On Point

The teacher stood at the front of the room regarding all of us with a doleful look on her skeletal face, only reinforcing my thoughts that this had been a bad idea. Nobody would ever take me seriously as a dancer, and it was nigh-on embarrassing to keep forcing them to try and teach my chubby frame to move like a slim and graceful dancer.

"To the bar, dancers," the teacher instructed the lot of us. The class was quite varied; some teenagers like me – but mostly slim little things, - some young women who seemed to be in a group together, and a few older women too who looked like they might be here just to have fun. I was surprised that there were no boys in the class; but in a town as small as Forks, perhaps the male population weren't into dancing.

It had been too long since I had put on my leotard and ballet shoes, and despite the unflattering things that the leotard did to my figure, I had to admit that it felt good to be back in a dance studio preparing to dance.

My mother had dropped the boys and I off in Forks on her way to Port Angeles to look for a job a few days ago. Silas and Michael had opted to go to the little library – apparently there wasn't much to do in Forks in the way of entertainment – and we had parted ways so that I could seek out the dance studio which Michael had told me about.

The woman at the front desk had looked most dubious when I'd asked her about taking some ballet classes here. Nevertheless, she had signed me up for classes on Tuesday evenings from five until half six.

So here I was, following the dance instructor's simple instructions with one hand firmly grasping the dance bar. Due to the simple instructions we were being given, my mind began to wander.

The previous night, the whole family – Mom, Michael, Silas and I – had gone over to Tiffany Call's house for dinner. It had all been Embry's idea. He was exceedingly excited to have us around, and was eager to get to know us, even Michael. He had vowed to learn sign language so that he could communicate with Michael properly, which I thought was very considerate of him.

Despite Embry's best efforts however, dinner at Tiffany's had not gone well. Mom hadn't been nervous about seeing her sister – whom she had completely screwed over – for the first time in almost seventeen years. Me, on the other hand, well... my hands were shaking and I my palms were sweaty when we arrived at Tiffany's house at around seven pm.

Tiffany Call looked a lot like my own mother, except her hair was cut in a short and stylish bob where my mother wore hers long and curly. Tiffany was also taller and more plump – perhaps she had the same fat genes as me – and there were wrinkled beginning to form around her eyes and her mouth, which seemed to be perpetually frowning.

Needless to say though, she hadn't been all too pleased to see her sister.

"Finally decided to come home and face the music then?" was the first thing Tiffany had said to Mom, and I couldn't blame her. I still hadn't been able to get my head around what my mother had done to her. My brothers and I had been raised to look out for our own and we would always have each others' backs, no matter what.

Mom had smiled unkindly at her sister as she moved forward to embrace her. "Oh, sister, you know I never did like music much."

That had set the mood for the entire evening. Mom and Tiffany would exchange snide comments while us kids would try to make small talk. Tiffany didn't seem to want to have us there at all, and by the looks that Embry was shooting her – the kind that said, behave – I imagined that the whole thing had been forced upon her.

By the time we had finally been able to get out of there, both Tiffany and my mother had had too much wine and were slurring insults at each other. I couldn't imagine my relationship with either of my two brothers – or my two half brothers – ever boiling down to exchanging drunken insults across the dinner table while our children watched. It boggled my mind to consider the possibility.

"Let's promise never to steal each others' husbands," I said as we walked home from Tiffany and Embry's house. We hadn't brought the car because it was only a short walk. Embry had offered to give us a ride home but we had politely declined. Mom had an arm slung around Silas's waist and was leaning her head on his shoulder.

Silas grinned at me. "Deal."

"I can't promise anything," Michael signed with a wicked glint in his eye.

I was brought out of my reverie and snapped back into the present when the ballet instructor stood in front of me and looked me straight in the eye.

"Why are you here?" she asked me. I glanced around quickly to see if I had made an error, but all the other dancers were in virtually the same position as I was.

Looking back at the instructors light blue gaze I gulped and answered, "To dance?" It sounded like a question because I was unsure of what answer to give. Was this one of those cryptic exercises that teachers liked to do to humiliate their students?

The ballet instructors sighed and ran her eyes over my form. "This is a beginner class," she informed me. "You are clearly not a beginner."

"I didn't know there were different classes," I told her immediately. "The woman at the desk just told me to come in on Tuesday at five."

The instructor sighed again and pressed her fingers to her temples, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, they seemed to be clearer. "Come with me."

I took my hand off the bar and followed the instructor off the dance floor and out of the hall, into the reception where I had signed up for classes. The receptionist sat once again at the front desk, this time filing her nails. I imagined that her job wasn't the most exciting in the world.

