After Sam and I parted ways on the beach that night, my life settled into a pattern that was bearable. Emily moved out, and used some savings and some money from her parents to buy a little house right off First Beach, nestled in the woods, not too far from the spot where Sam and I had said goodbye. In retrospect, I think the tribal council might have helped her out a bit too, but at the time I was just happy that I didn't have to see her every day. I avoided her and Sam, giving myself time to recover without the constant reminder of what I'd lost. Now that we had finally had some fraction of meaningful closure, I felt that I could do that. So much had changed in my life over such a relatively short period of time.

And not just losing Sam. Somewhere in all of this, I had turned eighteen, and I would soon be graduating from high school. Graduation scared me. The plan had been for Sam and I to go together to the University of Washington… we were both good students, and Sam had received a full-ride scholarship on academic merit, and had deferred it so we could leave together. I, too, was expecting some scholarships, and between that and Native bursaries and other assistance, my going to college wouldn't be too much of a strain on my parents' finances. I had been proud about going to college, but now I found I couldn't quite imagine it. I was pretty sure Sam wasn't going either, and part of me longed to get away from him and the Rez and start a new life, but it seemed like too much. I made the decision to defer my enrollment, if only because that ensured I wouldn't have to make a real decision for another year.

Not too long after our conversation on the beach, the fever had struck again; a boy a year younger than me named Paul had fallen ill with it. Unlike Sam, he hadn't had to suffer alone, and soon the two were inseparable. Slowly, through rumour and overheard conversations between my father and the other council members, I was aware that Sam had taken not only Paul but some of the younger boys- Jared, Embry, Jacob, and Quil- under his wing. They had all formed a friendship that I never would have expected from boys so dissimilar and who were formerly never seen together, let alone known to hang out. I knew most of the in passing, from school, since many of our grades tended to intermingle given the smaller student population. But I couldn't say that I knew any of them well, and I was aware of the gossip that painted Sam as a cult leader and these boys as his protégés. Mostly, though, I ignored all that.

In the summer after I graduated, about two weeks into my newfound freedom, I was throwing together random ingredients from the cupboard to make a stew for dinner. My mother was working late and my father was on fishing trip until later that evening, so when I heard the front door open I knew it was Seth getting home from school. I heard him kick off his shoes and I expected that a moment later he would appear in the kitchen and try to steal a bite of meat, so intense had his appetite been of late, but quite a long time, maybe half an hour, passed and I heard nothing more. He had been uncharacteristically gloomy and withdrawn lately, and I suspected that he was dealing with something at school, a bully maybe, or a crush. I set the spoon down and covered the pot, turning down the heat to let everything simmer, already anticipating how the rich scent of spices would fill the house.

I found him in his bedroom, sprawled across his bed on his stomach. He hadn't even pulled back the blankets, and it looked as though he'd just thrown himself there, since his feet were hanging off the bed at a strange angle. I smirked at him and approached the bed on quiet footsteps, grabbing a pillow and meaning to hit him over the head with it playfully. I was sure he was pretending to be sleeping, and would spring up at the last minute to dodge my blow. But before I could even bring the pillow up for a good swing, my arms stopped in mid-air, the pillow dropping from my hands.

My brother's breaths were coming as little gasps, as though he was struggling to take in enough air, and his face was bathed in sweat. I dropped to my knees next to his bed and put my hand on his lower back, under his shirt, and my heart froze as I felt that not only was his shirt soaked with sweat, but his back was also on fire.

I put my hand on his head and his forehead almost burned me. His dark hair was plastered to his scalp, soaking wet, and I could see the beads of perspiration rolling down his face.

"Seth?" I called his name urgently, and when he didn't even stir I put my fingers on either side of his eyelid and pulled it open. His eye was so rolled back in his head I couldn't even see his iris.

It was hard not to panic, but somehow I remained very calm. Maybe because he needed me so much, I don't know. I hurried back to the kitchen without sprinting and filled a bowl with cool water, and then I grabbed a clean washcloth and the phone and returned to his room. I set the bowl down on his bedside table and dialed the number for my mother's department at Forks Community Hospital, hurrying across the hall and into the bathroom, rifling through the drawers in search of a fever thermometer.

"I'm sorry hon, your mom's busy at the moment," the reception nurse told me after I had gotten through. I wished she'd been working at the Rez clinic today instead; she would be far more reachable there. I found the thermometer and hurried back to Seth's side.

"This is an emergency," I told her urgently. "Please have her call home right away."

"Sure thing," she answered, sounding almost bored, and I hung up on her.

