Saying this would be a betrayal to the very essence of my being, but as a stupid, naïve little girl, I thought I meant something special to Paul Lahote. I gave him my first kiss, and he gave me his, and I was sure that though Jared no longer acknowledged me as his best friend, Paul wouldn't exhibit the same treatment; he's not like that, he's a good guy, he's honest, all fleeting thoughts, unwitting notions from the head of a hopeless romantic, ones I would refuse admitting to, even if my dishonesty killed me. I thought he was different, but he proved himself a follower, and his hurting gaze was not something of a weapon, even if it caused my chest pain as I cut the final tie I had to anyone but Kallie O'Brien.
You cut the ties, I reminded myself. You know what kind of people they are.
Paul was a good guy—I could admit to that, no matter how hard my heart lurched at the very mention of his person—though I was unsure whether his goodness could ever possibly run its layers anywhere near me. I felt his true colors only showed around those he most cared about—a list that I could physically feel shorten the longer he went with irrationalizing, externalizing, his anger.
I tried telling myself all this on the way to school that next morning. Though the contact between us yesterday screamed chemistry, it also gleamed with danger—danger of a passion so bright, it seared the thin, thin line between brazen ecstasy and regret. And even if we could manage the risk of fleeting passion, even if we surpassed the shallow and submerged ourselves in blissful ignorance, we put ourselves in peril of jeopardizing a fateful happiness.
I could be wrong for him.
He could be wrong for me.
We could hurt each other, tear one another apart, until the point of no return, until love became an impossible feat.
I knew him.
He knew me.
Nothing could save us from crashing. And as I gripped the steering wheel tight, I knew I was overanalyzing and reading too far into things, again.
Paul didn't care about me the way I sometimes wished he did. And due to that, a romantic relationship was practically impossible. So hoping for a contradictory decision by the fates really wasn't going to help anything.
Well, except give me the impression I was an idiot. An extremely big idiot. Paul had joined my brother's gang! He was with Sam now! What was the stupidest decision I could make?
I huffed a laugh, pressing the horn at a teenage boy who skateboarded by my car a little too close for comfort. Convince myself I like the guy, of course.
"You look like death," Kallie deadpanned—rather bluntly—when I shuffled into our art-class, a spare minute from being tardy, that very lovely morning.
I laughed, but the sound was dry. Humor wasn't a specialty of mine in the mornings. "Well, fuck, you sure know how to make a girl feel good about herself, K."
Kallie didn't respond. She just threw up a funny-looking thumbs-up—one that looked more like the formation of a clawing motion—and I chose not to comment. If she wanted to look stupid—well, who was I to make remarks and judgments without a checkboard for documentation?
Instead of saying anything else, I dropped my bag to the floor and proceeded to the cabinets. Without any real inspiration, and without incentive for a true chef-d'oeuvre or any real creative piece, I decided on an array of colorful hues, and claimed the biggest canvas I could find. It barely made the fit for my easel, but I paid the comical sizing no mind, and set to work.
The picture I had in my head was one that truly spoke volumes on my communiqué expertise. I'd call it Girl Hates People and People Hate Girl. It'd have two perfect strangers chunking a scruffy girl over a cliff, ugly and unrecognizable because last time I painted a satisfyingly grotesque scene, Mrs. Meadows knew I'd portrayed myself being hurt or killed in some fashion, and had Mr. Meadows (her lovely bear of a husband, and the school counselor) give me a rundown on why it was wrong to paint me getting eaten by a pool of sharks.
I told him it was just a painting. He told me it was a foreboding look inside my head that rang alarm bells. Which I thought was amusing, if only for the lack of any real emotion on his face. Why play yourself the sympathetic caretaker if you couldn't even fake your worry?
Whatever, I thought, drawing the cascade of oceanic waves that Painting-Me would crash into. No one here knows what the hell they're talking about.
Lunchtime, yet again—but this time, Jared and Paul were actually in attendance for today's wonderful carte du jour of meatloaf, grilled asparagus, and buttered rolls.
