"Come on, we just went over this. To get the surface area of a cylinder, what four things do you need?" I leaned forward to put my hand over the equation in his textbook.

Paul lobbed his head backward and groaned, "Leah, I don't care."

"Care for me, please," I begged. "Care for five minutes and then I'll stop bothering you, I promise."

Paul gave me that look that he always gave me when I asked him to do something for me. The look that said, "I'm only doing this for you, kid." I loved that look. His right eyebrow would raise just slightly, his light brown eyes boring into mine before he rolled them and sighed. He picked up his pencil and started to speak out loud as he wrote out the equation. "Alright, the surface area of the—what? The cylinder?" I nodded. "2 times pi times the radius squared…" he paused. "plus…2 times pi times the radius times the height. Happy?"

I giggled. "See? Was that so hard?"

I watched a small smile tug at the corners of his mouth. He wasn't much of a talker, in actuality. Sure, he joked around with the guys; he played that larger than life thing really well. But, with me? I liked to think he was his true self with me. Paul could say a lot with his face. He opened his mouth to speak right as light footsteps rushed down the stairs. My mother's beautiful face appeared in the kitchen, dressed in stress. "Leah, honey, I just got called in to the hospital," she told me, digging in her purse. "Have you seen my keys?"

"They're at the door, Mom," I answered, sitting up a little straighter. It was almost as if I was trying to maintain my innocence when I wasn't doing anything wrong. Paul and I had a test in the morning and I wanted to make sure that we were both ready for it. I mean, it didn't help that Paul was sitting there looking as beautiful as ever. I hadn't done anything wrong.

"Oh, that's right," she mumbled, still digging in her purse. She pulled out a $20 bill and placed it on the table. "Please take a break sometime tonight. Leah, don't work him too hard. Go see a movie or something. Be good, both of you."

She kissed us both on the cheek before scurrying out of the door, letting the screen slam behind her. It wasn't long before the engine turned and the wheels started to roll down the driveway. Paul and I looked at each other and it was like we had the same realization at the same time. We were alone. It wasn't often that this happened. He was a horny teenage boy. I was a hormonal teenage girl. My parents weren't stupid; they made sure that one of them was home if we were both there. But every once and a while, things just happen, you know?

I cleared my throat before looking back down at my textbook. "Ok…so…what about the lateral surface area of—"

"Leah," he interrupted. You know that feeling when, all of a sudden, your throat is incredibly dry and your heart is just beating really hard. We both knew where we stood with each other. I wanted him. Bad. We had been spending a lot of time together lately and, other than a few kisses here and then, we had never had the conversation.

Paul reached down and pulled my chair closer to him. The legs of the chair scraped against the hardwood floor until my arm was pressed against his warm body. Dad was on an overnight fishing trip, Seth was at his friend's house, Mom was at work. We really were all alone. It was so quiet, you could cut the tension with a knife. I was wracking my brain on what to say. He put his hand over my hand that was nervously drumming on my leg, but he didn't say anything. I spaced my fingers and watched as his laced with mine.

I laid my head on his shoulder, facing his neck. Breathing him in, he always smelled sweet. Like cinnamon and vanilla. I had this theory that he baked and cooked so much that it was part of who he was. It was like baking into his skin almost. It was my favorite part about him.

Paul turned his head until his face was less than an inch from mine. I moved slowly until my lips barely whispered against his. I leaned away as he tried to fully go for the embrace. "You make me nervous," I admitted, barely audible.

"Just tell me when you want me to stop," he whispered as he brought his hand to the back of my neck. He lightly scratched at it before bringing our faces together again. It was like two soft pillows massaging my lips, as gently as possible. His tongue tasted like frosting, his hands were so gentle with me. And even though I nodded to let him know that yes, I would tell him when I wanted him to stop, I knew that I didn't want him to stop.

XXXXXXXXX

The bell above the diner door rang as an animated Rachel came through the door with a wide smile on her face. She was holding a pink and green binder close to her chest as she made her way to us. She sat down, excitedly scooching into the booth next to Jared. Jared, Paul, and Rebecca all groaned as they made room for her when she placed her binder on the table. "It's the most wonderful time of the year again, guys!" she squealed.

"Christmas already passed, Rach," Jared joked.

Rachel rolled her eyes before sitting her binder up right. "You know what I'm talking about," she scolded lightly. "The planning of Rachel and Rebecca's black birthday bash is underway. This is going to be the best one yet. I feel it."

