A/N: Stephenie Meyer owns, I just play.

What makes someone gay? Was it liking guys, or not liking girls? Was it wanting to see Jas naked, or was it that moment when he rested his head on my shoulder and I got all tight in a way that has nothing to do with him naked? I mean, I got over-excited about Jasper for all sorts of reasons, so that question's pretty much moot anyway.

Where did girls fit into all this? I'd always assumed I just hadn't met the right one, but now how was I supposed to know if I liked being with girls if I'd never even tried? Then again, the idea of trying was just boring. I couldn't really see the appeal. When Jas kissed me it felt like I had to close my eyes or I'd go into sensory overload, like he could reach every cell in my body with only his lips on mine. When Lauren had kissed me I'd felt… nothing. I'd felt her teeth clacking against mine, really, but that was about it.

If it wasn't Jas, would it have been someone else? It had to be, right? Just because I hadn't dated much before didn't mean I would be celibate forever. I had to have a preference, eventually. I couldn't really think of any other guys I thought were hot off the top of my head but, then again, Jas used to poke fun at me for liking those Abercrombie cologne ads. Especially since I never wore cologne.

I wondered what made me this way. Was it just my genes? Or was it because of all that more complicated epigenetic stuff – like fetal testosterone levels, or maybe lots of people had a gene somewhere that could make them gay, but mine was just fully active? Did liking guys have anything to do with being a late bloomer?

I nixed that idea as fast as I thought it, because Tyler's voice hadn't dropped until last year, but he was still a boob-man through and through.

The real question was, where do you draw the line? Was it being attracted to a total stranger with a great ass? Was it being able to look your parents in the eyes and announce it? Was it being able to tell your friends, or your school? Fuck, why did it have to involve anyone else? On a tiny little island with just me and Jasper, there'd be no need for words like gay or straight or homophobia or hazing.

I think it was the word gay that scared me more than anything. I couldn't pretend I was straight, obviously, but being gay just carried so many connotations. Bad connotations. Like leering at everyone in the locker room, and getting the shit kicked out of you. Like having everyone point and stare and gossip as the rumor mill chewed you up and spit you out onto a high school quad, nervous and exposed.

I remembered all the blatant stares and none-too-quiet whispers from when my mom had died, and there were some days that, if Jas hadn't been there, I might have just stayed home. And now, if people knew we were dating, he'd be under as much scrutiny as I would. Who knew how people would really react? Forks was a pinprick of a town, nearly bored to death by its own existence and hungry for any new drama.

Sometimes, I wondered what Esme and Carlisle thought when they weren't putting on brave faces. I knew they meant it when they said they supported us, but did Esme ever wish he'd brought home a nice girl instead? Was Carlisle upset that, without Jas, the Cullen name would come to an end? Hadn't he even said he wouldn't wish this life for us?

Damnit. Things with me and Jas were simple – it was factoring in everyone else that was made me want to crawl in bed and sleep for days. Everything felt so damned complicated.

All I knew was that I liked him, really really liked him, to the point where it was kind of overwhelming sometimes. Like the night before. Watching him kneel between my knees in the car was maybe the most dizzyingly exciting thing ever, but what I kept rethinking was what came after. Lying against his chest, all skin-to-skin and tangled up together, I didn't think I could ever let go. I wanted to melt like a pat of butter just so I could slip over every bare inch, practically fusing myself into him, impossible to wipe away. It was, I think, the most intense thing I'd ever felt, and I just wanted to be closer…

A sharp elbow-to-rib nudge pulled me from my musings, and I looked up to see Jas watching me.

"Your oatmeal's cold," he said, clearly amused by my mental absence from breakfast.

I glanced down to where I was still holding a spoon upright in the cereal, kind of disappointed that he was right. It was full of milk and raisins and cinnamon and delicious, and I'd let it get cold and slimy. Damn.

I stared at the congealing lump on the spoon before I pushed the whole bowl away.

"And you're doing that thing again," he added, keeping his tone light.

I smiled a little, because he was right and because, sure, I was ranting to myself in my head, but there are worse things to silently obsess over than how much you adore your boyfriend. Plus, it's hard to get truly worked up when you're still basking in the afterglow.

That feeling I got in the car – I'm not sure what it was, but it hadn't gone away overnight. And judging from the way Jas's calf was pressed up against mine all through breakfast, he was still basking in it too.

