Well, This Sucks: Life According to Seth
Chapter Ten

July 4, 2007

"So wait, do you guys celebrate the Fourth of July or no?"

Pru and I were sitting on ratty lawn chairs amidst a large, chatty crowd in Forks's Tillicum Park. The annual demolition derby was going to begin soon, and we were killing the time by devouring a bag of kettle corn and making fun of each other.

I leaned back, stretching my legs out until they took up most of the space underneath the chair in front of me. "Nah. I mean, that'd be kind of weird, wouldn't it? Celebrating the oppression of our people and whatever."

Pru laughed lightly despite a mouth full of popcorn. She swallowed and said, "Yeah, that's what I was thinking. Are you being considered a traitor for being here today, then? Like, are the elders gonna come after you with tomahawks or something when you get home tonight?"

I snorted. "We're people, Pru, not total barbarians. All that shit was in the past, anyhow. Just because we don't shoot off fireworks doesn't mean we sit around bonfires and plot ways to take down the white supremacy. Besides," I added, stealing a handful of popcorn from the bag and successfully losing half of it in the grass, "we still join in on the festivities for Forks Old-Fashioned 4th of July. Call us hypocrites, but we like to have fun." I gestured widely to the water-coated arena some twenty feet before us.

"I was kidding, dumbass. And speaking of your tribe, here come two of them now…" Her voice faded into nothing, and I looked up in time to see Collin and Brady making their way towards me. The grins on their faces could only be described as maniacal.

I said easily, "Hey guys, what's up?" I looked over their shoulders to see if anyone else was here yet, since we never missed the demolition derby. It was total testosterone-driven fun, and no man was worthy of his illustrious Man Card if he couldn't come up with a legit excuse for sitting at home and missing it.

"Oh, nothing much," Brady replied just as easily, casually helping himself to our food. He is a few inches taller than Collin, but I'm still a head taller than him when standing up. The curse of being naturally tall to begin with was that I still manage to tower over everyone else after the ancient magic or whatever sets in, giving our wolfy freakinessness my own personal spin. "Just chilling with the guys over there"—he jerked his thumb in some vague direction that indicated nothing—"and when we saw you, we thought we'd just, you know, pop on over to say hi." He looked at Pru the entire time he was talking.

Now would be a good time to mention that Brady is basically the biggest horndog I know. In fact, the only girl I've never seen him stare lustily after is my own sister, and that's because she treats him like a pet, ruffling his hair and giving him her leftover pizza and stuff. He's probably scared shitless of her, too, like almost every other guy in La Push, so that might explain it. But with the exception of Leah, Brady flirts with and hits on and dry humps any female that ever happens to cross his line of vision, which would probably be funny if it weren't so pathetically true.

He's basically the neo-Quil, since someone had to take over as Ladies' Man of La Push once Quil's heart was eternally stolen by a girl in diapers.

I made no secret of kicking him in the shin, which had no impact at all. "Guys, this is my friend Pru. Pru, these two idiots are Brady and Collin."

I felt a little bit sorry lumping Collin into the same category as Brady, but I could tell by the strange winks and glances he was sending in my direction that he thought that Pru was my hot bitch of choice, and any pity I might have felt for his connection to Captain Boner was lost.

"Mm, nice to meet you guys," Pru said a little dryly, not yet certain if she trusted these gargantuan boy-men that I called friends.

"Forget it," Brady said airily, waving his arm for effect, "the pleasure's all mine. You kids sticking around for the fireworks? Cuz we've got a little extra room on the blanket we brought, and…"

I don't even know how he finished his useless come-on, because I was too overwhelmed with the idea of him and the rest of the guys digging through a closet and picking out a goddamn blanket to bring to the Old-Fashioned 4th of July, and I was just starting to imagine the patterning (a regal moose?) when I heard Pru reply tartly, "Your attempt to get into my pants is cavalier and all that, but I really think I'm gonna have to pass on the offer, thanks."

I was three seconds from yelling "COCKBLOCKED!" for the entire population of Forks to hear, but Collin quickly started to drag Brady away, and I'm not sure the elderly woman sitting a few feet away with a horde of grandchildren surrounding her would have been as appreciative of the praise as Pru might have been.