The six of us were hanging out at the diner like on a usual Saturday. After Sam blew up at me, he made quite the effort to be present all day at school the next day. He was right next to me in all of the classes we had together and waiting outside the door to take me to my next class for the ones that we didn't have together. He's not the best actor. I could tell throughout the day that he was itching to get out of there. He kept a smile on his face, but his eyes were so empty.

It feels like everyone is just walking on eggshells around both of us. We didn't know what was going to set Sam off, so conversations were pretty light. He offered no explanation or apology; Sam was just really good at making sure that his actions were up to par. To say I was still a little frosty toward him would be an understatement. I wanted to wait until after school to talk to him, but instead of hanging out at my house after school, he made up an excuse and left as soon as he dropped me off.

But this morning, when I came back from my run, both Paul and Sam were lounging on my porch waiting for me to come back. It was so fucking awkward. When I got to my house, Paul and Sam were standing on opposite sides of the porch with their arms crossed and their faces tighter than ever. We all rode in Sam's truck to the diner in complete silence. Every once and a while, Sam would reach over and squeeze my shoulder, affectionately, but, other than that, the three of us didn't speak.

When we had gotten to the diner, Allison took our order and I could tell that she was hiding her concern for her son in her eyes. Her waist long jet-black hair was swept up into a bun with her order pencil tucked into it like always and her bright smile was enough to help us not to harp on our worries anymore. She set down our regular orders of burgers, fries, and milkshakes in front of us before ruffling Sam's hair and jaunting back behind the counter.

"Rachel enjoys planning the party more than actually going to it," Bex joked, playing with the straw in her cup. She tapped my hand when I reached over to swipe a fry from her plate. "Alright, let's hear it."

Rachel flipped open her binder and started pulling out all of her plans. "We have invitations and the guest list; I will handle that. Location is set. Becca, can you do a theme? I made a list you can choose from," she handed Becca a laminated piece of paper, "Sam, Jared, can you get drinks pleeeease?"

"Whatever you need, Rach," Sam chuckled.

She squealed in delight and clapped her hands before flipping the page, "Ok so that's done. Becca and I will choose a date. Leah will take pictures, of course, and—,"

"Leah will do what?" I choked a little on my strawberry milkshake.

Rachel looked up at me with her sweet innocent brown eyes and winced a little. She fiddled with one of the binder sheets before she flashed a nervous smile before throwing a glare at Bex. "I thought you talked to her about this," she whispered.

"I forgot," Becca shrugged.

"No one talked to me about anything," I answered, my eyes darting between both of them.

"Leah doesn't really take pictures anymore," Sam said, putting an arm around my shoulders. It felt heavy, just like his words.

Jared spoke up, "I don't even remember the last time I saw Leah with a camera."

"That's because S—" Bex started to snipe.

Rachel knocked her knuckles on the table, "Hello! Let's bring our attention back to the topic!" she exclaimed before it got too serious. I heard Paul snort from the other side of me. She leaned forward and looked directly into my eyes. "Lee, this is our last birthday party as a group. Who knows if we'll be able to do this next year with college and everything? You know, we love your photography and I just want to keep these memories forever. Pretty please? For us?"

I sighed. I could feel all of their eyes on me. Especially Sam's and especially Paul's. I hadn't picked up my camera in over a year. I had always been the keeper of all of our memories because that's what I loved. For as long as I could remember, I was taking pictures of everything. But that was then. We all kind of grow up and those things kind take a lesser priority to other things. But Rachel did have a point. She and Bex were the last ones of us to turn 18 and, as the daughters of the Chief, it was a big deal.

Right as I was about to answer, Allison showed up back, leaning against the booth, "How are you guys doing over here?" she asked. "Can I get two of you strong boys to help me with some heavy boxes in the back?"

I hated to say it, but it felt like a lot of pressure to answer Rachel's request in front of everyone so thank God for Allison. Mostly, it felt like two separate expectations of me and it could very easily split me in half. When it came to photography, something that I loved with everything in me, Sam thought of it as just a hobby, instead of a passion. He didn't find it practical. But it seemed like everyone else understood it as what I loved and had always used as a method of my own expression. Rachel and Rebecca knew why I put away my camera, but no one wanted to talk about that.

Sam and Jared offered to help Allison and swiftly left the booth, so it was just me, Paul, and the girls. I sipped my milkshake more, eyes trained on the table. Bex nudged me lightly, "So what do you say?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, Leah. I wasn't really thinking about it," Rachel spoke, her voice a little panicky.

"It's fine, Rach, don't worry about it," I said, shaking my head. "I'll do it."

