North Star

Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter Three:

Bella

On Saturday morning, before my later than usual morning session of yoga, Charlie and I go for a run around the neighbourhood. He bitches about it on our way out of the house, but he's in excellent shape for his age, and I'm unsurprised to find he keeps up with me easily. In fact, he pushes me to go faster and farther, makes me add sprints to my usual routine, and I'm puffed by the time we return home.

Charlie, who is hunched over, braced against his knees, and drenched in sweat, offers me a grin. "Good run, Bells."

"Yeah," I agree, walking off the adrenaline, "Same time next week?"

"You bet."

The next hour passes with yoga and meditation, and when I resurface from my bedroom, it is to witness Charlie mowing his way through a breakfast of bacon, poached eggs, and toast drowning in butter. He's still in his exercise clothes, and I assume - correctly - that he's been working on his exercise machines in the garage while I've been busy.

"Hey, Bells," he greets, "I boiled some eggs for you."

"Thanks, Dad," I acknowledge. They're waiting on the counter, already shelled and sliced the way I like. The salt and pepper are beside the small saucer, as is a bowl full of sliced fruits, yoghurt, and granola, and I am swamped with a rush of affection for my thoughtful, observant father. "This looks great, Dad."

Charlie grumbles, but the tips of his ears are red, and he is pleased by the acknowledgement of his efforts. I sit across from him at the dining table, take the time to enjoy my meal, and chat with him about our respective weeks, about our plans for the weekend, about my birthday on the 13th of September. It's easy and pleasant, but before long, both of our plates are empty, and there is a list of errands to be completed before I can prepare for Mike's cookout.

Reluctantly, I get started on the kitchen, and Charlie blasts Simon and Garfunkel from his stereo as he works on the laundry. I hum along, and Charlie bops his head to the beat, singing to himself, and the morning slips by without my notice.

Before I know it, I've made up a couple trays of potato bake, and another of chocolate-peanut butter brownies, and I'm dolled up in a pretty sundress over my bathing suit. Mike's apparently got a heated pool, and although I can't fathom how expensive that would be to use and maintain, I'm not about to question it. Instead, I send Charlie on his way with a brownie and a list of groceries to buy, and wait restlessly for Lauren's arrival.

Tyler arrives first, weighed down by a bag of snacks and soft drinks, and the explanation that Lauren had texted him to await her there.

"So her mom only has to make one stop, y'know?"

"Yeah," I acknowledge, "Makes sense."

Tyler nods absently. "You look nice today. I didn't realise your hair was so long."

I smile, simultaneously pleased and embarrassed by the compliment. I've left my hair unbound today, and it falls down my back in loose, thick curls. It reaches the swell of my hips, dark brown and accented by natural highlights, mahogany and butterscotch and caramel, and I'm not ashamed to admit that my hair is my pride and joy.

"Thanks," I say. As I do, Lauren's mom pulls into the driveway, and Tyler and I are spared the threat of an awkward, uncertain silence.

Tyler helps me with the food as I lock up the house, and we shuffle into the back of Mrs Mallory's sedan with grins for Lauren, and all the appropriate courtesies for her mom. The woman is the spitting image of her daughter - or rather the opposite is more appropriate, perhaps - blonde and blue eyed, tall and thin, and with all of Lauren's shrewd, discerning intellect, too.

Evidently, the apple didn't fall far from the tree where Lauren is concerned.

I wonder briefly why Mrs Mallory is in Forks, of all places, but I'm careful not to ask, and instead, we make polite, generic conversation about school on the (relatively) short drive to Mike's.

"Thanks for the lift, Mrs Mallory," I say, shuffling out of the car.

"It's not a problem, honey," Mrs Mallory answers, "I hope you kids have a nice day."

"We will, Mom," Lauren answers. They quickly make arrangements for Lauren's ride home, but a few moments later, Mrs Mallory has pulled away from the drive, and the three of us are on Mike's parents' porch.

I stare at the door, vaguely uncertain. "Do we ring the bell, or…?"

"Might as well," Tyler shrugs. He's holding the potato bake and brownies, and Lauren's got her hands full with a glass salad bowl, so I do the honours, and it doesn't take long for someone to respond.