"Nice friends you've got," she remarked curtly, reaching behind her head to tighten her strawberry blonde ponytail. "Seriously. Great guys."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "Yeah, sorry about Brady. But Collin's not so bad, really."

She rolled her eyes. "Oh, mmhmm. Because I totally didn't see the way he was looking between us like he expected we were fuck buddies or something."

"Wow, that's awkward."

She shrugged. "That's definitely what he was thinking."

"Well, yeah, I know that, but you didn't have to mention it or anything."

"Why not? Because it reminds you of when we met at Jason M.'s party, and the unsolved mystery of whether or not we fucked?"

"Do you thrive on awkward conversations, Pru? Seriously?"

She lazily flicked a piece of popcorn at me and stood up to reposition her legs underneath her body, pretzel-style. "Sort of. Speaking of Jason, where the fuck are the three of them? We've got these stupid lawn chairs for them, and people are eying them like goddamn vultures."

It was another fifteen minutes before the three Jasons showed up, and the demolition derby had already started. Pru and I were enraptured by the cars smashing into each other and the smoke pouring from their hoods. We were each cheering for someone different and would toss popcorn at each other each time something bad happened to our picks. I vaguely noted that there was a girl sitting on Jason P.'s lap, some anonymous brunette with jean shorts that could double as underwear. I didn't even notice her until her thigh bumped the arm of my chair, but I waved off her apology, barely taking my eyes away from the derby. I could feel Pru staring at me afterwards and turned to look at her, blankly asking, "What?"

But before she could answer, a group of three older girls passed my vision off in the distance, weaving through chairs and annoyed people who craned their necks to see around the girls as they walked.

And of course, Lauren Mallory was one of them.

I couldn't help it: my head pivoted around as she walked past, following her, my lips parted.

"What the fuck, man!" Jason M. suddenly slammed the back of his hand into my arm from two seats over, though I barely felt it. "What the hell do you want with my sister?"

I swirled around, but I could still see the blue of her blouse in my peripherals. "I don't, uh, your sister…" I said eloquently and calmly. She disappeared from edge of my vision. "I wasn't even looking at her, Jason, I was looking at that, uh, you know, that thing over there, that, uh, Pru I mean, because she was talking to me…"

But Pru would have no part of it. "Like hell you were paying attention to me," she grumbled, arms crossed.

There was hostility in Jason M.'s eyes, but he just shrugged it off and said to his shoulder, "Whatever, I don't care, but it's your funeral."

"Oh, come on!" I cried, giving up on lying about it. "It's not like I've done anything—"

"I said I don't care. She's just such a bitch, is all."

I was so surprised by his response that I actually laughed, and he looked at me sharply. I said jovially, "Is that all? Dude, I knew that."

His facial expression didn't change. "I'm serious. She'll eat your heart for dinner if you giver her the opportunity."

"That's sick."

"It's fucking true."

My fingers pressed into the cool plastic armrest of my lawn chair, my short nails scraping each subtle bump on the rough surface. "Don't worry about it. My heart"—I managed to roll my eyes at the word—"has nothing to do with it." And hell, I couldn't tell you whether or not I was telling the truth, because it hardly matters much, does it? I mean, I'm Seth Clearwater, perverted, gangly Squanto-wannabe who exists solely to make her life miserable, and she's Lauren Mallory, queen of the goddamn universe, or at least the queen of goddamn Forks, Washington.

"So, what," Jason M. replied, "it has nothing to do with your heart and everything to do with your dick?"

Pru groaned, "Oh, for fuck's sake. Boys."

"What? No!" I cried, horrified and slightly flustered.

"It doesn't matter, anyway," he said, looking me straight in the eyes. "She'll break that, too. In half. With pliers. Rusty ones."

And the whole time we watched the demolition derby, the whole time we watched the fireworks, the whole time we joked around with each other, the whole time Brady was cockblocked again and again when we joined him and the others after fireworks, I found myself wishing that I could simply walk into EB Games and buy a walkthrough manual to life. With color pictures.

So I could see the green of her e—

NO.

NO.

NO.

Color manuals are more expensive, anyway.

