Bella turns the key in the ignition, shutting the engine of her truck off with a lurching groan.
Thanks to Jacob's amazing mechanic skills and a couple of weekends of fixing up the motorcycles together, Bella finally has a running bike. She's going to be able to test her luck with seeing Edward again.
Jacob hops out of the passenger side and slams the door. "Ready to live life on the edge?"
"Am I ever," Bella replies.
Jacob's already running around back, stepping up into the bed of the ancient Chevy and untying the black bike.
"How can I help?" she asks.
"I got it."
"Are you sure? They're really heavy." Her eyes widen as he lifts it out of the truck like it weighs nothing. "Woah! You're...ripped, Jake. Like totally jacked."
He throws his head back in a laugh before grabbing the other bike and setting it down in the grass.
It's midday. Sunny, but cool. They decided to start the weekend early and go to La Push. There's plenty of space to test out their new toys along the coast, and it's just far enough from Forks that her dad shouldn't stumble upon them while out on patrol.
She doesn't want to think about how he would react knowing she came home from college to learn how to ride a motorcycle. He would think she's having a quarter-life crisis—which she is. Charlie's very vocal about how dangerous they are and how many young people he finds severely injured or dead on the road as a result of accidents.
Knowing how clumsy she is, Jacob refused to try to teach her how to ride in the hustle and bustle of Seattle. He was adamant about how it's a bad enough idea to let her ride it in the middle of nowhere because it's especially dangerous for her.
But that's the point.
Bella pushes her bike through the dead grass, eager to get moving.
"Do you see them?" Jacob points down to the beach. All Bella sees are some guys surfing. "I mentioned that I was coming here with you today, and they had to show up too. It's so annoying."
"Who?"
"Sam and his gang. Lately, Embry's been hanging out a lot more with him and his stupid friends. Seriously, who goes surfing in March this far north? They just wanted to be stupid and make a point by showing up while I'm here."
Bella isn't following. "I thought you and Embry are friends."
"So did I. He was fine the first couple times we visited Seattle, then last week he started being weird and didn't want to come with. I don't get it. He wasn't at school all week either."
She looks on curiously at the surfers clad in black wetsuits. Some of them stand on the beach chatting animatedly while others are out in the water. "Was he sick?" she asks.
"Not sure. All I know is that every time I tried texting him, he said he's with Sam. It's bad enough Quil and Paul have been kissing his ass. I swear, they're up to something." He sighs. "And they all just look at me like I'm the weird one, but I'd rather die than hang out with that phony jerk."
"Is it really that bad?"
"Even my dad won't stop talking about how cool and awesome he is. He says he's a good person to know and have connections with, and that the guys are smart to be his little lackeys or whatever." Jacob seems genuinely upset, his voice getting more emotional. "It's so creepy. He's like the Godfather or something. Like I know he's some local hotshot with his stupid tech startup, but that doesn't mean he can just stomp around acting like he's the freaking boss of everyone."
"Oh, man. I'm sorry, Jake." Bella hugs him. "It'll be okay! You'll be graduating soon, and then you can come to Seattle, and we can hang out more."
He's so warm and solid-feeling. So real. She didn't realize how much she missed hugging someone—she never even characterized herself as being a hugger. She must have gotten used to it. Because of Edward. He used to hug her all the time.
Jacob's arms wrap around her with uncertainty. "Thanks, Bella."
While she's comforted by the feeling of friendship and physical closeness, she suddenly is hit with a realization that Jacob might be interpreting the gesture in a different way when his hand brushes through her hair.
She pulls away hurriedly, laughing it off. "Okay, show me how to ride this thing." She slaps the seat of her bike. It makes her palm sting. "I'm ready to roll."
"You betcha!"
In the distance, she hears yelling, and something catches her eye down on the beach. Figures shove each other and laugh on a rocky overhang.
"Oh!" Bella shrieks as she sees one of them fall off the side of the cliff edge, plummeting toward the ocean. "Oh my god! He fell!"
Jacob laughs. "It's fine, they're just cliff diving."
"What?! No—Oh my god!—We need to call for help!"
"They do it all the time." Jacob shrugs. "It's a lot more fun in summer. The water has to be freezing."
Her heart feels like it's pounding out of her chest. "They're okay!? You're sure!?"
Shouting and cheering sounds echo from the bottom of the cliff and another of them leaps in. Jacob's right. They're just playing.
