VERY IMPORTANT AUTHOR'S NOTE THAT REQUIRES SHOUTY CAPS: TONIGHT, THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 15, 2011 AT 8 PM CST ON TWITTER THERE WILL BE A MASEN DAYS READALONG HOSTED BY JAIMEARKIN FOR TWIFICNEWS AND WAYWARDPUSHERS. DETAILS CAN BE FOUND ON MY BLOG HERE http: / purelyamuse . blogspot . com/2011/09/masen-days-mentions-and-readalong . html. FOR THE SAKE OF MY SANITY I WILL NOT BE HANDING OUT NOTEBOOK ENTRIES TONIGHT VIA REPLY FOR CHAPTERS 1-5. IF YOU WOULD LIKE TO SEE MASEN'S NOTEBOOK ENTRIES YOU MAY VISIT THE BLOG. PLEASE JOIN IN ON THE READALONG FUN! AND IN HONOR OF SAID FUN . . . HERE'S AN OUTTAKE JUST BECAUSE I LOVE YOU ALL! IT WILL BE POSTED ON MASEN DAYS AND MASEN DAYS OUTTAKES. COME FRIDAY I WILL REMOVE IT FROM MASEN DAYS BUT WILL KEEP IT UP ON MASEN DAYS OUTTAKES FOR YOUR VIEWING PLEASURE. MASEN DAYS WILL RESUME WITH CHAPTER 6: THE DAY I CUT MASEN'S HAIR ON MONDAY. WHAT ELSE? I HEART YOU HARD, GIRLS!

Masen Days Outtake 2

Summary: Bella and Masen end up alone at The Wedge. They enjoy their time skating together. Time Frame: Between Chapter 5: The Day Masen Talks to Me and Chapter 6: The Day I Cut Masen's Hair POV: Bella

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I own some very strange word association, pencil-buns, Vans poetry, and a bunch of yeahs.

Prereader: _ss77_ Betas: Perrymaxed, Mac214

The Day Masen and I Skate

It's Friday night - late - and Dad's not due home until well after midnight. I should still be out at Melanie's party, but Masen never showed. I was bored, so I faked an early curfew and left. Everyone knows my dad's a bit strict, so it wasn't hard to convince them.

I walk down the familiar winding path, passing ducks and crossing bridges over small man-made ponds until I get to The Wedge.

I usually sit with Angela on the steps – a ways off – where we watch the boys, but tonight I want in on their territory. It feels like if I see it, touch it, then I can know him better – Masen.

I amble underneath the bridge, taking in the graffiti and the fractured cement that the guys roll over every chance they get. I sit in the middle of the whole skating area, closing my eyes, imagining I can hear their wheels clacking along the cracks of the sidewalk. Either my imagination is stellar, or I'm actually about to be clobbered by some guy on a skateboard.

Chug-chug, chug-chug.

The wheels come closer, so I stand, not wanting to be in anyone's way. I'm actually shocked to be here alone, but I suppose it is a Friday. People are probably partying.

Chug-chug, chug-chug.

The sound dwindles as the skater slows his pace. I begin my descent back the way I came when my name's called – a quiet, soothing sound.

Masen.

I turn. He rubs his chin over his shoulder, cleaning it. His board's in his hands but tucked behind his back. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, looking uncomfortable. I wonder why when I realize I haven't said anything.

"Hey."

"Thought you were at Melanie's."

"I was. I went home early."

His lips twitch, and he shifts his eyes around the skate park as though saying, This isn't your home.

"Well, I said I went home early. Just don't tell anyone different, okay?"

"Secret's safe with me."

"I know."

His eyes crinkle at the corners. Of course I know he won't tell my secret; he doesn't even tell his own, except to me. Well, sort of. He did admit that his parents are alcoholics. I'm sure that was a huge step for him.

"You learn any new tricks lately?"

Masen scratches the back of his neck and slides his board to the ground, toeing it with his right foot. We watch the checkers of his shoe change shape depending on how the light hits it.

"Wanna see?"

"Hell, yeah."

He shrugs, then points to a safe place for me to sit, so he can show me his moves.