--

July 6, 2007

Today was officially my last day of summer school semester one. No more remedial English, remedial chemistry, and freaking stress management. (Actually, it may or may not have been remedial stress management, a.k.a. P.E. for Complete Morons, but I have no real evidence of this other than the fact that I was one of six students, four of whom were high basically every day and still managed to pass.)

And you know, I have to say, I don't feel any smarter than I did when I started five weeks ago. I mean, just saying.

Mom says it's purely psychological—that I didn't learn anything because I'd convinced myself from the start that I was wasting my time. I think she's kind of annoyed that I shut myself off like that, but I'm not entirely sure that's true. I mean, there's also the distinct possibility that my teachers just sucked at their job. Or I'm just an idiot.

Although I have to admit, J. Alfred Prufrock and I are bros now:

No! I am not Prince Hamlet, nor was meant to be;
Am an attendant lord, one that will do
To swell a progress, start a scene or two,
Advise the prince; no doubt, an easy tool,
Deferential, glad to be of use,
Politic, cautious, and meticulous;
Full of high sentence, but a bit obtuse
At times, indeed, almost ridiculous—
Almost, at times, the Fool.
-from "The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock" by T.S. Eliot

I just gave him an imaginary fist bump.

--

July 7, 2007

Frick-frackin' Makahs.

This lack of action is driving me up the wall. Nothing is happening.

They just cavort around our woods, watching us, and we just cavort around their woods, watching them, and it's like, what is the goddamn point?

I have not seen anything cool or awesome or even remotely suspicious when on patrol in their territory. In fact, the most interesting thing I ever witnessed was someone watching Shrek in their living room, and I could see the TV through the front window. And it got to the point where everyone was so freaking bored that there was eventually a group of four wolves lined up on the lawn of some random house, watching Donkey annoy the shit out of Shrek. And later, when we got back to La Push as the sun was rising and Sam asked us to report on what we saw, we made up some story about watching some of their foxes ravage a dumpster, which he blew totally out of proportion and was about to go investigate the nearest landfill until we finally told him the truth. Naturally, he was really pissed about it, but it was way too early for all of that and we were all dying to get some food in our stomachs, so Paul was just like, "Screw you, Sam, I'm makin' waffles," and we all cracked up, leaving Sam red in the face, and that was the end of that.

The four of us have never been put on patrol together again. Huh.

Anyway, this lack of action is making all of us a little restless I think, because we're starting to look for trouble in places where it doesn't exist. For example, last week one of the n00bs spawned by Ye Olde Vampire Reunion of '06, Devon, came running out of the woods screaming, "The squirrels! The squirrels are shape-shifters!" And we all thought it was really flipping hilarious until the paranoia started to get the rest of us, too. I spent an hour and a half yesterday listening to Brady talk about this giant crow that had the audacity to look at him as he skirted the edge of the woods, and how its gaze was so "piercing" and "hauntingly humanistic" that there was no way in hell it was a real crow, and that it just had to be a shape-shifter. We all rolled our eyes and stuff, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that the crows around here are big and fat and just plain old huge, which is just kind of weird for birds, and there's this sneaking suspicion camping out in the back of my brain that Brady isn't crazy after all and every single animal we've ever known and trusted is actually a shape-shifter.

"Brain," I said out loud today, "I have enough paranoia on my plate right now as it is. I don't need this shit."

But alas, my brain did not listen.

Ladybugs, I'm on to you.

--

July 8, 2007

I no longer think that I caused my father's death.

I know I didn't.

It wasn't my fault, nor was it Leah's.

We couldn't help what happened, just like he couldn't help the fact that his heart was weak.

The first six months were horrible. I couldn't stand to be me anymore, because I was convinced, I was so completely convinced that if I had been anyone other than myself, Dad wouldn't have died. If my DNA had been just that much different, the wolf-genes would have stayed out of me and Dad would have stayed alive. But I couldn't stand to be the wolf either—that was what I called it in my head, the wolf, all detached and impersonal because I couldn't associate myself with that creature. It wasn't Seth Clearwater; not at first. It was the wolf's fault that everything had happened the way it did. If it weren't for the wolf, everything would have been perfect.