It's hard to decide if the embarrassment of overreacting and misunderstanding is worse than the shock and fear she felt only moments before. She thought she was numb to her more negative emotions by now, but apparently not. She can still feel things.
"Man, you're jumpy," he teases. "Okay, now remember where your break and clutch are? Throttle? Gearshift?"
"Yeah..." Bella gets on her bike while Jacob stands a little ways off, his shiny red motorcycle sitting propped up behind him. She runs through the various things he coached her on during the ride over.
He reiterates the basics once more, just in case, and after some trial and error, she manages to figure out how to move at a crawl.
"Okay, now ease up on the clutch a little," Jacob instructs.
She does and the bike speeds up. A rush of excitement floods through her. It feels incredible.
"Bella, you're being reckless. Think of what you're doing." She hears his voice—Edward's—smooth and velvety in her ears.
Her hand twitches. She lets go of the clutch more.
She picks up speed, going faster. Faster. The ground soars beneath her.
Suddenly, the bike bucks and she goes flying off the back with a yelp "Aah!"
"What did I tell you?" the Edward in her mind scolds.
"Bella!" Jacob runs over. "Are you okay?!"
"Yeah, I feel great."
"You're bleeding." He pulls her up from the ground, steadying her.
She touches her scalp, testing the sore spot. Her hand comes away with a bright red crimson. "Sorry. I'm sorry, Jake."
"What? Why are you apologizing? Come on, I'll drive you to the clinic," he says, leading her back to her truck.
Edward's voice lingers in her mind, reverberating through her brain and reminding her what it felt like when she was loved and cared for. She wishes the feeling would never go away.
...
"And demi plié. Make sure you're in fifth. And back. Back. Back. Back. Fifth. Fifth..."
Alice moves along with the rest of the ballet class, following Madame Kamenev's lead as they go through a series of barre exercises.
She lets her mind drift as she watches her form in the mirror.
There are approximately five weeks left of dreary weather, and then she can break out her spring florals, crops, and sandals again—with seasonally appropriate jackets and layering pieces because it will very likely stay chilly on and off through at least July.
Spring Break is in three weeks.
Finals are in two. She'll definitely pass her classes with straight A's.
And next week...
A campfire in snowy mountains.
She focuses on the bright orange flames with curiosity, missing a beat in her pliés. She isn't planning on camping anytime soon, and Carlisle wouldn't arrange a trip with Edward still away.
"Watch your shoulders. And back to first...Breathe..." the instructor continues.
Alice looks over at the other dancers, a mixed group of university students and middle-aged housewives, several of whom have clearly gone through a lifetime of ballet classes with how gracefully they move.
She signed up for the intermediate course—mainly because it had the best time slot, but also because she doesn't trust herself to keep up with anything more complex after such a long break.
She wants it to be something light and fun.
They're not even forty-five minutes in and her legs are getting tired. She kicks her foot up in a series of high grand battements, pointing her toes hard, keeping her shoulders down and relaxed.
"Okay, barres away. Now let's all come to center," Madame Kamenev announces.
Alice grabs her water bottle from the floor and takes a sip while the rest of the class shuffles into position. She quickly checks her phone and skims a text message from Tanya detailing a wild night with two rugby players from New Zealand.
She texts back LOL and takes her place in the middle of the studio.
"Moving toward the right, we're going to do two piqué arabesques. One, two, three, four, five, six. Plié to piqué..."
There's something very calming about dancing in a class setting. It makes her heart feel full listening to the live piano accompaniment, turning and twirling over the wooden floor along with the two dozen other dancers.
It's been a long time since she's listened to someone play the piano. It feels strangely nostalgic. She may have taken for granted all the live music she's been treated to over the years from living with an accomplished musician.
She wonders if Edward's booked his trip back to Seattle yet.
She also wonders if he's still angry with her and if he's ever going to try to reconcile things. She still hasn't seen a single vision of an apology or reunion of any kind so far. It's unsettling.
If they aren't friends anymore, could that be why she seems to be losing a tangible grip on visions of his future?
Maybe he'll be like Cynthia and not want to see her again.
Alice insisted that she only wanted to reconnect and catch up with her sister. She thought Cynthia might have a better recollection of their childhoods. She wanted to listen to some old stories to help her piece things together.
