North Star
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Chapter Five:
Bella
Monday morning brings with it a begrudging return to school, but I'm sure I've left a part of myself behind at some point during the weekend. It's a weird feeling, one that ensures I proceed with my morning routine in a daze, not quite there until I'm in the Forks High parking lot, clustered around Lauren as Jessica pesters her for information regarding the former's date with Riley Beers. As the guys leave us to our hen's circle, I wait expectantly, interested despite myself, and Lauren preens as though she is the cat that's caught the canary. It's amusing, more so the fact she holds hostage all of the gossip Jessica waits impatiently to hear, and I can't look at Angela for want of laughing.
Instead, I cast my gaze over the parking lot. It's starting to fill up now, beat up cars and clusters of students, and I can't wait until I have a car (and a license) of my own. As I observe, however, I inadvertently catch the eye of Edward Cullen. He's been staring again, blatantly and unabashedly, and he doesn't look away when I make eye contact with him. I look away instead, unsettled and uncomfortable, and irritated by his audacity. I want him to be embarrassed, to look away with pink ears and a sheepish face, maybe with an apology (or twelve) on his tongue. He and his sister's attention the week prior was unwarranted and unwelcome, and I dread the thought of another week under the same scrutiny, never mind another year (or three).
It's a strange state of being, all things considered. I've seen some of my other classmates fawn over Edward Cullen and his family, strive for even the tiniest scrap of attention from the affluent, attractive siblings. In saying that, there is something so intrinsically off about them, I can't fathom how those same classmates haven't been repulsed by them, or even noticed it.
Then again, perhaps it's not them, and instead, there's actually something wrong with me. Maybe I'm defective, or there is a glitch in my rampant teenaged hormones, because Edward Cullen and his siblings do nothing for me but incite a nigh irrepressible desire to run for the hills.,
"Is it considered sexual harassment if he just stares at me all day?" I ask.
"Uh," Angela flounders. Her eyes are wide, flatfooted by the enquiry, and I would perhaps laugh if I were not entirely serious.
Lauren hums thoughtfully, distracted from her conversation with Jessica. "Stalking, maybe? I don't know. You'd probably have to ask the Chief that one."
"Yeah, that'd go over well," I answer wryly. Charlie's not a helicopter parent by any means, but his history with the Seattle PD has left him disillusioned to the mirky depths of human depravity, and I'm not certain he'd be entirely reasonable where Edward and Alice Cullen's behaviour is concerned.
That is, of course, provided he doesn't just tell me I'm a hormonal, irrational teenaged girl who needs to calm the hell down and get the fuck over herself. I won't lie - I have considered the possibility. It's entirely plausible that I'm just a melodramatic headcase, but every fibre of my being screams at me that all five of them are a threat, the younger two in particular, and I can't shake the feeling.
"I wouldn't worry about it, Bella," Jessica opines, "We only ever see them at school, and there will never be an opportunity for them to catch you alone. Not here."
"Yeah," I half-heartedly acknowledge. I try not to think of Billy and Harry's Sunday morning advice to avoid the ochre-eyed siblings as much as humanly possible, and I fail spectacularly.
"I mean, what's the worst they can do?" Jessica adds, as optimistic as she is oblivious. She is, also, clearly not superstitious.
I share a wordless glance with Angela, frowning, and mutter grimly, "Famous last words, Jess. Famous last words."
As the bell blares loud and shrill across the school grounds, we disperse to our respective classrooms, and Angela links her arm through mine. It's hilariously awkward, because Angela's about six inches taller than I am, but we make it work. No doubt, we're a ridiculous site, but I don't care, and neither does Angela.
Oddly enough, I miss Eric on our walk to class. The three of us have fallen into something of a routine since my first day, made up of animated conversation and light-hearted banter, and I look around in search of our wayward friend.
There is no sign of him, and I worry.
Evidently, Forks High is not at all healthy for my state of mind, and I make a mental note to add another half hour to my meditation time.
Angela notices in her thoughtful, observant way, misinterprets my reason for concern, and lightly squeezes my arm against her side. "It'll be okay, Bella. You'll see, you'll be just fine. We all will."
Eric's absence aside, I wish I could have her faith.