But it was hard not to be the wolf. Whenever I got upset and disgusted with my human self I would just feel it start to happen, would feel my growing bones ache, my muscles throb, and a snarl would rise up in my throat before I could repress it, and everything was shifting, my body was convulsing and transforming without my say-so, and there it was, the wolf, right inside my bedroom or in the woods or behind a shed, and I was stuck somewhere inside its stupid head.

I could never help the poisonous thoughts. It was just the natural line of thinking.

Seth, stop it, Leah would command me, and I would try so hard to push away the sound of her mind, because nobody in the world wants their sister hearing their thoughts. But she would persist: Seth, no, we didn't. Please stop. We didn't kill him, it's not our fault, we didn't do it.

But she thought it sometimes, too, and those times were the worst. Because not only did I have my guilt swirling around inside my head and my stomach, but there was hers too, and I could feel it weighing down my mind, her grief mixing with mine, accusing, relentless, exhausting. Leah would run. That's how she got so fast, I think. She ran and she ran and she ran, trying to leave it all behind her, and so many people thought it was just about Sam; they didn't understand that having to hear his thoughts was not half as bad as hearing her own.

Leah had her running, and I had—what? Jake? He took me in, mentored me, didn't ask too many questions. After all, we'd both lost someone that day. I lost my dad and he lost Bella, pretty much in one fell swoop. I'm not ignorant to the fact that, had my dad not died, there never would have been any mix-up, and the Cullens never would have returned. And it still makes my brain ooze out my ears to think of it, but if Leah and I hadn't phased into wolves that day, Dad wouldn't have died and Bella would have been with Jake and I never would have become friends with any of the Cullens and Nessie would never have been born and—crap, there goes my brain, leaking onto the floor.

Today Dad would have been fifty-four. But he will never surpass fifty-two.

I've stopped trying to place blame, stopped looking into all the "what if?" situations, stopped thinking too hard over it, because in the end, thinking about it only leads to hurt and guilt, and I can't handle that.

We try not to be sad anymore, Mom and Leah and I. We didn't do anything out of the ordinary today, except instead of leaving the house to hang out with friends or Charlie after dinner, we all settled in front of the TV and watched Planes, Trains & Automobiles because it was Dad's favorite movie. And we laughed at all the best parts even though we've seen the movie about a hundred times since last March, and when we got to the end where Steve Martin is finally reunited with his family and he embraces his wife, Leah and I sat a little closer to Mom, and she grabbed our hands but didn't cry.

Charlie came over around ten o'clock, and at first I thought it was going to make me mad, but there was this special on the pop culture of the '90s on TV and we all sat around watching it and cracking up and making commentary, and it was fun, and my stomach felt light with laughter rather than heavy with guilt. I'm not going to say that we felt like a family, because we didn't, but I keep thinking of Alice's certainty that Charlie and my mom are going to be happy together, and after tonight I believe it.

I miss my dad so much. And while I would do anything, absolutely anything to bring him back, I know it's not going to happen. But since I've always known that, that was never the problem. What's different now is that I'm okay with it. This is my reality, right here and now: Seth the Amazing Wolf Boy, Makah douches, retarded friends, summer school, Charlie, imprinting paranoia, Her Royal Highness…

It is what it is. And it's okay.

Happy birthday, Dad.

--

July 10, 2007

Okay, I get it. There are kids starving out there in Tunisia and Chad and stuff, and people are being molested and evicted from their homes and dying of cancer and any combination of all of these. But I don't see why any of this should prevent me from thinking I'm having a shitty day.

I mean, let's put things in perspective. There's this boy living in Tunisia—let's call him Aziz, all right? Aziz is ten years old and he lives in a hut made out of cow dung. I don't actually know if people in Tunisia live in poop huts, but somewhere in Africa, I know people do. So for the purposes of this hypothetical situation, we're saying that that place is Tunisia. Anyway, for poor little Aziz (or Azzy, as his friends call him, and Zizi, as only his mom can call him without losing a pair of nads) the average day consists of fetching water from fifteen miles away, crafting more huts out of cow dung, caring for his two sick aunts, and finding out that he's been arranged to marry the ugly girl from two huts over. He is also starving. But for Aziz, this is normal. For him, a day would only be considered shitty if something exponentially crappy happened, such as the slaughtering of several village elders or the beginning of a terrible plague. Because that's just how life is.

