A/N: So I don't know if anyone's noticed, but Bella and Jacob are the same age. Heh, I sorta did that on purpose. 'Cause if I didn't, the story wouldn't work too well... Anyway, hope you like it!

Chapter 2

It's two months later, and I've given up any hope of Jacob calling again. I can't say I blame him—it would indeed be strange if Mike Newton called me professing his undying love for me, even though we haven't seen each other in three years. I suppose, to Jake, I'm no different.

So I haven't been on Facebook for more than three weeks, only to save myself that crushing disappointment I always feel when I see nothing from Jacob. But one day—and I don't know why—I decide to check.

I have four messages.

The first is from Angela Weber, demanding that I visit. Two others are from Jessica, filled with nonsensical ramblings about her life and very briefly mentioning that she misses me.

The last one…

I almost fall off my chair, because it's something that I haven't expected, but I've been waiting for it all the same. To actually see proof that Jacob is making contact with me again is shocking. I look at the date it was sent. Only two days ago.

"Hey, Bells. Thanks for calling me or messaging me or…anything, really. I'm sorry if you're mad at me, I just wasn't expecting that. I acted like a jerk. I'm sorry. Can we talk soon? I miss you."

I blink in astonishment. He wants me to call? He thinks I'm mad at him? For someone so smart, Jacob can be so incredibly dense.

I decide that I don't have the guts to speak to him on the phone again. I begin typing out a reply.

"I was waiting for you to talk to me, actually. I thought I might've scared you off… But anyway, that doesn't matter. Why would you think I'm mad at you? You didn't do anything wrong. I'm just mad at myself for telling you. I'm sorry, that must've been strange."

I hesitate before sending the message. Maybe I shouldn't tell him that, just for the sake of forgetting it ever happened…but I eventually reason that I'm being stupid. I press 'send'.

::

"Care to explain why you never called last night?"

I closely inspect my fingernails, bitten and uneven and altogether unimpressive. "I…talked to someone. Kind of."

Victoria makes an impatient sound. "That doesn't give me much information."

"Someone from Forks," I hint in a small voice.

She sighs a long and knowing sigh. "Oh, okay, okay, I got it. That one kid. Jacob…Bird?"

"Black," I correct through gritted teeth.

"Whatever, same thing."

Our Biology teacher has already begun the lesson, but Victoria apparently doesn't care. Neither do I, now that she's brought up Jake.

"I wasn't really talking to him," I explain slowly, so she doesn't somehow misunderstand. "He sent me a message and that made me forget everything else."

She huffs. "God, Bella, ever since he called you back in like February or whatever, you're so…spacey."

"Am not!" I retort, instantly defensive.

I know it's true, though. Since that phone call, the world somehow realigned itself when I wasn't looking, and now all I'm capable of is thinking about him. I'll look at a math problem and think about how Jacob was always good at math, and he'd probably help me with it. I'll look at my kitchen floor and think of how Jacob's kitchen has eerily similar tiles. I'll listen to a song and pick it apart until I find traces of him in it. Basically, I've acquired a new talent: connecting absolutely anything to Jacob. It's sad. And mentally exhausting.

The hardest part, I think, is knowing that he couldn't be doing the same.

"…you listening? Bella?"

I look up with a start, then smile sheepishly at Victoria. "Sorry."

"See, this is what I mean! Stop doing that!" she hisses. "You're never going to see him again. I'm sure he doesn't obsess over you like this. And you're not gonna do anything creepy, like follow him to college, because I won't let you. Pull yourself together, Isabella Marie Swan!"

I grimace, but eventually nod. It's not like she's being unreasonable. It's true—I need to get over him. I need to…but it's almost like I don't want to.

"Miss Connolly? Miss Swan? Care to share your thoughts?"

I clear my throat uncomfortably. "We weren't…it was noth—I mean, no, sir."

Victoria snickers. I elbow her.

Mr. Blair pushes up his square-framed glasses suspiciously, but drones on. I think he's teaching us something new, but my head is foggy now and I can't concentrate.