I turned back to my brother, who was still oblivious to the world. "Seth," I called to him, loudly, right in his ear. Nothing. I resisted the urge to shake him and instead I sat down beside him and got hold of his shoulders, pulling him into a sitting position. With some difficulty, I got his shirt off, and then I pulled off his socks, hoping bare feet would help him dispel some of this massive heat that was overcoming his body.

I eased him down on the bed again, this time on his back, and stuck the thermometer under his armpit. Then I submerged the washcloth in the cold water and squeezed it out, laying it over his forehead and trying to soak up the sweat while cooling him at the same time. The thermometer beeped and I pulled it out, reading the digital display: 103.6°. I stared at it, and I actually put it back to get another reading, not believing that his temperature could have risen five degrees since he'd left school an hour ago. The second time I read the thermometer it said 104.2°- I knew brain damage could occur after 107.6°.

After that, I started to actually panic. I considered calling an ambulance; I knew you were supposed to wait until it was above 105° and had persisted for two days, but what if it kept rising and I waited too long? I was about to call when I heard a soft groan escape Seth's lips, and then his eyes fluttered open. I hung up the phone and touched the washcloth, amazed that it was already warm. Quickly I put it back in the cold water, and this time I draped it over his chest.

"Leah?" he whispered, sounding confused.

I could have almost cried, I was so happy to hear my name on his lips. I brushed his mop of wet hair back from his face and saw his eyes struggling to focus on me. "It's okay," I said softly, making sure he could see me. He tried to smile, but it faded almost as immediately.

"I feel really hot."

"You are," I agreed, standing and going to the window, cracking it open. The cool evening air immediately filled the room and it seemed to soothe him. He let out a soft sigh and his breath appeared to come a little more easily. I returned to his side and took his hand. "How long have you been like this?"

"I don't know," he said. "I was kind of feeling bad at school. Then when I got home I felt even worse. I don't even remember getting into bed."

"I called Mom," I told him. "She was busy but she should call back soon. I was just going to call an ambulance."

"Don't," he protested. "I hate hospitals."

"I know," I answered sympathetically. "But you're 104°, Seth."

"If gets really high, you can take me," he promised. "No ambulance."

"Okay, fine," I agreed. It was true that it would be faster to take him there myself; sometimes the ambulances took hours to get out to the Rez, because we 'weren't a priority,' not technically being part of Forks. The bureaucracy in that argument ignored the fact that we didn't have our own ambulances, or a hospital to go to. Just the clinic, which could handle basic illnesses and injuries that you wouldn't call an ambulance for, anyway. I knew the real reason behind it- lots of people on the Rez didn't have health insurance, and they didn't want to deal with us. Better that I take him myself.

"I'm going to check your temperature every fifteen minutes," I told him.

"Did you call Dad?" he asked.

"Dad? No, why?"

"You should call him," was all he'd say.

"I don't think he has his phone," I said doubtfully. "He's fishing, Seth."

"He took it," he answered. "I know he did."

I didn't really understand why he wanted our father involved, who was at least a half-hour drive away, but I obeyed Seth's wishes and dialed the number for the cell phone that he almost never used.

I was surprised when he picked up on the second ring, "Hello?"

"Dad, hi, it's Leah."

"What's wrong?" he asked. He knew me well enough to pick up on the fear in my voice immediately, even though I'd tried to hide it.

"It's Seth… he has a really high fever. I called Mom but she's busy at work. I was going to call an ambulance but-"

"No," he cut me off. I waited, and he went on, "I'm going to come home." The way he spoke he sounded almost like he'd expected this, which I didn't understand.

I thought maybe he didn't grasp the urgency of the situation. "His temperature is really high, Dad," I explained. "Like 104° high."

"Just sit tight, Leah," he said. "I'm going to get my stuff together and head back there. Just stay with him and keep him comfortable… when your mother calls, tell her not to worry."

"But Dad, I'm worried," I argued. "I think this is serious."

He hesitated before he answered me. "Leah," he said. "You have to trust me on this. He's going to be okay."

"But how do you know that?"

"I know," he answered mysteriously. His voice softened a little. "Leah, I know this is hard for you… Seth loves you. I'm glad you're there."

"If Mom thinks he needs to go to the hospital, I'm taking him," I said flatly. "You're not here. He's really sick."

"I'll be there soon," he answered. "Just… don't do anything until I get there."

"Well you'd better hurry," I countered, and hung up on him.

"Is he coming?" Seth asked quietly.

"Yeah, he's on his way. He acted like he already knew you were sick before I called him."