She gasped, excitedly. "You will?"

"Of course. You're my best friends; I'll do anything you need me to."

"I don't see why this is a big deal," Paul spoke up with his mouth full. "Why wouldn't Leah do photos for the black party? She always does photos for the black party."

Rachel and Rebecca exchanged a look before turning to me. "Does he not know the story?" Rachel's poor attempt at a whisper made Bex roll her eyes.

"What story?" Paul asked.

"There's no story," I said right as Rachel started to tell Paul about what happened the day that I put my camera away. I watched as he looked at me suspiciously, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I just don't have much time for it anymore."

Bex made a small hum of disapproval before shaking her head. Paul could always see through my bullshit, even when we were kids. I couldn't bring myself to look at him because I could already feel his energy directed toward me. It was shouting at me that I was full of shit. Since we had decided to be friends again, I was more and more aware of him than before. "What else needs to be done, Rach?" Bex tried to change the subject.

The black party was honestly the most fun party of the year. When Sarah Black was alive, she would throw the most creative parties for the twins and for Jacob. After she passed away, Rachel still wanted to continue that tradition because she wanted so much to make things feel normal. So, every year, Rachel pooled all of us together to plan the perfect birthday party. When we were 14, Rach and Bex decided to make it a black party; everyone had to wear black. It was their only rule.

The reason I said yes to taking photos for the black party was because Rachel and Rebecca never ask me for anything. They would never ask me to do something if they felt like I was 100% not on board. This was their night and I wanted to be there for them no matter what.

Rachel shuffled through her book more, checking things off of her list. She tucked a strand of her highlighted hair behind her ear, humming to herself. Then she stopped, bit her lip, and looked directly at Paul. He was picking apart the rest of his burger, his face twisted. Rachel cleared her throat to get his attention. No luck. Paul pushed his plate away from him before taking a sip of his water. "Paul, sweetie?" Rachel said.

"Yes, Rachel honey?" Paul looked up, amused. Rachel let out a nervous chuckle before pleading with her eyes, not saying a word. Paul raised an eyebrow, smirking. "No," he said.

"Please?" she begged. She pushed a picture of a really extravagant cake in front of him. It was a two-layer cake with blush pink icing roses covering the whole thing, macaroons and chocolate covered strawberries surrounding the bottom, and a glittery 18 on the top. "It obviously doesn't have to be this extra, but doesn't this just give you total inspiration?"

"Do you know how expensive it is to build a cake like this?" Paul said, pointing at the picture. "Rachel, are you kidding?"

Bex sighed before looking at Paul, "Ok, so here's what we're thinking," she started, "We will pay for everything you need to do the cake. You can even use our kitchen, if you need it. We just think it would be so special if you made our cake this year."

"You'll have full creative control," Rachel chimed in.

Paul thought about it for a second; I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. "I'll help you," I offered. Becca whipped around to look at me, her face intrigued. "I know it's not easy to do so…if you need help, I don't mind."

"I bet," Bex mumbled under her breath. I jabbed her with my elbow as she snickered a little. Paul blew out a breath, looking at the picture of the cake again. He studied it for a bit before rolling his eyes. "Alright," he finally agreed. Rachel did a little dance in her chair. "On one condition," he said.

"What?" Bex asked.

"I want full control of the menu too," he said, shrugging. "If this is the last black party, I want to do all of the food, not just the cake."

"Deal," the twins said.

Sam and Jared came into view, Sam with a fuming look on his face. Jared's body language screamed concern as they made their way back to the table. Sam's hands were shaking hard as he stood in front of our booth. "Come on, Leah, we gotta go."

"Huh? What's wrong?" I asked, confused. "What happened?"

"God, why does it always have to be questions? Leah, let's go," he snapped, slamming his hands on the table. The dishes on the tables actually lifted off of the table and landed with a loud clatter. Paul's glass fell over, the water spilling into mine and Becca's laps. We both gasped, trying to clean it up as fast as we could. "Now."

"Sam, what the fuck is your problem, man?" Paul stood, the table scooting forward abruptly. "She's a person, not a fucking rag doll."

"This isn't your business, Paul," Sam glared.

"You blew up for no reason, Sam. Go cool off or something. Don't talk to Leah that way, though," Jared said, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam bucked Jared away from him, his body shaking harder.

He never took his eyes off of me. He slowly took a deep breath before letting it out. "Lee Lee," he strained. "Can we please go?"

"What is going on?" I asked, not moving.