When she seems sure he's not paying attention, Victoria leans over and whispers, "You're coming over tonight."

I shrug without thinking. "Okay."

::

I decide it was a dire mistake to go to Victoria's, because so far, she hasn't shut up about this James guy she really likes. It's four in the morning and I want to go to sleep. I cast a longing glance down at my pillow—it looks so fluffy and warm and comfortable…

"There you go again," she sighs. "You suck."

"Sorry. Just tired."

She laughs. "You know, Bella, I'll never understand how you're so horrible at lying."

I don't comment. Victoria laughs again.

"Still thinking about Jacob?"

I bite the inside of my cheek. No…but now I am.

Her eyes tighten. "Funny how you used to never shut up about him, and now all of a sudden you clam up. I'm slightly concerned."

"Don't want to talk about it," I mutter. "What were you saying about James?"

I know I've got her now—her whole face lights up. She tries to hide it by looking down, but I can see the blush settling on her cheeks.

"He…well, I wasn't going to tell anyone this, not even you, but…he asked me out today."

I gasp, as if I was actually surprised. "Tori, that's great! What are you guys doing?"

She holds up her hand, as if to halt my excitement. "Just dinner and a movie, nothing to flip out over."

"Of course it is!"

"Okay, okay," she laughs. "I know I'm flipping out. He's so…" She sighs, apparently at a loss for words.

I don't get it. James isn't very attractive. But whatever, each to her own.

"Oh, by the way, is Edward still stalking you?"

"Kind of," I sighed. "It's weird. I keep running into him at the weirdest places—where I never used to see him before. It's like he's doing it on purpose."

"That's really creepy." Victoria wrinkles her nose.

I shrug. "I don't know, it might not be me. I'm not the center of his universe."

"You used to be."

I make a face. "I was not. He was just a confused, hormone-addled teenager experiencing a rush of emotion."

Victoria rolls her eyes. "Whatever you say, Bella. That kid loved you. Possibly still does."

"What, are you trying to make me feel guilty?"

Her eyes are wide, and she looks a bit taken aback. "No! I'm just saying, watch out. He might try to get you back."

"He won't succeed," I mutter.

"Whatever you say," she sings, grinning. "You're gullible. If he starts spewing all that lovey-dovey shit like he did before, you'll like, melt into his arms."

"Most definitely not."

I make it a point to glare at her until she gives up and falls back onto her pillow, babbling about James. Again.

::

Victoria must be psychic.

"Bella," Edward begs. "Can't we just talk about things?"

"No," I repeat for the millionth time, growing frustrated. "There's nothing to talk about."

Well, she wasn't right about melting into his arms.

"But just because you don't love me doesn't mean you don't like me."

"Edward, I'm almost positive we covered this about two months ago. We're two different people. We're not a good couple. End of story."

"But just because two people have their differences doesn't mean they aren't meant to be together," he insists.

I just shake my head.

He's looking desperate now. Well, more desperate than before.

"We have fun together, don't we?" he asks with that wounded look that I hate so much.

Fun. I try to think back to a fun moment with Edward, and I come up blank.

"I'm willing to change for you," he declares. "I'll do anything it takes. I've spent two months trying to figure out what went wrong…and now that I know, we can make things work, right?"

Whereas before it would've killed me to see him so helpless and I probably would've taken him back…now it just annoys me. His head is hung and his eyes are much darker than usual. He practically looks suicidal—well, a different kind of suicidal than usual.

"No, Edward. You can't do anything."

"I'll do my best to win you back," he proclaims in a low whisper. "Until your heart stops beating. I promise."

"You're being pushy and ridiculous," I growl. "And you're pissing me off. Sorry, but your chance is gone. To be honest, you never had much of a chance." It isn't like me to be so cold, but I just want him gone.

"I won't give up," he says. Despite his determination, his eyes are sort of melancholy. "I know you're angry with me right now, but I wish you could just see that we deserve each other. And I'm far too selfish to pass that up."

With that, he walks away. I curse under my breath.

Victoria appears at my side, eyes dancing with mirth.

