Sorry its taken so long everybody! I made a long chapter just to make up for it! Thanks for all the reviews as well! I love you guys! (don't be hesitant to review your thoughts/criticisms)

Chapter 9: The Weight of Acquaintance

He waited for her by the gym, the sound of volleyballs hitting palms in the air. Practice had ended early; Coach Howell's wife called about a family emergency. Today they were going to work on their project together and they had agreed to meet in front of the gym. He was still filled with a warm tipsy from their earlier lunch date, even though he knew she would never recognize it as such. He had begun to drift sleepily into a daydream when he heard her voice yell out.

"I got it!" she said, the sound of a ball smacking her hand following shortly.

He smiled to himself, taking pride in her athletic ability. She had called a ball four times in the past fifteen minutes. Though he was not allowed inside, he could picture the way she moved as she played. He could imagine the way the muscles in her thighs became more pronounced as she moved around the court in a bend. The way the skin of her hand tightened as she spread it wide to hit the ball, feeling its soft scrape on her palm. He could even picture the curvature of her spine as she crouched low to power her hit.

He was brought from his imaginings by the slam of the gym's side door, the sighs of relief losing themselves in the locker room. He straightened as he heard her voice emerge from the locker room, the gentle slap of her flip flops on the ground. She smiled as she rounded the corner, a shy, reserved smile, but a smile nonetheless. He smiled in return and waved. It was not like him, but he had no choice. He would have preferred to walk to her and hug her and ask her how practice went, but he only just became her friend. Or so he liked to think, because she had yet to retire her reticent attitude. He noticed she was carrying her gym bag cross-body with her books and book bag atop and became worried that it was too heavy. As if to prove his point, she had turned around to wave goodbye to a friend and he could see the slight reddening of her shoulder where the strap weighed down.

"Here let me carry your bag." he said and reached for the bag. She was momentarily surprised by his sudden action but handed it to him. He swiftly placed the books out of her reach, smiling cheekily at her bemused expression.

"Thank you," she mumbled quietly, looking down confusedly, "it was heavy."

He merely nodded and caught a glimpse of her clothes as she watched someone tinker with their locker. She was wearing a gray pair of cropped sweats and a team shirt, her flip-flopped feet clad in pink socks. Before her appearance, however, he was taken by her smell. It was sweet as usual but with light notes of baby powder. It mixed nicely in his nose and he searched for the tell tale signs of his favorite powder. His mother had used it on him copiously as a child, claiming he was never completely clean without a dusting. He continued to use it as he grew older, comforted by the smell. Since childhood, however, he had reduced the once extensive dusting to only his upper body. She stopped suddenly, as if reminded of something and opened her book bag's front zipper. She breathed a sigh of relief when she had found what she was looking for, extracting her keys from the safety pocket. She laughed quietly at her silliness.

"I thought I had forgotten them in my sweater pocket." she said, the keys tinkling in her hand. He smiled softly, amused by her reactions. He now remembered she had been wearing a sweater in third period but not in fourth, probably due to the warming temperature of the afternoon.

Though he was wrapped in all of her doings he remained conscious of her blood pressure and bodily heat. He noticed its sudden spike as they left the school campus and into the parking lot, no longer surrounded by people. The conversation had dwindled after passing the lockers and he watched as her eyes moved anxiously around the lot for her car, as if she could not find it fast enough. He felt a burn in his heart at the trembling fingers which made her keys jingle.

As they approached her car she was distracted by the ringing of her cell phone, a melodic chime tone playing continuously.

"Um, can you get that for me?" she said as she moved the bags in her trunk around to make space for her gym bag, her hands full.

It was only when the phone continued to ring that he realized it was in the front pocket of her bag. He unzipped it and picked up the phone, flipping the top. He was immediately infuriated by the name which appeared and felt a strong surge of power course through his hand. He balanced the phone delicately between the fingers of both hands, controlling his urge to smash the phone.