Jared started to explain that Allison cautiously confronted Sam about his behavior while they were moving boxes in the back of the diner. And just like with me, he snapped at her for asking too many questions. It was the same old song and dance. How long was it going to be like this? His own mother couldn't ask him why he wasn't acting like himself? As Jared spoke, Sam started to shake again, the tips of his ears turning red. "And then Allison asked if he was treating everyone the way he was treating her…if you were putting up with this behavior," Jared finished, addressing me directly. "And then he stormed away…"

"Samuel," Allison called from behind the bar.

"I want to leave. Are you coming or not?" Sam asked, gritting his teeth.

"Absolutely not," Bex answered for me.

"Leah," he snapped.

"Back off," Paul said. I felt frozen in my seat. "I'll make sure Leah gets home."

Sam and I stared at each other, both of us not moving. Who was this person? He seemed to be demanding that I come with him without saying a word. All I wanted was to understand. I just shook my head. He blinked once in disbelief. If I could mark the beginning of the end of my relationship with Sam, it was right then. All I've ever done for him was go along with whatever he wanted. We watched what he wanted to watch, we went out when he wanted to go out. We left when he was ready to go. As I sat planted in my seat, I felt the entire dynamic of my relationship change.

Sam walked out the door without another word, the bell above the door ringing aggressively as he stalked out.

XXXXXXXXX

"Why don't you still take pictures?" he asked me one afternoon. Paul and I were sitting on my back porch. It had been a week after Sam walked out of the diner. He didn't come back. A lot happened in that week. I had finally confronted my father about why the council was 'handling' Sam's disappearance and not the police; he brushed me off and told me that there were things going on that I didn't understand and, according to him, didn't need to understand. Never in my life had I ever been angry with my father until that day.

So, I started to stay out more to distract myself. Paul and Rebecca were like my saving grace. When I wasn't with Rebecca and Rachel at their house, I would wait until Paul would show up to my house for dinner so he could pretty much be my buffer. He had this way of calming me down when I was frustrated. It felt like every day my frustration with Sam and my father was just building and piling. Dad said that they were keeping an eye on Sam and that he would be fine. But what did that really mean? Did that mean everything would go back to normal soon? Why did they know where Sam was but not telling anyone? It was better to just distract myself as best as I could.

Photography used to be one of my favorite things in the world. It was something that my father and I bonded over. He loved pictures about as much as I did. He bought me my first camera when I was 13, but, over the years, my mother felt like it was too much of a distraction and I needed to start thinking of more practical ways to spend my time. Sam never really understood it either. He would always call it silly and roll his eyes playfully when I would pull my camera out around him. After a while, I would only take pictures when I was with my father or when I was alone. And then one day, I just stopped. "Just don't," I answered.

"Why not? You're so good," he bumped my shoulder. "Maybe you should pick up photography again when you get to Miami."

I giggled, "I haven't decided on Miami yet."

"Seems like a no brainer to me," he shrugged. "The sun, the beach, the parties…"

"Yeah well, things are a lot simpler in the mind of Paul Lahote than they are for me. My mom will be crushed when I tell her that I want to leave."

"God, Lee, I gotta start teaching you to live for yourself," he chuckled. "Where's your camera?"

"It's upstairs in my closet," I answered, watching as it started to rain.

"Go get it," he told me.

"Uh, no," I said immediately. I remember the day I put my camera away for good. Sam and I were walking on one of the very few marked trails in the woods. It started to storm outside and, by some miracle, I got these really cool shots of the rain falling around the trees. Sam was trying to pull me away when the lightning hit, and I had managed to get two good shots of the flash before he fully got me to hurry inside. The lightning wasn't even close to touching me, but that didn't stop Sam from being annoyed with me. He told me that a dumb hobby wasn't worth my life. When I told him it wasn't a big deal, he sighed and pulled me into a hug and told me he didn't know what he would do if something were to happen to me for being careless.

That day, I put my camera in my memory box and tucked it away in my closet. I still loved photography, but I had moved from taking the pictures to studying them. I wanted to study art history in college and maybe run my own gallery one day or work in a museum or something. "Go get your camera, Lee," he insisted.

"No, Paul," I rolled my eyes. As supportive as Paul was, he was pushy as hell.

Paul stood up and stretched himself. I looked over right as his shirt raised up as his arms stretched over his head. His abs peaked out for just a brief second before he dropped his arms to his side. Damn… "That's fine," he said, strained from his stretch. "I'll go get it."

Paul took off running into the house and up the stairs toward my bedroom. "Wait, no!" I exclaimed, running after him. "Paul, don't!"