I lifted my head to smile more convincingly at him while he stood, just so he wouldn't think I was sitting there brooding or something. The smile he threw back was so bashfully bright that it made me all glowy again, and I stopped worrying about labels and opinions and how gay or not-gay I was. I was happy with Jasper, and that was what mattered.

Before I could do something indulgent, like grabbing his arm, pulling him into my lap and kissing him for the next hour, the clack of Esme's shoes in the hallway told me to keep my hands to myself.

She had waited up for us last night, to make sure we got home safely and, probably, to make sure we went to our own rooms. That was okay, though, because we'd had a lengthy and drawn-out goodnight kiss after she'd gone up to bed.

"Good afternoon," she said, with emphasis like we didn't already know we'd slept through the morning.

Jas just rolled his eyes but I said, "Hi, Esme."

She set about pulling all the makings of a turkey sandwich out of the fridge, so we rinsed out our bowls in the sink to make room on the center island. Just as we headed out through the attached dining room, though, Esme called me back in.

I looked at Jas first, who nodded toward his room where I knew he'd be waiting for me, and then stepped back into the kitchen.

"What's up?" I said, pushing my floppy hair back from in front of my eyes. I really needed a haircut.

She patted a hand on the granite counter beside her, so I hopped a little warily onto a stool beside it. I wasn't quite sure what she would want to talk to me about, especially if it was something she hadn't wanted to bring up as soon as she'd walked in.

The look on her face while she spread Lite Mayo onto bread was oddly serious, until she put her knife down and said, "Charlie called."

Just like that, my morning glow disappeared, and I sagged on my seat. I could guess what he had called about, and it wasn't something I wanted to get into. Really, though, I guessed I should be grateful that I got a whole day's reprieve from thinking about it.

All I said was, "Oh."

"Charlie said you and Alice had a fight," Esme said with a questioning upturn to her words, and when I looked up her eyes were doing the concerned motherly thing.

I really didn't want to talk about it, but this was Esme and I knew she was just asking because she hoped she could help. She couldn't, though, I was sure about that. And I didn't really want to explain how I'd fucked things up even farther by upsetting my sister and then alienating her best friend.

Except, Esme had her hands clasped on the cold granite in front of her, and she was leaning forward to listen so intently that I just couldn't brush her off. Instead, I took a deep breath and said, "Yeah. Sorta. I mean, not a fight, but she got upset. And then," I paused – cringing at the memory even as I said it, "then Bella figured out about Jas and me."

"Oh," Esme said, making a sympathetic clucking noise and pressing one hand to her chest. "Poor Bella."

I managed not to roll my eyes – at myself, really – because of course Esme would know about Bella's crush. Jas had to get his crazy observational skills and insight from somewhere. I did push myself away from the counter, though, to avoid her intense, knowing expression.

"Yeah," I muttered, not really knowing what else to say. "She's not mad though, which is good."

Esme nodded sympathetically, seeming to think it over. "So Alice knows too?"

I nodded reluctantly.

"Hmm. Charlie didn't mention that, though I'm not sure he would."

God, if Charlie knew… even the possibility put me on edge. As if things at the Swans' didn't already make me uncomfortable enough.

Esme reached out across the countertop, putting one warm hand across my knuckles and patting them. "Charlie's a good man," she said softly, though that didn't really answer or appease any of the questions in my head.

Gradually, she began to tell me about Charlie's phone call. It had apparently been yesterday morning, before Jas and I left. Esme hadn't wanted to ruin our day, and I was torn between being grateful for our perfect day and annoyed that I was kept in the dark. Charlie's conversation with Esme made it clear that Alice had filled him in on at least some of our last talk. The point that really got drilled home, though, was that Alice wanted to join the Swans permanently. She still didn't want to be a Masen, or a Bailey, or anything else that had to do with me.

Esme was wonderfully patient as she explained everything, including why she felt Charlie was the best candidate to vie for guardianship and everything he would do to make sure things went smoothly. They both seemed to think the single-parent issue wouldn't stand in his way too much, and I believed them. Whether or not Charlie could get guardianship wasn't really the concern here. The problem was the way Esme kept issuing warm promises that they would take care of everything. I figured she was trying to lighten my load, or something, but it just felt like every connection I had to Alice was slowly being scraped away.