"Lauren," the instructor said, slapping a slender hand down onto the hard top of the desk. The receptionist – Lauren – looked up at the woman in surprise. She opened her mouth to speak but the instructor cut her off before she could even begin. "How many times have I told you that you actually do need to ask customers what level they're at? I've just been teaching another experienced dancer in my beginner ballet class."

Lauren flicked her eyes from the instructor over to me, standing there like a lemon. She raised a hand to touch the bottom of her shoulder length blonde hair and frowned. "She doesn't look experienced, Mel." I blushed, inclined to agree with Lauren. Anyone would have thought the same as her because it was true; girls that looked like me didn't come across as experienced dancers... well, not until you saw them dancing at least.

Mel's eyes flamed. "The only reason I gave you this job is because you're my sister. Don't be so rude to my customers! This is my career, Lauren. Could you please try not to completely ruin it?"

Lauren glanced at me again and frowned. "So what level class will she be wanting?"

Mel looked over at me. "Just put her in with the other teenagers," she instructed Lauren, leaning over the desk slightly to try and peer at Lauren's computer screen. "And give her a refund for tonight's class, Lo."

I went with Mel back into the hall to collect my things.

"It's not really a class as such," Mel confided in me. "The one I've signed you up for. It's more of a dance group, mostly people your own age. I think you'll fit in well." Mel reached up and smoothed a hand over her neat bun at the back of her head. Her hair was a light brown colour, as opposed to her sister Lauren's pale blonde hair.

When I'd collected my things from the hall, put some pants on over my leotard and changed out of my ballet pumps, Lauren reluctantly handed me back the twenty dollars I'd paid her for tonight's lesson.

It was only once I got outside that I realised I didn't have a ride. Silas had dropped me off before heading off to Port Angeles with Michael to see a movie. They had arranged to pick me up at half past seven. Originally, I would have only been waiting for an hour, but now it was over two hours until they would be back to pick me up.

I grumbled, making my way along the street and pulling my phone out of my dance bag. Who could I call? I knew that there would be no use in calling my mother, because the whole family shared the one car and Silas had that. I still didn't know many people in La Push, though I did have Embry and Sam's numbers in my phone. Embry had been more than happy to give us his number, in case we ever needed anything. Sam had been reluctant, but Emily had rolled her eyes at her fiancé and tapped their number into our phones.

I decided to call Embry, figuring that he would be the most likely to acquiesce my request for a pick up. Hitting dial, I pressed my phone to my ear.

It rang three times before Embry answered in rough voice. "Sarah?"

I faltered, almost regretting deciding to call him. I mean, I didn't know him that well and he was probably not actually expecting us to need anything. It had probably just been a nicety.

"Sarah?" Embry asked again, this time his voice clearer. There was some rustling in the background, and then the unmistakable sound of him yawning.

"N-no. Not Sarah," I finally answered. "It's Aylen."

"Oh, hey, sister-cousin," Embry greeted me jovially. "What's up?"

I smiled. He and I had apparently adopted the idea of calling each other sister-cousin and brother-cousin. I was sure it would earn us some odd looks from anyone else who heard and didn't understand the situation.

"Um, it's just..." Why had I called? Stupid, stupid, stupid. It was so rude of me to just call and ask him to drive somewhere to come and pick me up. "Uh- you're not busy, are you?"

"Not really. What do you need?"

"It's just that I was supposed to be doing a ballet class in Forks, and Silas dropped me off before going to Port Angeles. Only, the stupid girl at the desk messed me about so now I don't even have class today and nobody's coming to pick me up for like, two and half hours," I babbled. "I just thought maybe- Like, it would be cool if you're not too busy to come and pick me up, but you don't have to."

"Um... right now?"

"... Yes."

"No worries. I'll send Paul," Embry decided. He yawned again. "Where are you?"

Reluctantly, grudgingly, I told Embry where I would meet Paul. I didn't want to have to sit alone in a car with Paul. He had been so rude to me, and if I was being honest, he scared the crap out of me. He was so... hostile. But at the same time, I couldn't deny that a part of me yipped in excitement at the prospect of Paul coming to get me.

I thanked Embry before hanging up and sliding my phone back into my dance bag. I stamped over to the little convenience store where I said I would meet Paul, and went inside to purchase a bottle of water. The acne faced teenager behind the counter seemed particularly interested in the view of my cleavage that my leotard presented and I glared at him.

