A/N: Thanks so much for your wonderful thoughts. :) I'm still working my way through review replies, but I want you all to know how much I appreciate them! I know a couple of you sweetly pointed out an error or three to me, and I want to thank you for being so gracious about them. I'll fix the errors asap!

Third update of the week! Yay!

Most characters belong to S. Meyer. The rest belong to me. All mistakes are mine.

Chapter 2 – Copper Penny Hair

Bella

'So, is that what made you burn so brightly, Bells? Gazing at those Washington State stars when you were little?'

He spoke of me burning brightly, and though everything around us remained obscured and shrouded by artificial darkness, amid that darkness, it was Jake's obsidian eyes which sparkled like the stars above us, like the vast unknowns in the sky. Those eyes brimmed with unexplored possibilities, with uncharted galaxies…with an unmapped route still in its planning stages. I opened my mouth to say…

To say…

Like a giant supernova, Jake shattered then burst into billions of burning particles. The explosion knocked me off my feet, and the cataclysmic light emitted by the flying fragments blinded me. They blistered my eyes with their explosive heat, and as those bits of cosmic dust, as those glowing, molecular remnants dispersed and scattered into the great unknown, I fell. I fell into orbit, into a spinning abyss, into an endless loop-

'Watch it!'

A pair of strong hands appeared through the abyss. Firm yet warm, they caught me by the waist. When I looked up, a new light, this one emitted by two emerald stars, shone incandescently. Unlike the others, this light wasn't blinding. Like the luminosity of a perfect jewel, its refraction mesmerized me…but it also soothed me. It calmed me. And, for a moment, just a moment, the continuous revolution in my head came to a halting stop.

OOOOO

I woke with a start.

Still, instinctively, I kept my eyes shut while behind my lids, the emerald stars and the cosmic dust lingered then melded with the faint glow of early dawn. But it was those emerald stars…

In the past two-and-a-half years, I'd become an expert on how this worked – on the dream, the ensuing supernova, the resulting, endless loop, and what it all meant for when I'd wake. I'd gone through this routine enough times where I literally knew it in my sleep.

But that last part, with the emerald stars…and with the hands… was a new, anomalous ending. Those specific stars had never appeared before. Those hands had never been there before to catch me. They'd seeped in out of nowhere.

Still groggy from sleep, it took me a moment before I remembered where I'd actually seen…and felt those hands.

"Ugh, the asshole City Boy from the pub," I muttered to myself.

How the hell had that insignificant moment ended up in a recurring dream full of what I, as a one-time English major, clearly recognized as significant metaphors? A dream that tended to presage the type of day I'd have?

Oh, well.

Setting City Boy and his rudeness of the previous night-

"Lumberella. Asshole."

-out of mind, I released a series of cleansing breaths. They whistled their way from between my teeth as I began my morning ritual.

"Step one: Slowwwly turn on your side. There we go," I mentally – and pretty prematurely – patted myself on the back when I turned without issue. After all, I was only on Step One; the entire process could go haywire at any step.

"Step two: Breathe in…feel the air fill your lungs…feel its normal, balanced saturation. Then, breathe out just as much air as you took in."

I drew in deep breaths then exhaled them in long, slow gusts. I did this over and over, without rushing or skimping, without allowing impatience to get the better of me.

"Step three: Wait for your heart rate and your pulse to moderate. Feel the blood pumping, feel its even, rhythmic flow." Gradually, my heart's frenzied beating decelerated, the staccato beat between my temples moderated. Yet still, I didn't open my eyes.

"And now…Step four…choose one specific item on which to focus…"

I chose the dresser I knew sat across the small room in my small but comfortable converted garage apartment. After all, beggars can't be choosers, and it appeared this was to be the story of my life now, always settling for balance, for that middle ground without extremes. But deliberately eschewing extremes in favor of a middle ground, as I once did, as opposed to being forced to abstain from those extremes…they were two options as different as night and day.