They were at their usual table—Kim accompanying them, of course. Jared had his arm around her, talking to Paul—who sat across from the couple like the glum, brooding bachelor he was—though Paul wasn't actually responding. If anything, he looked bored. And contemplative. An interesting combination. Hm.
Kallie snapped her fingers in front of my eyes, and I had to jump to attention, body going stiff with surprise. "Hello? Are you even paying attention, Alis?"
I looked at Kallie, then at the other people sitting with us that wonderful afternoon—Erica, a mouthy freshman; Zara, an even-mouthier freshman; and Jeremiah, a mouthiest-of-the-mouthy sophomore. So all-around, Kallie would be getting her worst nightmare come true, and would have to endure an entire twenty-five-minute block of getting attention swiped from her left and right. A great tragedy indeed, especially when compared to my attention-deficient span that could only operate in randomized intervals.
I smiled, putting too many teeth into my mouth's spread to be real and unforced. "Of course!" I was unable to bite my tongue. And I certainly didn't have the capability to find a grasp on my tone, because the sarcasm slipped out, and the smile turned into a crooked smirk. As it always did. "Okay, maybe not. Maybe I zoned out before you even started talking."
Before Kallie could roast me alive, Erika began to squirm in her seat, squealing with laughter. She had a finger waggling in my direction before I could even blink. It made me want to take her by the hand and snap each finger like a carrot. "See, see! I told you she wasn't listening!" She nestled into Kallie's side, putting her head into the crook of her neck. "I would never do that to you, Katie."
Kallie's face was turning pink with discomfort, but at the final word, her face fell perfectly flat. "It's Kallie," she deadpanned.
"Oh."
I rolled my eyes. When Kallie and I found ourselves void of anywhere to sit, we flocked to our usual table (sat by the far west of the cafeteria) and got its inhabitants (none of which we really knew—or liked, for that matter) to let us sit with them, not knowing the trouble that laid ahead for us. Unbeknownst to Kallie, I really only wanted this table for an easy vantage of Jared and Paul's table. I got an easy excuse for having to look at them, as they were in my direct sight if I sat in the seat I was in. And I knew Kallie enjoyed the view as well, because she had a wonderful view of Embry Call's backside. And she had a big, fat crush on the boy.
Jeremiah, the dick, slithered right up next to me. "How 'bout we ditch the losers, and go catch a flick at my house? Maybe get a few burgers at Irma's Diner." When I turned to look at him, he flashed me a wink. He thought he looked suave, but really, it was like witnessing a boy get jabbed in the eye with a pen. I was sure the disgust showed on my face, and in my body as it twisted away from him, because his cool grin fell into a frown. "Don't give me that look, Alissa."
That look? What? I didn't know what I was doing before I spat the same exact words out; "That look? What?"
The confidence had faltered, like he didn't realize the extent of his words before I cried for an annotation, and a grimace-like smile was in its place. "Give me that look. Like you're a fucking prude. All the guys know you throw yourself at anyone who looks a second time."
Erika stopped talking, and had lifted her head from Kallie's shoulder to blink dubiously in Jeremiah's direction; Kallie was sitting pin-straight, gaping at Jeremiah like a repulsed goldfish; and Zara was merely admiring her nails, trying to hide her disgust behind pursed lips.
"Um, what did you just say to me?"
Jeremiah laughed, like he found this funny. But I didn't see a single fucking thing I felt like laughing about. "You know exactly what I just said," he said, smiling at me—like he wasn't the biggest asshole in all of fucking Washington state. Like he still thought I'd say yes to a date with him. "You're just in denial that you're a desperate virgin slut—"
Before he could finish, Paul fucking Lahote was lifting the boy from his seat and vaulting him over the table. Except there was a wall right against the back of the table so Jeremiah tumbled onto the chairs aligning the back, which sprung two squealing girls from their seats and over the table, to my side, themselves. And he was yelling shit; "Who the fuck do you think you are saying shit like that to her?!"
