chapter three

first love / late spring by mitski

Quil's in my kitchen.

I don't know what he's doing there but I'm not particularly happy about it. When I see him, slumped in our wooden chair with his backpack spilling its contents on our floor, I groan. He shows up a lot when he knows Embry's not here, grinning and flexing and being so dedicated to poorly flirting with me until the point I couldn't even tell if it was a bit or not. And it's not that I don't like Quil. I mean, the bit gets old sometimes but he's funny and he's a good friend to my brother and to me too. But it's seven in the morning and I have no caffeine and I can't deal with anything right now. "What are you doing here, Ateara?"

He jumps at the sound of my voice, sitting up straight and suddenly grinning and I wonder if he was drifting asleep there and how he even got in here in the first place. "Tatum," he says, posturing, voice in a lower octave than what was natural for him. "It's been a while."

"What are you doing in my house?" I ask again, tone harsher this time than I mean it to be as I open the fridge and reaching for an energy drink. I'm basically useless without one. And like, three thousand times more irritable. I'm evolutionary too strong for coffee.

And while I'm cracking open the can and guzzling it down, Quil grins so large he might crack his cheeks open. "I just wanted to spend some time with my favorite and cutest person. It's been a while, and I know you probably miss me, baby." I give him a glare, eyes narrowed and stance rigid, and he sighs. "I was supposed to drive Em to school but he's not at his mom's. Figured he'd be here."

I shrug, tapping my fingers against the metal can. "Well, he's not. I haven't seen him in a couple days. I think he's mostly just been at his mom's."

My words make him flinch and something shifts and suddenly all the playful energy has vacated his expression. "So you don't know where he is?" Quil asked, leaning forward in the kitchen chair.

I toss him a frown. "Don't make me say the line. He probably just left already or something, I dunno." This doesn't seem to satisfy him. Quil's just frowning and crossing his arms, twisting his features around like he's deep in thought and his eyes are far off. He looks empty. I roll my eyes and clap my hands in front of his face, making him jump. "Quil! What's up buddy? What's going on in there?"

He shakes his head. "Can you call your dad?"

"Why would I call my dad?" I ask, energy drink to my lips and eyes on the clock. I got time.

"I dunno," he says, shrugging, "it's just like, weird. He's been like this a lot lately."

"Really?" I ask, lips to the can. I'm not really concerned because I think that Embry's a tough kid and Quil's a little too astute for his own good so I think the problem might be a little bit made up. But there's an edge to the tone of his voice. "I try not to pay attention to him."

Quil frowns. "Seriously, Tate. He's been like, acting really weird."

I'm leaning against the counter and frowning at Quil because normally he can't go around three seconds without throwing some overused line in my direction and his face is twisted up in concern like he's actually, really worried and that's the most out of character thing I'd ever seen from Quil. So I ask, "Weird like how?"

He shakes his head and leans back and I know it's serious from the way he doesn't even look at me when I talk. "I dunno. I don't know how to describe it. You should just like, talk to him, alright? When you can," he adds, and stands suddenly. "He hasn't really been talking to me or Jake or anyone. Maybe he'll talk to you."

"Sure, that's not weird or cryptic at all," I tell him, my foot impatiently tapping against the floor. "But, yeah, I'll talk to him."

Quil moves from his spot in the kitchen towards the front door and he's walking past me as he says, "Just let me know, alright?"

And he's gone, leaving me standing alone in the kitchen with a crooked feeling in my gut.

I'm chewing on the bottom of my lip and staring off into the empty table that the Cullen's used to occupy during every lunch period. They would sit there, still and statuesque, not eating and not blinking and not paying attention to the world around them. And now that they were gone, there was nothing in their space and I wondered if anyone would ever sit in their space again. People always stayed away from them and now they're avoiding their memory. Because even though the Cullen's were beautiful and mesmerizing, there was something lingering under their eyes and something cold about the way their lips molded into smiles.