But my life is very different from that of little Aziz of Tunisia. So what would be considered a blessing to him (for example, the only edible thing left in the pantry is a box of old croutons) would count as shitty for someone like me. So I'm entitled to thinking today sucks, dammit.

Because really, today did suck.

I mean, besides having to eat a bowl of croutons with milk for breakfast, I also had a run-in with Embry that took a turn for the worst.

I was at the convenient store, seeing if they had any stupid protractors for stupid remedial geometry, but was distracted by the junk food aisle, where I saw Embry stocking up with a giant armful of bags.

"Dude, are you having a party soon or what?"

He looked at me over the mountain of chips and pretzels, and his dark eyes looked almost hauntingly tired. "Hey Seth. No, no party."

"Oh, lemme guess. Your cupboards are bare, too." I laughed and grinned widely. "Stocking up on the essentials, I see."

He just sighed. "No, the cupboards aren't bare, either. I just want this stuff."

And suddenly it dawned on me. "Oh my God, Embry, you girl! You're depression eating."

His eyes narrowed. "Um, no."

See, normally I would find Embry's unamused presence to be rather intimidating. We're about the same height, but he's got that whole strong and silent thing going on, which not only makes him way sexier than me (or so I've heard, because I totally don't judge other dudes or anything, because I like girls and boobs and stuff and…just forget it), but also gives room for his muscles to do all the talking. I'm too busy saying dumb things to have that same effect. But on this occasion, his entire torso and half of his face was hidden behind bags of junk food, and this illusion gave me courage.

"I mean," I said, "girls eat chocolate and whole tubs of ice cream when they're upset, right? You're having that same reaction over all this shit with Caroline!"

Really, I was quite proud of my deductions.

But Embry just shook his head. "This isn't about Caroline, Seth." I'm honestly not sure if that hint of sadness was in his eyes prior to this moment. "I'm upset, but it's over. She doesn't want me anymore, so we're done."

And just when it seemed like this was more of a sucky day for Embry than anyone else, here's where I stepped in to royally fuck things up, as I tend to do.

After all, this was news to me. Since I had seen first-hand how badly she had wanted things to work out between the two of them, I could only assume that she had chosen her secret Makah boyfriend over him. "Oh," I said, still stunned, "so how'd you find out about Tyler? She's going to kill whoever told you, you know."

There was a long pause. Then—

"Who the hell is Tyler?"

Well shit.

SHIT. SHIT. SHIT.

I swallowed uncomfortably; my tongue suddenly felt too huge and too dry for my mouth. "Um, well Embry, that's a—that's a really good question. Um…"

He dropped all the bags at his feet.

"Don't kill the messenger!" I yelled, glancing towards the counter as if I thought the creepy, toothless owner had a panic button or something like they do in banks.

"Who's Tyler, Seth?"

"Well, see, that's the thing. I don't exactly know."

He raised one eyebrow, effectively giving me the willies. "You don't know," he stated.

I shook my head. "No, here, let me explain. You see, she called me the other day…"

In retrospect, that wasn't exactly the smartest way to start, considering how he already knew about the time she approached me naked, but I told him what had happened when she called earlier this week. It wasn't much of a story and didn't actually clear up anything, but it was the truth, and Embry could tell I wasn't lying.

"I—I'm sorry, Embry. I don't know anything else."

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. "I know, I know," he said slowly. "I shouldn't even—it's not my business anymore—she's not my girlfriend…" He emptied his lungs loudly and looked at me with a grim smile. "Thanks for telling me, Seth."

And now that I'm here in my room, writing about this incident several hours after the fact, it has suddenly dawned on me:

I am officially on Caroline's hit list.

--

July 11, 2007

"Dude, I know you're thinking about my sister."

This is what Jason M. said the instant he opened his door to find me standing on his welcome mat.

"No, I'm not."

"Then you're thinking about Pru."

"Negativo."

"Then you've stumped me. Who are you mentally boning today?"

"Why the fuck am I friends with you? You're as bad as Brady. Can I please come in your house, since, you know, you did invite me over after I finished class today."

"Yeah, sure, whatever."

"I'm actually thinking about this girl named Caroline."

"I knew it! Who is she?"