"…and…and open your eyes, Bella," I instructed myself.

For a moment before I opened my eyes, for one fleeting fraction of a second, I wondered if the anomaly to the dream would change anything. Having that dream usually signaled that balance-wise, it wouldn't be one of my best days, and adjustments would have to be made to my daily schedule.

But those emerald stars…and those hands…none of it had ever before been present in the dream…

With another breath, my eyes popped open right on the dresser. It was a pretty, white, distressed wood dresser that my godpop's talented wife, Sue, finished for me herself once I came to live with them – or in their garage, I should say, to preserve a veneer of autonomy. For half a second, the dresser just stood there, like it was supposed to. Then, like an old, leftover, newly-discovered movie reel from the twenties, it blurred in and out of focus.

Sighing deeply, I shut my eyes. "All right, then. Another one of those days."

'Is that what made you burn so brightly, Bells?'

"I don't think that I was ever meant to burn that brightly, Jake," I whispered after a while, "but for you, I'll keep that fragile image of me alive. No matter what. I promise."

OOOOO

A little while later, I caught the 6:30 a.m., Number 15 bus from the Forks Transit Center on Main Street – a transit center already bustling this morning with an atypical crowd – where the term 'crowd' was subjective by Forks' standards. It was a crowd that grew larger every summer for the past couple of years, ever since the Seattle Times ran that article on the pristine, little-known beauty of even lesser-known Forks, Washington.

Damn that bigmouth.

Today, about a dozen or so men and women hopped on the bus heading toward La Push and First Beach along with me. Most were somewhere between the ages of mid-twenties to mid-thirties. They carried various day-at-the-beach implements with them – coolers, umbrellas, bright towels, and such – and spoke excitedly among themselves, sharing laughter and snapping pictures of the mountainous scenery as we breezed by. Most of the guys wore board shorts and tee shirts, while the women wore gauzy cover-ups that revealed attractive two-pieces underneath. Their feet sported Havaianas, Tevas, and the like.

I pressed my lips together and stifled my amusement.

Mr. Molina, a balding, rotund, and friendly man in about his mid-sixties, who liked to remind me of how close he was to retiring, was the weekday driver that morning. He flashed me a grin as I sat opposite him on one of the seats up front.

"Six more months, Bella!"

I pulled down my dark shades for a moment and grinned back, offering him a thumbs up.

"Good for you, Mr. Molina. Keep counting down toward that goal!"

"Sneaking out before Dawn this morning, huh?" he asked.

Again, I pulled down my shades and smiled. "Am I that obvious?"

"Not really, no, but…well…I heard about the pub last night…when your shift ended…"

"Of course, you heard," I smirked. "It's Forks."

Mr. Molina offered me a sheepish sort of shrug. "Well, Em told Diego, and Diego told me."

Diego was Mr. Molina's son – and Emily's boyfriend.

"He said she said that luckily, some out-of-towner caught you and kept you from falling."

'Watch it!'

"Is that how she saw it from her angle? Huh," I snorted. "Either way…" When I pressed a finger to my lips, Mr. Molina eyed me sideways and chuckled. Then he spoke more quietly.

"If your godfather-"

"I love Godpop with all my heart, but he tends to forget that I'm not five, but five and twenty, so. And either way, I won't actually be catching any waves this morning, more like using Bertha to keep my butt off of the cold, wet sand."

"Ahh," he nodded. "One of those days, Bella?"

"One of those days, Mr. Molina," I confirmed.

He nodded but otherwise said nothing more on the topic. He knew, of course. He was a friend of my godfather's – fishing buddies, which was basically code for 'Secret Brotherhood' around here. Either way, Forks was a small town. It was the type of town few people knew existed, and still fewer opted to visit; at least, until that article.