They existed in such a different world than the rest of us; isolated and alone. Cultish, almost. Like they weren't a family, but something else. Something else dangerous and uninviting. Something that moved harshly and unnaturally. I think that everyone felt that way, felt the urge to avoid them and their lunch table but they never really chalked it up to anything other than the bizarre way they acted and presented. I remember the way my the hairs stood on the back of my neck when they first arrived in the white lights of the cafeteria and how my back arched in whenever I felt them walk behind me.

I remember the protective instinct I felt whenever Bella's gaze lingered on the redheaded one for too long and I remember how I would step my foot in front of her whenever I felt he was getting too close and I remember how uneasy I felt when she drove back down to Arizona and arrived home with broken bones and stitches. I don't know him, and I never did, but I know that the place where they once sat was vacated like the harshness of them lingered there and I know that that means either there is something about them or I am insane.

Embry told me one time that everyone on the res felt the way I did. He said the Cullen's weren't allowed anywhere near the reservation. He told me that the boys he went to school with act strange and distant and he said that the Cullen's presence put them on edge and they would linger in the woods and ignore the people they love. And I used to laugh when he told me about it and pretend that I didn't feel the way he knew I felt but when I stare at the empty table it makes more sense to me. I think that if Embry was telling the truth that the res should go back to normal now that they were gone. That no one else should be distant and cold and walking barefoot through the trees.

Parker notices me looking. He throws a pea at my forehead. "Tate," he says, giving me a soft smile, "Where's your head at?"

It's just me and Parker today. Two people alone at a table meant for seven and I don't understand how that happened or where my friends went. And I try to think of all the people that I know and why none of them are interested in being anywhere near me. "I guess it's just a weird day," I tell him, tearing my gaze away from the empty Cullen table and focus on my half eaten peanut butter and jelly. "My brother's not acting like himself, I guess."

You guess?" Parker asks, his mouth twisting around the words and the sourness of his green apple.

I offer him a shrug. "I dunno. Quil showed up at my place today looking for him cause he's been blowing him off," I explain it like it's simple and like it's nothing but I can't imagine anything that would make my brother ignore his friends and I start to think that something might actually be really wrong. "Embry doesn't really do anything like that."

Parker frowns and he's taking my words and going somewhere else with them. "You were alone with Quil this morning?" he asks, and I can't help but hold back my scoff and he quickly says, "Tatum, you know how uncomfortable that makes me.

Parker is pure and wide-eyed and he has this positive view of the world and I think that's a lot of the reason I like him so much. But it's that positive spin of things that makes him completely incapable of observing anything other than his own discomfort. Everything is good until it doesn't feel good. Everything is good until Parker doesn't feel good. And it's probably fine that Embry's acting weird because sometimes people just need time on their own and it doesn't mean that something bad happened but it's not okay that I shared a moment of concern. But I don't want to fight with him and I don't want to argue that the way he feels and reacts is wrong so I just toss him an easy smile and say, "Sorry, won't happen again."

He's so predictable when he says, "Your brother just probably needs space," that it almost makes me mad. "Embry's not like, the most sociable guy and he probably just wanted to be alone."

I don't have the guts to tell him that it's not really that Embry's not sociable, but that Embry just really doesn't like him. "I hope so," I tell him, eyes drifting back to the empty lunch table.

Bella's tapping her pencil against her homework and she's smiling like she's somewhere far away from here. And I keep staring, eyes on the slight upturn of her lips while I slouch against my bed frame, fingers lazily tugging at the cords of my bass. And I know I'm being obvious but she doesn't even notice how my gaze has been so intensely fixed on her instead of anything else. I think that I should look away but there's something so striking about the roundness and softness and the happiness in her face. After months of unreachable despondence and then suddenly, this, the joy in her eyes is almost unsettling.