-!- -#-
Jacob
There is another letter from Rebecca in the mailbox. It is predictably long-winded and rambling, focused primarily on her infant son, Marley, and I'm sure I hate her a little more than I did the day before. I don't know how that's possible, because I'm convinced I already despise her and Rachel with every fibre of my being, but nevertheless, the resentment and bitterness festers, and I want to burn the missive into so much ash.
The story goes that they left a week after graduating from high school, and I haven't seen them since. It's been two years, and our only contact from either of them is Rebecca's sporadic letters.
Hell, the only way we know Rachel's alive is because Rebecca mentions her. Frequently.
Evidently, dad and I aren't worth Rachel's time, or even a phone call from Rebecca, and as such, I've taken to pretending they're not related to me at all.
Billy, my father, beaten down, world weary, and unspeakably tired, doesn't do the same. He hordes Rebecca's letters like they're gold, reads them over and over again until I'm sure he has them memorised, hides them away in a small, hand-carved chest to keep them safe, and I can't decide if I pity him, or if I'm disgusted by his behaviour.
Either way, I bite my tongue, aware my opinion will not be appreciated, and offer him the cereal and milk. He's perfectly capable of making his own breakfast, and I've learned over time not to get in his way.
After all, he might not have the use of his legs, but he still has his pride.
"I have to go to school," I say, put the milk back in the fridge and the cereal in the pantry, and glance expectantly at him, "Will you be all right?"
"I'll be fine, Jake," Billy answers, long-suffering.
Although I don't have much of a choice, I hesitate. Billy's got a bad track record of doing stupid shit in the name of pride and/or independence, and after the day I came home to find him bound to the couch because his chair was out of reach, I've grown reluctant to leave him home alone.
Admittedly, the chair had been moved by a well-intentioned, albeit misguided, Sue Clearwater on one of her frequent stops to check in, but regardless, I worry.
"You've got your phone?" I check.
"Yes, Mom." Dad rolls his eyes, but he offers me a fond grin. "Get out of here, you brat."
"All right, all right," I acquiesce, "I'm gone. Have a good day, Dad."
"You too, kid."
I leave the house, lock the door behind me, and make my way to school. It's close by, as everything is in La Push, and I make it there in time to witness someone's mom peel off in a Honda that's seen better days.
"What's up, dude?" Quil greets. He gives a lazy punch to my arm as Embry, slumped on the bench beside him, yawns hugely. He's not a morning person.
"Nothing. You?" I don't mention the letter from Rebecca. They'll just get angry on my behalf, and no one else's day has to be ruined before it's even begun.
Quil shrugs, nonchalant. "Same old shit."
As I hum my acknowledgement, Quill stretches his arms over his head, and offers a passing sophomore girl an appreciative wolf-whistle. He receives a filthy glare for the trouble, but Quill is unruffled, and beside me, Embry is exasperated.
"Keep it in your pants, jackass."
"Please," Quil scoffs, "The girls love it."
"Maybe on Planet Quil," I answer.
"Seriously, you're giving us a bad rep," Embry grouses. If he's not left to his mindless, morning haze, then he's pretty grouchy, which is ironically when he is probably the most vocal. At least when I'm not on the receiving end, it is entertaining as hell. "All the chicks think we're pigs."
Predictably, Quil laughs off his words with careless, unflappable ease. He's always been like that, easy-going and happy-go-lucky, and I don't know how he manages it. Between his grandfather, his mom, and the Quileute Tribal Council, Quil has a lot of pressure on his shoulders, a lot of expectations to fulfil, and somehow, that reality never brings him down.
I wish I could say the same for myself, but I really, truly can't. More often than not, I just feel angry, and although I've become something of an expert at faking the good vibes, it doesn't change the facts. I'll never forgive Rachel and Rebecca for leaving me with the responsibility of our disabled father, and between Billy's poor health and the reality that I will one day become Chief of the Quileute Tribe, I'm stuck. It pisses me off just thinking about it, and I can't fathom how Quill is completely unfazed by it all.
As the school bell rings shrilly in my ears, Embry frowns at me, concerned. I offer him a shrug, get to my feet, and meander my way to my first class. They follow, still bickering over Quil's behaviour, and despite myself, I laugh.
Embry grins, triumphant, and I don't know what I'd do without friends like mine.