North Star
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Chapter Thirteen:
Bella
Lauren and Riley are official, though they're not particularly blatant about it. He drives her to school, but he sits with his own friends at lunch, and Lauren doesn't particularly angst about the fact. In her own words, she has no desire to become one of those co-dependent couples, has no interest in being defined by her relationship, and I can appreciate an opinion like that. I can only hope that, when the time comes, I'm of the same mindset.
"How was your weekend?" Jessica asks. Her period had kept her home, apparently - a bad case of leak anxiety, though I'm not particularly invested in the details - and she's not thrilled about acquiring all of the gossip after the fact, "Did you do anything interesting?"
"I went down to La Push on Saturday," I reply, "There was a tribal thing, which was good. I got some swimming in; probably the last of the warm weather. Other than that, I didn't get up to much. Fishing on Sunday, homework, the usual…"
"Anyone catch your eye?" Jessica pries. Predictably, I blush, and my friend's face lights up, "That blush says 'yes!' Who? Details, please?"
"It's nothing like that, really," I insist, "I mean, yeah, he was stupidly attractive, but we just made small talk, you know?"
"So? Tell me, anyway. I need to live vicariously through you guys. Not like there's anyone on the horizon for me."
Angela, Lauren, and I share deadpan glances. The unresolved sexual tension rolling off she and Mike could probably be harnessed as a weapon of mass destruction, but Jessica's convinced Mike hasn't noticed she's female, never mind interested in him, and getting her to change her mind has proven difficult.
"Maybe later," I reply. While their older siblings are involved in a serious looking conversation between themselves,Edward and Alice Cullen are both watching our table, and their scrutiny makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. I'm not comfortable under their attention, certainly not interested in divulging the details of my encounter with Paul Lahote, and maybe that's irrational of me, but I go with my gut instinct, anyway. "Rest assured, though, there was no romance, no sparks, or anything. Just, you know, good conversation."
"Maybe it's good to be friends first, anyway," Angela quietly opines. She tears at the crust of her neglected sandwich, "Not that I'd know firsthand, of course, but, I don't know, it just seems practical, you know?"
"Preach, sister," Lauren contributes. She offers Angela a playful wink, and Angela rolls her eyes, an indulgent smile on her face.
I don't think I'd want to date strangers," I admit, "Dad's hammered the whole 'stranger danger' thing into my skull so often, I feel like I'd be on edge the whole time. Until I get to know them well enough, I mean."
Jessica nods thoughtfully. Angela and Lauren do the same. "That makes sense. I guess that means you'll just have to run into that guy more often."
"Won't be too hard," I concede. At their quizzical expressions, I shrug, and hedge, "La Push is a small place."
"True," Jessica agrees.
"Convenient," Lauren opines. There's a smirk on her face, "I'm going to have to insist we spend Saturday in La Push. If that's okay, Bella?"
I shrug. "I don't see why not. Beach will be cold, though."
"We can go hiking," Angela suggests.
Jessica pulls a face. "I don't know, isn't it like, you've seen one part of the Olympic National Park, you've seen it all?"
Jessica's not a fan of hiking. She's familiar with it, because it's Forks and hiking is practically a pre-requisite to coming of age or whatever, but she doesn't live and breathe it like some others I've met.
"I mean, I'm always surprised by something new," I opine.
"Same," Lauren agrees, "But if not that, there's always rock climbing or, I don't know…"
"Besides," I add pompously, "It's not about the destination, it's the journey that matters."
As Emmett Cullen bursts into unexpected, uproarious laughter on the other side of the cafeteria, there's a round of rolled eyes, scoffs, incredulous, mocking jeers from my friends. Lauren throws her straw at me, and I can't suppress my humour if I tried.
"I can't believe you just said that," Lauren grouses, "You're a goddamn travesty, Swan."
"I'm amazing," I counter, chortling.
"You're certainly something," Jessica replies, rolling her eyes. She's smiling though, and I consider it a win.
"We can hang out with my cousin, I suppose," I concede once my mirth settles, "Assuming he wants to, that is. He's pretty rapt up in his new girlfriend though, so maybe he won't…"
"What else is there to do?" Angela wonders.
"The diner," I shrug. I can't shake the feeling I'm not remotely subtle, and I resign myself to my fate, "That's where he works."
Jessica throws her arms up, exasperated. "Well why didn't you just say so? I'd go for a milkshake over rock climbing any day."
"Ditto," Angela opines.
"Lauren?" I query.
Lauren shrugs, indifferent. "Sounds good to me."
Plans made, our conversation drifts. Jessica advises me not to get my hopes up regarding my new dance classes, and Angela babbles about her - apparently very attractive - youth group leader. Lauren grumbles about the debating team - evidently, she doesn't care for the topics we can expect to address during the competition season - and it's pleasant. The guys are off at another table, talking sports and girls and whatever else it is guys talk about when we're not around, and before I know it, the lunch hour is over, and World History calls my name.
"Are you ready for a riveting lesson on the French Revolution?" Lauren asks, mock-enthusiastic.
"Oh, yes, it's going to be the highlight of my day," I reply facetiously. She and I link arms, bid farewell to Angela and Jessica, and go on our way. And all the while, Edward and Alice Cullen linger, and watch, and I eagerly anticipate the end of school.
It can't arrive soon enough.