"Until your heart stops beating?" she snorts. "Oh my God, how much more dramatic can he get?"

I suspect she was listening in.

"Yeah, that was…yeah."

Now she's sent herself into a fit of laughter, doubled over and clutching at me. "He—he's gonna…w-win you back—and he's gonna try—try till you're dead!" she cackles.

"Not now, Tori."

She takes a few moments to compose herself. "Sorry about that. But seriously. That was comedy gold right there. I shoulda videotaped it."

I frown warningly.

"So how did he manage that?" she wonders. "How'd he get you over here to talk? You usually go the other way, I thought."

"He decided it was a good idea to corner me at breakfast, then drag me to a secluded hallway."

Victoria gasps. "He dragged you?"

I roll my eyes. "No, not physically. I mean, I just felt bad and I didn't expect him to still feel like that…so I followed him."

"Dumbass."

"I know."

She sighs and leans against the wall. "So how long do you think it'll take him to figure it out?"

"Figure what out?"

"That he got dumped because you're still madly in love with your ex."

"You don't know anything," I snap stubbornly, looking directly ahead of me.

"Sorry," she whispers, "but it's true."

She pats my arm and the next thing I know, she's gone and I'm alone with my thoughts.

::

Almost directly after I step outside, I'm in a worse mood than before. It's gone up to at least ninety-five degrees. The walk home is unbearable, which I already predetermined, and I find myself wishing that I owned a car. A car with air conditioning…

I think of how Renee once promised that she'd buy me one. Not a particularly nice car, as we're living on a kindergarten teacher's salary, and Phil can't contribute much as a mediocre ball player. But a car nonetheless. That was on my sixteenth birthday and now I'm seventeen-and-a-half. A lot of Renee's plans fall through.

When I get home, I immediately check my Facebook. I don't even remember why I'm so adamant about it until I see that I have one new message.

"Shut the hell up with your apologizing. And call me."

I inhale a large breath and let it out slowly, in order to avoid a panic attack; I've never had one before, but I don't see a reason why I couldn't start now. Jacob wants me to call him? Doesn't he have my number? That would make things so much easier.

But I want to talk to him so badly…even if it is unhealthy and agonizing in the long run. See, it's hard to explain. Before I started to talk to Jacob again, I always felt this dull ache somewhere in my chest. It was constant, never receding—almost so much that I hardly noticed it some days. It's not as though I spent every moment pining for him, but I did think of him. I always did, whether I realized it or not. There will always be reminders.

I don't know how I managed to make the pain so dull. Maybe it was the distractions. I'd throw myself into my schoolwork and books, follow in my mother's footsteps and find a new hobby every few weeks, and I even played a season of soccer (in which I most likely existed to make others feel superior). Through all that, who has time to mourn over something as trivial as unrequited love? Who has time to care about a stupid childhood romance?

Though there were times when it escalated. Late at night when I was lying in bed and already finished my homework, I'd think. I'd do a lot of thinking, probably because it was the only time I let myself. Actually, I think my conscience was simply fed up with holding everything back and it forced me to listen to what it had to say. At night, when I was out of things to do, was apparently the ideal time. Instead of resting, I'd begin to feel depressed and vaguely wonder why. It was rhetorical, though, and I never wanted an answer, but I got one each and every time. I'd think of my life and how empty it felt. Immediately thereafter, I'd think of how only Jake would understand. In fact, Jake would be the only one to stick around to listen long enough. He wouldn't do just that, though; he'd listen without trying to give me some sugarcoated "advice" to stay strong and believe everything will get better. He'd listen to my blabbering and tell me exactly what he thought about it. He'd make things better by just being.

When I moved to Arizona, I didn't have that anymore. I didn't have that constant presence in my life that made me stay strong instead of only suggesting that I do so. It was like there was no more sun…despite the strong heat here, I didn't feel any warmth inside—didn't feel happiness. At first it was intense. I hated everything and everyone I looked at. Hated myself, my mother…hated, hated, hated…

And then it began to diminish, almost dampen. I still couldn't fully breathe like I used to, but I could live and function. But I felt it, always sensed it there. I used to think that it was my parents' separation causing all the pain, and I was blaming it on someone else, namely Jacob, in order to avoid thinking about the real reason. So then I thought about my parents a lot. I went through that whole grieving process kids go through when their parents split, since I hadn't let myself start before. And it was a release, but a different kind, because I wasn't numbly confused anymore. But that ache…it was still there.