I tried to nod and smile at Esme as she promised to shoulder my burden, knowing that I should be grateful, but it just brought up the same feelings of uselessness and incompetency I'd been carrying all along. Somehow, by doing everything I could think of to keep what was left of the Masens together, I had let us fall drastically and maybe even irrevocably apart. It was hard to believe that at one point I'd thought I could keep everything under control, because this was so very, very out of my control.

One of Esme's 'pro's was that I could get away for college, which made me feel shitty in all sorts of ways, but she caught onto that pretty quickly.

"There's nothing wrong with going away for college, Edward," she said, exhibiting that same calm that used to make me want to shake Jasper. "Alice wants you to have every opportunity, just like you want for her. She wouldn't want you to give up Princeton."

I remembered the Class of 2014 scarf Alice had given me and thought that maybe she was right, about the old Alice. This new Alice didn't give a shit what I did with myself.

Still, though, I let Esme segue the conversation into colleges, as she politely asked which ones made the final list. She had been on top of all of Jas's deadlines when he applied to Cornell, and I had a hunch she asked because she wanted to keep track of mine too. I'd had no idea how she would react when I told her I would also be applying to Cornell, but she just seemed to take it in stride, smiling in a more genuine way and nodding for me to continue the list. She showed no sign of questioning my following Jas to school but, then again, Esme rarely thought the worst of people. She, like Jas, could look into a person's face and see their private logic, which just made her understanding and sympathetic.

Finally, with a fortifying smile and an ambitious bite into her tepid sandwich, she let me head into the back of the house to find Jas.

Apparently I'd been talking to Esme so long, he'd opted to shower. And while the temptation to join him or at least spy was incredibly appealing, the open-door policy and attentive parents meant we probably couldn't get away with it.

I sighed, pushing my hair back again as I got to my bedroom and left the door ajar.

So, I had lost Alice, maybe entirely, but I mentally kicked myself and thought that I probably should have known that already. She had all but disappeared over the last month or so and, now, Bella probably had too. It sort of made me ache to think about it, but I was almost getting to the point where I knew I had to just accept it.

Well, not accept it. I still wanted Alice in my life, damnit, but maybe I wouldn't go charging into the Swans' house thinking I could fix things anymore.

Especially now that Charlie might know about me and Jas. That just… that wasn't the type of relationship I had with him. I'd worked hard to cultivate a mutual respect, where he could trust me to be responsible and mature, and I could trust him to look after Alice. I never wanted who I did or didn't date to enter into that. And if he found out about Jas, well, I just couldn't see how that wouldn't color his opinion of me, one way or the other.

Yet another thing that was going to change.

Dropping onto my bed with a creak of mattress springs, I took a deep breath and flipped open my computer.

The next two weeks went pretty much as usual – or, well, the new usual. Jas and I drove to school alone and devoted our time to homework – college apps for me – track, and each other, though no one seemed to suspect about that last one. I never saw Alice anymore, and Bella popped up a few times, but only ever spoke to Jasper. Rosalie was rarely around, opting to eat dinner at the McCarty's several nights a week, despite Carlisle's early insistence that she not. Jas and I continued to sneak after-hours rendezvous, even if a lot of our uncensored alone time was just used for all those quiet words and little touches we'd had to hold back during the day.

Monday morning was overcast and bleak, just because it'd be terribly off-putting to start the week with a few rays of sun. Jas and I were half asleep from staying up too late and I practically snored through history – I just couldn't match his enthusiasm for it. It wasn't until I detoured to grab a binder from my locker that I noticed the bright posters splashed up in the poorly-lit hallway. It was confusing, with a huge donkey head sticking out from behind a tiny girl with colorful moth wings photoshopped onto her back, and an elegant but day-glow fuchsia flower taking up the whole bottom right corner.

I stopped to stare at the poster, trying to make sense of the random images for a full minute before I finally read the scrawl across the bottom.

Forks High School Proudly Presents:

William Shakespeare's

A Midsummer Night's Dream

Then it all made sense, of course, because only Shakespeare would put a fairy and a donkey on the same stage. Plus, I think I saw bits and pieces of it once when we had an English sub in eighth grade.