-!- -#-
Jacob
Quil's chatting up Loraine Walker, and Embry's a quiet, moping figure beside me. He's been sullen all day - arguing with his mom again, presumably - but he's not up to talking about it, and I know better than to push. If pressed, he's liable to shut up like a clam, so instead, I invite him over after school, and wait him out. Embry will talk in his own time, and until then, there is food to be eaten, classes to be attended, Quil to be contained.
"Quil, move your ass," I jostle him impatiently, "Some of us would like to eat today."
Quil rolls his eyes, but he shuffles forward in the cafeteria queue, and Loraine mechanically pays for her food. She lingers briefly, but Quil's attention has been diverted to his lunch tray, and she leaves, disappointed.
"Thanks, douche," Quil grumbles. He pays for his own food, and waits for EMbry and I to do the same. We do so using food stamps, of course, but no one bats an eye about it - in La Push, it's not much of a surprise - and he continues complaining all the way to our usual table, "What crawled up your ass, anyway?"
"Nothing," I answer. Actually, I'm in a pretty good mood, all things considered. Dad's been fairly cooperative, of late, all of our bills for the month have been paid, and there's even enough money to splurge a little on better groceries than usual. It's a good day. "But Kathleen was watching."
Quil had accompanied Kathleen to the bonfire on Saturday, and apparently a lot more had gone on than listening to tribal legends. I hadn't noticed them sneak off - too busy with my own shit - but apparently, there 'fun' had involved a lot less clothes than Quil had really expected or planned for.
"Yikes," Quil winces.
"Brought it upon yourself, dude," Embry opines, "It's no wonder everyone thinks were all pricks; it's because you actually are."
"Dude, uncalled for," Quil frowns.
"I think it is," Embry counters, "What are you doing, man? Are you trying to sleep your way through the Reservation school, or something?"
"What business is it of yours?"
Embry exhales, and the fight leaves him as quickly as it had come, "It's not, really. You should probably be more careful, though. You don't want a kid, do you? What about STD's?"
As Quil blanches, there's a long, painful silence. It's awkward, it's uncomfortable, it seems to last forever, and I avoid eye contact with the both of them like a champ. None of us are experts on sexual health - the La Push Reservation School's health education curriculum only goes so far - but we know the basics, know enough to wear a condom for any hypothetical sexual hijinks we might want to participate in, and for now, it's enough.
At least, I thought it was.
"You have been careful, right?" I look at Quil. He looks like he's about to pass out. There's a long, expectant silence. "Quil?"
"Yeah," he chokes out. "I've been careful."
Embry and I don't look at each other, but I'm fairly certain we both know he's lying. We nod, though, because Quil looks like he's genuinely going to be sick, and I don't think he's up to continuing that conversation.
Quite frankly, I don't think I am, either.
"Any more letters from your sister?" Embry changes the subject. Quil looks relieved as he does so, but Embry and I pretend not to notice.
"No," I answer, "Not yet. I don't know why she bothers, though."
"Probably feels guilty," Embry replies with a shrug. It's not the first time he's said as much - we've gone over this topic over, and over, and over again, ad nauseam - and I grunt my disinterested acknowledgement. I have no desire to dwell on Rachel and Rebecca - I do that too much, already - but none of us are in the mood to talk shit about sports, or movies, or anything, really. Quil's too busy freaking out about whether or not his sexcapades are going to come back to haunt him, Embry's returned to his brooding, and the mention of my far away sister has left that familiar, festering feeling of resentment bubbling away in the pit of my stomach.
A good day, indeed..
-!- -#-
Sam
Emily is crying again. She's quiet, her sobs stifled behind pursed lips and a closed door, but the scent of salt on the air is unmistakeable, and the sound of her hitched breaths, her sniffling, her rapid heartbeat is deafening in my ears.
I linger at the mouth of the hallway where it meets the kitchen, gaze at the closed bedroom door, and wonder - helplessly - what to do. The wolf stirs restlessly at the back of my mind, but he's no use in this situation, and even if he was, I wouldn't let him help, anyway.
The wolf has already done enough.
"Is she okay?" Jared asks, his voice hushed. He hovers awkwardly at the back door, unsure if he should enter, and I glance at him, rueful and unspeakably, unfathomably tired.
God, Spirits, Taha Aki himself, "I wish I fucking knew."
Jared shifts on his feet. He glances behind him, towards the tree-line, and he looks like he's contemplating an escape.
I don't blame him, though.
Sometimes, I want to run, too; to just escape La Push, start a new life far away from Washington, from Emily Young and Leah Clearwater and any reminders of werewolves and vampires and everything else that I have to regret here; to get as far as humanly possible and never look back.
I don't, though.
I'm not Joshua Uley, and I don't ever want to be.
"Should I go?"
I glance towards the bedroom door again, and sigh. "Yeah, probably. Do a round before you head home?"
Jared nods his acknowledgement. "Will do, man. Take care."
And then he's gone again, and it's me, and Emily, and a closed bedroom door between us that might as well be the Grand Canyon, as much as it divides us.
I sigh again, my shoulders slump, and I shuffle in to our shoebox-sized living room. I flick on the TV, put on a game of football and try to drown out my imprint's misery, and I hate myself for dragging her into this life, for the scars, for the breakdown of her - and my own - relationship with Leah. Mostly, though, I hate myself for hating her, too.
I think I always will.
-!- -#-