After leaving the store, I leaned against the wall outside sipping on my water while I waited nervously for Paul to arrive. I was nervous. I knew that I was crap at talking to guys. It was different with Embry and Silas and even Sam... because there was never any possibility for anything other than a familial relationship. With any guy close to my own age that there was any possibility of anything ever happening, my system always went into overdrive and I acted like a complete dork.

Not that I wanted anything to happen with Paul, I didn't even want to be friends with him! He was rude, and mean, and intimidating and tall and too handsome. He was just... bad news.

I snapped myself out of thoughts about Paul when the man himself rolled up in an old looking pick up truck. A glance in the bed revealed to me that he was transporting a battered old motorcycle.

His window was rolled down and he looked at me as I stood up from leaning against the wall. "Get in then."

No hello? Fine by me. I nodded and swiftly snatched up my black dance bag from where I had put it on the ground beside me and raced around Paul's truck to the passenger door. I pulled it open with a lurch and climbed up onto the passenger seat.

The interior of Paul's truck was shabby and run down, the soft grey material covering the bench in the cab was littered with holes and dubious looking faded stains. It was a stick shift, and the coating on the dash was scuffed and discoloured.

"Um, thanks for coming to collect me," I mumbled when I closed the door. I noticed as I pulled my seatbelt across my body that the edges of the belt were fraying; it didn't look like the safest thing in the world.

Paul glanced over at me for a brief moment before pulling out onto the road, doing an illegal U-turn to head back towards the road that would lead us to La Push.

"You dance," Paul said after a few minutes of silent driving. The sky was still light, considering it was only the end of July but the good weather had taken a turn for the worst and the grey clouds in the sky were threatening rain.

"A little," I answered Paul. He hadn't actually asked a question, he had just stated something, but I had got the impression that I was supposed to reply. "Ballet."

Paul glanced over at me again, making me cringe because we were coming up to a hard corner on the bumpy road. He was grinning at me. "Nice leotard."

I looked down at myself and blushed. I hadn't thought to bring anything with me to wear over my leotard, as I had expected to be driving home with my brothers. The leotard was a simple black number but it showed off my cleavage a little more than I would have liked. It seemed to be to Paul's liking however, his eyes lingering slightly on the neckline of my leotard.

"Uh..." What did I even say to that? Was I supposed to say thanks to him so blatantly checking me out? "Yeah..." I plucked at the material of my leotard around my waist.

Paul chuckled. Obviously he wasn't bothered by my embarrassment. To me, this was an awkward situation, but he seemed to be as at ease as a person like Paul got.

"So, how old are you?" Paul asked me suddenly. Fortunately, he had averted his eyes back to the road and was actually looking at where we were going. He ran a large hand over his cropped black hair in what seemed like an unconscious habit as he drove.

"We're sixteen, Silas and I," I informed Paul. "How old are you?" It seemed like the appropriate question to ask in this situation.

"I'm eighteen. I'm turning nineteen in a couple of weeks," Paul told me, smiling. "We're going to have a party."

"You're only eighteen?" I asked in surprise, my eyes bugging as I regarded him. He looked so much older than eighteen. He looked like he was in his mid-twenties at least. Then again, I had thought the same about Embry who had turned out to only be a year old than Silas and I. Paul raised his eyebrows at me, surprised at my surprise. "It's just- You look so much older than eighteen."

"How old do I look?" Paul asked me curiously.

I thought for a moment. "You could pass for about twenty-five," I decided.

Paul grinned and winked at me. "Rental cars, here I come."

"You'd need ID for that," I informed him matter-of-factly, immediately kicking myself for being such a downer. We had had a rapport going and then I'd gone and ruined it with my facts and my information.

"Huh, true," Paul admitted. "But I can buy beer without getting ID'd." I could tell that he was proud of the fact.

"Silas sometimes buys beer when he gets invited to parties," I told Paul. "He has a fake ID. He doesn't need it though. Our mom would buy us alcohol if we asked for it anyway."

"She sounds cool." Paul tapped his fingers on the steering wheel a couple of times.

"She is," I agreed. "Sometimes."

When we arrived back into La Push, Paul didn't drop me off at my own house. Instead, he drove right past it – I saw it go by out my window – and parked up at a similar looking house near the outskirts of La Push. For a moment, I considered the possibility that perhaps he had mistakenly thought that this house was mine, that he had just taken me to the wrong house.

But no, as soon as he'd pulled his key from the ignition, Paul exited the cab of his truck and began climbing the porch steps to the house. I quickly exited the truck too, not wanting to linger in there like some weirdo.