It's changed recently. The pain has changed. It was quiet before, and I got used to that, excluding all those nights when it was so acute. And after Jacob called, it was like the pain transformed into pure, throbbing agony, like nothing I ever remember feeling before. It's not only at nighttime; it makes it hard to focus every day, seeping into school and casual conversations and peoples' faces and just…just everything. The empty space in my chest is still just that—empty—but it feels very much alive and always trying to claw its way out.

I wish it would stop. But then again…would it be so bad if the emptiness had its way?

With new, reckless confidence, I pick up the phone and dial his number.

It rings for a long time, long enough to make my heart thrum faster in my chest and to get me hoping he won't answer. But after a seemingly infinite amount of time, I hear his voice.

"Hey," he greets me in a casual manner, like I'm a friend he sees every day. I can't pinpoint the reason why, but it bothers me.

"Hey, Jake." I don't really know what to say, so I settle for, "What's up?"

"Nothing," he says. For some reason I also can't explain, I don't believe him.

"Really?" I ask skeptically.

"Yes," he maintains.

"I still don't believe you, but okay."

He laughs. "So how've you been? Two months since I last talked to you, so…I'm kinda curious."

"Nothing exciting. Edward's stalking me." I don't know why I get the sudden desire to tell him everything about Edward's apparent infatuation, but it's overwhelming. Maybe I want to see how he reacts.

"Your ex-boyfriend?"

"Yep."

Jacob scoffs. "He shouldn't be doing that. I should beat him up."

I laugh, albeit a tad hysterically. That's the Jake I've always known. "No, not necessary. He's just being stupid, thinking we can somehow fix things…"

"But hasn't it been a while since you guys broke up?"

"Yeah," I mutter. "Don't know what's gotten into him."

"He's obviously been thinking about it," he says slowly. "And he probably just got the nerve to talk to you."

I grimace. "Probably."

Jacob pauses for a moment. "I don't like that."

"Why?"

"I don't know, I just don't."

I roll my eyes. "You need a reason."

"Well, tell me what he said to you."

I hesitate before launching into the story. I'm still curious about his reaction—not to mention I've become a masochist.

"Seriously?" he exclaims when I'm finished. "Wow. That's…obsessive."

"Is not," I admonish him. "He's just really…determined. It's admirable, really."

Jacob makes a disgusted sound. "It really isn't. I wouldn't do that."

Despite everything he told me before, a breath catches in my throat and I allow myself to believe that we can make something of ourselves. But it's all a lie, a vicious lie that I've been clinging to—subconsciously, maybe, because I've only realized it now. I'm utterly ridiculous. And apparently unable to take a damn hint.

I take a deep breath. "So anything interesting happening in your love life?"

"You mean lack thereof?" he grumbles.

I smile wryly. "Sorry about that. Is there a girl you've got your eye on?"

"You don't want to hear about that."

"Do you still talk to Angela?"

"Yeah, all the time." He hesitates, and then backtracks. "Not that I'm into her or anything—"

"That's not what I meant," I clarify. "I was just going to say…if you don't tell me, she will."

He curses under his breath. Maybe I really am a masochist.

"Her name is Leah," he reveals. "Leah Clearwater."

"Seth's sister?"

"That's the one."

I snort, despite the harsh pinpricks of jealousy. "Jake, isn't she three years older than you?"

"So?" he retorts, on the defensive. "She likes me."

I rack my brain for a scathing comeback before realizing I'd probably sound absurd.

"So…tell me about her," I urge.

Jacob sighs, probably feeling the same uncomfortable atmosphere I feel trapped in. Well, good. It might as well be mutual.

"She likes to read," he tells me reluctantly. "Brown eyes. They kinda look like yours, actually."

