forty-one.

(Leah)

Unbelievably, she makes it to school the next day.

Unsurprisingly, Seth, Collin and Brady do not. Their absence is unexplained but not unusual enough that Leah is stopped and questioned by anyone about it. (She's not sure exactly what she'd tell them, if they did — 'risking their lives for the greater good of the Olympic Peninsula' probably isn't a response that would be accepted easily, and though Sam's Alpha Orders don't have any bearing on her, still she is sworn to keep her tribe's secrets. Not that anyone would believe her if she decided to let something slip.)

(Accidentally, of course.)

Leah yawns her way through her classes, her mind preoccupied with swirling thoughts that hinge on Jacob's safety — because God knows that AP Government hasn't prepared her for the intricacies of supernatural politics and rampaging genocidal warlords with red eyes. To add insult to injury, she slept like shit. And, considering the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the sense of disquiet that he carried out of her home, so did Jake. He left first thing to tell Sam the latest news, meaning that the boys have undoubtedly been put on red alert. It'll be a miracle if any of them come back to school before summer vacation.

With Collin, Brady, and Seth out, the only familiar face Leah catches glimpses of in the halls is Kim, who gives her a wide berth all day, not even appearing for their usual lunch date in the library — either because she knows that Leah's stress levels are at an all-time high with her finals and graduation around the corner, or because Jared has somehow conveyed their impending mortal peril. Whatever the reason, Leah isn't particularly inclined to seek Kim out, either; if her friend doesn't know, then she doesn't want to keep Kim in the dark, but neither does she want to be the bearer of grisly news.

So, no Kim. No Seth, no Brady, no Collin. No Jake.

Overall, the day is lonely. It's an honest-to-God miracle Leah makes it to the end. There are several instances during her classes where, instead of stifling a yawn, she finds herself having to press her fingers to her eyes until the sharp feeling behind them dissipates, breathing deep in an attempt to pull herself together before she can face her classmates or her teachers. A few times she has to slip away to the bathroom because she thinks she might be sick.

Luckily, her teachers aren't expecting much out of the senior class, given that the first leg of their finals begins on Monday morning. And, even without being privy to the knowledge of their impending doom, her classmates are not in any fit shape to do anything except last-minute hardcore studying, meaning that Leah can easily excuse her lack of interaction with any of them. They don't even ask how she earned the bandage around her hand — that is if anyone has afforded her the luxury of a second glance.

By the time the school bell rings to dismiss them, Leah has told herself that she has had sufficient time to have a crisis. There simply aren't enough hours in the day for her to fall apart, and it's a distraction that neither she nor Jacob needs — not when he is undoubtedly running himself ragged and she has to worry about pulling herself through graduation.

(It's minor in comparison to what the Pack are facing every day — a stupidly pathetic, normal issue compared to everything else. As stupid as worrying that she doesn't even have an outfit for the ceremony; the only dress she owns is the same one she wore to her father's funeral. She can't wear that, or she'll barely think about anything else whilst she walks across that stage to receive her diploma. The last thing she needs is to be crying in front of the whole damn student body. God forbid they think she's going to miss them, or something equally sentimental — she has to leave high school behind with at least some of her hard-earned reputation intact.)

With quiet hope that Jacob might be outside waiting for her (if Sam hasn't already run him into the ground, that is) Leah gathers her things, preparing for escape before the echo of the bell dies, and she has almost, almost made it down the hallways and to freedom when she is stopped by a teacher . . .

. . . and redirected straight to the Principal's office.

She is by no means a coward — she has faced far, far worse, is facing far worse, and Mrs Holt is a pussycat in comparison — but she still has to wipe her sweaty palms over her jeans when she sees two of her classmates sitting outside of the office, both looking as dreadful as she feels.

Head in his hands, the picture of despair, Alex Dunne doesn't look up as she approaches. Meanwhile, beside him, Ruth Anderson looks like she might dissolve into tears — exactly how Leah imagines she has looked all day.