I watched Paul jump onto the table, then nimbly slide against the wall—landing on top of Jeremiah, and pinning him between the table and the wall. He threw a fist into Jeremiah's mouth. And he continued yelling—"Don't you ever fucking talk about her again!"
I jumped from the table, tripping over myself and only saved by Kallie's shaking arms. We both shared a wide-eyed look, equally shocked by Paul's very sudden and very unexpected appearance, but personally, I was a bit pleased to see him pummeling a boy in the name of my honor. As repulsive the notion was, I felt affection swell in my chest—and I couldn't help the desire I had to kiss him, hug him, drown him in my gratitude—
Jeremiah's arms were like noodles, flailing as they attempted to hit anywhere on Paul that would halt the assault he was facing, and it was a sad—and very weak—attempt, as Paul was notorious for his fist-fights, and there wasn't a single one where he hadn't come out victorious. And after he came back to school, even the teachers had noticed how tall, broad, and buff he suddenly appeared, how terrifying he looked when he scowled. It was a no-brainer to avoid any and all altercations with the boy.
Which, Jeremiah definitely had, but Paul was in cahoots with Jared, and I was Jared's little sister, so Paul wasn't about to just tolerate someone talking shit to my face! Right? This couldn't have any of the protective tendencies I was hoping for; it was just fierce, brotherly loyalty, none of that mushy nonsense. Paul wasn't like that
Right?
Before Paul could really get some damage in and permanently fuck up Mr. Right's assets (not that they could even charm the thong off a stripper) two of the mathematics teachers were pulling the table from the wall and Mr. Meadows was hauling Paul (still swinging and still seething with anger) off Jeremiah's frail, bleeding body.
"Get the nurse!" Mr. Meadows snapped at one of the math teachers.
I wasn't paying attention. All my attention was focused on Paul—the nitty-gritty details of him, whether that be the blood splatters on his cheeks or the way his nostrils flared with sweltering anger, like he was inhaling rage and exhaling fumes.
His eyes snapped up to meet mine. And we stared at each other—me with a brazen look of awe, of gratitude, and him with an expression of utter anger. But that anger calmed the moment he registered the look in my eyes. The hunching in his shoulders calmed, and neared the crescendo—falling and falling and falling, until he was perfectly still, and we were left looking at each other. Mr. Meadows was yelling in his ear, telling him he'd chipped one of Jeremiah's teeth, but he didn't care or didn't seem to hear—one of those two options—because he just continued to stare at me.
Until there was no longer any anger on him. Until he just stared at me with his own form of brazen awe.
"Come on, Mr. Lahote," snarled Mr. Meadows. "You and I are going to see Principal Myers, and I can promise you you'll be suspended for at least a week." Instead of fighting him, as I expected Paul would, he willingly let the counselor and the other math teacher yank him to his feet.
His eyes never left mine—not until he was pulled through the cafeteria doors, and the heat his presence caused had to vanish.
And his eyes stayed—not with me, but in my memory, for I could never forget the feeling his stare embedded deep within me.
"You can't tell me you aren't seeing him," Kallie said gushingly, throwing a rock at the river with weak-willed intention. "I mean—the way you guys stared at each other! Even I had chills!"
"We're not together," I told her, shrugging at the disbelieving look she threw me. "What? I'm telling the truth!"
Kallie shook her head, taking another rock and throwing it as hard as she could. It didn't skip, like we'd been doing for the past hour, but it certainly scared a few birds when it sailed straight through the leaves of a nearby tree. "I just wish Embry would look at me like that." She sighed.
The girl was completely smitten with Embry, and it reminded me of Kim in freshman year, before Jared started looking at her in the same light. "You know, maybe he would if you'd actually just talk to him."
"B—But what if Jacob makes fun of me?"
"I'll beat the living crap out of him, duh," I told her, looking like she'd spoke blasphemy at me. What kind of best friend did she take me for? A cheap one? "He knows not to mess with me, especially when it comes to my only friend."
Kallie rolled her eyes, looking up from the plethora of rocks under her feet to spare me a fleeting, laughing glance. "Jacob's, like, huge though. And you're, like, yay-feet high." She demonstrated, raising to just her waist.