"My friend's ex-girlfriend."

"Seth, you dickhead. I love it."

"It's not like that. Their story is tragic."

"How so?"

"It's complicated. They're not together because of matters out of their own control. That, and she has a secret boyfriend, but that's another story for another time. Anyway, I think they both really like each other still, but it's difficult and—why the hell am I telling you all of this?"

"No fuckin' clue. Wanna play Halo?"

"Sure."

--

Later.

I wish I had the moral sleaziness to lie to my own man-journal, but clearly I fail at even keeping the truth from a goddamn bundle of paper.

That isn't all that happened when I went over to the Mallorys' house today.

"Seth," Jason M. said after we'd been playing Halo for about an hour, "I think you should talk to my sister about this shit with your friends, because, as someone in possession of a vagina, she is more equipped to deal with this than I am."

"Are you trying to set me up with her?"

"No?"

"Didn't you beat me up a few weeks ago when I joked about fucking your sister? And that was before I even knew you had a sister."

"Okay, you want the truth?"

"I do."

"I think it would be really funny to see you lose your dick to a pair of rusty pliers."

My loins reflexively withered and died.

"Oh, hey, speak of the devil!" he cried when, seconds later, the front door opened and closed, followed by the sound of heels clicking against the hardwood floor. "HEY LAUREN! MY FRIEND'S GOT GIRL PROBLEMS FOR YOU!"

"FUCK OFF, JASON. I'M NOT IN THE MOOD."

This exchange lasted for another minute or so, and the entire time I just sat there, the Xbox controller lying uselessly in my lap while I awaited my fate. Half their conversation consisted of "fuck you" and "no, fuck you" before I finally yelled, "IT'S SERIOUSLY NOT A BIG DEAL!" and, slightly miffed, Lauren yelled back, "WHO'S WITH YOU, ANYWAY?"

"NO ONE!" I yelled back, casting Jason M. some very desperate looks, because even though there was this part of me that wanted to see her, there was this bigger part of me that wanted to not have my dick hewn in half by rusty pliers, which she most certainly would do when she discovered I was in her house.

"IT'S THAT SETH KID. THE ONE FROM LA PUSH."

Fuck you, Jason M. Fuck you very, very much.

There was a long silence. Then her heels clacked ominously on the floor and approached the landing to the stairs. Muffled footsteps against carpet. Light swishes of fabric approaching Jason M.'s bedroom. The hottest, bitchiest girl in the world looming in the doorway, hip popped out, eyes gleaming, fingernails drumming.

I gulped. "It's, uh, it's really no big deal, you know…"

"Nonsense," she replied, pulling her painted red lips tightly back together once the word was out of her mouth.

"Seriously, it's not. In fact, I don't even feel like explaining it again."

And then she laughed so harshly and suddenly that I jumped and the controller buttons rattled in my lap, small tremors of plastic on plastic. "Since when are you afraid of me?"

And that's when I flared up. "What?" I cried. "I'm not afraid of you!"

"Yes, you are. You don't want to talk to me."

"Because you'll bitch me out for no reason like usual!"

Her eyes narrowed to small slits. "You're starting to give me a very good reason."

"What?"

"You're pissing me off."

"Clearly that's not hard to accomplish. Most days, all I have to do is look at you to achieve that effect."

"Did you have a problem you want solved or not?"

"Oh, like you could help, anyway."

"Whatever. Suit yourself."

And then she was gone.

I stared at my lap.

"That was fucking hilarious!" Jason M. crowed into the silence. "I need to invite you over more often!"

A/N: And with that, I am officially off of hiatus. Is this chapter up to snuff? It's been awhile, and I feel good about it for the most part, but I feel like something is slightly off.

I have so much to say, but because I've been so wordy in my author's notes as of late, I'll just say this: you are all incredible. Beyond words. I'm so grateful to have such a patient, energetic, generous, hilarious readership.

I'm going to be editing all the previous chapters now in order to fix typos, inconsistencies (Seth's messed up summer school schedule, for one), and other mistakes. Flat jokes that make me cringe will be purged, but there will be no major changes. If you've noticed something that needs to be fixed, either let me know through a review or PM, and I'll be sure to change it.

Thank you so much for stopping by and reading.