I know you were in on it, her sister said. You got all of Mama's inheritance money, didn't you? You knew what would happen. You knew they would get caught, so you'd be able to walk away with it all.
It seems like she thinks that Alice was involved in their mother's murder with money as a motive.
Considering that Alice showed up to the cemetery in designer clothing with a several-hundred-thousand dollar car, Cynthia definitely has a valid reason to be suspicious. It's not a good look, even if there's no way their humble inheritance would be enough to realistically cover the cost. The market value for their house even ten years ago was very middle class for Biloxi.
Alice knows she didn't get a single penny of the inheritance because, at the time she left for Seattle, her bank account only had four hundred dollars in it, which, based on the deposit history, was money she'd received from birthdays, Christmases, and New Years celebrations over the years. And she used every cent she had to get to Washington.
Regardless of what she didn't do, she'll have to figure out a way to set things right, and that's not an easy task to accomplish when she can't place the precise details of what did occur.
She tries to imagine what a good apology would sound like, or how she would best explain her side of things—for both Cynthia and Edward.
Having to go through life lacking the gift of foresight and strong intuition must be difficult. She's never been normal by most people's standards, but she thinks it must be a lot like driving at night without headlights. Or maybe blindfolded.
If they'd only have a little patience and hope, they'd be able to see that she's doing her best to shine a flashlight for them.
"And plié and finish. Alright, everyone, I'll see you on Monday. Have a great weekend."
...
Through the large front windows of the coffee shop—the same one she usually meets Alice at on Friday afternoons—Rosalie spots Jasper, exactly where he said he would be.
She walks around to the front door and shoves it open, her heels tapping against the floor as she marches over to him.
He looks up from the book he's reading and drops his pen onto the pad of scribbled notes laid out in front of him. "Hey," he says, either oblivious or unwilling to acknowledge her palpable agitation.
"Do you or Peter have coke?" she demands, cutting straight to the chase.
Jasper sits up in his seat, his brows twisting up in a perplexed look. "Why do you need coke?" he asks in a low voice.
"I don't need coke, I need to know if either of you sells it."
He shakes his head. "Peter only deals study drugs now."
"And you?"
"Again, I don't sell anymore," he says defensively, his voice even lower.
"Oh, bullshit," Her finger points accusingly at the watch on his wrist. "Where did that come from, then? Are you a hitman now?"
"No." He rolls his eyes. "I didn't buy it."
"You stole it?"
"It was a gift."
Rosalie grabs his hand and pulls it up toward her face, inspecting the gold face and leather band. "Peter has to be in love with you or something. I get spotting you rent, but that's a bit..."
"It's from Alice."
"Are you serious? You know how much these go for, right?" She drops his hand back onto the table. "I don't even have one."
He says nothing, just shrugs.
Rosalie sighs irritably and takes a seat across from her brother. "How did a baggie of coke end up in Emmett's bag then?"
"It's one of the more popular party drugs."
"Oh my god, no. Emmett got cut from football because his coach found coke in his bag, but it's wasn't his," she explains. "Obviously, my first thought was you because you're the only one I know who hangs out with him who might have access to that—"
"Obviously," he echos dryly.
"—But if it's not yours, and it's not from one of his teammates, then where would it have come from?"
"One of his teammates."
"That's what I thought, but he insists that's not possible. They're all apparently close friends."
"You haven't met them?"
"No. I was supposed to, but I ended up going to New York that weekend."
He frowns. "Alice mentioned you going to see a lawyer. It's about what happened back in September, isn't it?"
Of course, he isn't in the loop, not that he has any reason to keep up with New York gossip. It's several thousand miles away from anywhere he's ever lived.
"Yes. It was trending on Twitter a few nights ago, so you can read all about it if you want," she snaps.
The headline read Royce King Jr. Under Investigation For Sexual Assault. She especially disliked how she was referred to as "a blonde upstate socialite" in one of the articles, making her sound like some irrelevant parvenu who thinks Olive Garden is fine dining.
"That sucks. I'm sorry. Let me know if you need anything?" He exhales, running a hand over the back of his neck. "How's everything else been? Is work okay?"
She hates when he tries to be all nice and helpful. She forgot he's like this after being apart from him for so many years, but he's still the same old Jasper. Too weak to solve his own problems, but more than willing to step in and try to fix everyone else's. The annoying part is he's usually pretty good at it, too.