I draw in a sharp breath. Was he trying to torture me?

Oblivious, he goes on. "It's funny. All the girls I go out with have brown eyes and like books. I must really like brown-eyed know-it-alls or some shit."

I grit my teeth.

Sensing my discomfort, he says, "Oh. Sorry."

"That's okay."

"No it's not," he mutters. "I'm being an asshole, talking about Leah."

"I'm the one who asked. Let's talk about something different," I suggest.

"Okay. We'll talk about anything you want."

"I don't have anything else to talk about."

"There has to be something else on your mind," he says.

I bite my lip and rack my brain for anything mildly interesting to talk about, and it's like my mind has frozen. I'm sure I could've thought of anything and everything if I wasn't actually talking to Jacob right now.

"No," I finally say. "Nothing."

"You hesitated. That means there is."

I bristle a little. "I hesitated because I was trying to think of something. Jake, I don't think you understand how boring my life is now."

"Well, we'll talk about that," he says easily. "Why is your life boring?"

"It just is. And you're not my therapist," I snap.

"Do you have a therapist?"

I repress a groan and press the heel of my palm into my forehead. "No, Jacob, I do not have a therapist."

"Then I'll do the job," he says cheerfully, and I feel like punching him in the jaw.

"I don't need one." I don't, don't I?

"Right. Sorry. Didn't want to make you sound like a crazy person or anything. It's just…I feel like I'm talking to a stranger. You're different now."

"That's what happens to people," I say sharply. "People change. I bet you wouldn't even recognize me if you saw me."

"Pfft. Yeah right. You're still Bells. Put up a friggin' picture on Facebook or something."

"I don't take pictures," I tell him in mild disgust.

He snorts. "Neither do I." I believe him, because the only picture he has uploaded is from ninth grade. We're both juniors now and the changes must be drastic.

"But…" I say softly, "what do you mean by…different?"

It's getting increasingly frustrating to only hear his voice. This would be so much better face-to-face. Inescapably terrifying, too, but I'm sure it would be worth it. I feel a sharper than usual pang as I think of the impossibility of ever visiting Forks.

"You just…" He sounds like he's struggling for words. "Never mind."

"Tell me," I growl.

"It's not a big deal," he says, sounding almost reprimanding.

"You said you feel like you're talking to a stranger. I think I'd like to know why, Jake!"

"Just that…" he starts, then falters. He lets out a frustrated puff of air. "Well…I'm starting to go back and think about how things were…back then."

I follow with a delayed, quiet, "How?" and for some reason, my heart feels like it will beat harder and harder until it propels itself right out of my chest.

His voice is calmer now, almost meditative. "D'you remember when we'd walk down the forest trails in La Push and find places—like, just to claim them as our own?"

My mouth pulls up into an unconscious half-smile. "Yeah."

"There was this one place…that huge-ass rock we climbed… We found a shopping cart in the water, right?"

"You jumped in to try and get it," I recount. "Except the water was all muddy and you didn't want to tell your dad, so I ran home and stole some of Charlie's clothes."

"Yeah, and you didn't even complain about running like fifty miles or whatever," he says with a note of amusement. "I definitely woulda complained about it."

"Well, I didn't want to get you in trouble, and it was so rare that I saw you on weekends, anyway…" I toy with a loose thread on my shirt. "I missed you, even if I did see you every morning. I still can't believe you transferred to my school and made Billy haul you to my bus stop every day."

He laughs, but sounds slightly embarrassed. "Yeah. I really liked you."

I draw in a long, bitter breath. "Liked."

Jacob clears his throat, awkwardly. Now I wish I didn't say that.

"Well, yes," he says with a little more confidence. "And Bells…like I said, I'm—"

I cut him off, quick and sharp. "You don't have to apologize."

"But I should."

I purse my lips. "Look, we only have to bring this up again if anything's changed. Has anything changed, Jacob?"

"No. Well—never mind."

"Tell me what you were going to say," I demand. "I'm sick of this."

"Nothing important."

I glare at the floor, absolutely hating him. "Tell me."