She hasn't written anything on her paper but then again I've only played three cords in the past two minuets. Bella's mind is far away from here and mine is on her and neither one of us seem to have the capability to focus on arbitrary homework assignments. She's been spaced for so long but it was nothing like this, nothing this wistful and light. And I don't mean to sound bitter at my friend's happiness but I start to think about what it is about Jacob Black that could bring Bella back to life in just a few weeks when I couldn't even get her to budge after months. I say to her, "You look a lot better." Bella quirks an eyebrow at my word choice. "Healthier, I mean. You know, not like you haven't slept in over a year."

"I dunno," she says in that breathy voice of hers and she's smiling off to the side again like she's thinking of something very different from me. "I think I just found hobbies that make me feel like, a rush or something. Like I'm living again."

I think of the erratic way she breathed and how her hair fell in her face fell loose and wild in her face after she got off the stranger's bike. "So you're into the rush of things now?" I ask, picking up speed on the cords while I speak. It makes sense; it fits. The girl sat still for long she was becoming stone and now she needs to do something so extreme and so unruly to feel anything at all again. "Jacob Black help you out with that?"

There's a blush that rises to her cheeks and the name brings a fondness to her eyes and it's a feeling I can see but can't place. "Spending time with him is nice," she tells me. "It's like I can forget about all the things that happened and just like, take it easy, y'know? It's not complicated."

Her words are laced with something bitter and painful and secret. Bella is always hiding something under her tongue and I gave up on trying to figure out what it was a long time ago but I know that complicated was the simplest way to describe it. "Sounds nice. Jake's nice."

Bella nods, tapping quicker now as I string together the bass-line of some Mitski song I'm not supposed to be playing. "How are things with you and Parker?"

I frown, sitting up a little straighter and leaning into my instrument. "Pretty fine, I guess. It's just weird. I feel like I like Parker but no one else likes Parker and I don't really know why."

"I like Parker," Bella tells me quickly. "I mean, I don't know him that well but he seems like he treats you really well. I heard that he always said nice things about you. I think he's just a little bit anti-social. Like me, I guess. Didn't mind being alone until you kept making plans with me."

I tilt my head, "Who'd you hear that from?"

And I know the answer by the sudden vacated look in her eyes. The sudden desolation and pain that hits her so rapidly and so visibly. I don't wanna push it but I don't know how Edward Cullen would know what Parker had to say about me. My boyfriend, like most everyone else, stayed away from the pale boy. "Just someone," she says, her voice hushed with the thickness of pain.

I'm trying not to get annoyed. Because she's clearly feeling a pain that is so incomprehensible to me and I know that I have to avoid his memory like I'm stepping over landmines. But sometimes I want to grab her by the shoulders and tell her that Edward Cullen left and that her whole life does not revolve around Edward Cullen and that she can live, not just exist without him. I want to tell her that Bella Swan is Bella Swan and she needs to be able to live and breathe on her own and that her obsession and heartbreak isn't just abnormal but unhealthy and beyond concerning. My fingers are stumbling over the cords and I'm playing too fast and I keep messing up and I can't think of anything to say but, "Oh, okay."

She seems grateful that I dropped it and I think that maybe that's a sign I shouldn't have. I'm drifting off into original music and I can't track where my fingers are going or where they've been and I think that I should've been recording. "Me and Jake are actually building bikes together."

I can't help the scoff that falls from my lips. "Like, what, like dirt bikes?"

The image if Bella on the back of the bike was not lost on me when she said, "Yeah, I wanna learn how to drive them around. I think it would be really fun."

Edward letting must have really twisted and knotted her up because the Bella I knew a year ago, drowning in sweaters with her fingers curled around a worn-down copy of some Bronte book wouldn't have been able to even walk up to a dirt bike without tripping over it, nevermind fixing one up. And I think that this it the most insane post-breakup shit I have ever seen. "Well, if that makes you happy."

Bella's talkative today. She watches me play my bass while she bites down on her lip and she's trying to think of something to say to me. I watch the questions rush through her eyes. "How's the movie going?" she asks suddenly when the question pops into her head. It's nice that she asks, I think, but I wonder if she really cares.