Well, except for the times when it backfires on him. Like when he screwed everyone over by getting involved in a college drug scandal. That's what he gets for people-pleasing his way into the wrong crowd.
"I got stuck taking care of an eight-year-old girl who repeatedly told me I look like the evil stepsister from Cinderella all week," Rosalie grumbles. "And I've had to listen to Emmett complain about being bored because he can't hang out with Edward or play football anymore. I guess none of his other friends want to play Xbox with him. Do you or Peter play, by the way?"
"No, we have a Playstation."
Rosalie sighs. She doesn't have the time or energy to bother trying to find Emmett entertainment, but there's no way that rich-boy, ginger-haired dork is that much fun.
...
Alice crosses the street toward University Village, her dance bag slung over her shoulder and the hood to her fluffy jacket pulled up over her head to block out the chill.
It's almost sundown. Dinner time. She goes into the cafe in the center of the shopping plaza. A big smile spreads across her face when she sees not only Jasper sitting inside but Rosalie, too.
"And she's here," Rosalie says. She doesn't sound like she's in a very good mood.
Jasper moves his things so they're contained to his portion of the table. "Hey, how was it?"
"Fun! I think I'll go again next week." Alice hooks her bag on the back of the chair and takes a seat. "Where's Emmett?"
"Career center," Rosalie answers. "Working on his resume."
Alice heard him mention something about work-studies and internships the other night at dinner. "Cool."
Rosalie looks down at Alice's hands, inspecting the pearly, cat-eye color. "The claws are gone."
"Yeah, I'm dancing again. Kind of," Alice explains. "Long nails don't mix very well with ballet."
She asked her nail technician to sculpt the gel in an on-theme ballerina shape, making them extend just a few millimeters past her fingertips—a far cry from her usual requests. She's still not quite used to them.
Rosalie gives a short, biting laugh. "Because it's so much easier to sew and type with those things."
"They're not bad once you get used to them."
"Yeah, I can't have anything like that with my job. They'd tear right through the gloves." Rosalie checks the time on her phone. "What are you doing for spring break?"
"I'm not sure yet. I haven't decided." Alice looks to Jasper, who's listening quietly still, sipping his coffee and leaning back against his chair leisurely. "Is there anywhere you want to go, Jazz?"
He shrugs. "I haven't been to Portland yet."
It's a popular day trip and Alice does like the prospect of tax-free shopping. "Sure, yeah! I haven't been in a while," she agrees. "Are you doing anything Rosalie? Do you want to come too?"
"I'll be in New York. Again." She pulls a face, her mouth twisting down in a frown.
Alice remembers seeing the photo of Rosalie at the top of the financial news column earlier. She likes to read it in the mornings to stay informed on things that might affect her stock portfolio.
Naturally, being curious, she clicked through to the article. The photo of Rosalie—smiling at a party in a long, dark blue gown with the arms of one of New York's biggest financial heir's wrapped around her—contrasted harshly against the contents of the story.
She understands why Rosalie doesn't want to be around her ex-fiancé now.
"We can go someplace when you're done going back and forth, maybe," Alice suggests. "With everyone all together!"
"Yeah, sure." Rosalie agrees half-heartedly. "I should go get Emmett. I'll see you two around."
Alice gets the prickling sensation that she's being watched. She's used to being looked at for her more bold fashion choices, but this is different. Her eyes sweep over the space around her. She sees clusters of people, students mostly, chatting at tables, not looking at her any more than anyone else.
"See you," Jasper says to his sister.
"Bye!" Alice waves to Rosalie as she leaves out the side entrance, locking eyes momentarily with a redheaded woman sitting near the door. The woman turns back to the dishwater blond guy she's with, not giving her a second glance.
Maybe it's in her head. It might be the post-ballet outfit of sneakers, leggings, and a hoodie that has her feeling paranoid. She doesn't tend to wear sporty things unless she's at home, the gym, or on a hiking trail, and it's a Friday night. She wants to be in something more dressy.
It sucks not having a car to keep outfit changes in. Getting a ride to class with Emmett means she doesn't usually get a ride back home. She orders a rideshare most evenings.
Alice turns in her seat and tugs the arm of Jasper's black sweater. "Did you get any studying done? Or did you chat with Rosalie the entire time?"
"I did. She only showed up maybe a half-hour ago."
"Are you almost done? I want dim sum."
He begins to gather his things. "Yeah, no problem, we can go."