"I don't even remember what I was going to say now."

"You're so full of shit! Why the hell do you always do this to me?"

"It's just fun to mess with you, Bells," he says with a laugh. "Remember how I always used to—"

"Yes," I bite out, "I do remember. It was practically a sport. 'Hey, I wonder how gullible Bella is today? I think I'll mess with her until she completely breaks down and spends days crying.' I mean do you have any idea how much you manipulated me? It got to the point where I couldn't trust you at all anymore! Every word out of your mouth…" I stop to bark out a harsh, humorless laugh. "Just so I wouldn't fall for your shit, I had to tell myself everything you said was a lie. Why do you think I never realized you wanted to get back together?"

"W…what?" he stammered. "Bella, I…"

To his credit, he sounds genuinely confused. But I'm too furious to care, and finally telling him all this is so freeing, such a rush. It's like I forgot I had all this pent-up anger until it came bursting out.

"Sorry," I whisper coldly, "but I don't like games. I don't like people screwing with my head." I'm about to tell him that he's probably the root of my trust issues before I stop myself. I don't want to make him feel guilty and obligated to make it up to me, or…something. That'd be even worse. I know about feeling guilty.

"Ouch," he breathes. "Jeez."

"I…okay, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"Maybe I deserved it," he mumbles.

"Of course you didn't," I tell him, hating myself a little more now. "I just…no."

Now we're stuck in that unpleasant, delicate stillness again, and I don't know what to do, other than change the subject.

"How's school going?" I ask. "Got any classes with Angela?"

"Oh…um, I don't go to Forks High. I transferred to the school on the rez."

"Really?" I'm surprised, because he was fairly popular in Forks. There's a bitter taste in my mouth as I suspect his bad-influence-friends are the culprits. It's totally irrational because it's not like I ever had any proof, but I'm unable to shake off the connection: Jacob makes new friends that cliff dive, Jacob becomes evil. "When?"

"Eh, around the middle of eighth grade. I, uh, think so, anyway."

I pretend to not notice that's when I moved.

"Right," I say, trying to sound a little more dignified than I feel. "That's good, I guess. As long as you like it."

"I do."

"Good, good."

"So…" he trails off, as if he expects me to come up with another topic of discussion. When I don't, he says, "What are you gonna do about that Edward guy?"

"Wait for him to go away," I mutter.

He laughs, too awkwardly to sound remotely natural.

I inhale and exhale slowly—in through the nose, out through the mouth—as I try to think of something else to say. But I feel resigned as I realize that we've run out of things to talk about. He's right. It's like talking to a stranger.

::

That night, I dream of an outdoor restaurant filled with teenagers. Some go to my school and some are from Forks. They all mingle as if they've known each other all their lives, which doesn't confuse me because it's a dream and everything makes perfect, uninterrupted sense. Jacob has a group of girls following him around like little done-up puppy dogs, and he seems indifferent, if not a little pleased.

I'm waiting at a glass table underneath a big, white canopy, waiting for…someone. For whom, I have no idea. I look over at Jacob longingly, but fear seizes me as I contemplate facing him.

"Hello."

I start, but eventually recover and look up across the table. "Hi, Edward."

He sends a seething glare over at Jacob. "Is he hurting you?"

"No," I lie.

Our breakfast has arrived, but I disregard that as I walk over to Jake in an odd, misty haze. There's a gigantic stone fountain in the middle of the yard and he's sitting against it. I take a seat beside him.

The first thing I notice is the expression on his face. This isn't my Jacob, but he's isn't Sam Uley's, either. This is something else entirely. This is a look of frustrated reluctance.

"Bella, go away," he says roughly, without looking at me. "I don't want you here. Don't you know how ridiculous you are? Why would you think I'd ever love you?"

The words burn, like hot coals are being thrown at me and sticking to my skin. Before I can think to do anything, to stop Edward from pummeling Jacob into dust, to run, I wake up to the sound of my own screams.

Yes. A stranger.

A/N: Don't worry, Bella's going back soon. She just has to realize she wants to first. :)