"Guys, no running in the house!" my mother called from the living room.

Paul took the steps three at a time before turning left down to the end of the hall. He swung my bedroom door open and immediately went to my closet. I ran in right as he reached up to the top of my closet and started moving my shoes out of the way. My sandals clattered to the floor as he grabbed my memory box. It was just a decorated shoe box, but it held everything that I held dear. An old journal from my childhood, polaroids of me with my friends and with Sam, a saved rose from when Sam and I started dating. And my camera with all of my full memory cards. "No, Paul, please don't," I laugh-begged, attempting to reach around him. When that didn't work, I ducked under his arm and tried to push my memory box away from him.

He laughed as he wrapped an arm around my waist to pick me up and move me out of the way. He grabbed the box and turned around right as I ran up on him again, reaching for it. He held it over his head as he easily fended me off. I jumped up to grab it, damning him for being so much taller than me. Paul looked at me, his eyes dancing in amusement. I stopped jumping when I realized how close I was to him. With me reaching up, my chest was pressed against his and our faces were really close. He looked down at me with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "I just want to see it for a second," he said, moving around me. He plopped himself on my bed and flipped open my box.

My Nikon D3500 was exactly the way I left it. There was a little dark gray wolf sticker on one side of the lens and a little, pink, painted flower on the other side. Both placed by my dear sweet Rachel because she wanted it to be unique. He picked it up and held it out to me. "What are you doing?" I asked, putting my hands on my hips.

"I'm ready for the fun Leah to come back," he remarked, cradling my camera in his hands. It was the first time I'd seen it in over a year and when he turned it on, I felt a little flutter in my stomach. He played with it for a second, holding it up to his eye and pointing it at me. I held up my hand to shield my face, giggling a little. "I remember a day when you wouldn't leave the house without this thing. Now it's just sitting in a box? What's that about?"

"It just got to be silly after a while," I said, scuffing my shoes on the floor a little bit.

"Is that what you say or is that what Sam says?" he asked, pushing buttons on my Nikon. "Wow, this is the last shot you took? This is incredible, Lee."

I glanced over to see what he was seeing, and my face slacked in surprise. The lightning, which was cracking right in the middle, had lit the sky up purple as the rain perfectly framed the lens. The trees looked like skyscrapers with beautiful foliage. "Whoa…" I breathed.

"Lee, you have such a good eye. Why did you give that up?" I could feel him looking at me. It was a good question.

I bit my bottom lip before turning to my desk and opening my drawer. Sitting at the top was my acceptance to Miami and I felt myself sigh quietly. I grabbed the stack of acceptance letters and held them to my chest. "Just like all of the other things that I want to do with my life," I said, turning back to him. "It's not in their plan for me."

He snorted, "That's stupid."

"Thank you, Paul," I said, sarcastically.

He raised an eyebrow at me before standing up. He towered over me, but it was never in an intimidating way. He gently held my wrists as he pulled my letters into view. Paul sifted through the letters and let out an impressive whistle. "That's a lot of yeses," he commented, nodding in approval. "The whole world's at your fingertips right now."

"It's not like it matters," I shrugged. "My parents aren't going to go for it. Sam's not going to go for it. He can't stand the thought of leaving home."

"Who gives a shit what Sam thinks?" Paul raised his voice a little. "He's supposed to support your dreams, not squash them."

"You say that like that's going to change how he thinks. You know how he is," I said, shaking my head. "Plus, that's your brother. Don't you care what he thinks?"

"Sam needs to act like a brother for me to consider him one. He has not been acting like my brother lately," Paul rolled his eyes.

I pursed my lips before turning my back to him and putting my letters back in my desk.

"He's not even here. He hasn't been around in days. Why is he still a factor for you?" Paul asked.

"Paul, please don't do this to me right now. You know it's not that simple," I begged. I placed my hands on top of my desk and hung my head. Paul put his hands on my hips and spun me around until I was facing him again.

His face was a little tight as he worked through what he was going to say next. His fingers gripped my hips a little before he swallowed hard. "I feel like if I don't say this, I'll regret it," he started. "You're too big for this place. You deserve a chance to explore what makes the world good. Don't let Sam or your parents stop you from getting out of here, if that's what you truly want. I just don't see you as the girl who comes back to La Push and lives in her childhood house, driving her minivan with three kids and a dog. People pleasing is only going to make you miserable; I need you to understand that."

"Why?" I asked quietly.