This does not bode well.

"What are you doing here?" Leah asks, inwardly cringing at how hoarse her voice sounds.

"I don't know!" Ruth wails.

"Nobody said anything to you?"

"No! Just that we had to wait for you!"

Leah looks at the door with uncertainty, at the letters of their Principal's name emblazoned on the glass. "Me?"

"You're to go in first," Alex tells her, lifting his head. Then he sighs, running a hand through his long hair. "I thought they were going to announce valedictorian, but then your name was thrown in, so I knew it was bad."

Leah tries her best to not take offence to that, she really does, but — unfortunately for Alex — she feels her hands balling into fists at her sides, stitches stretching painfully, and knows that the shape of his nose is wholly dependent on his next words.

"We've flunked," he moans, oblivious to Leah's ire.

"Stop saying that!" Ruth cries.

He ignores her. "So much for my ticket out of here. I was supposed to be going to Duke."

"U-Dub for me," Ruth sniffles, looking over at Leah. "What about you?"

By some miracle, Leah manages to keep her shoulders straight and eyes clear whilst both of her classmates wait for her answer. "I'm not going to college."

Hope sparks in their eyes. She has never really been fond of either of them; she can't think of a better gift than not having to see them again, especially if the pair of them are planning on moving away after graduation.

If they're graduating.

If she's graduating.

Fuck.

Alex sits up, clearly encouraged. The bastard. "Well, that makes a bit more sense. Maybe she's expelling you and wants to get the bad news out of the way. No offence," he tacks on quickly. Ruth's eyes widen, but he ignores the subtle jab to his arm. "You have missed a lot, haven't you? And you did almost burn down the Science block when Uley dumped you back in—"

"I didn't do that on purpose."

"Of course not," Alex recovers smoothly. "I'm just saying. Out of us three, you don't have the best track record, is all."

"S'pose I better put you out of your misery then," Leah says flatly. She turns her back on him and, before she can lose her nerve in front of Alex fucking Dunne — or before she decks him to kingdom come (Paul would truly be proud; maybe he will do it for her if she asks nicely) — she knocks on the door of Mrs Holt's office.

And waits.

After a painful, long moment, her Principal's voice calls her to enter, and Leah's imagination kicks into overdrive: what if Alex is right, and she truly is about to be told she's failed her senior year? That there is no point in sitting for her finals because she's flunked so spectacularly? She can honestly think of nothing worse than being held back or having to sit the GED after months and months of hard work to catch up with all she missed. God forbid she has to sit through another year of this torture . . . She'll never be able to tell Jake. And forget telling her mother.

She is halfway through coming up with a dozen contingency plans (all of which involve telling the blackest of lies to her family; she will not be able to live with the shame of failing) when she opens the door, bringing Mrs Holt's face into view.

Mrs Holt is smaller than her mom, but just as formidable, and though Leah inherited every single drop of Sue Clearwater's wilfulness, Mrs Holt is not a woman whose bad side she is willing to confront — undoubtedly why she was made the Principal.

"Ah, Miss Clearwater. Just the person I was waiting for. Please, shut the door behind you. Take a seat."

Leah forces her mouth into a polite smile and obediently sits in the chair on the opposite side of the desk.

"No need for nerves, dear. You're not in any trouble." Evidently, her demure smile is unconvincing. "I'm meeting with all our senior students ahead of Finals Week."

Oh, thank God is all Leah can think. She might even have said it out loud, considering the way Mrs Holt leans back in her office chair and laughs.

"Did you think it would be regarding something else?"

She thinks about telling the Principal about the comments Alex made and the nervous breakdown Ruth is likely still in the middle of, but she decides to keep her mouth shut and settles for a simple nod.

"I won't ask what," Mrs Holt laughs again. "So, how are you feeling? Are you ready?"