Seth glanced away from me and said, "Really? That's weird."

I let out a sigh. "I don't know what's going on," I said heavily. "And I really don't care right now. I'm not letting your brain boil no matter what Dad says." I picked up the washcloth again and dipped it in the water, but the water was already lukewarm because of how fast his body had warmed the cloth. I picked up the thermometer and stuck it under Seth's arm and then went back to the kitchen. This time I refilled the bowl not only with water, but with ice, too, if only to ensure that it would stay cold long enough for it to help him.

When I came back to his room, Seth was on the phone. I paused in the doorway, surprised, but he fell silent when he saw me. "Is that Mom?" I asked. He nodded, so I took phone from him and put it to my own ear, "Mom? What should I do?" I took the thermometer from under Seth's arm and read it. "His temp's gone up half a degree since I took it fifteen minutes ago."

My mother sounded worried. "Even from his voice I can hear that he's struggling," she said. "Watch him very carefully, Leah. If it gets past 106°, promise me that you'll bring him in."

"Of course," I said. "Dad's on his way home, too. He said we shouldn't worry but I don't think he gets how serious this is." I was glad she did, at least.

"Your father loves to underreact," she said with a small smile in her voice. "Do you want me to come home?"

I did, but I knew it wouldn't be so easy for her to just leave the hospital in the middle of her shift. Besides, I wanted her to be there if we had to come in, and I didn't want her to think I couldn't handle it, so I said, "No. I'll call you if it gets worse."

"Okay, sweetie," she said. "I told Rhonda to put you right through to me next time you call."

"Thanks, Mom," I answered, and we hung up. I took Seth's hand in mine and started running the cold washcloth up and down his arm gently, trying to draw the fever out, or at least lower it to a less alarming number.

"Thanks," he said softly.

"No problem," I answered. We sat in silence for a while, but I was thinking about the other boys from school, the ones who had come down with a fever, missed some days, and then seemed to recover as quickly as they'd first become sick. I hoped it would be the same for Seth- minus the sudden fascination with Sam, anyway. "Hey Seth, those other kids at school…" I said. "Did they ever say what they had? I wonder if you caught it from them."

"I don't know," he said. "They never mentioned what it was."

I debated calling one of their parents; I knew my father at least had the number for Quil's grandfather, and for Billy Black as well, and my own mother had once been in a book club with Embry's. I resolved to call one of them, if it got worse. For now, I focused on bringing down Seth's fever, and what little I could do did seem to help him, which made me feel more in control and less panicked about the situation.

"I'm making stew for dinner," I told him. "Are you hungry?"

"I'm always hungry," he answered with a little smirk. "It feels like I can never eat enough anymore."

"You must be going through a growth spurt," I said teasingly, with a little smile. "Don't you dare get taller than me. You have to stay a baby forever."

Seth's features suddenly darkened and he glared at me. "I'm not a baby," he snapped.

Taken aback, I didn't say anything for a moment. "I know that…" I faltered. "I was just kidding."

"Yeah, well don't," he retorted.

"Seth-"

"I know what you think of me, Leah," he cut me off. "You think I'm just a stupid little kid. Like your personal doll."

His words cut deep. "Seth… I don't think that," I protested. "God, I love you so much. Don't you-"

"Just be quiet," he whispered angrily, closing his eyes against me.

I turned my head and put the washcloth back in the water, wringing it out and focusing hard on the task to fight down my rising tears. I took his far hand in mine so I could lift his arm and sponge it down like I had the other, but he grabbed the washcloth before I could and ripped it out of my hands.

"I can do that," he snapped. "I'm not useless, you know."

I stared at him as he took over my job. "I was just trying to help," I said finally.

"Yeah, well go help someone who needs it," he answered flatly, not looking at me.

For a long moment I just sat there, not knowing what to do. Finally I picked up the thermometer and said softly, "Put this under your arm." He did, and within ten seconds it beeped, and I read it. "You're at 104.9°," I told him. "It's not rising as fast as it was before." I stood up. "If you need me, call me." Without another word I left him there and went into the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face until I felt calm again.

I returned to the kitchen and checked my stew, and then I grabbed a random book off the shelf and sat down on the couch to read. But I couldn't even concentrate long enough to get through the first page; I was too worried about him. I dismissed his anger, assigning it as a side effect of his illness, but still, what he'd said had hurt. I couldn't help but wonder if that was how he really felt, and if it the fever was just drawing out the truth.