He furrowed his eyebrows a little. "Because I care about you, Leah," he said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "I know you. You're not going to be happy settling for teaching art at the high school in ten years. You used to be the girl who let you know what she was thinking at every second, at any moment. You've always been sure of what you want. Since when do you let people dictate what you do with your life?"

He was so close to me, I couldn't answer his question. My skin was tingling under his fingertips and if I breathed just deep enough, I could probably smell vanilla on him like always. My feet scooted forward just a little. Closer to him. No one had ever talked to me like this. No one had ever called me out for pretty much putting myself on the back burner to please everyone else. Well…with the exception of Rebecca, but that conversation always felt different. Anytime I felt upset about no one understanding what I really wanted, she would say, "Who fucking caaaares? Do what makes you happy. Point blank period."

Paul glanced down at the space—or lack thereof—between us. He dropped his hands from my hips and cleared his throat, reaching up to scratch the back of his head. I took a step back, looking just over his shoulder. "Look…" he said, "I think you just need to put yourself first sometimes. You're too talented to throw your passions away for some guy who's proving himself to be inconsistent and inconsiderate. I don't care how long I've known Sam; he's acting like an asshole."

My phone dinged from my back pocket, breaking the tension. "I understand what you're saying," I nodded. "It's just a bad habit to break. Go easy on me."

I pulled my phone out of my pocket and saw a text from Rachel in our group chat. Taking dad's boat out tomorrow. You down?

"You need to go easy on yourself, Lee," he countered, sitting on my bed again.

"You wanna go on the boat tomorrow?" I asked him, changing the subject.

He shrugged, looking around my room. I text Rachel back before setting my phone down. We sat in silence; my brother watching Family Guy in his room and the murmurings of my parents talking downstairs were the only sounds filling the room. "Are you mad at me now?" I asked him.

"No…of course not," he said, looking at me. "You just deserve more, that's all."

XXXXXXXXX

Paul spent the night at my house that night, taking up space on the couch in the living room. His parents hadn't been home in days on another bender and my parents get worried about him staying home by himself all the time. So, the next morning, after he whipped up some chocolate chip pancakes and scrambled eggs, I was sitting cross legged on the couch and Paul was sitting on the floor next to me. He was like a giant kid; he loved cartoons on weekend mornings before the world got busy again. Before things get complicated.

Since our talk the night before, I felt myself itching to take pictures again. My camera sat next to me as I analyzed everything around me. I was hoping to get some good shots while we were out on the boat; I felt out of practice. Looney Tunes kept Paul entertained as I listened to the heavy footfalls of my father coming down the stairs. Things had been awkward between me and my dad and I hated that. "Smells great down here! I hope there's enough for all of us," he commented when he hit the bottom step.

"I put extra chocolate chips this time," Paul called, never taking his eyes off the television. His hair was a mess from sleep, and his muscles bulged against his tight shirt. I watched as he uncrossed and crossed his feet. My mother and brother came downstairs to eat, but they stayed at the kitchen table. "What time are we leaving?" Paul asked.

We ended up leaving to go to the marina at noon. I may or may not have put on my cutest bikini for the day; it was an emerald green two piece, the top a halter with gold detailing and the bottoms had little ties on the side. I put a humble cover dress over it while we were walking, my Nikon hanging around my neck. Rachel and Rebecca met me right outside of Paul's house when he ran in to grab a bottle of his parents' liquor. Usually, they never noticed when alcohol went missing because we found a way to replace it by the time they came back from their benders. Rebecca boldly stood in a tiny, black string bikini, cutoff jean short shorts kind of covering her bottom, while Rachel stood in a modest sundress. "I called Jared, but he didn't answer," Rachel said, shrugging. "It's just the four of us."

"Oh, I bet Paul will love that," Becca joked. "Three girls all to himself in bikinis on the open water? It's like a wet dream."

I giggled at her, shaking my head. Paul jogs out of his house, a bottle of rum tucked under his arm and a sleeve of red solo cups under the other. He had changed his clothes to something more suitable for being on the boat.

We had all learn to sail years ago. Billy, my dad, and the sheriff of the Forks police department, Charlie Swan, frequented fishing trips at every chance they could. By the time we were 14, the parents let us drive the boats on our own because we were experts by then.

It was such a fun afternoon. The sun had come out, music was playing, we were laughing, and I had finally taken some good shots while we were out on the water. Being around my girls and Paul was the more natural and carefree I'd felt in weeks. When Paul sat next to me on the portside, Bex teased him a little bit. "Leave a little room for the Holy Spirit, guys," she'd said, gesturing to our thighs almost touching. He'd laughed it off, but I did notice when he scooted over just an inch or two.