"It's going okay. Vasquez drives me up the fucking wall, but I love her and more importantly, I love her acting skills," I tell her, thinking of the way Mooney forced herself into the diva trope. "Friday we're filming the scene where her character sets a car on fire. My dad's friend works at a junkyard and he's giving us some old beat up car."

Her eyes widen at the idea of it. "How are you gonna set a car on fire, exactly?"

"My brother's gonna help. He knows a lot about cars so he's gonna set up something under the hood to start a small fire and then Wes is gonna go back and make it look huge on like, Premier or something, I dunno. I don't know how that shit works."

"Is it safe?"

I think about the likelihood of her ratting us out to Charlie but then I imagine Charlie's face if he found out Bella was into dirtbike's and random sleezebag's motorcycles. Mutually assured destruction. "No. We bought some fire extinguisher online but it's definitely illegal, so like, don't tell your dad or anything."

Bella scoffs at me, like the idea is absurd. And this is one of the things I like most about Bella. She's no snitch. "And your brother knows what he's doing?"

"So he says."

And there's this lull in conversation while my playing slows and Bella's turning her tongue around in her mouth like she's looking for the right words to say and can't think of the right way to just spit it out. "Jacob said that Embry's been acting weird."

Abruptly, I stop playing and my eyes shoot up towards her. I don't like that Jake's telling her my family business but I guess since he's Em's friend it's kinda his business too. "Yeah, I heard," I tell her, and I start plucking again. "But I haven't seen him a few days. Guess he's just been staying with his mom."

"I heard he's been hanging around Sam Uley and his like, gang. Jake says they're bad news."

I get annoyed quick. I don't like that she knows more about my family than I do and I don't like that she's hearing it from Jacob Black and I don't like that wave of resentment that washes over me. "Bad news?" I don't know much about Sam Uley, or really anything that goes on over at the res. I keep my head tangled up in my own business and I only can grab onto names from stories and gossip told to me by my brother.

She shrugs. "I guess they chased this guy off the reservation for trying to sell meth. They're all about tribal pride and protecting their people."

My eyebrows shoots up. Doesn't really sound like a gang to me. "And that's bad?"

"It's just weird. They act like hall monitors."

I figure Bella's just regurgitating whatever Jake told her and Jake's perspective is probably skewed because he's bitter about being bailed on, so I don't correct her. But I picture my brother, stringy and goofy, trying to protect anyone from anything and the image is almost laughable. Em's a good kid that minds his own business and occasionally he's a dumbass but he's not the type of person to be chasing meth dealers away. It's hard for me to imagine. "I guess we'll find out."

Embry and my father and sitting at the kitchen table with hunched shoulders and something so tense it hangs heavy in the air. I walk slowly towards them, feet creaking against the wooden floor and as soon as my weight gives away my presence two pairs of dark eyes are sharp and on me.

And as soon as I step into the kitchen I know that I am an intrusion. I know that I am not wanted in the room and I know that Quil is right to worry. Because I have walked into this room countless nights on countless occasions and my brother has never looked at me like he is looking at me now.

It's the first time I've seen him in days and he's looking at me like I am the last person he wants to see and like the sight of me, standing there wide-eyed in the kitchen with my bag hanging off one shoulder and my board under my other arm, was repulsive to him. And the sharpness in eyes his, the bit in his jaw, it is enough to render me speechless, with a sinking grossness in my gut. I don't say anything but neither does Embry. We just stare and I wonder what has happened to him in these past few days for him to muster all this venom for me.

My father speaks first, voice low and sure. "Tatum. I didn't know you'd be home so soon."

His words mean that the only reason he and Embry were here talking was because he thought I wouldn't be here. But here I am, ruining their father-son time. I ignore it. "Hey, Em," I say to my brother, speaking past the harshness of his exterior. "How have you been?"

He looks different. He looks larger and stronger and formidable and nothing like the boy that teased me just a week ago. "Fine," he says simply, voice drenched in annoyance and deeper than I remember.

My throat is tight and dry. "Where've you been? Everyone's been asking."

