Rachel

"Okay. Alright, well… if he turns up please give us a call. Thank you… Bye, Mrs. Clearwater," I hang up the phone with Sue and look over to Dad. He's staring out the window.

"I guess seeing it all in writing made it too real for him," Dad mumbles to himself.

"There's nothing else we can do but wait. Chief Swan is going to file a missing persons... Do you want some breakfast?" I exhale, deciding to be useful. I walk over to the old fridge and pull the door open. It smells. I look at the temperature gauge. 46 degrees.

"There's leftover pizza," he says.

"Dad, first of all, you're diabetic. You shouldn't be eating pizza for breakfast. Secondly, this fridge is too warm. It should be 38 degrees or lower. I wouldn't trust any of the food in here, anyways."

"It only gets down to 46. Have some cereal," he rubs his forehead with a fatigued expression.

I watch with concern; dark circles have formed under his eyes and his complexion is ashen and dull.

"Have you checked your blood sugar this morning?" I ask, observing his malaise. "Where do you keep your kit?"

"Uh… I don't know. Somewhere over there," he motions to the chair next to the TV.

I bite my tongue. Is he for real? Somewhere over there? I thought Jacob was handling this. Every time I called and asked him how Dad was doing he said he was fine. I guess he was too busy chasing around the Swan girl to notice.

I retrieve his finger-prick kit and wipe the dust off of it. He hasn't touched this thing in weeks if not over a month. Great.

"Here, Dad," I say, gently placing the kit in his lap, "I'm going upstairs to get dressed. I will be checking your levels when I come back." I warn him before heading upstairs.

I close the door to my empty room with the half-inflated air mattress; I woke up sore and on the floor this morning because most of the air had leaked out. I'm not surprised. The mattress is both old and cheap.

I pull on my favorite jeans from the pile I had discarded them in last night and then dig through my luggage for my favorite purple sweatshirt. My last college roommate, Heather, had given me the Abercrombie & Fitch hoodie. Heather is the only roommate I kinda (sorta) got along with.

An $80 sweatshirt is not in my budget but when it came in the mail, from her stepmom, Heather basically threw it at me. The hoodie is a size XS and Heather is a heavy-set girl. Her stepmom has a habit of buying her clothing that's too small as a way to "inspire" her to lose weight so she can be thin like her step-sisters.

I quite enjoyed the days when Heather's stepmom would send over passive-aggressive, body-shaming, care packages of undersized clothing. Heather would lay it all out for me on the floor, I'd get to choose what I wanted to keep, and then we'd dump the rest of it in the lost and found. Then we'd pig out on icecream all night and talk shit out her step-sisters who were tall, thin, and pretty but barely had two brain cells to rub together. When I asked her if it ever hurt her feelings she laughed. According to Heather, she had nothing to be hurt about. She'd say, 'I'm a sexy size 16. Anyone who can't appreciate the jiggle in my wiggle doesn't deserve me.'

I smile, remembering those good times when I could forget about all that troubled me and be a normal carefree college student. However, like a title wave, an overwhelming sense of obligation consumes me and I remember that I am not a normal carefree college student, anymore.

Yes, a big part of the reason I stayed away was because of Mom's memory. However, despite my intense desire to start my new life in Seattle, leaving Dad and Jacob behind is going to be hard.

Before I left for school, I worked so hard to take care of Jacob. I owed him that. Mom was gone because of me. I had to take care of him. Then, just as I was leaving, Dad got sick. All of that responsibility fell to Jacob. He was only a child. I shouldn't have left him alone with all of this burden and no one to take care of him. No wonder he has the emotional maturity of a pogo stick — running off over some girl who he wasn't even dating — he's lost so much. I owe him so much. I love my baby brother and I hate that he's hurting.

The front door creaks.

"Jacob?" my father calls out.

I hurry out of my room and to the bottom of the stairs. It's not him. It's that kid from yesterday, Paul Lahote.