Of course the play would be coming up… Ali's play, even if she wouldn't technically be in it. I felt kind of pathetic for wanting to see a play just because my estranged sister had painted the backdrop, but I wanted to all the same. Maybe she wasn't in my life anymore, but that didn't mean I wanted to lose track of hers.

As soon as I saw Jas outside the gym, I brought it up, falling into step with him.

"Oh, yeah?" he asked casually.

I grunted. "S'on after Thanksgiving."

He looked at me sideways, maybe wondering why I was being so coy about it all, but the truth was I didn't really know. I just didn't want to sound too pathetic, I guess. It wasn't like seeing her play would change anything. If anything, going just to see her scenery made me sound a little stalker-ish, so I didn't want to make too big a deal out of it.

"So," he hedged, "you want to see it?"

I nodded, meeting his gaze.

"Okay, then. Let's get tickets."

I nodded again, more than willing to comply, and I knew that was one of the things I loved about Jas. He just made everything so easy.

I waited until Wednesday to bring money for the tickets, just to prove to myself that I could wait. The flyer had said tickets would be sold in the drama room during lunch and after school, so I decided to veer through the A building on my way to track while Jas went ahead. I was edgy as I walked up there, insisting to myself that this was no big deal, while secretly curious if I would be able to recognize any of Alice's influence in the backdrops.

The first thing I noticed was the progress they'd made. What had once been a bunch of wooden panels and buckets of paint was now a forest – or, three parts of a forest, up on the tiny stage, with chairs and backpacks and a drop cloth in between. It was actually really impressive how dense the trees looked in each piece, and I wondered if any of it was Ali's handiwork. There didn't seem to be anyone around to work on it, though, so I couldn't really tell.

Then a grunt alerted me to the one person in the room: that asshole, Seth Clearwater. He was sitting behind a dinky little table with poster board taped to the edge that listed ticket prices and show times, and he was glaring at me. I had no desire to talk to him, so I pulled out the cash and held it up. There wasn't anyone else around, so I didn't see why we couldn't just have a civil, silent exchange. He seemed to be focusing all his energy on staring at me, though, because he wouldn't take the money. I jabbed it out towards him, but he just flicked his eyes over it disdainfully.

Eventually, he lifted his eyes to curse me into a hell dimension – or whatever he thought he would accomplish with that glare – and said, "What the hell are you doing?"

Dumbass. I was even holding exact change.

"What does it look like?"

"I won't give you tickets."

Okay, this dickhead was starting to really piss me off. Unfortunately for me, I was gonna be late for track and I just wanted to walk away and forget about his existence as fast as possible.

"I'll get some either way. Just give me the damn tickets."

He leaned back in his metal folding chair, crossing his arms and looking pissed off, but still too skinny to be really intimidating.

"I'm not gonna let you near her."

"She's not even in it," I shot back, starting to get really aggravated. I was trying to just casually pick up tickets, but now I had to practically fight to see Ali not-act in this play.

He shrugged, which just made me want to yell. I didn't, though, I just grit my teeth and said, "You know, I'm getting really sick of your shit."

"Oh yeah?" He leaned back towards me, propping his elbows up the table and holding his death-stare. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

I balled my fists and narrowed my eyes, thinking about all the things I really would like to do to this arrogant prick, but said nothing. He seemed dead set on tempting me, though.

He raised his eyebrows in fake fear and said, "You gonna hit me?"

I dropped my fists onto the table, leaning on my knuckles like a gorilla would, and glared right back. I was getting really fucking angry, and didn't like being jerked around.

"I'm gonna get those tickets, is what I'm gonna do."

"I don't know," he said, whispering low and still acting like a shit, "I think you might have to hit me first."

At that point, I figured he wanted me to hit him. I didn't know why he'd go picking a fight, maybe he was some over possessive prick of a boyfriend or something, but I was starting to seriously considering giving in.

"Or are you just chicken shit?" he asked with audible venom. "Maybe you only hit girls, is that it?"

Tiny wisps of confusion started clouding in around the anger and I leaned back, slightly wary. What the fuck was he talking about?

He stood slowly, getting into as much of my personal space as possible, and said, "You will never touch her again."

That's when alarm bells really started going off. Touch her? Hitting girls? What the… what did he think I'd done? The confusion sank down into my stomach, making me feel a little queasy.