I stood outside of the passenger door debating internally whether to just start walking home – I was pretty sure I would be able to find my way back to my house, and I was sure that the friendly people of La Push would be willing to offer directions if I asked nicely – or to take my chances and follow Paul up the steps. I couldn't decide which one Paul would deem as more appropriate, which one he was expecting.

Just as I was erring on the side of cutting my losses and trying to make my own way back to the house that I actually inhabited, Paul turned to look at me from the top of the steps. His dark eyebrows were raised expectantly and there was a smile threatening to bloom at the corners of his mouth.

"Are you coming, or what?" he asked, his hand jerking slightly towards the house, as if motioning me to follow him.

I took a deep breath before slinging my black dance bag over my shoulder and hurrying around the truck to follow Paul up the porch steps. Just like at Sam and Emily's house, there was an intricately carved wooden bench sitting against the wall of the house. The theme of this piece seemed to be wolves, with howling wolves protruding from the arms of the bench. It was beautiful.

I stopped to admire the piece for a moment, leaning down to run my fingers along the smooth wooden lines. I wondered where Paul had bought it; I would so liked to have had one for my own house. I knew it was something that my mother would also love.

"It's not finished yet," Paul said from behind me.

I stood up straight and turned to look at him, gaping. "Not finished yet?"

Paul nodded, moving past me to examine the bench himself. His eyes were critical as he regarded the masterpiece. "Yeah, I still need to spend some sanding it down and just... finishing it off, really."

My eyes bugged. "You made this?" I asked slowly. I looked back at the piece, expecting to see some tell-tale signs of amateur craftsmanship, but there were none. The piece, to my untrained eye at least, was perfect.

"Yeah," Paul admitted, smiling slightly. "It's something to do in my spare time."

I moved around a little, trying to see the bench from a different angle, for some reason determined to find a fault with it. "But... it's so beautiful."

Paul grinned at me, crossing his bulky arms over his equally as bulky chest. "You think? Sam's better at it than I am."

I looked away from the bench and up into Paul's handsome face. It was true, that for the most part Paul was incredibly intimidating and scary; but that had more to do with the scowl he seemed to always be wearing than anything else, I was sure. But now, I was blown away by how handsome Paul actually was, when his face was upturned in a weightless smile like it was now.

"You could sell this," I said to Paul suddenly, and his eyebrows furrowed. "I mean, things like this. I bet people would pay top dollar for it and everything."

Paul nodded. "Sam's sold a few pieces here and there; there's quite a market for handmade furniture, actually." He uncrossed his arms and linked his hands, stretching them above his head. I couldn't help but stare at the strip of exposed skin that came into view when Paul's t-shirt rode up a little. My eyes snapped back to his when his clothes were righted, and he was smirking at me. "But like I said, Sam's better than I am at this. His stuff is more... refined."

I found that hard to believe. No matter how hard I looked, I couldn't seem to find a flaw in Paul's crafted bench. The carvings were intricate and artistic, the designs beautiful.

"I bet my mom would love this," I told Paul, smiling as I imagined my mother ordering Paul to make her whole new sets of furniture. "She thinks of herself as an artist, see. This is exactly the kind of thing that she loves." I ran my fingers over the wolf's head that was protruding from the top of the bench once more. "What's with the wolves?" It seemed to be a running theme; I remembered the bench outside Sam's house had also been decorated with wolves.

Paul scrubbed a large hand over his cropped hair and shrugged. "Wolves are sort of... important to our tribe," he told me and I perked up, listening. "The legends tell us that we are descended from wolves."

I furrowed my brow, confused. "What, like actual wolves?" Paul nodded. "Like, real life, wild wolves?" Paul nodded again. "How would that even be possible?"

Paul grinned and wiggled his fingers at me. "Magic." He chuckled and pushed himself away from the porch bannister on which he had been leaning and headed towards the door. "Come on."

Taken one last look at the bench, I followed Paul through the front door of the house. The inside of Paul's house was nice and cool, a welcome relief from the humidity outside.

Paul closed the door behind me and bracing one hand against the wall, he leaned down to untie the laces of his tennis shoes. "You'll have to take your shoes off. My dad's kind of strict about shoes in the house."

Nodding, I dropped my dance bag onto the hard wood floor and lifted one leg to slide off an Ugg boot – I didn't particularly like Ugg boots, but they were the ideal footwear to wear to dance lessons because I could slide them on over my dance shoes if necessary – and then followed suit with the other. I placed them both down next to Paul's tennis shoes, noting with surprise how massive his shoes were.