Rachel and Rebecca had gotten matching tattoos of anchors breaking through a wave of water on their rib cages as an early birthday present to each other, so I made sure to get some pictures of them together. Two girls that had been inseparable their entire lives wanted to commemorate their bond to one another. They were each other's anchors and I hoped, after we graduated, they would always keep that.

That afternoon, we listened to Rachel prattle on and on about the black party, which was about a month away. I was lounging in the sun while Rachel told us how excited she was about their 18th birthday. I was barely listening, but I loved hearing how excited she was. When Rachel decided to set her sights on talking to Paul about the cake and the food, I slipped next to Becca at the helm. She glanced back at Rach and Paul before chuckling to herself, tapping her fingers on the wheel. "What?" I said.

"That boy is sweet on you," was all she said, pushing her sunglasses up on her face.

We got back to the marina just after sunset. Paul jumped off of Billy's boat before holding out his hand to help down Rachel, then Bex, then me. Our hands lingered for a second before I dropped mine to my side. We reached the Black's house first, saying good night to the twins. Then, once again, it was just me and Paul. He took a swig of the rum before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. We were walking so slow toward both of our houses; offering me the bottle, Paul nudged me. "You good?" he asked.

"Yup," I nodded, still kind of thinking about what Bex said on the boat. I took the bottle and tipped it toward my mouth. It burned my throat and my chest as I swallowed. "Are you?"

He shrugged, grabbing the rum from my hand. The quiet was nice. We never needed to talk much. It was only when both of our houses came into view that I felt a need to break our comfortable silence. Paul visibly tensed beside me as we saw Diana and Randall's beat up red Ford Focus in the driveway. They were back. Fuck.

"Um…are you sleeping over again tonight?" I asked him, putting a gentle hand on his arm. It made me nervous for Paul to be left alone with Diana and Randall. They were awful. Maybe if I offered him the couch, he wouldn't even walk into that house. As long as he didn't go home, they couldn't get to him. They never dared coming to our house to look for Paul. It was almost like their son was out of sight, out of mind.

Almost as if he was sensed, Randall swung the front door open and stepped out on the porch in a dirty wifebeater with a hole at the bottom and a lit cigarette in his mouth. He was easily the scariest man I'd ever seen in my life. I didn't understand how someone as caring and attentive as Paul could come from someone like Randall Lahote. Other than the dimple in his chin, Paul looked nothing like Randall. Randall's eyes were hard, empty, and dark. Not brown, just dark. He was so big and tall, it was menacing. He leaned his hands on the railing, his eyes targeted dead on both of us. Too late. Paul discreetly hid the rum bottle behind his back, pushing it into my hand. "Take it and dump it," he told me, his lips barely moving and his eyes locked with his father. Randall crooked his finger to motion for Paul to come into the house.

"Please don't go in there," I pleaded. "Just come home with me."

"Leah," he warned. I knew better than to show Randall any kind of emotion when he spotted us. He was like a fucking mountain lion or a bear. He could smell fear from miles away. Paul started toward the house, his jaw clenched. I grabbed his arm with my free hand even though I knew better. Randall seeing us together was bad enough, but to touch Paul was completely unacceptable. He took purposeful steps toward the house, me following behind, meekly. I just wanted him to be safe. Randall didn't move from his spot on the porch, flicking the butt of his cigarette into the yard. "Go home, Leah," Paul said. His tone was so final. There was no room to argue.

Paul climbed the porch steps, not bothering to look back at me. He breezed past Randall who spun around and pushed him in the back as they walked through the door. I heard from the inside, "Where have you been, little boy?" Diana. That mean bitch. Her voice was so husky from years and years of smoking.

"Out here with that little Clearwater bitch again," Randall asked before forcefully slamming the door shut, the bolt lock clicking in place. I stood there, staring at the heavy wooden door. The rum bottle was still in my hand and I strained to hear something on the other side of that door. After a few minutes, I pivoted on my heel to go back to my house. Randall and Diana scared the fuck out of me; I never knew what to do after any kind of encounter with them. Paul had a little bit of a temper, sure, but there's no way that he could ever be as angry and horrible as his parents.

I poured the rum out into the grass on the side of my house and dumped the bottle in the garbage bin under a trash bag. Setting my camera down on the kitchen table, I felt my hands shake just a little. My parents were sitting on the back porch, having a little nightcap. My feet carried me until I was standing in front of them, wringing my hands anxiously. "What's wrong, honey?" my mom asked, setting her wine glass down.