I felt his hand curl into my collar as he stepped around the table, but I stayed rooted to the spot. I didn't want to move, not until I knew what was going on. He didn't seem to like that though, because he yelled out "Hey!" and yanked me towards the door.

I let him. My brain felt kind of fuzzy, and I couldn't really summon the urge to fight anymore. As he dragged me out, I heard a sharp voice call out, and then Seth was saying to stay inside, just stay inside.

Hitting girls? Eerie realization licked through my veins, making them shivering wet and cold, until it finally hit with the sheer horror of the truth.

Seth thought I was hitting Alice.

I turned to look for her, to find her and beg for some answers or, hell, even for her to acknowledge me, and I realized that she was the one Seth had been talking to, because she was suddenly standing around the corner from the drama room with us.

"Just stay inside," Seth was saying, "I got this."

He was standing between us, keeping Alice behind his back, but I could still see her face. She looked just as confused as I felt, but when her eyes whipped to me they were sharp and accusing.

"What did you do?"

It had been years since I felt as small as I did in that moment. I felt entirely powerless, and I just didn't understand. Why? Why would Alice tell him those awful things? Why would she lie?

"What did you do?" I asked back, but my voice sounded high and unsteady even in my own ears, and my knees were asking me to sit down somewhere.

Seth told her again to just go inside, but I couldn't let her leave, not without some kind of explanation. This was cruel, even for the frigid person she had become.

"Why?" I called out. "Why did you tell him I—" I dropped my voice, to finish, "hit you."

Her eyes went wide and her fingers curled up, picking and tapping against her own cuticles. I could see her eyes dart between the two of us anxiously, but she said nothing. I stared at her, all cropped black hair and heavy eyeliner and amber eyes, waiting for some glimpse of the Alice I knew, the Alice that would never say that.

She turned her head more exaggeratedly between me and Seth, before looking back to me and saying, in a monotonous, empty tone, "I never said that." She looked up to Seth, then, and I did too as she repeated, "I never said that."

"You didn't have to," he said, keeping an arm out between the two of us, but turning to see her.

"Ali?" I asked cautiously.

"Why would you think that?" Her little chin was tipped up to Seth, and, gratefully, I heard the disbelief in her voice.

"It's the only thing that made sense," he answered, still bitter but persuasive, like he was just trying to remind her. "I asked you."

Alice leaned back, wary, and crossed her arms. Seth turned to face her more, but still didn't give up the ground between us.

"I saw that huge handprint on your arm, Alice. It was obvious. I asked if your brother knew, remember?" He was speaking urgently, leaning down to confide in her in private, but I strained to catch every word. "You said he was there."

My mind hummed with every way in that wasn't true, but I knew it didn't matter. If I'd learned one thing over the past month, it was that even the things I was sure of could be interpreted differently.

Seth put an arm out to touch her, comfort her, and it was with a sick sense of relief that I watched her pull back.

She crossed her arms, wrapping her pale fingers around the sleeves of her worn black t-shirt, and whispered back, "I never said he hit me."

Seth ignored me entirely, then, still speaking too quickly and too desperately. "But you never said anything else. What was I supposed to think? All I knew was that someone hurt you, and every morning you'd get out of his car looking miserable and freaked out. And someone," he jerked his head back toward me, "has a ridiculous temper."

I opened my mouth to defend myself, but a little blonde girl I recognized as a tenth grader passed by, and we all dropped our heads and our voices until she passed.

It was ridiculous, but I could see how Seth would cast me as a villain. I wanted to defend my temper with a petty jibe about how he started it first, but knew my words held about zero weight at the moment. Also, I wondered if Alice would just bolt.

I leaned around Seth, trying to implore Alice to stay and absolve me, to explain – explain everything – and put things right again. I could see her fingers working double time on her brittle nails, and I just wanted to grab them and hold them still.

I took a moment to squeeze my eyes shut and take a deep breath, trying to will myself calmer.

When I looked up again, Seth had backed up to stare at his own shoelaces and Alice was chewing on her lip, looking nauseous.

"Alice," I said quietly, trying not to spook her. The fact that she'd hung around this long – and for an argument, no less – was more than I'd thought I'd get from her. Part of me wondered if I should be thankful she stuck around to clear my name, and then the rest of me bristled at how fucked up this whole situation had gotten. "Alice, what's going on? How could you let Seth think—" God, I didn't want to say it again.