"Sorry. Just me," Paul says softly to Dad. Water drips off his short black hair and onto his brown leather jacket. Under his jacket, he is wearing a dark green t-shirt and jeans that look new. In fact, they are new. He's mistakenly left the vertical size sticker on the side of his leg.

Dad doesn't seem pleased to see Paul at all, "well? Have you seen him?" he asks, being short with the tall, muscular boy for seemingly no reason.

"Uh. Yeah, briefly," Paul nods.

"And?" I cross my arms, urging him to give us the details.

"He didn't really want to talk about it. I don't know where he is right now," Paul says, softly.

"But you know where he might be, right?" I ask Paul. "You're friends, you must know where all his hang-outs are, right?"

"I uh…kinda, yeah… but-" Paul starts but I cut him off.

"Okay. Great," I nod, "I'll get a coat," I reply and walk into the coat closet. I find Jacob's old blue raincoat between two of Dad's ancient hunting jackets. It's too small for him now. He won't mind.

"Um. I actually… I can't really help. I have to go back home," Paul says softly. "But can I have a minute to talk to you, privately," Paul says.

"Is this about Jacob?" I ask. I turn around to look at the boy. His eyes look pained as though he has something that he really needs to get off his chest. I feel sorry for him but I don't have time for this.

"Um. No," he says softly.

"Look, Paul. If you're not here to help me find my brother I have nothing to say to you," I reply, honestly. I don't know what his deal is but I have priorities and can only deal with one angsty teen boy at a time. "Are you going to help me find Jacob or not?"

Paul's eyes dart between me and his truck. "uh… yeah, I'll help," he nods and then swallows hard.

"Great, I'll drive," I reply to Paul and grab my car keys. I look over to Dad. "Verdict on the blood sugar?" I cock my brow at him.

"Yeah, yeah, Girly. I'm working on it," he says wheeling over to the table where I had left out Cheerios and gives me a little smile. "You drive carefully," Dad says.

I nod, "always."

That's the tradition. After mom. You drive carefully. Always.

"Let's go, Lahote," I say to Paul and head out into the rain. He stops next to my red Mazda and waits for me to unlock the passenger side door. Instead of going to the driver's side, I walk right up to him and pull the vertical size sticker off his jeans. "It was driving me crazy," I hand him the sticker.

He looks down in his hand and softly chuckles, "thanks," he says and shoves it in his pocket.

"Yeah. No problem," I reply and get in the car.

We start by driving to the high school. I didn't think he'd be there. What loser goes to school when they're feeling depressed? Then we go down to the local community center and ask around. No one there has seen him. We head on down to Forks and check a few other hangouts, the theatre, the town's pub, and a diner near the off-ramp. Nothing.

"What about the beach?" I ask Paul.

"It's raining," he replies.

I get the feeling that Paul knows that Jacob won't be found in any of the locations we are driving by. His suggestions seem almost made up. Why would Jacob be hanging around in a random truck stop diner near Forks? It doesn't make sense. That's why when I suggest the beach and he attempts to shoot it down I know that is exactly where I want to go.

"To the beach it is," I nod and turn the car around.

"Okay," he sighs and looks out the window.

I don't know Paul but something seems off. He looks nervous like he's anticipating something bad happening. He drums his fingers against the dash, anxiously. This somehow causes my glovebox to pop open revealing a collection of fast-food napkins, tampons, and an open box of condoms. Shit! I reach over and quickly slap it shut.

Paul clears his throats, "sorry," he says barely above a whisper.

"Are you worried about Jacob?" I ask him, moving on from the uncomfortable moment. We drive back through town to get to the main road that leads to First Beach.

"Jacob can take care of himself," Paul replies, "I'm sure he's fine."

Jacob is my baby brother. I'll always want to take care of him but I understand what Paul means. My brother is not a child. He certainly looks capable of taking care of himself. I'd feel sorry for the poor sucker who tried to take on Jacob Black in a bar fight.

I glance over to Paul and catch him looking at me. His eyes studying me from my thighs to my hands on the wheel. His eyes finally reach my face. He looks away quickly, his ears tinge red with embarrassment at being caught.