After fifteen minutes passed I went back to his bedroom. I hesitated just outside the doorway but forced myself to go inside and not show that I'd been hurt by his words. I picked up the thermometer from his bedside table and held it out to him.

Seth looked at it for a moment, then at me. "You can do it," he said quietly, and patted the bed beside him before lifting his arm up. I sat down next to him and put the thermometer in place. After he'd closed his arm over it he tentatively met my eyes. "I'm sorry, Leah," he said quietly. "I don't know why I got so mad at you."

"It's okay," I answered gently. I reached up to ruffle his hair, but then I stopped myself, realizing that would make him feel young. He surprised me by head-butting my hand.

"Don't," he said. "You can still do that… I like it."

So I smiled, threading my fingers through his hair, noticing that his head still felt hot, but his hair had dried somewhat, which implied that there wasn't as much sweat pouring into it: that was a good sign, I hoped. The thermometer beeped and I grabbed it, but my smile faded as I read the numbers on the digital display: 105.6°. It was picking up again. Only 0.4° away from when my mother had said to bring him in.

"I'm going to get you a glass of water," I told him, and went back to the kitchen, pouring him a glass and throwing in a couple of ice cubes. Quickly I located his jacket, my car keys, and our identification cards in preparation for taking him to the hospital, and then I returned to him, handing him the glass. "Drink the whole thing, if you can," I said, sitting next to him. I touched his hand; fire was almost an understatement for what it felt like.

I sat with Seth for a while and he managed to drink the entire glass of water. I hope it soothed him. I knew it would take time to see if his fever would go down, but when I took his temperature again and it was at 105.9°, I couldn't justify stalling any longer. I brought him his coat, insisting that he wore it even though he complained bitterly that it was too hot, and then I left a note for my dad saying what Seth's temperature was, where we were going to be, and that I'd left the stove on.

But the note turned out to be unnecessary, because just as I was heading for the door, my car keys in hand and my arm around Seth to keep him walking in a straight line, my father walked through the front door. He took one look at us and frowned.

"Seth, go back to bed," he said gently.

"Dad, I'm taking him to the hospital," I countered, trying to go around him, but my father blocked the door. "Dad!" I snapped, completely exasperated now. "In another couple of degrees his brain could be damaged- is that what you want?"

"What?" Seth asked in a high, frightened voice. I could have kicked myself.

"Don't worry, son," my father said, placing his hand on Seth's shoulder and giving him a comforting look. He seemed so confident that Seth would pull through this fine, I almost believed him myself. But, stubbornly, I insisted that we still had to go the hospital. I insisted all the way through my father helping Seth take his coat and shoes off and leading him back to his bedroom, where he closed the door. Then he turned his attention on me.

"Dad, we have to take him to the hospital," I said, feeling like a broken record now. I couldn't believe this was actually my life; was I going to have to physically remove my brother from this house, or resort to some drastic measure like hitting my father over the head so he wouldn't prevent us from leaving? This was ridiculous, and I didn't understand how he could be so calm about it all.

"Leah, come with me," he said. I let him lead me through the kitchen, eyeing my mother's cast-iron frying pan with some seriousness, and into the living room, where he sat me down on the couch with him."You know we have to wait a couple of days before they can do anything for him there," he said reasonably. It was true; I'd heard my mother tell countless stories of people bringing their children in with high fevers, and she could do nothing but turn them away with assurances that they would help if the fever lasted. Mostly, it broke, and she never saw them again.

But I couldn't stand by and do nothing. I argued, "Mom told me to bring him in if he hit 106°."

"Your mother would take his fever for himself if she could," he pointed out, meaning, basically, that she was overreacting.

"So would I," I said stubbornly.

"But you can't," he answered gently. "Seth needs to make this journey alone."

"What journey?" I asked, confused. "This isn't some sweat lodge ritual, Dad, this is his life. He's really sick."

He frowned at me and I knew why: he hated when I talked like that, making light of traditions that for him were as sacred as any religious ritual, even the ones our particular tribe didn't practice.

"Your brother needs your strength now," he said. "We can't help him in the way you want… all we can do is see him through."

But I was already making plans to kidnap him.

I watched my father stand up, go to the kitchen and taste the stew that was still bubbling on the stove. He turned to me and said, "I'm going to call Sam now."

"What?" I asked, frowning. "Wait… Sam Uley?" I clarified, as though there might be someone else he meant, some other Sam I'd never met.

My father said nothing either way; he just returned to my side and stooped down a little to give me a small hug around my shoulders. "Now is the time to be brave," he told me. And then he disappeared into Seth's room, and all I could do was stare after him in disbelief.