I pantomimed a laugh, using my hand to create a mock-talking gesture. "Ha-ha-ha, very funny. I'm a bit taller than Peter Dinklage, thank you."
We continued to skip rocks in silence, both too absorbed in our attempts to multiply our skips than to attempt and ride along a conversation. I had managed to finally obtain eight skips on one go when Kallie cleared her throat. I looked over, hair obscuring my face.
"He must really care about you, to risk expulsion like that," she said quietly. And I could tell she really meant the words, because she moved my hair back from my face and smiled at me. And the smile screamed reassurance, unlike Jeremiah's, which called for a red flag and a blast of concern. "I'm happy for you."
I raised my hand, and grasped tight onto Kallie's, flashing her a brief, grateful grin. "You're, like, totally the best. And come tomorrow, I'll be your wing-woman and tell Embry just how good you are at cliff-diving and gymnastics in the bedroom—"
"Oh my God, Alissa, I literally hate you."
"Even Pinocchio could tell that's a lie."
And when she threw a rock at me, I could hardly care, because I was laughing, and I felt like the world was infinite as she began to laugh too.
I was sitting at the dinner-table, pushing around a piece of pasta, thinking about the way a pair of certain brown eyes made me feel, when I felt my Dad hovering beside me. I didn't hide my smirk as I flicked my gaze up to look at him.
"Whatcha need, Papa-bear?"
Dad looked embarrassed, in a totally unlike-Dad way. Dad didn't feel embarrassment. He was usually the one embarrassing, not the other way around. Though, I was uncertain what had embarrassed him. Maybe a gentlewomanly caller? "I need to ask you a favor."
That wasn't expected. And it didn't answer why his face was about a dozen shades of pink. "What's that favor?" I was beside myself with intrigue.
"I need you to take this package down to the Blacks' house," he said slowly, like it hurt for him to get the words out. Like father, like daughter, because Dad, too, held a strong rivalry with the Blacks. Though, his feelings were much stronger for Billy than they were Jacob, unlike I, who held affection for the older man. A kind of affection I didn't let my Dad have influence over. Jacob was like fleas—couldn't get rid of him, no matter how hard I tried. "It was on my front porch this morning. And I know that damned man is just trying to get me to show up at his own porch with it."
"So you want me, his son's arch-nemesis, to do it instead?" I raised an eyebrow, entirely deadpan. Billy loved me, but Jacob wanted to kill me, and I'd rather live, thank-you-very-much.
Dad scrunched up his face, looking lost for words. "When you put it that way, it sounds just as awful," he said, with a sigh. "I can't do it. And Jared isn't here, so he can't do it."
I rolled my eyes. "I don't know why I put up with you," I said dramatically, feigning a groan. "But I guess I'll do it. Just because you're my dad."
Dad's eyes lit up, and it made me feel a tad bit better about what I was about to do. Even though I still wanted to punch a wall for going anywhere near Jacob Black. "Thank you, sweetheart," he said, placing a sweet kiss on my forehead. "Be safe!"
Grabbing hold of the box with one hand, I used my other to fall into a mock-salute. "Ai-ai, Captain." I winked, then headed out the door. I was definitely not looking forward to this, but I supposed there were worse situations to find myself in, like waking up in the same bed as Jacob Black.
I shuttered. Definitely worse situations.
It was just a ten-minute walk to Jacob Black's house, so I didn't bother starting my car, as that just wasted fuel, and I was a cheapskate when it came to my gas tank. Jacob's house was a quaint little place, red as a barnyard and totally unsuspecting. And by totally unsuspecting, I mean you wouldn't know a complete asshole lived there!
Biting back my dignity, and any mean retorts that would definitely leave me at the mere sighting of Jacob Black, I walked up the stairs and to the door. And I knocked.
I waited.
And waited.
And waited.
But there was no answer.
I knocked again, this time more furiously. I waited again, this time more anxiously. After a plethora of repeats, I discovered that Billy Black was MIA. Or sleeping. Either one. Whichever one.