The woman is petite, blonde and green eyed, caught somewhere in that ambiguous place between 30 and 55. She introduces herself as Mike's mom, Andrea, insists I not address her as 'Mrs Newton', and then greets Tyler and Lauren as though they are old friends, entirely genuine in her enthusiasm and good cheer. It's a little overwhelming.

"Everyone's out back," Mrs Newton explains, "Eric and Ben haven't arrived yet, but the girls are helping to set up, and Mike's pretending he doesn't need his dad to show him how to use the grill."

Lauren snorts, I grin, and Tyler rolls his eyes, exasperated.

"I'll go remind him that none of us want char grilled burgers, then," he says, and jogs off to do just that. I'm left with the food, and Mrs Newton leads the way to the kitchen. There, it's quickly apparent that the three of us aren't the only guests to provide dishes, and I'm a little relieved. There's a platter of chicken and shrimp skewers, two bowls of potato and fruit salad, respectively, two dozen cupcakes, and a decadent looking chocolate cake topped with sliced strawberries. Lauren and I add our haul to the lot, including Tyler's snacks, and afterwards, we make our way to the back patio.

"You made it," Jess cheers upon sight of us. She greets us both with hugs, Angela does too, and Mike approaches with a grin.

"Hey," he says, offers us hugs of his own, and adds, "It's good to see you guys. Glad you could make it."

"Wouldn't miss it, Mike," I answer, "Thanks for having us."

We chat briefly, about the weather and our mornings and what have you, but Mike returns to the grill shortly thereafter, and the girls and I make ourselves comfortable around the outdoor dining table.

Someone's spread out chips and dips and such, I help myself as Jess does, and inside the house, Mrs Newton starts to play the Eagles from her speakers.

"So, Ren, tell us about your date tonight," Jessica prods, "You haven't said anything about him."

"Or her," I interject. Jessica and Angela titter, Lauren offers me the side eye, but she doesn't protest the inclusion. Instead, she tells us about Riley Beers, a senior, whose mom is colleagues with Mrs Mallory. They've hung out frequently as of late, she's grown fond of him, and fortunately for her, he's grown fond of her, too.

"What's he like?" Angela asks. "I've seen him around school. He keeps to himself, doesn't he?"

"He does," Lauren confirms, "We like a lot of the same things though, and he makes me laugh. I'm hoping our date goes well, you know? I really like him."

"I'll keep my fingers crossed," Jessica vows. Angela and I offer her similar sentiments, but Ben and Eric's arrival derails any further 'girl talk', and instead, we tease Mike about his grilling skills, discuss new movie releases and the like, and bemoan the lack of cars and driver's licenses between us.

It is such that the afternoon passes, with good food, good music, and even better company, and it somehow feels as though I've known these people forever. Jess, Angela, and Lauren are so extraordinarily different in personality,, but they each draw me into the fold of their lifelong friendship with an openness I am unaccustomed to, and it is so very easy.

I have spirited debates with Lauren, about law and politics and justice, and we still somehow manage to share the same opinions regarding almost everything, from illegal immigration to abortion to assisted suicide. She is interesting and insightful and thought-provoking, and I have never known anyone else like her.

With Angela, I bond over literature, film and television, music, and comfortable, companionable silences. She is restful in a way Jess' boundless enthusiasm and Lauren's unabashed ambition are not, but she is compassionate and kind, and she is perhaps the nicest of all of us.

Jessica is bubbly and cheerful, bold and loud and outspoken, and we bond over a shared apathy for AP Spanish. She makes me laugh, with her dramatics, and her observations concerning our peers and teachers, but she somehow avoids the pitfalls into maliciousness and bullying, and I don't know how she manages it.

It's not quite so easy with the guys, not quite so seamless, but they are friends, and I don't know how I've managed to get through the last 15 years of my life without any of them in it, guys and girls both. I've had friends before, of course, fellow dancers and classmates and kids in the same apartment building as Renee and I, but they'd taken time and effort to maintain, and I'd never been able to truly relax around any of them.

As Mike launches himself into the deep end of his pool, as Tyler rants passionately about white rap and all the things wrong with it, as Eric and Ben re-enact a scene from Star Wars with a couple of pool noodles and the obligatory light sabre sound effects, however, I don't dwell on it.

There are, after all, far more interesting things to focus on.