And I was the Police Chief's goddaughter, whom my godpop had brought back to town two years earlier amidst the sordid, breath-catching sort of circumstances small-town gossip was invented for. The Cautionary Tale of Isabella Dwyer. Up in these parts, it spread faster among the locals than did wildfire. Their lips quivered, and they laid hands over their hearts while simultaneously nursing a morbid fascination. But the fascination soon morphed into fierce protectiveness as they did what small towns tended to do with those they considered their own. And not as my parents' daughter, but as Charlie's goddaughter, I was one of their own. They closed ranks around me.

So, really, how could I begrudge them their protectiveness, even when my autonomy and my anonymity had basically gone to shit?

"Well, I won't tell him I saw you this morning unless he specifically asks," Mr. Molina volunteered, "but it's only a matter of time."

"Of course, it's only a matter of time, Mr. Molina. It's Forks."

He chuckled and bobbed his head, unable to deny my logic. When my phone buzzed, I reached into my hoody's kangaroo pocket and fetched it out, already suspecting who it was. She appeared on the screen, with her typical bothered smirk and holding her phone up as she sat at the kitchen table.

"Tell me you did not sneak off to First Beach early this morning without coming to get me to go with."

"First, tell me you're not tracking me. Oh, wait. You can't tell me that because obviously you are, or you wouldn't know where I'm headed."

Leah snickered unapologetically. "You're dead meat, and not because you didn't take me to the beach with you, although I am pissed off about that."

I pulled up my shades. "Get to the point, Drama Queen."

"Dad knows."

"Ugh, already? I thought I'd at least have the morning before he found out."

"It's Forks," we both said in unison. Then we broke out into snickers.

"He's going to fucking kill you," Leah said.

"Leah, come on," I heard her mom say in exasperation from somewhere off-screen. "Watch your language, and think of what you're saying. Measure your words before you speak them," Sue whisper-hissed.

Leah sucked her teeth. "Oh, please, Mom. Are we supposed to stay away from the phrase 'fucking kill you' forever? Iz knows not everyone means it literally!"

"Leah!"

"Mom! She was an English major; she knows about figurative language! And she knows Dad would never actually try to kill her. Besides, you think Izzy wants to be coddled by you guys for the rest of her life?"

And that was my seventeen-year-old god sister, Leah Swan, all summed up – a tall, dark-haired, and dark-skinned young woman who was usually harshly straightforward, abrasively aggravating, and a she-demon...

"Don't worry, god sister," she said, returning to me, "I got your back. I won't let anyone forget you're a strong, independent woman who doesn't need to be treated like a damn child. Not on my watch."

…a she-demon whom I loved like my own blood, even when she drove me nuts. Which was basically always.

After I stopped laughing, I requested the short version of the morning's apparent discovery.

"Not much to tell," she said, biting into an apple. "Emily told her brother, Emmett, who hello, is Dad's deputy." She took another bite and spoke through a full mouth. "How long did you expect it to stay secret, in Forks," she stressed, "where the population is so small we're practically inbred?"

"Leah!" Sue scolded.

Leah snickered. "Sorry. I'm just kidding, Mom, jeez." She rolled her eyes. "Seriously, though, god sis, why didn't you call anyone to come get you?"

"Because it wasn't that serious."

"See? That's what I said!" Leah agreed, banging the table then stretching out her arms. "I told Dad it probably wasn't that bad, or you would've called someone. You're not stupid, just proud, which is just as it should be. I told him you knew Mom was at that last-minute tourism meeting-"

"Yep."

"I would've left it in a minute to go get you, Izzy!" Sue said off-screen.

"I know you would've, Sue!"

"-and you knew Dad went to pick up Edward Cullen, Esquire, Attorney-at-Law from Port Angeles."

"Exactly! God forbid Edward Cullen, Esquire, Attorney-at-Law was forced to wait for his ride."

We chuckled at our tongue-in-cheek reference to the New York City attorney to whom Sue had rented one of the summer houses, via emails and texts, receiving that mouthful of a closing signature from him every time.

'Esquire and Attorney-at-Law? Hey, English major," Leah had said to me while peeking over Sue's shoulder as Sue replied to one of the guy's emails, 'aren't the terms mutually inclusive?'

