I DO NOT OWN THE TWILIGHT SAGA.
TWO DAYS LATER.
Nessie's P.O.V.
"Hey Nessie," a voice rings out before someone sits down next to me. I'm sitting on the beach in La Push, watching the sun set. I'm supposed to be doing my homework, but decided against it. I turn my head to see Jake with his legs crossed and his eyes squinting out into the setting sun. I sigh.
"Hey Jake," I say. He looks at me and smirks.
"You look nice today," he says softly. I'm wearing jeans, a red sweater with Mickey Mouse on it and white converse sneakers. My hair, which I straightened this morning, is pulled up into a tight bun and I put on some winged eyeliner with some nude lip gloss.
"Thanks," I say. I then look down at my shoes, not knowing what to say.
"Look, I'm sorry about what happened the other day. I really want to tell you my secret, but I can't. Not yet at least." I look back up at him.
"Why not?" He sighs and runs his fingers through his black hair.
"Because I'm afraid that when you find out you won't want to be around me anymore," he admits. I snort.
"Why would you think that?"
"Because it's just something that would repulse most people."
"Well, I'm not most people," I whisper. Jake closes his eyes and rubs the back of his neck. It's while I watch him struggle with the matter at hand that I realize that I can't force this out of him. It'd be like trying to force me to tell him that I'm a vampire. "It's okay, you don't have to tell me right now." He looks at me.
"I really wish that I could tell you, but I want to wait until I'm absolutely sure that you won't hate me after, before I tell you," he says. I bite my lip. I wish I could say the same. If I ever told him my big secret, the Volturi would surely find out and come after both my mother and I AND Jacob.
"So maybe we could get to know each other?" I ask him. He smirks.
"I was hoping to." He full on smiles and I turn to face him.
"So let's play twenty questions. So when it's your turn to ask the question, you have to answer it first then the other person answers it. Okay?" He rolls his eyes.
"I know how to play twenty questions, Nessie. But you go first." I take a deep breath and let it out.
"Okay, so when were you born?" I ask him. "I was born on September eleventh, two-thousand-ninety." He sighs, smiling and leans back on his elbows.
"I was born on January fourteenth, two-thousand-ninety," he tells me. I scoot oven next to him, take my hair out of the bun it's in and lay down. I look up at the pale gray sky, a telltale sign that rain will be coming soon, thinking about his answer. Something deep inside of me is telling me that he's lying, though I don't know why. I want to believe him, but I can't, though I don't question it. "Alright, my turn. What's your favorite color?" He lays down next to me and looks at the sky like I am. "Mine is red."
"Red is so overrated," I joke, smirking. "Purple is more my style." I turn my head to look at him. He has his arms folded under his head and his dark eyes are focused on the sky and he looks so calm. "My lucky number is eight." I blurt out. He furrows his eyebrows and turns his head to look at me.
"You have a lucky number?" he asks. I shrug.
"I guess I do. You don't?"
"I've never thought about it before. Why eight?"
"Um… I don't know. I've just always liked that number."
"Does that mean that I have to think of a lucky number?"
"I would really appreciate it if you did."
"Oh God, this is gonna be difficult- eleven." I laugh at the outburst of his answer.
"Why eleven?" I ask him. He just shrugs. I shake my head against the sand.
"What's your favorite movie?" he asks. I think about that for a moment, thinking back to all of the movies I've ever watched.
"Titanic, with Leonardo DiCaprio and Kate Winslet. I love the romance of the story along with the urgency and the sadness that goes along with the fact that they were fighting to stay alive for, like, half the movie," I tell him. "You forgot to answer the question first."
"I don't have a favorite movie," he says while shrugging. "I don't watch a lot of television or movies."
"What do you do?"
"I like to work on cars. Like my motorcycle, I rebuilt it from a piece of junk that was barely holding together. I've actually made a lot of money just by fixing up cars for the locals who can't afford regular garage prices."
"That's so cool. Would you fix me up a motorcycle for when I get my license?" I ask him.
"Sure." I snort.
"I was kidding."
"I wasn't."
"Jake, my sister would kill me if she found out that my preferred vehicle is a motorcycle. She would ground me for the rest of my life."
"Well the, I guess I'll fix you up some other car then. What would you prefer?"
"Nothing, Jake. But for my birthday, you have to promise me that you'll show me a good time."
"What's your definition of a good time?"
"I don't know. I would like to go to the summer carnival and eat junk food, and then go home and watch movies for the rest of the night," I tell him.
"I think I can make that happen," he says.
"Promise?"
"Promise."
A/N: What did you guys think? So I know that I said that I would be putting this story on hold while I prewrote the chapters, but I don't think I'll do that. I will just update when I can. Please review!
~Gina