"I think so," she replies, which she realises is probably not the most assuring answer she could give, though it is the truth. She has been studying and studying for weeks now, reading and practising any material she can get her hands on, yet still she is convinced that she's going to fail every single class and walk away with a poor GPA that will haunt her for the rest of her life.

"I'm sure you have everything under control. It will be over before you know it." Her Principal smiles gently, almost tentatively, and the simple expression tells Leah all she needs to know about the words that are going to be spoken next. Everyone looks like that just before they're about to mention her father.

And then, exactly as predicted, Mrs Holt says, "I hope you will forgive me for mentioning it, but I am pleased that you decided to return to us after your father's passing. Proud, even — and I'm sure he would be, too."

Her throat suddenly thick, Leah swallows uncomfortably, stalwartly avoiding the woman's unbearably soft gaze. She picks at the bandage around her hand just to have something to else focus on, just as she has been doing for most of the day. It's a wonder that she's not unravelled the dressing by now.

"It would have been very easy for you to miss the last few months of your senior year and sit the GED instead. Not that anybody would have blamed you, of course," Mrs Holt continues, patently oblivious to just how little Leah wants to be talking about this — not with her Principal, not with anyone. She hardly discusses it with Jake.

"Thank you," she says quietly.

"Which is why," Mrs Holt says then, clearly determined to reduce her student to tears (and unaware that Leah has been on the verge of crying for most of the day as it is), "I believe it's the right decision to name you valedictorian this year."

Leah's head snaps up from her hand, her eyes bulging in their sockets. "Sorry?"

Mrs Holt beams. "Congratulations."

"But — I wasn't . . . I wasn't in the running for it. I didn't even think that I—"

"Whyever not? You've been competing with your peers just as they have been with you — make no mistake about that. Of course, extra-curricular activities help, of which you don't have the greatest attendance but, considering our limited resources and the fact our student body is so small, we generally have to judge it by other means." Mrs Holt speaks slowly, almost as if she expects Leah to bolt in the opposite direction (which, Leah thinks, isn't an entirely terrible plan). "Ultimately, we choose our valedictorian based on the student who has the highest academic standing among their graduating class — which is you. Congratulations," she says again.

"But I was out for nearly two months," Leah protests weakly, recalling Alex's words to her. Oh, God. What if he is outside with Ruth, their ears pressed to the door, listening in? "I fell behind, and—"

"Two months, not two years, Miss Clearwater. It has hardly tarnished your record. Besides, you caught up — and then some." Her Principal is firm. "Your teachers are all in agreement that you earned this fair and square. I think even a few of them may have rioted if we didn't make you valedictorian. They're very fond of you, you know. And that's without mentioning those busybodies on the Tribal Council who think they have a say in how they run my school," the woman adds in a snippy mutter, opening a drawer in her desk.

Before she can blink, Leah's Principal is suddenly holding out a small, ornately carved wooden box. She knows exactly what it will contain — she's heard the whispers, and Sam once claimed that an upperclassman showed him their box years before — and yet, she can't bring herself to reach across and accept the trinket.

Leah shakes her head as vehemently as her stunned body allows, leaning away from the offering. "My mom's on the Council. My dad was. I don't — I mean, if that's the reason I'm being given this, then I don't want it," she says, knowing without a doubt that it's not her mom who is the 'busybody' in question, but rather one cantankerous old goat called Billy Black. "I want to earn it."

"You did earn it. Do I look like a woman who listens to what the Council has to say?" her Principal sniffs, chin lifted. "They didn't make this decision. But even if they hadn't agreed with me, you'd still be walking across that stage as valedictorian."

She is offered the valedictorian's gift again, and Leah slowly reaches for it, turning it over in her hands. She's toyed with this dream, of course she has — who hasn't? — but she stopped considering it months and months ago. Forgot about it, even, with everything else that's been going on in her life. She remembers a time she thought Alex was a shoo-in for valedictorian; he's been relentlessly gunning for pole position for years now, ever since they were freshman, and—

"Don't look so petrified, dear." Mrs Holt rises from her chair and walks around her desk, reaching out to pat Leah's shoulder with the same gentleness that coats her tone. Her hand lingers, and Leah wonders if the woman is thinking about the unnatural heat she undoubtedly feels underneath her palm.