'Yep.'

'Did that criminal attorney, Mr. Hale, go by Esquire and Attorney-at-Law in his emails?'

'Leah,' Sue said, a usual warning in her tone.

'What? Iz knows she had a criminal attorney. It was she he represented!'

I'd chuckled. 'He just went by Jasper Hale, District Attorney.'

'And he was a criminal lawyer! Look at this guy – Esquire and Attorney-at-Law; pretentious much?'

Ever since then, Leah and I referred to the attorney from New York City by his mouthful of a name and title – Edward Cullen, Esquire, Attorney-at-Law.

'Godpop, I appreciate it, I really do, but you know I can't drive it, so no, I won't mind at all if you rent it to Edward Cullen, Esquire, Attorney-at-Law for the summer.'

'Bella, maybe if you had something to look forward to, a prize in view-'

'Doesn't work that way, Godpop. But please know how much I appreciate everything you and Sue do for me.'

'Well…Bells, you're my little girl, Sue's and my little girl, as much as is Leah. We just want you to know that.'

'I do know that, Godpop. I do.'

"-and finally, I reminded Dad of how much you bitch about my driving skills," Leah continued over the phone screen, "as if you and your" – she rotated her head from side to side – "could do any better."

"LEAH!"

"Lee, you're such a bitch," I chuckled heartily.

What I didn't tell her, but I hoped she knew, was that when I'd first arrived in Forks after…everything, my little god sister's then fifteen and straightforward-as-sin mouth, her refusal to tiptoe around me, was what kept me from losing my mind.

"And you're right; I wouldn't have called you to pick me up. I'd rather take my chances and fall flat on my face than get in a car with you."

"Ouch," she sniggered. "Now, who's being the bitch? Anyway, from what I heard, you were nowhere near falling flat on your face last night. Em texted me about the guy who held you up."

'Watch it!'

I heard City Boy's hiss in my memory, then felt the heat of his hands around my waist…and saw those emerald eyes…

"Held me up? That's really how she saw it?" I mused.

"She said he was hot."

"Was he? All I saw were those eyes."

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

"All right, girls." Sue came on screen now and stood behind Leah. "Enough with calling one another names," she said gently, though the smile on her face let both Leah and I know she wasn't upset at either of us. Charlie tended to be the worrier, while Sue was who kept him calm and grounded. Together, they were the force that fought with me and for me when everything went down while my own parents just…fought and blamed.

"Izzy, while Leah here insists on adding her dramatic flair to the story, your godfather was ready to blow a gasket this morning. I managed to calm him down a bit, but be ready when you get home."

"Thanks for the heads up," I grumbled.

"He just…worries."

"I know he does."

"You were his first little girl, even before Leah and I came along."

"Oh, brother," Leah said, sticking her forefinger in her mouth.

"Don't be jealous, Lee, just because Godpop loves me more than he loves you," I teased.

Sue chuckled. "Izzy, do try to be home by sundown. I wanted to have a barbecue tonight and invite a few friends, including Mr. Cullen. I think it'll help calm Charlie down after this morning's news," she smiled. "He really enjoyed meeting Mr. Cullen yesterday."

"Ugh, fine. By all means, if a barbecue with Edward Cullen, Esquire, Attorney-at-Law keeps Godpop happy, I guess I'm down."

"Good. And…" – I saw her noting the shades I wore over my eyes – "how are you feeling today, hon?"

I'd lived almost my entire life in charge of myself, scraping by, yeah, but…scraping by on my own. Some days it was harder than others to relinquish that control.

I stuck out a hand in front of the screen and rotated it from side to side.

Sue sighed, and I knew that though she worried, she wouldn't lecture the way Charlie sometimes did. I was twenty-five, and though it was sometimes hard, she usually tried to acknowledge that.

"Don't worry, Sue," I said. "Ty's waiting for me at the beach, and I won't be riding Bertha today."

