Rapid Fire
Twilight :: Rebecca x Paul :: Romance – Teen :: AU – All Human
Chapter 2
The next week drags by like slow death and even so, it's filled with event.
School's nothing more than papers and testing and I'm usually okay with that, but Becca's been so out of it lately that I've got to cover all her work on top of mine; and with the weather so warm and football season over, Jake's gotten restless, so although he's hardly ever home, the phone's constantly ringing with nearly every girl in La Push trying to get a hold of him; and then there's this thing with Bella's bruised eyes and swollen nose and James isn't around so I just know it's got something to do with him but she won't talk; and Billy's so busy with Mrs. Clearwater - who we're supposed to call 'Sue' - that he doesn't notice a damn thing.
So, like always, it falls on me to keep everything together. And while Becca sleeps off whatever she did last night, and Jake runs around town with Embry or Quil, and Dad's out with the Clearwaters teaching Sue's son to fish, I'm at home facing the pile of bills that have accumulated on the kitchen counter.
I open the bank statement first, making sure last month's checks haven't bounce and Billy's disability has been accurately deposited, and thought I know it'll be the same as always, I'm hoping maybe there'll be a little something extra this time. But of course, there isn't.
Once I'm sure everything's as it should be, I get to the bills. I don't even glance at the words, I just look for the totals at the end of the gas and water bills. And of course, despite my warnings, Jake's still leaving every light in the house on no matter what he's doing and Becca's still drowning herself in hour long showers every day. With a sigh, I just fill the checks – enough so that neither gets turned off again – imitate Billy's signature, and stuff 'em in their envelopes.
I open the car insurance bill, sift through all the bullshit papers that are stuffed into the huge manila envelope, and check to see how many more payments we have this cycle. Even though we're only insured to cover Billy and I as drivers, it's still an obscene amount, more than the other bills combined, but it's the one we certainly can't afford to ignore or push away until later. So I write the check I know Billy can't cover and resolve to visit the bank later to transfer money into his account so it doesn't bounce. In the end, I know I'll have to take on a few extra shifts with Newton and lean on Jake and Becca a bit harder for gas money and hope things pick up at the bait and tackle shop so Billy can take up a few shifts too.
Before I leave, I spend some time banging on Becca's door until I hear the bed creak and her muffled groan, and then I phone Embry to get a hold of Jake, and when I do, he tells me the car's been shaking and cutting off - he thinks it's the battery or something - and the silence that follows must sound desperate 'cause soon Jake's saying, "S'okay, Rache. I know someone who can take a look at it," and then I'm making plans to pick him up. I don't even care who this 'someone' is and I don't even ask Jake if he's sure about this guy, and it's either because I trust that he understands we can't afford this or if it's that I just want to believe he can somehow make this work. And maybe it doesn't matter.
By the time I get to Embry's place, the surge of frustration's almost suppressed. Though I can still feel it pushing against the pit of my stomach, it's no longer threatening to bubble out in tears and sobs. I press the horn just once and it's not long before Jake comes bounding down the front stairs, Embry on his heels. The windows of the car are down to let in the fresh air and as Jake climbs in the front seat, Embry's tugging at my hair and leaning in on my side. "Drop me off Lynn's," he says. He's already hopping into the bed of the truck, but I don't recognize the name so I turn to Jake and he says she's some new girl Embry's seeing and her place is on the way.
Turns out 'Lynn's' is only a few blocks down and in a couple of minutes, Embry's jumping out and banging the truck's side to let us know he's gone. The rest of the ride is fairly quiet, with only the sound of Jake occasionally giving directions, but as we're stopped at a red light, I can tell Jake's just itching to say something - his knee's bouncing up and down and his fingers won't quit tapping against the door - so I just say, "What?" and then he's biting the edges of his fingernails. So I say again, "What is it, Jake?" and this time I try to sound more concerned than irritated.
He asks if I'm okay. Says, "Everything alright?" and what do I tell him? I ask him why he's asking, and he just shrugs and says I look more on edge than usual, and I guess I do.
"I'm fine," I say, and we both know I mean 'Things could be worse,' and we both know things couldbe worse. "Just stressing over finals and stuff. Still haven't heard back." And Jake, even though he can be a smarmy, whoring brat, knows exactly what 'stuff' I'm stressing and exactly who I'm waiting to hear back from, so he doesn't press it. He just says, "I'm sure you'll get in," and I smile but now I'm do a little finger-nibbling of my own 'cause it's not a matter of 'getting in' but whether or not I can afford to go.
"Who's this guy anyway?" I ask so he doesn't continue to prove how perceptive he really is, and Jake looks at me like I've just appeared out of thin air. "The car?" I remind him. He says Jared works summers at some garage and he's sure we can work something out. So I say, "Leah's Jared?" and Jake sort of just snorts at me and shrugs and says, "I guess."
When we get to the garage and pull up in front of it, Jake gets out and jogs into the open entranceway to talk to the guys huddled around an old Wrangler I know must be Bella's. Though we're lucky enough to have Jake to fix most minor repairs on our truck, Bella's only got Renee and Renee's, well, Renee, and I doubt she even knows how to pump her own gas.
I watch as Jake talks with Jared, hands folded over his broad chest in the way he always does when he's being serious, and when he points to the car and Jared turns to look, I wave a small hello and decide that maybe it's time I stop hiding in the car.
As I'm getting out and preparing for the short drop to the ground, Jared and Jake walk towards me, both smiling and laughing in this easy camaraderie I can't help but envy.
"Hey," I say as I close the door behind me and lean against it.
"Jake says it's giving trouble?" Jared leans over the side of the car, picking at the stickers on the glass so he can see the inspection date and when I'm due for an oil change. I tell him it's taking more than a few tries before the engine catches and sometimes it really shakes – more than just a little vibration – and that I'm not sure it's the battery at all. He gives me this look, this look that sets my teeth on edge 'cause it means 'Little girl, what do you know about cars?' and I know the answer is 'Absolutely nothing.' So I just shrug and let him have his look under the hood.
He tinkers around for a while, with Jake and some other guy looking over his shoulders, and when he finally comes up, there's smudges of black on his fingertips he just wipes away with a kerchief hanging from his pocket. He says he's not sure what it is, but it's probably something to do with sparks or cheap gas and a choked up filter. I don't know what any of that means, and I honestly don't care, I just need to know if it can be fixed and if it can be done without burning a hole in my pocket. Jared seems to sense my panic growing and with a smile that makes me a bit more understanding of Leah's admiration, he tells me it's not so bad. He tells me to pull it into the garage so 'we' can do some diagnostics and figure out the damage. So I do.
Once I pull my car into under the roof and turn off the engine, the door is opened and I giggle a little at the thought of Jake acting like anything that even resembles a gentlemen and I say, 'Thanks,' in a tone layered in sarcasm and probably unwarranted annoyance. But when I turn to step out, I see Jake isn't the one leaning against the open door or extending his hand to help me out. It's all calloused fingers and deep brows and honey-warmed eyes punctuated by a fading smile and pinched expression approaching sour.
"Sorry. Sorry," I mumble, as blood rushes beneath my skin. "Thought you were Jake."
Paul just smiles and though it reaches his eyes, his eyebrows are still knitted either in confusion or tenacious annoyance.
"Sorry," I say again, and slip past him, my shoulder brushing his chest 'cause he doesn't move an inch.