"Where's Paul?" Daddy asked.

I could barely bring myself to speak; my throat felt so dry. "Randall…and Diana…" I choked out.

My father cursed under his breath. "Are they back?" he asked.

I nodded, frantically. "You need to go get him," I said to my father. "You need to go get Paul right now."

"I…" my father sighed before cursing again. He ran a hand over his face, frustrated. Dad looked at Mom and shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know what to do about those two."

"It might be time to consider moving Paul in permanently," my mother suggested. Long overdue.

"You know they won't go for that," he said.

"Go get him!" I exclaimed. "What if they hurt him again? Why are you still sitting there?"

"I can't just burst into their house, Leah," my father tried to explain. "Go ahead and go upstairs; try to relax yourself. I'll handle Diana and Randall, I promise."

I watched his face and just couldn't believe that he hadn't immediately jumped into action. He just sat there, mulling it over. I understood that it got more complicated as we got older, but the older we got, the worse Diana and Randall treated Paul. Like they knew he could handle worse as he got bigger, got stronger. My father usually stepped in as fast as he could to diffuse them. Why wasn't he doing that right now? "Just like you're 'handling' Sam?" I said before I could stop myself. Shaking my head, I went back into the house and locked myself in my bedroom. I'll never forget the look of bewilderment on my father's face as I passed him.

Never in my life had I ever been this frustrated with my father. We used to be so open with one another and then all of a sudden, everything was just a big secret. He wanted to "handle" things. He wanted me to not ask him questions. My father was my favorite person in the world, but all of these secrets between us made us feel like strangers.

I stayed up all night, waiting for a call or a text from Paul saying that he was alright. But nothing. I remember falling asleep while I was reading—or attempting to read. I couldn't focus for more than a few seconds at a time before I had burned up all of my anxious energy and fell asleep. I was worried about him. More than I had worried about Sam disappearing, if I'm being really transparent.

At about 2:30 in the morning, there was a small tapping at my window. One tap. Another tap. And another tap. I blinked my eyes awake before rushing to my window. Looking down, I saw as Paul set down the rest of the pebbles from his hand. He didn't look up at me; he just pointed to the backdoor and walked toward it. I hurried down the stairs as fast as I could and pulled the door open. He stood there with his head down and I just knew it was bad. He sniffled a little bit before shaking his head as I reached for him. I ignored him, lifting his chin with my hand anyway.

His bottom lip was busted. His left eye was swollen and blacked. Blood was drying on the front of his shirt. His knuckles were bruised. He fought back this time. "Oh my god…" I whispered, pulling him into the house.

"It's not that bad," he tried to reason with me. I led him into the kitchen and made him sit at the table.

"Have you seen your face?" I asked, digging in the cabinet for the first aid kit. He let me clean up his face with little to no protest. I shook my head as his tongue darted out to the cut on his lip; he winced. I sat on my knees between his legs and I started to clean his lip with soap and water, hating Randall more and more every second. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I grabbed an ice pack and popped it until it became cold in my hand. I shook it before holding it out to him. He wouldn't look at me while he pressed the ice pack to his face. "I knew better," he said, his voice hard. "I shouldn't have taken that bottle."

"Don't do that," I said, watching his face. "Don't justify their fucked-up behavior."

He sighed as his head hung low. "I don't know what set the fire this time. Him seeing me with that bottle or seeing me with you. When I heard what he called you, I snapped. That just made it worse."

"You can stay here as long as you need to," I reassured him. He just nodded his head, but still didn't look at me. I got him settled on the couch, where we had just been a little over 12 hours ago, comfortable and comforted, "I'll go get you some blankets and some clean clothes. You can jump in the shower whenever you're ready."

I started to walk away when he caught my wrist. When I looked back, I was met with his amber eyes, so haunted and hurt. "Can you just sit with me for a second?" he asked. He let me hold his hand, but that was it. I gently brushed my finger along the palm of his hand as he quietly sniffled to himself. I knew better than to look at him when he was crying. The quickest way to make Paul shut down was to openly acknowledge his pain. "I don't know what I did to make them hate me so much."

Squeezing his hand, I rested my head on his shoulder. "You didn't do anything, Paul," I told him. "They just wish they had the heart that you do."

It hurt to see him hurt. I was always surprised to see how vulnerable he allowed himself to be. That didn't matter though. If I could be there for him for even one second, I would make sure that, in that one second, he didn't feel alone.