"I didn't know he thought that," she protested, and Seth started shifting his weight, looking a little affronted.

"That's 'cause you never let me bring it up."

I watched as they had a silent eye-contact conversation across the gap of their height difference, and I guessed he still felt a little indignant because he added an exasperated, "I can't even mention your family without you clamming up."

He seemed to win the point because she looked away first. It caught me off guard to think that she wasn't confiding in her boyfriend. I'd always assumed that they'd bonded over their lost parents and that Seth had replaced me as a shoulder to cry on. Apparently, though, Alice wasn't sharing with anyone, and that just wasn't working.

"Alice," I said again. "What's going on?"

"Why?" she asked, jutting her chin out defiantly.

That struck a nerve, and even though I was still overwhelmed by the tight, anxious feeling in my chest, I was also pretty fed up.

"Because you can't let people think I would do that," I said, not bothering to keep the frustration and betrayal out of my voice. "What if he told someone?"

In the beat that followed, the complete absence of Seth's denial resonated through my head, and that sickly feeling came back. Oh god…

"Alice," I said, feeling even more desperate, wanting to reach out and shake some reality into her. "This town is a rumor mill. If the judge heard that, who knows if he'd stick you with Charlie. He might just send you away altogether." Or me, the thought came unbidden.

The way she was chewing on her lip looked downright painful. I could see her getting even more wound up, but mostly I was just glad she finally got the gravity of the damn situation.

She was shaking her head, though, and her eyes were suspiciously shiny. "No," she said softly, "no. I won't let him. I'll just tell him the truth."

That would be a first. She still didn't get it though, and I was fighting the urge to pace. "What if he doesn't believe you?"

As she looked up at me through wet lashes, she didn't sound so defiant or self-assured anymore. "Why wouldn't he?"

"Because you've already spent all this time swearing it wasn't Dad!"

That cut through any remaining bravado on her face. Her mouth opened and closed uselessly but, for once, she didn't have a way to defend herself. Her eyes flickered over me, and I thought for a moment that she might actually apologize. When the first tear rolled across her cheek, though, she just stepped over to Seth and pressed herself intimately against him. She looked so petite, craning her neck up to see him, and her voice sounded even smaller.

"You didn't tell anyone, did you?"

He shifted back uncomfortably, bumping against the hallway lockers. "No, not really."

That failed to inspire any confidence whatsoever, so I said, "What does not really mean?"

He stalled, tapping his knuckles in a rhythm on the locker behind him and making a metallic rattling sound.

"I tried. I tried to tell Jake, but it didn't work. All I said was that you had a temper," he threw me a sharp look, "and he wanted to find you and teach you a lesson. I guess he's still pissed 'cause you won some dash."

Finally, a piece of information I already knew.

"But that's all you said?"Alice asked hopefully while I calculated how much damage control I would need to do.

"Yeah. I talked him down, 'cause I thought your brother might get pissed and…" he looked away from both of us, "take it out on you."

Jesus, I didn't even know how to react to that. All this blame and uncertainty was making my head pound.

When Alice's hand reached out to grab his, more pulling herself against him than actually moving her towering boyfriend, they stared at each other with matching concern. They each raised their eyebrows and twitched their lips and I knew they were both gauging each other, communicating in some silent way I wouldn't understand.

Feeling pretty awkward, it was only half reluctantly that I gave them a moment of privacy when the skinny kid raised his head to ask for it.

I wandered down the hallway a little, kicking at the fake plastic tiling and wanting to rest my head. I could hear it pouring buckets outside, and there wasn't really any other place to go, so I leaned against a stretch of yellow stucco and let myself slump to the floor, thinking.

The most ludicrous thing of all was that he'd been spending all this time worrying about how violent or unstable or purely evil I could be when, really, I just wanted to know my baby sister again. It was also strange to think that this asshole – or, Seth, as I guessed I should think of him now – wanted the same thing as me. He just didn't have all the facts.

And all of this could have been so easily avoided, if Alice had just opened her damn mouth and talk to someone, anyone. It could've been that walking growth spurt for all I cared, but the reality of the situation – of how close her temper had actually come to darkening my own future – was really starting to set in. Thank god Seth was just as in over his head as I was. If he'd been older, or known what he was doing a little more, he would have gone to someone a hell of a lot more useful than Jacob Black, and then where would I be?