Masen pops a handstand on his board immediately, shifts his weight onto one hand, tipping the board. In a whirl of motion, he's moving fast, his right foot assaulting the pavement, his hand grazing the wall as he rides it. He flies through the air and lands back down with an abrupt halting motion. The wheels skid to a stop, Masen pops up his board, and then saunters to me. He shrugs when he's in front of me – so modest and unassuming.

I have nothing to say. He's amazing. I have no clue how to compliment him, so I don't.

"I guess it was all right. Looks easy." I flick my nose with my thumb, and he looks away, a small grin complementing his features. He places his board at my feet and sits beside me. He bonks my shoulder with his own and points to his board.

"I can do it. You watch."

"Watching," he says, his tone amused.

I jump to my feet and gingerly place my left foot on his skateboard, then push off with my right, and promptly fall on my ass.

Masen makes a strangled noise, and I can't tell if he's snickering or gasping at the horror of me falling. Maybe both. He offers me his hand politely. His shoulders shake with laughter, so I grip his forearm, pulling him down with me.

"Don't laugh at me!" I say, chuckling myself.

"It's so easy, though."

"Oh, shut up," I say, standing and dusting off my butt. He gets up, snags his board and offers his hand again. He jerks his head, toward – what, I don't know. But I follow anyway, placing my hand in his. Any excuse to hold his hand at this point . . .

We stand facing a wall, still holding hands. Masen drops his board and pushes it against the wall so it's parallel. "This is the easiest way to learn. If you fall you can . . ." He reaches out to tap the wall. I take note he used his free hand instead of letting mine go. I smile and nibble on my lip, anxious to play with him – in any way.

"Okay, up," he commands; I do as he says, keeping my grip on his hand. I place my free hand on his shoulder, steadying myself. "Face the street and just . . ." He kicks my right foot, motioning for me to push off the concrete.

I push once and roll; he stays at my side walking with the board. With my eyes wide and proud, I seek his, looking for approval. "Are you actually gonna move?" he asks, and I push our hands into his stomach. Oh, boy. It's a nice stomach.

"My grandma can-" he continues, but I cut him off by pushing against the ground again. He runs smoothly beside me, his breathing steady, and I huff and puff, even though we haven't gone far. It irritates me how out of shape I seem. I know I'm not that bad, but the tight feeling in my lungs challenges me to do better. I pick up speed and do fine until I spot Masen lifting his shirt to wipe his forehead, exposing his abdomen.

In an instant, my feet are jumbled up, the board is slipping, and I'm careening to the ground. Masen's got me by the arm in a strong grip, and he hooks my leg, keeping me from falling to the concrete. It's mortifying, but when I look up, all I see is concern in his eyes. "You okay?" he asks.

"Fine." We awkwardly right ourselves, his hand grazing the underside of my knee.

"Can I try again?" I ask, and he looks away - thinking it over, I guess. I never know what his movements mean. I really need a Masen Mannerisms One-oh-One class.

"How about we just . . . together?" he says, his voice quiet and strained.

He sets the board against the wall, and our left feet settle on the board, our bodies nearly touching each other. We are so close; his breath is on my neck, and the faint smells of apples and a lime soda tickle my nose.

We push off, one stroke at a time. When we bend our knees, he presses against me, and I have to suppress the urge to just throw him against the wall and kiss him. My thoughts discombobulate me again, and I stumble. He kicks my right leg onto the board and slows us to a stop against the wall. I'm on the board, and so is he, sort of, his left leg behind my own. I adjust, my back to the wall, so I'm facing him. "I'm sorry. I'm no good at this."

He steps up his right foot, so his legs are on the outside of mine. The closeness startles me, and I nearly tip the board, but we find our balance by grabbing hold of each other's waists.

Our eyes lock momentarily, and he shifts, seeking . . . something. I wish he was seeking permission to kiss me. I would love that. He bows his head, exhales, then looks back up, saying, "Want me to walk you home?"

"Sure," I say, licking my lips and staring at his.

He steps off the board, one foot at a time. Just as I'm about to dismount, his hand makes contact with my waist again, keeping me in place, and he begins to push me home.

A/N: Leave a review on Masen Days Outtakes for The Day Masen and I Skate and get a glimpse at Masen's notebook.