I followed Paul into the sitting room of his house. It was immaculately clean and tidy, nothing seemed to be out of place in the room. Books were all arranged on a bookshelf at one side of the room, the coffee table held a neat stack of magazines and a box of tissues. Paul dropped down onto one side of a large black leather sofa, and grabbed a remote control from the coffee table, flicking his wrist towards the large television on the wall and bringing it to life.

I hesitantly dropped onto the couch beside Paul, careful to sit as far away from him as the couch would allow me. I didn't pull my feet up underneath me as I usually did, because I knew that it would make my legs look fat.

Paul flicked through channels for a few minutes before he settled on an episode of Scrubs.

"So... how come you didn't just take me home?" I asked Paul quietly after a few minutes of silent watching. I picked at the strap of my leotard nervously. Usually I would have been laughing and chuckling at the antics of the doctors on screen, but Paul wasn't so I held myself back. Perhaps he wasn't a very laughy guy.

Paul glanced over at me in surprise. "I thought we could hang out."

This boggled my mind. Never in my entire life had someone like Paul ever wanted to hang out with someone like me. I would have liked to be one of those people who was convinced that appearances didn't matter, but so often for me, they did. And on the scale of hot and not, Paul and I were at different ends of the spectrum.

"Hang... out?" I asked slowly, my eyes narrowed.

Paul nodded at me slowly, as if he were trying to communicate with a slow person. I supposed that I was probably coming across as a bit slow, the way I was perplexed by a simple hanging out session.

"Why?" I asked Paul, truly needing an answer. I scrunched my nose up in confusion as Paul and I stared at each other, his dark eyes boring into mine.

Paul licked his lips slightly before answering. "Why not?" And then, with a satisfied grin, he turned his gaze back to the television.

"Ugh, that's not a proper answer," I pointed out, which only made Paul's grin grow, much to my frustration. He didn't look at me though, keeping his smug eyes on the television screen. I reached over boldly, and poked him in the arm. "Paul. Paul." I didn't stop to ask myself whether it was a good idea or not before I balled my hand into a fist and punched him in the arm. "Paul- oh!"

So fast that I somehow hadn't even seen it coming, Paul had grabbed my fist ad used it to pull me towards him so that I ended up with my back against his knees, and him holding my wrists together in one of his large – and very warm – hands.

"Paul, what the-"

I was cut off by the slamming of the front door and I wiggled slightly, panicked, to try and get away from Paul. "Paul," I hissed.

Before I could do anything more however, a middle-aged man who closely resembled Paul entered the room. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts and his black hair looked like it was still damp. He didn't seem to find anything out of place as he observed the scene in front of him; Paul sitting on the sofa with a girl held prisoner in his lap. I was mortified, my cheeks heating and my chest turning red from the embarrassment.

"Good kayak?" Paul asked the man, not seeming too bothered by the situation.

The man nodded and smiled. "Yeah, there were some good waves. You should come out with us next time," the man invited excitedly. His eyes then settled on me. "Hi, I'm Paul's dad, Mason."

I blushed even more. This was one of the most embarrassing things that had ever happened to me. "Hi," I squeaked. "I'm A-Aylen."

Above me, Paul grinned and I wished that Silas would have been here to sock him. "This is a friend of mine," Paul told his father. "She just moved into town. Her mom is Mindy Call."

Mason raised his eyebrows in interest.

"She's Mindy Ashford now," I corrected Paul. I couldn't believe that he still had me across his lap. Why hadn't he let me up? Had he no decency?

"Huh," Mason grunted. He ran a hand through his damp hair, in a gesture that reminded me of Paul. "I'm sure that will cause a whole butt load of drama." I bit my lip. "Anyway, I'm going to go and get the dinner on. Are you staying, Aylen?"

I shook my head. "N-no thanks. I should be getting home soon."

"Oh well. It was nice meeting you then," Mason said before leaving the room.

"Let me go," I hissed at Paul as soon as I was sure Mason would be out of earshot. "That was so embarrassing! I can't believe you did that to me."

Paul grinned down at me for a moment before releasing my wrists. I shot up off the sofa.

"It wasn't that bad."

I clenched my fists. "Yes, it was. I'm going home now."

"Fine," Paul said nonchalantly, still grinning. "Bye."

"Bye!"

I stormed out of the room.

Funnily enough, I also had this one written before I even began publishing the story. I just end up forgetting all about the things I'm suppose to update. I also have the next chapter written, so I hope to be putting that one up some time next week.

Thanks to my fabulous two reviewers: Guest and reader5sam. I hope you keep reading despite my sporadic updates.

In the next chapter: a party's a party's a party, even with uninvited guests.