I disliked both options. They both meant I'd be here a while, or have to go home, tail tucked between my legs.
And I was leaning more towards the last idea, essentially realizing I preferred my house over this farm-looking alternative, but the sound of chitchat and laughter made my blood curdle and eyes widen.
I didn't want to go home with this stupid package in my hands. And Dad definitely didn't want it anywhere near his house, if the embarrassed look on his face had any say in it.
I tromped down the stairs, then walked around the staircase, following the sound of voices. I came across a garage, with a beat-up truck parked haphazardly near it. I frowned, nose twitching at the sight, only turning away when I felt myself to begin preparing the paint-jobs of the sad vehicle and my own car. I then looked towards the garage.
Inside of it was a pale, unfamiliar girl who looked like she came from Forks, and Jacob Black.
I grinned. This should be fun.
"Oh, hey, Jacob," I called out, feeling a bit scared by the utterly angry glare he shot me. Had I interrupted something? Totally accidental! "Fancy seeing you here." I laughed, obnoxiously, knowing full-well he probably wanted to shoot me in the foot with a machine-gun.
"This is my house," Jacob said, through gritted teeth. He was definitely restraining myself; there was no other explanation for why he looked so damn constipated. "What are you doing here?"
I held up a finger, then looked down at the package. It had already been opened once, so it wouldn't hurt to open it twice, right? I tore the tape with one of my finger nails, and haphazardly popped open the tabs, nearly dropping the box in my attempts. What I saw inside had me gaping.
It was a pair of bubblegum-pink capris. And on top was a note, written in chicken-scratch scrawl: I saw these, and they made me think of you. I know how you struggle to express your true self.
I couldn't help it. I fucking burst out laughing. "Oh my God, dude, your dad's my idol. He's a freakin' comedian."
Jacob raised an eyebrow, looking less angry and more intrigued now, and he just shrugged at the pale-faced girl when she stared cluelessly at him. He stood from where he was sitting and strode out of the garage.
Still hunched over, still breathless with laughter, I handed over the package. Jacob took it wordlessly.
"What—oh my God. I watched him pick these out. I thought it was for a present to send to one of my sisters." Jacob scrunched up his face, letting out a laugh.
"It's fucking comedy-gold," I wheezed out, tears appearing in my eyes. I was literally aching from the laughter. The feeling of two pairs of eyes had me regaining composure, however, and I had to force myself to clear my throat, because I was just dying to know the name of the only girl I'd ever seen Jacob willingly speak to. "Sorry, uh, I'm Alissa. Alissa Cameron."
The girl was awkward; I could tell she had no sense of social direction, because she raised a hand, giving it a sad, clumsy wave, and smiled lopsidedly. Did she know any social cues? I couldn't help but wonder. "Bella Swan."
I blanched. I remembered Bella; me and Jacob were her playmates as children, though Jacob utilized me as a source of embarrassment, which he thought to be the ultimate tool for attaining affection when it came to cold-as-stone Isabella's heart, something that made me learn early on to avoid the two and continue following my brother around. It was weird to see her now—pale as a ghost, all awkward, clumsy frame and no character whatsoever. It made me eyeball her for a second, totally confused.
Jacob nudged her, muttering, "She made mud-pies with us when we were kids."
"Oh!" Bella's face brightened, and her mouth curved up into a smile. It was a very awkward one, but I expected nothing more and nothing less. What I didn't expect was the eagerness in her expression; what did she have to be so eager about? "We should hang out sometime."
I raised an eyebrow, looking at Jacob. He seemed very unhappy. And if he seemed unhappy, that meant for me to feel sheer glee. And I totally did. "Oh, uh, okay. When?"
Bella didn't seem to expect my agreement, because she opened and closed her mouth wordlessly. "Well, Jake's fixing up some bikes for us to try out soon. He's almost got them finished. You can come with, if you want."
I surreptitiously glanced at Jacob, seeing the way he clenched his jaw and his fists as Bella spoke. He did not want me to join them. Which was the ultimate reason why I said what I did.
"Oh, hell yes."