I can't get any reading on him because when I ask his eyes start to water and that anger and contempt never leaves his face, it just gets more complex. "Don't worry about it."

There's nothing I can say to that, I think. Our father is looking between us, skeptical and unsure about the stiffness in my stance and the way Embry leaned over in his chair. "You still coming to set Friday?" I ask.

This makes him stand. Tower over me. Stare down and glare. "Of course, Tate. What else have I got going on?"

His words are simple but there's something about the way he says them that cuts through me and he storms past me. I think, how is he gonna get home? He doesn't have a car and normally someone drives him but there's no one here and my dad's just sitting still while he stomps off. I look to my father with wide eyes and he gives me a sympathetic look. "Don't take what he says to heart. He's having a rough time, lately."

I don't say anything to my father. I disappear to my room, feeling strange.

"So where is he?"

I'm leaning against the side of the car, staring at the propped up hood and shaking my head. "I don't know."

Mooney rolls her eyes with her arms crossed tight over her chest and she's looking at me like this is my fault. "Well, he's your brother, and we can't do the scene without him. You said he would be here so I'm just asking-"

"I said I don't fucking know, alright?" I snap. I don't know why I like Mooney and I don't know why I'm so married to the idea of a friendship with her. It seems like she always knows the right thing to say to make my teeth grind.

It's been an hour and Embry's not here and the ocean is whipping ice cold wind in my face and I don't think I can feel anymore. Wes is crossing his arms and it's just us on set today. And I think he's watching the way I'm locking down my jaw and thinking about what to say to take me down a notch. "Tate," he says, voice gentle, "maybe we should just go home."

"Yes, can we please go home. It's freezing and he's obviously not fucking coming."

"Shut up Moon, god, for just like one second," Wes tells her, but in that same softness. And then he turns back to me. "We can always just do the scene later. It's really not that hard to reschedule."

And I don't know why but something in his words and the kindest in them makes me want to scream and snap. "No, Wes, we can't just reschedule. We got a fucking car. We got a fucking junk car and we have to set it on fucking fire and it's important and if we just photoshop it it'll look like shit and we need practical effects. What the fuck are we supposed to do with the fucking car? We have to do the fucking scene."

No one says anything for a minute and then there's a hand on my shoulder and I'm surprised to see it's Moon. "Wes can just take it back home and keep it in his garage, Tate. Really, it's not that big of a deal. And it's not your fault your brother stood us up, so let's just go home."

Shaking my head, I look away from them both and stare out in the ocean, watching the grey waves crash against the shore and I suddenly crave summer. "Whatever," I say suddenly, and I want to disappear.

"You're so far away from here."

It takes a second for Parker's words to hit me. I'm tapping on the table and staring around at the bustling waitresses with trays full of milkshakes and cheesy fries and greasy foods on sticks and I'm trying to focus on simple things. I thought about cancelling on him but I feel like I've been so warped lately that Parker's gotten lost in the madness of it. And I have to remind myself that I really do like Parker and I like the way he treats me and I like being with him. Because I'm so distracted by the way my brother hurt me and the way filming's been a disaster that I'll forget how much I care. "Sorry," I say, because it's all I can say.

He purses his lips, fingers lingering on the sugar dispenser and staring deeply into my eyes and it almost makes me look away. "What's been up with you lately?" he asks like he doesn't know. And he always knows. Parker knows me so well. He knows what's wrong before I do and he knows how to put words on the weight that I feel on my chest.

"You tell me," I say to him, and I mean it.

Parker takes a second, collects his thoughts, and says, "I think you've been feeling pretty insufficient."

I tilt, my head, searching for that feeling somewhere inside of me, trying to unlock it, trying to place that label on any of the unpleasantness inside of me. "Insufficient," I repeat, tasting it.

