an aspiring surfer who stops over in California three months of the year before he takes off again. He's here for one summer, apparently the most explosive summer of Alice's life, and he leaves.

End of story. No strings attached.

I want to say all these things to her, but they're things I've said before.

She doesn't understand.

Instead, I purse my lips and sit up, drawing my knees to my chest. "Okay," I say reluctantly, "I'll come with you." I stand, shaking the sand from my towel. "Not like I have a choice," I mumble under my breath.

Alice chuckles, "You never stood a chance."

"I'm beginning to see that," I quip, "you're ridiculously pushy for someone so small." She smiles brightly at me and helps me pack up the rest of my stuff while I slip on my shorts and top. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

Alice slings the beach bag over her shoulder and sighs, "You tell me every day, sunshine."

.

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Dusk begins to settle over the city, casting a serene, pale orange glow over the stretch of road in front of us. I prop my feet up against the dash and bob them – sandals and all – to the catchy tune on the radio. I know it irritates Alice when I violate her 'feet on the floor' rule, but I still have my heart set on rebuking her for tonight.

I also know it's the small things that get to her the most.

Alice pulls onto the freeway a few minutes after we leave the beach, and warm air flows in through the open window, casting my hair in tumultuous curls over my face. I brush them away, absently grazing my cheekbone in the process, and register the immense heat against my fingertips.

"Damn," I murmur, "did I burn?"

I turn toward Alice and she glances over at me, briefly lifting her sunglasses. When she returns her gaze to the road, she minutely shakes her head. "No burn," she assures, "but you did get some really good colour, especially on your cheeks and nose."

I run my finger over the bridge of my nose and then drop it to my collarbone, tugging on the fabric of my off-the-shoulder sweater. The top of my arm is a harsh pink rather than a soft brown. I hum in discontent because I know it will sting in the shower.

"Did you bring any aloe?" I ask.

"Yeah," she replies, "it's in the trunk, though. You mind waiting?" I soothingly pat the fabric back down over my shoulder and shake my head. We're quiet for a few miles before Alice clears her throat, "I know you're pissed at me, Bella. I'm sorry for misleading-"

"Lying," I correct.

She exhales, "Lying to you about why I wanted to go out tonight. Jasper contacted me the other day and...I couldn't say no." I comb my fingers through my hair, keeping back everything I want to say to her. "It's really hard for me be so impartial to him. After what happened last year..."

She trails off, and beneath those bug-eyed sunglasses she's wearing, I can see the deep frown creasing her forehead.

"Alice, I know you loved him," I tell her, "but you knew going into it he was only here for the summer. I get it...you felt that thing with him, I just...it frustrates me that you're so hung up on something you knew would end."

She pulls off her sunglasses and tosses them onto the dashboard. "I thought he felt that thing, too," she says dismally, "I didn't think it would end."

"I know," I agree, "and please remember that tonight. Whatever happens, Alice...he's leaving in August."

She nods. "I know."