Billy Black and Harry Clearwater have featured in my life for as long as I can remember. They're my father's oldest and closest friends, a bond unhindered by the racial prejudices and discrimination they'd each faced as children in the 60's, adolescents in the 70's, and adults in the 80's. Their brotherhood - because that is what it is, I have no doubt - has endured through the disillusionment of my father's marriage, the death of Billy's wife, Sarah, and the (temporary) separation of Harry and his own wife, Sue. It has persisted through illness and distance and time, and I am completely, unabashedly envious.

I am no less fond of them, of course. They are family, those Charlie has chosen for himself, and those I have, subsequently, inherited.

With that in mind, I greet them both as I always do, with hugs and kisses on cheeks, and offer them the breakfast muffins I'd prepared the night before. As per usual, Billy savours the diabetic-friendly blueberry muffins I've made specially for him, and as he does,. Jacob and Seth make quick work of those I've set aside for them. I laugh as they horde their extras, and marvel at the appetites of growing boys.

Predictably, Leah is nowhere in sight. She hasn't attended one of these fishing trips for months - not since her ghastly breakup with Sam Uley - but regardless, I'm still disappointed by her absence. It'd be nice to catch up with her, but according to Seth, she's not the same snarky, clever young woman I remember from the year prior.

"Thanks, B," Jacob says, all earnest like. He's Billy's son, 14 years old, tall and gangly, and his smile can light up the sky.

"Anytime, J," I answer, and I mean it. It's just he and his dad these days, since Rachel and Rebecca had fucked off without even a 'by your leave' for the trouble, and money's tight. Charlie and I help out wherever possible, but we're not exactly rolling in it ourselves. Moreover, there's only so much we're able to get away with before they refuse the 'charity'.

I set up my fold-out chair beside Jake's on the jetty, bait my hook and cast my line, and then settle in to wait. I am content to sit in silence, to enjoy the early morning birdsong and the complete separation from any semblance of industrial sound pollution, but of course, Jake's a chatterbox and Seth is extremely thrilled to be in the company of high schoolers, so the afore-mentioned silence is short-lived.

I can't say I mind much. Jacob talks about his first week of ninth grade, his thoughts and observations and what have you. All the while, Seth listens attentively, and I resign myself to a distinct lack of fish caught.

"What about you, B?" Jacob asks, "What's Forks High like?"

I shrug, indifferent. "It's school. Nothing interesting."

I think briefly of my weird encounters with Alice Cullen, but I don't mention them. I have no desire for her - or her strange, ostentatious family - to rain on my day when they're not anywhere near the vicinity. I get enough of that at school, after all.

It turns out the effort is in vain, in any case, since Jacob brings them up instead.

"Have you met any of the Cullen children?"

"Yeah," I reluctantly confirm, "A couple of them are in my grade. They're weird."

"My dad says to stay away from them," Seth contributes.

"Yeah," Jacob agrees, "Mine too. He hates them. He won't say why, of course, just says some cryptic BS about enemies or whatever, but he's actually banned them from the Reservation. I asked him if he was being selectively racist, and he told me I'd understand one day. I mean, what the fuck does that even mean?"

I shrug, clueless, but admit that they give me the creeps. I avoid the (very) pale faces as often as possible, but Alice Cullen has a weird tendency to appear out of nowhere when I least expect it, and Edward Cullen has an equally as weird tendency to watch me whenever I cross paths with him in hallways or between buildings. I blessedly share no classes with him or his midget sister, but as previously mentioned, they bother me to no end. Behaviour aside, I can't quite put my finger on why, but I can't deny there's something inherently wrong about them.

"They're freaks," Seth offers, and I should chide him for calling people names. I don't.

"And this is why you should be attending the tribal school," Jacob adds sagely, "No weird white people to speak of."

I shake my head, chuckling, but do not reply. I'm pretty sure I have to be an actual resident of La Push to be a student on the Reservation's school, rather than just a member of the tribe, but either way, I don't care to endure the transfer process all over again. Once this year was enough for me, thank you very much.

Author's Note: Apologies for the long wait. Moved house. I can't guarantee it won't happen again, but eh…

Anyway, thanks for all of your support. Hope you've enjoyed the chapter. Until next time, -t.