"I just feel like you put a lot on yourself," he dives right in. "Part of why you're great is because you care so much about so many different things and you always try so hard in everything you do, but sometimes I think that when things don't always go your way, you start to lose.-"

And I don't hear anything else he says. I don't hear his explanations or his theories or his comforts. Because across the restaurant, holed up in a booth, is my brother. He's sitting there, newly broad shoulders hunched over. And wasn't alone. Next to him was someone bigger and broader, with the same black hair of my brother, but cropped and uneven, like he tried to hack it off himself. I stare at the back of his head for a moment, examining the roughness. There are two other faces there, one older, more worn down and one laughing, eyes squinted in amusement and I can't decipher the atmosphere at that table.

It doesn't take long for Parker to realize that I'm not listening anymore and he turns to follow my gaze, eyes stuck on the back of Embry's head for just another moment. He turns to me with a sigh. "Tatum, just let it go. He's obviously going through something right now."

But I'm already standing. "I'm just gonna talk to him real quick," I tell him. "I'll be right back."

My hands are shaking as I approach the table and my gut is all twisted up like I'm scared and I think that's ridiculous because I have never been afraid of my brother before and I've never felt nerves so prominent. And I have to convince myself not to turn around and by the time I start loosing that internal argument I'm already there. I'm standing at the table and I'm staring at my brother and even though I can feel the stares of everyone else there Embry's not looking back at me. "Hey Embry," I say, voice shaking.

His eyes are hard on the table and he looks like he might cry. "Hey Tate," he replies, voice tight.

I'm getting worked up and I'm bouncing on the balls of my feet. "Where've you been?" I ask, and it's the second time I've had to ask my brother this question and it occurs to me that I've never had to care about that before.

Embry looks up at me, eyes black and pained. "I've been doing my own shit, Tatum. Is that okay with you?" he asks in this cutting voice I've never heard or could probably even imagine him using.

"Yeah, that's fine. Obviously that's fine." My fingers are knotting together behind my back and I look up at the ceiling for a second to stop the tears and the bouncing gets worse. "Actually, no. No it's not fine. Because you said that you'd help with my film today and you stood us up and like, we couldn't get anything done. And it's cool if you couldn't come but I wish you had just like, let me know or something. Because it was like, a huge waste of time and we had to get everything set up and take it all down for nothing and it was a lot of work so-"

He cuts me off. "Consider us even for all the times you bailed for your boyfriend."

I'm shaking my head. "It's not really the same, cause like, people actually donated money for this project and you said you would help so if you're wasting our time your wasting our money and that's just like, pretty fucked up."

"Tatum," he says in a low voice, "no one cares about your movie, alright? Like, sorry I didn't show and everything but I actually don't give a shit about your movie, okay?"

I nod my head, tears pricking in the corner of my eyes and I say to my brother, "Alright. Cool. That's fine. Just fuck off and don't talk to me again," I tell him, forcing a smile through the single tear that fell down my cheek. I don't know how to feel and I can't help but notice that I'm crying in front of strangers and I can't spare their faces a glance when I leave and storm past Parker and out of the front doors.

sorry i havent updated in a while :( i got a new job and i work crazy hours so i never have time to write. but anyways! we r chugging along here! thank u for reviewing and faving and following im so happy to see everyone's as excited about this story as i am. also im very very interested to hear ur interpretations of tatum's personality and psychology. also each chapter jumps around a lot from place to place w/ stark transitions and has heavy dialogue and im trying to write more in my style so let me know if u like it!

-incorrect quotes-

bella: hey if i ask you a boy question, will you promise not to be weird?
tatum: i promise
bella: so theres this guy...
tatum: you can do better

tatum: from time to time, when i think of an eloquent saying or phrase, i have wes write it down. he's collecting them for my memoirs
wes, holding up a page of scribbles: this is tatum's quote from wednesday

tatum: ever since i taught charlie about internet slang he's been going around the house talking like he's on twitter
charlie: oof what a call out the tea is scorching sis
tatum: please stop

quil: well i'm not going to marry you if that's where this is headed
tatum: what? quil, i would rather get shot in the face

embry: let go of your obsession with being right
tatum: great advice for anyone who isn't me