"Ahh," Leah nodded. "Ty's waiting. No wonder I wasn't invited." She rested the phone on the table so that she could form a loose fist with one hand and stick her forefinger in and out of the fist's hole. "You won't be riding Bertha, but you'll be riding-"

"Shut up, Lee," I laughed. "Momma Sue, don't listen to your daughter. It's not like that between Ty and me."

Sue covered her eyes. "Dear Lord, I saw and heard none of this."

We laughed some more, and after a minute, we ended the call. Mr. Molina glanced over at me knowingly.

"Charlie knows?"

"Charlie knows," I confirmed again.

Mr. Molina whistled through his teeth. "See? I warned you it wouldn't be long."

"Yeah. It took all of fifteen minutes."

Mr. Molina laughed.

Twenty-five minutes later, we arrived at La Push – a calm and short ride by any standards, though the crowd along for the ride was revving to go, hooting and hollering. They rushed off the bus, and again I tried not to laugh as I pictured them shivering in their cute suits once they got on the beach, and that shoreline spray and morning breeze hit them with its full northwestern force.

"Someone better alert Newton's Outfitters that there'll be a run on wetsuits and water shoes later today," Mr. Molina said as the last of the eager and improperly prepared tourists sprinted off the bus.

"Along with a run on the pub once they need to warm up."

Mr. Molina snorted. "Think they'll flip their lids when they arrive at First Beach expecting warm, white sand and sun surrounded by an oceanfront resort town?"

"And instead, they find one restaurant and few distractions beyond a rocky shoreline, a cold breeze, and six-foot waves? I think it'll be more of a rude awakening."

"SoCal this ain't."

We chuckled together.

"Oh, well; at least, it looks like there'll be sun for them today; so the gray skies will be a shocker for another day." I situated my shades back over my eyes. "Take care, Mr. Molina."

"You take care of yourself, Bella. Have a good day."

'Is that what made you burn so brightly, Bella?'

"I will definitely try my best, Mr. Molina. I'll try my best."

OOOOO

The water was eerily calm.

I chuckled as I watched Ty and a few of the guys, plus some other individuals we didn't know, sitting listlessly on their boards at the takeoff zone. They waited for the next wave set while gingerly raking their fingers through the water. Seagulls and other shorebirds glided high above, squawking and occasionally swooping into the water to feed. A few yards away, those newcomers visiting La Push and First Beach wrapped themselves in their flimsy beach towels. Some bemoaned the wet and cold state of the sand below their flip-flopped feet. They chased after sun umbrellas blown away by the wind. Others still took it all in stride, laughing about being prepared next time, then sitting to enjoy the show the surfers were waiting to put on if the waves ever cooperated. Because if there's one thing surfers are in general, it's show-offs.

But the waves were not cooperating.

As for me, I sat a few feet from the shoreline on Bertha, my turquoise, seven-foot surfboard. It had been a gift from Ty on my last birthday when we began my surfing lessons.

My godfather had blown yet another gasket – the poor man was blowing gaskets left and right – when he saw this particular birthday gift.

'Help me understand, Bella,' Godpop had said, pulling his hair, 'how jet-skiing, bungee jumping, and now surfing, for God's sake – surfing – are good ideas for someone with your…condition?'

'Godpop, my vestibular condition is at least thoughtful enough to warn me every morning about whether or not it plans to rear its ugly head. And on the days when it's not, I refuse to live a half-life.'

'That's right, god sister! You tell it how it is! Hey, can I get some surfing lessons from Ty too?'

'No!'

'Be quiet, Leah! And no way in hell. Your god sister's an adult, and there's only so much I can demand of her. You are still a kid. I'll have surfboards on my property over my dead body!'

So, though my godfather knew all about her, Bertha lived with Ty. And on good days, she and I would be right out there with Ty and the guys, though I still wasn't anywhere near as good as them. Unfortunately, today wasn't a bad day, but neither was it a good day.