Josh

He quickly clicked the 'end' button and the call disappeared, moving itself into the missed calls folder.

"Who was it?" she asked as she slipped on the flats she had removed from a bag in the trunk.

"Your mom," he lied, deleting the call from the list of missed calls, "but she didn't leave a voicemail."

"Oh okay, I'll call her back later." she replied and he placed the bags in the back of her car before she could protest.

He could still feel her unease as they waved goodbye and he reminded her of the library's address. He knew she did not need to be reminded but he wanted to extend the meeting for just a moment more. He watched as she drove away from the seat of his car, his body tingling with his lie. It felt as if he was outside of himself, uncomfortable in his own skin. He was plagued with the guilt of his lie, his heart grieving his deceit. He knew his guilt swirled around jealousy, and he flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. Unable to shake-off the feeling, he tried to picture the smile she had given him earlier today but it only comforted him slightly. It was a hazy image, blurred by mixed emotions and the images of his childhood.

His mood followed him into the library, his presence filling the cavernous building. The lobby was dimly lit, the large window above the door shut with curtains. The front clerk wore a bored expression; the people in line were serious and subdued. The solemn ambiance only deepened his guilt and he walked quickly through the doors into the book room. The room smelled ancient; a dusty smell of cold air and book spines. But mixed in was the sweet smell of Jenna, the baby powder fragrance lingering behind. He followed the smell to the computer area and found her sitting by the fourth computer. He smiled and pulled a chair beside her.

She immediately stiffened at the closeness.

It was as if he had entered her bubble without permission. She tried flipping a page, scribbling something incomprehensible onto her notepad. He knew that her unease would prevent them from making any gains on the assignment.

"Um, hold on, I forgot my phone," he lied, making a face of slight annoyance, "I'll be right back."

He stood up and walked towards the side exit, trying to convince himself the sigh he heard wasn't in relief.

It was muggy and humid, the air passing thickly through his lungs. He unlocked the driver door and slid into his seat, shutting the door softly. He placed his hands on the steering wheel and tried to think of something else but the longing to be beside her again. Though the air smelled heavily of rain and vegetation, he could still remember the sweetness she carried. He could never escape her; her face smiled at him in every thought. A faint buzzing brought him from his thoughts and he opened the small envelope flashing on the screen.

Hurry up!

He smiled and snapped the phone close, opening the door and stepping out. Maybe today would end better than he thought.

"Henry the fifth." she told him, highlighting sections in their history workbook.

"Another one?" he complained, writing the name under 'Rulers' in the outline she had drawn up.

His hand was cramping painfully; the small pencil they had scavenged was no bigger than his pinky. They had tried to find another one but neither of them had any in their bags and the front desk refused to loan them a pen, claiming they were already short on supplies. He flexed his right hand, feeling the stiffness in his fingers.

"I know, I know. This is the last chapter though." she replied, counting the number of pages left in the section. She shook the highlighter a few times before marking over a few dates.

They continued to work in a friendly silence, interrupted only by her note dictation and the frequent crack of his knuckles. He watched her when she looked away or was absorbed in the material, admiring the way her lips mouthed important names. He enjoyed most when she looked down, her thick lashes spread like a fan over her eyes. They curled upwards, touching her brows with their tips. Her brows were dark and neatly arched, curving over her eyes beautifully and complementing her face. She had restyled her hair on a trip to the restroom and it was now in a French braid, wispy hairs pinned back by her swallow. Her hair was black and glossy as usual, smelling sweetly of honey. He gently pulled from his reverie by her soft sigh as she closed the workbook.

"I think this is enough for today, I'm so tired." she mumbled quietly, capping her highlighter and tossing it in her bag.

"Me too. My hand's about to fall off." he joked, aiming and launching the pencil into the trash by the help counter.

