North Star
Disclaimer: I don't own Twilight. All recognisable characters, content, or locations belong to their respective owners. No copyright infringement intended.
Chapter Fourteen:
Paul
It's an uneventful week of school, work, and babysitting. Naomi and I attend another appointment with our psychologist, and I'm asked to tutor a few struggling underclassmen. That doesn't start for another week though, so it's business as usual until then, and I try not to let the tedium bother me. It's weird, because most of the time I appreciate the constancy, but I'm oddly restless all week, and I can't shake it for the life of me.
Morning runs along the beach don't help, and neither does painting the spectacular sunrise I capture on camera during one such occasion. It doesn't help that Jared eyes me like I'm some sort of pod-person, but as far as he's concerned, I might as well be. It's unlike me to be so on-edge, to remain thus for days on end, and perhaps he's justified in his caution. I'm not worried, though. I haven't consumed anything illicit - I've even cut down on the coffee, God help me - and as such, whatever's going on, it's entirely organic.
I proceed through my Saturday shift with the same restless, itch beneath my skin kind of feeling I've put up with all week. Emma jokes I've got ants in my pants. Mr Clearwater's gaze is a lot more scrutinising, and I wonder if he thinks I've taken something.
"I think I just need a change of scenery," I tell Emma during a lull in our work, "I think I'm going a bit stir-crazy here."
"No wonder," Emma replies ruefully, "This place is a shithole."
I huff a mirthless laugh. "I hear you."
Perhaps we should appreciate La Push more than we do, but it's hard to do so. Beyond the outdoor recreational opportunities, there isn't much else the Reservation offers by way of entertainment, or career diversity, or anything else, really. Most of the Quileute Tribe's restless youth spend their lives counting down the days before they can leave, and those who don't wind up doing so spend the rest of their lives bitterly regretting it, reliving their glory days, or both. It usually results in a vicious cycle of poverty, of assorted substance abuses, criminal records and the like, and it's hard to imagine the status quo will ever change. The reservation is too isolated, the people too downtrodden, and honestly, where would they - or we, rather - even start?
It's a rather defeatist attitude, admittedly, but courtesy of my mother, it's an issue I've been aware of for a long time, and one I still haven't yet realised a solution for. On that note, though, I'm only 16 - 17 in January - and I wonder if it's even my place to worry about such things. Surely, it's the jurisdiction of the Tribal Council?
In any case, my shift at Sue's isn't the place to consider the matter, and so I distract myself with the customers, chatting idly about the weather, about fishing and hiking and the lunch special. Emma vents bitterly about her often-absent partner, we eavesdrop on Harry yelling at Leah over the phone in his office because, once more, she's asked me to cover her Sunday morning shift, and then we pretend we weren't when he shuffles outside in pursuit of alcohol we don't actually stock.
I'm diverted by the arrival of three 'pale faces' in the diner. They're accompanied by Bella Swan, chatting between themselves while they settle in an empty booth, and I'm nonplused. White people in the diner isn't necessarily an oddity - we get enough Forks residents passing through, or general North-Western tourists out for a good hike or whatever, or just the white significant others of La Push natives - that it's not a surprise to receive white patrons, but Sue's isn't exactly a thriving hotspot for youth in the area. Most take off to Port Angeles if they've access to wheels, or bum around the beaches, parks, and the houses available to them if they don't, so seeing a handful of teenaged girls seated in a booth in my area?
It's weird as hell.
Nevertheless, I gather a handful of menus and wander over to distribute them. Bella smiles at me in greeting, I return it, and she introduces me to her friends. It's awkward - these things usually are - but we chit-chat anyway, I take their orders, and provide them with an obligatory jug of water, the accompanying glasses, and the assurance that their orders will be ready soon.
When I return to the counter, it's to find Emma with a smirk on her face.
"What?" I ask.
"Nothing," she answers, chuckling to herself. She wanders off to refill Old QUil Ateara's coffee, and I busy myself with preparing drinks for my newest table, completely nonplused by my coworker's behaviour.
-!- -#-
Bella
"He's hot," Jessica says once she's certain Paul is out of hearing range, "You should totally go after him."
"I don't even know him," I counter. I'm flushed, and my blush can probably light up the night sky.
Lauren shrugs, nonchalant. "So get to know him."
"It's not that easy," I counter, "I mean, it's not like we have a lot of reasons to meet up. There won't be any more outings to First Beach until April, at least, and the only other times I've seen him is here."
"Thought about it a lot, have you?" Jessica quips.
"More than I care to admit," I concede.
"Maybe you should just give him your number," Angela suggests. It's an uncharacteristically forward recommendation from the taller girl, and the thought makes me cringe in preemptive mortification.
"I can't do that," I reply, "I'd die of shame."
Lauren rolls her eyes. "Hardly. Besides, what if he's interested? You could be passing up a perfectly good opportunity."
"He doesn't even know me," I shrug, "Why would he be?"
"Because your hot," Jessica replies, as though it should be obvious, "Why wouldn't he be?"
I flush, simultaneously pleased and embarrassed. I'd not been fishing for complements, but it's a nice thing to hear. Renee says I'm beautiful and pretty and all those things, and Charlie can be counted on for similar comments on rare occasions, but they're parents, and it's their job to boost my self-esteem. Hearing it from friends, though…
"Thanks," I smile at Jessica, offer her a playful wink, and add, "You're pretty fine yourself."
Jessica preens. "I do try."
"She's modest, too," Lauren quips. There's a soft, fond smile on her face, though, and Jessica shrugs, unabashed and unapologetic.
Paul returns in the ensuing lull in conversation. He serves us our beverages, and starts up a conversation with me about Sunday, about whether or not I'll be headed out to Lake Pleasant for another fishing trip. We banter briefly about visiting the diner twice in one weekend, but he wanders off to tend to his other tables, and I return my attention to my friends with my face, once more, burning.
"Maybe he'll turn up tomorrow," Jessica says optimistically.
I stir my straw around my milkshake, and shrug, unconvinced. "Maybe."
Angela nudges me lightly, and offers me an encouraging smile. "Fingers crossed."
"Fingers crossed," I echo softly. I don't want to get my hopes up.
Nonetheless, I hope, anyway.
AUthor's Note: It's been a difficult semester, but I submitted my last assessment today, and I have at least six weeks before I have to go back. I hope to get a lot of writing in, but I make no promises for which stories I'll update, if any. Who knows? I might be struck by an incurable bout of writer's block that lasts months… Hope not, though… Anyway, thanks for reading. Hope you've enjoyed. Until next time, -t.