I wasn't dizzy; at least, not yet. But it was the type of day where if I removed my dark shades, everything had an uneven tint as if I were looking at the world through a dirty lens. The blur was a forewarning, like a forecaster seeing the clouds in the sky and knowing rain was on the way. For me, it all meant that at some point before the day was over, I would experience a bout of vertigo.

Ergo, no surfing for me. Like my little god-sister, Leah said earlier, I had my pride, but I wasn't stupid. I just wished my godpop would accept that.

Sighing, I turned away from the inaction in the water and instead followed the sweet voice of a little boy off in the distance. He was tiny, no more than three or four years old, I'd guess, and as he ran through the sand in his sturdy water shoes, wearing shorts and a hoody, I found myself glad that at least his mom, unlike most of these naïve newcomers, had thought to pack a hoody.

When the rare sunlight caught the little boy's hair, my smile grew. The little boy had the most adorable copper head, like a shiny little penny. For a few minutes, I watched him, well-entertained with all his actions. He was picking shells from the shoreline; that much was clear with how he'd walk, stop, and crouch; walk, stop, and crouch, gathering objects into his hoody's kangaroo pouch. Yet, every couple of minutes, he'd stop and just stare out into the water as if he was as mesmerized by its glimmering surface as I was by his glimmering hair.

"Dad, why's the water so quiet?" I heard him ask, the breeze easily carrying the question in the air despite the distance.

"Don't let it fool you, Trist," I heard a smooth, deep voice reply. "The waves are just waiting to come in."

The deep voice was right, and instinctively, my head turned toward the voice, expecting to find a couple - two parents. But there was only one parent – a man with a long, heavy towel spread out over the sand. Like his son, he wore shorts, sturdy water shoes, and a hoody. Unlike his tiny boy, he had the hoody over his head and pulled tightly around his face. His knees were bent and pressed against his chest, and his arms wrapped around them. His entire frame shivered. I suppressed a bout of loud laughter. The only parts of his face that were visible were his lips and jaw; rather interesting lips, actually – the top one jutted slightly over the bottom one – and the jaw was strong and angular.

"Remember what I said. Don't wander too close to the shoreline, okay? Tristan?" the man said. "Tristan, did you hear me? Trist!"

In the next moment, the man shot up from his towel and raced headlong toward the shore. My eyes followed him, heart suddenly racing. The man caught up to his son just as the boy's minuscule right foot dipped into the water, and he grabbed him by his pintsized waist, flipped him over his head, and set him atop his tall-framed, broad shoulders.

The little boy squealed in delight, and I chuckled quietly to myself.

"Again, Dad! Again!"

"Not again, buddy," his dad replied, firmly yet with an undeniable note of tenderness. "I said no water today. We're not prepared."

He was right; though better prepared than some of these First Beach newbies, he'd have to get himself and his little boy wetsuits before they ventured into these waters.

"Please, Dad?"

"Nope."

"Aww, man. Can I collect more shells?"

"Buddy, how 'bout we leave some shells for the actual beach? Your pocket's about to burst with all those shells."

Again, I chuckled.

"'Kay, Dad."

For a long moment, father and son remained silently still, their gazes on the water while the sun's uncommon rays rested like heralds over the boy's waving hair and the man's covered shoulders.

"Ready, Trist? We've got to make a few stops in town to pick up supplies, and then you have to nap before tonight's visit."

"I ready, Dad."

They turned, and I looked away, only seeing in my periphery as they gathered their things and left the beach. I wondered if the little, copper-haired boy would be part of my group when camp began in a few days. He had such a sweet voice – even now, it carried in the wind as he talked animatedly with his dad. Something about it calmed me; it dispelled some of the day's unease, made the morning more of a good one rather than simply a mediocre one.

I drew in a deep breath and smiled. And when the waves finally came in, and I watched Ty punt and break through those waves with expert ease, it was the memory of the sweet little boy, playing with his dad, that I saw before me.

A/N: Thoughts?

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