They cleared up their things and he folded the notes into his back pocket. She stared at him and he laughed, saying it was the only way he would remember he had them. It was only them and a few stragglers left in the library. The lights towards the back had already been shut-off. They walked outside silently, neither saying anything to disrupt the semi-calmness. He could feel the rise of her body temperature as they exited into the parking lot by themselves. Night had quickly overcome La Push as they worked, the bright stars shining in the sky. He walked at an even pace behind her, smiling when she realized they were still walking in the same direction.

She stopped at her car and turned to stare at him, a slight annoyance appearing on her face when she realized he had parked right next to her.

"I didn't know you drove a buggy." he lied, having distantly stalked her to her car the first day of school. It was a pale blue with a black convertible top.

"Yeah, you know, it was just a coincidence." she replied sarcastically, a small smile appearing on her lips despite herself.

"Yeah," he laughed, "guess it was. You go out first. See you at school." he said, smiling at her and wishing he could say more. He caught himself as the words 'miss you' formed in the back of his throat. He swallowed them in a thick lump and opened the driver door.

"Alright, see you." she said, waving goodbye and sliding into her car seat.

He waited patiently for her to pull out when he heard a familiar whirring. He heard her turn the key several times, only to be met with the same dead whir. He also heard the bad word leave her mouth in a whisper. Though his vocabulary was littered with profanities, he had never expected such a word to come from hers. He could not imagine such a filthy word forming on her strawberry lips. He was about to sigh, but smiled instead. Though he felt horrible about her car, it could open a door for him. He dropped his smile into one of curiosity as he stepped out and knocked on her glass.

She opened the door and came out, her phone pressed to her ear. When the line continued to ring, she snapped it close and leaned back against her buggy. He gripped the window frame on his car and leaned against it as well.

"Great, its almost ten, my battery is dead, and the auto shop is closed." she said aloud, closing her eyes as she took a breath.

"I don't have any cables on me." he said apologetically, searching for the right opportunity to start his plan.

"How am I supposed to get home? I can't walk..." she said, whispering the last part because of the tightness in her throat.

He could almost taste the tears before they fell. The time was now.

"How's this, I'll take you home and you can call the auto shop tomorrow." he offered, fighting the urge to smile at his opportunity. He kept himself from squeezing the frame.

She lifted her head then, staring him in the eyes. He could see the internal battle she was fighting, of whether to trust him or not. Her brown eyes seemed to glitter in the night and he was so transfixed he almost missed her reply.

"Okay."

He nodded and mumbled 'alright' before opening the door for her. He held out a hand for her to hold and she climbed into the high seat and she seemed to ignore it, then changed her mind and gripped it. He watched the alarmed expression on her face as she felt the heat but feigned nonchalance. He shut her door and walked around, reminding himself to turn on the air so that she would not boil with him beside her.

He opened the door and sat in the driver's seat, revving the engine and flicking the air knob with his middle finger. The air came smoothly from the vents, swirling her chamomile and honey scent his way. It encircled him and he had to keep himself from closing his eyes and sighing. He turned around to pull-out, holding the shoulder of her seat with his right hand. He couldn't help but turn back quickly to adjust his mirror, allowing him another glimpse of her profile. Beautiful.

"Do you mind if I turn the radio on?" she asked, feeling uncomfortable in the silence.

"No, go ahead." he responded happily, wondering what kind of music she enjoyed.

She turned the dial several times, surfing through the different stations, sampling snippets of songs from each. He was surprised when she settled on a slightly static channel, 1940's big band whistling away. It was a fast tune, jumpy and exciting. The song ended shortly and he watched her eyes perk up when the next song began.

"I love this song…" she murmured, looking to him with her hand on the volume knob, silently asking if she could raise it.

"Sure, sounds good." he granted and commented.

The smooth sound of the crooner's voice lulled him into deep thought. It was as if the crooner were singing to him, singing his life out before him. He listened intently to the words and imagined himself singing them, so closely did the lyrics express his feelings. As the chorus came in he could not help himself from singing the first few words, before stopping in embarrassment when she turned at the sound of his voice. He could see her grin reflected on the passenger window as she looked out at the night. The song ended with the crooner singing his final request and he felt a warmth and sadness at the same moment. Warmth because he had found a song that seemed to sing his love for her, and sadness because it was over.