If she does, she says nothing about it. Leah wouldn't know how to explain it if she did. She has long learned to not let anyone outside of the secret get too close, just in case the questions start. Of course, it's nothing compared to what the Pack go through — and, given how many times a day she has to check her wild emotions, it's not even worth thinking about what life would be like if she were able to phase alongside them, no matter how she still secretly yearns for it. She'd be exploding out of her skin at least six times a day.

Her Principal gives her another pat. "I had every faith you'd do it. Despite all the challenges you have faced, you are finishing your high school career at the top of your class with an outstanding GPA — you should be proud of yourself."

The same tears Leah has been valiantly fighting all day prick at her eyes.

"It's a shame you're still set against college," her Principal continues wistfully, "because—" She stops herself, eyes looking suspiciously misty behind her glasses as she smiles. Or maybe that's just because of the Don't Go There look Leah levels at the woman despite the wetness in her own eyes, but Mrs Holt isn't to know that college is out of the question until either the Cullens leave Washington, or Jacob leaves the Pack. Preferably both.

"Well, I don't need to tell you again. Go on, now. I'm sure you'd like to tell your family. Give my best wishes to your mother, won't you?"

"And Billy?" Leah dares ask, holding back a teary smirk. She is days away from graduating, is valedictorian, so it's safe to say she does not fear detention. Compared to the last several hours, she feels damn near invincible.

Valedictorian.

Mrs Holt scoffs, but she is smiling, too, albeit reluctantly. "That old busybody," she mutters.

It confirms everything that Leah already knew, yet she cannot help but feel an overwhelming surge of affection for the man. He is her biggest champion — after Jacob, of course. And maybe Embry.

Nobody beats her mom, though.

"Good luck next week," Mrs Holt says, returning to her desk — and to business. "Will you send Mr Dunne in after you? I'm afraid I have some bad news to break."

Leah tucks her box underneath her arm, and she tries not to look too smug when she opens the door and strides straight past Alex and Ruth, her head held high.

She doesn't do a very good job of it.

Serious A/N: This chapter (and the next) is the final product of the hours and hours that Hyacinthed and I spent combing through video clips, handbooks/rulebooks, social media posts, and archived press releases — basically anything and everything we could get our hands on to learn about the Quileute Tribal School and the education system/traditions/etc. We have tried to be as accurate and culturally responsive as possible; we donate monthly to MtHG and are forever learning. But ultimately I have never stepped foot in the US, and the material we did find was not specific or detailed enough for what I wanted, so certain things have been pulled from Hyacinthed's personal experiences in her country and Google (and, dare I say it, 'Eclipse').

(If you are interested, there is a video on YouTube titled 'Class of 2021 Quileute Tribal School Graduation' and an Instagram post by quileutetribe. There are also images and videos by 'Quileute Tribal-School' on Facebook, hyphen included. The rest is Google.)

With that in mind, please forgive any glaring mistakes/inaccuracies — which are entirely my own — and know we did our level best (and are happy to be educated).

Long story short, TL;DR, I've taken a lot of liberties and have no pals living in North America to correct me, so I've gone with what I've got. (A tiny part of me wanted to scrap the whole thing, but I have become inexplicably attached to the idea of Leah graduating in this story and writing about it, and H spent an age flexing her Editor Brain so I could keep what I had. We love her, guys.)

As always, thank you for reading, commenting, kudos'ing, reviewing, favouriting, following. My magnum opus is getting closer and closer to the finish line!

(P.S. I made a monumental boo-boo with the chapter rearrangement on FFn — meaning that if you have previously used your account to review chapters that are now being replaced, you can't review again unless you do so as a Guest. I'm SO sorry. It should rectify itself after a few more updates.)