Oh? Ohhhh. Oh, no. Really? For real? Am I imagining it or does this kid have a crush on me? Oh, god. So all that stuff last night about age is just a number was… oh, man… Really? …He is cute, though… I mean for a kid… I could do worse… Yuck, Rach.

I quickly look back to the road, "so," I feel my face become hot in response to his embarrassment and my own wandering mind, "you must be excited that school is done," I attempt to make small talk.

Let's just get to the beach and see if Jake is there. If he is, good. If he isn't then we'll head back.

"Sure," he sighs and starts to drum his fingers on his knee.

"Do you like school?" I ask. Dumb question. Who asks that?

"School doesn't really like me," he says with a little smile.

That smile. That little smile makes me feel something. Something tender. Safe and warm? Yuck. Get it together, Girly. My face gets hotter.

"Oh, yeah?" I open the window a little bit to let some air in, "how so?"

"I got a 700 on my SATs," he admits, wrinkling his nose.

I always find it cute when guys can wrinkle their noses. I smile.

What? No! Stop! Whatever this is, shut it down, right now! Shut. It. Down.

"Ouch," I reply to the low score, keeping my eyes on the road, "sorry. That sucks… Don't worry. You can take it again," I attempt to console him.

"I know," Paul says, "not sure if I want to."

"Oh... No, you have to," I reply, "it's vital for your college applications."

"I don't think I'm going to college," he says, looking at me again as though he's expecting some kind of disappointed reaction.

"Really? Why?" I ask, unbothered. It's his life.

He shrugs, "I don't think it's for me," he admits.

I nod. I understand that attitude. I don't think any of the guys in my graduating class from high school went to college. Growing up around here is kind of limiting, "that's fine. Go to a technical school," I reply.

"A technical school?" he raises his brows, "aren't those for losers?"

I frown at him, "um, no?"

"I dunno. It's just when I think of technical school I picture-"

"People graduating with skills that are going to lead to careers that make money?" I offer. He doesn't answer me, "come on. Do you really want to be stuck here in this town doing whatever your dad does? Seriously... What does your dad do?" I ask.

"He's a lawyer," Paul replies.

"He's a lawyer?" I am gobsmacked, "Really?... here?"

It perplexes me why anyone would go to the trouble of getting a law degree and then stay in La Push.

"He's a bad lawyer," Paul replies with a smirk.

I burst into laughter and look over at the cute boy with the wrinkled nose. He grins widely as though he is proud to have made me laugh. Like it is some big accomplishment for him.

By the time we pull into the beach, I have calmed down from laughing, wiping a tear from my eye. At least the rain has stopped.

"I don't think he's here," I open the car door and step out. No one is here.

"He might still turn up," Paul says, optimistically, "it's stopped raining," he says, looking down the beach. "I'm hungry. Are you hungry?" he asks, motioning towards a food truck parked nearby.

"Huh," I look at the food truck, "when'd we get that?" I ask, following him towards the small white truck.

"It's new," he says, "it belongs to the resort. They're trying to make the beach into more of a hangout for summer tourists, I guess," he replies as we stop outside of the truck that smells like delicious fried foods. There's a help wanted sign in the window with the word 'seasonal' written in black sharpie.

"Hm," my eyes scan the menu on the side of the truck, "you know what, though? I didn't bring my purse," I realize.

"I got you," Paul says with a grin on his face, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket.

"No," I shake my head, "I don't want to be spending up your allowance."

"I don't have an allowance! I have a job!" he scowls at the insinuation that he gets a weekly allowance. "I'm a lifeguard."

That's hot. Shut up. I'm going to hell.

"It's fine, really," I shake my head.

"I insist," he says. I shake my head again, he sighs, "...come on. It's almost 1 o'clock, we've been driving around all morning… I'm starving. There's no way you're not hungry. You're really going to make me eat in front of you?" he raises his brows.

"Um… fine. I'll have whatever you're having," I agree, having finally been worn down.

He smiles.

Butterflies.

Ugh! Stop.