"What song was that?" he asked, surprising himself with the softness of the words. It was as if he had lost his ability to speak.

" 'I Don't Want to Set the World On Fire,' by The Ink Spots." she replied, just as softly, both enjoying the song's warmth.

Both were silent and he thought about her home. He was surprised when she had yet to tell him when to stop or turn. He knew she lived in La Push, but he was curious to know where exactly. Residential La Push was like an 'E' whose vertical line extended beyond the horizontal three. The vertical line was the main road; Fork's began the line and Jacob Black's house ended it. There was only open road, First Beach, and the few shops and grocery store on said road. The actual residences were on the horizontal lines, each line a great distance away from the other. He lived on the last, nearest to Jacob. There were only three houses on his street, each a fair distance away, but no more than a mile.

She remained silent, even as they passed First Beach, and he wondered where she lived on the rez.

"What's your address, Jenna?" he asked as he lowered the volume on the radio, watching as she came from her musical trance. They were nearing his turn and he became anxious.

"2780 Alder street," she replied, pulling her bag into her lap, "we're close."

His heart seemed to palpitate at the address. She lived on his street and right beside him. Embry's house, across the street, was 2781 while his was 2782. He controlled his breathing, feeling anxiety and delight. He was delighted she lived so close to him, but anxious as to how she would react to him living less than a short walk away.

"It's going to be our first night in our new house. We finally finished unpacking yesterday after school." she said to him, her verbal courage increasing as they neared her home.

"That's cool…" he managed to force out, his eyes staring blankly at her house, his own now visible.

He shook his head slightly and admired her house. It was white, with two stories, and a wicker love seat on the small porch. It was almost identical to his, except his parents had decided to keep the natural wood exposed. There was no car in the cobbled driveway and he felt her temperature spike at realizing so. He could feel her anxiety at being alone with him, at night, with no one around for a while. He pulled into her driveway and held in a sigh, his emotions like a turbulent storm in his heart. The only sound was the slight hum of the engine. He moved his hand over the buttons on the door rest. She slipped on her bag and was about to unbuckle, but ceased instantly when the locks clicked down. It was silent.

"Jenna… I'm not like that anymore…" he whispered, his voice meek and overcome by the weight of the previous silence.

She lowered her gaze to the dash board, her body motionless.

"… You can trust me…"

The locks clicked again and she unstrapped, opening the passenger door and stepping out, her voice incapable of sound. He could hear his breathing, his heart pounding in his chest. She walked in front of his car, never looking at him, and up the stairs of her porch. He watched as she searched for her keys, opening the door mechanically, as if her mind was somewhere other than in her body. He watched as she went in, a hand still on the door. He watched as she watched him, holding his gaze as the space between the door and its frame became smaller and smaller. It closed.

He took in a large breath, releasing it shakily. The intensity of her gaze left him slightly burned; he had never felt the connection held with their eyes. It was as if she was looking inside him, searching out the part of him she thought she could trust. He stared because she was so beautiful, the fervor of her gaze burning him wondrously. A small light glowed through a curtain upstairs and he backed his car out of the driveway. Though she thought he could not see, he saw her fingers pulled back a curtain from a window opposite the light. He knew she would keep watching until he drove away. He turned back onto the main road, driving back the way they had come, memories painfully crowding his mind.

He drove for a while before turning back around and driving by her house, the light no longer on, to his own. Parking in his driveway, he cut the engine and leaned in his seat. The silence of night overwhelmed him; the soundless space swallowing him with its cruelty. He could still see blue stains on his hands, a scissor glinting in the afternoon sun, watching as she walked away from him, her little feet taking her to a safer place. Fate had changed them, but one thing seemed to always be the same: the ageless burn of tears.