I was damned lucky Seth hadn't told anyone else but, really, that wasn't luck I should have needed. My sense of self-preservation was starting to kick in, and it was yelling a constant 'what the fuck?' behind all my other thoughts.

I knew it wasn't directly Alice's fault, but all the uncertainty and grief and false fucking accusations slinging around came directly from her lack of communication. I should've known – it was, after all, another patented Masen family trait. If nothing else, she had just been so damned careless.

By the time Alice tiptoed over to me, looking contrite and sheepish, all the repentance in the world wouldn't stop the anger simmering in my chest.

I let her slide down the wall a few feet from me before I pinned her with an unimpressed glare. It was probably good Seth that let us be, because my temper was definitely showing, and I needed to get this out.

"What the hell, Alice?"

"I didn't know he thought that," she said a little frantically, like that was some kind of excuse.

"That's not the point! The point is, he did. You won't talk about it, but you're still taking it out on everyone and making us think the worse."

She pulled her knees up, hugging them for support until she could rest her chin on one, and staring at the bank of lockers facing us. I could see tension arcing through her entire body, though.

"Charlie would've never believed him," she said quietly.

It smoothed over the rawest edge of my ire to know that she was right, but that didn't change much. I clapped a hand over my eyes, dragging it down my face stiffly until I felt marginally more focused. As I talked, though, I started to get worked up again.

"I know, but things could have gone to shit before he even heard. I mean, fuck, it's no wonder Seth thought that. You won't talk to me. You won't talk about me, apparently." I flicked my hands around like all that was no big deal.

"Maybe I would talk to you," she bit out, "if you could talk about anything else."

"I wasn't trying to bring it up," I said, exasperated and gesticulating pointedly.

"Yes you were," she shot back, lifting her head.

"I wasn't."

"You always had this look, like you wanted to get me alone. To talk. Every time I saw you, I knew, and then I had to think about it all over again."

I didn't say anything, just thought about how wrong she was.

"Why can't you get that I don't want to think about it?"

I dropped a hand to fall on the hard floor beside me with a clap, and sighed. "That's not what I wanted to talk about."

She was watching me carefully, clearly skeptical. "What, then?"

"It doesn't matter now," I said. Now wasn't the time to bring up Jas, or how I wished she'd been a little more understanding herself.

Besides, her avoidance wasn't even the biggest issue anymore.

"Why…" I paused, willing myself to just form the words. I focused my eyes on the scuff marks on the floor, but asked, "Why don't you want to be family anymore?"

I think I felt, if not heard, her tense posture deflate. "I never said I don't".

"Yeah?" I rolled my eyes extra hard and glanced at her. There were a lot of things she never technically said. "So dropping the Masen name doesn't mean anything?"

She tilted herself away, like seeing me from a different angle would change something, but kept a death grip around her legs. "I don't want his name. I—I thought you understood."

"I do," I said vehemently, "but I offered you something else. Anything else. And I don't understand why you won't just take Mom's name."

"No," she said faintly, shaking her head and making the tears that were suddenly back fall haphazardly onto her knees. She squeezed her eyes shut and pulled her knees up tighter like she was trying to fold in on herself. "No, I can't."

I refused to be sidetracked by more tears. "Why? Why won't you be a Bailey?"

Her wide, off-color eyes snapped to mine and her voice was almost unrecognizably rough when she cried, "Because that's why he hit me!"

I couldn't help it, a sense of dread rushed over me. I mean, we had basically been talking about it this whole time, but we'd never actually said it. She'd never really admitted it… ever. But now she had.

Which meant that he had… fuck, I already knew it, but it was still shocking to actually hear. It made my whole chest ache with sympathy and a need for justice, except there was none to be had – just the pieces of our broken family, left behind, trying to make sense of it all.

Ali was crying through clenched eyes, hugging herself and staying very, very still. I reached out, fueled by that timeworn need to make it all better, but didn't know how to fix it this time.

"Ali? Ali, that's not why."

"It is," she whispered, still blocking herself in with her eyelids. "If I didn't look like Mom—"

"I love that you look like Mom," I cut in.

"No." Her head shook minutely. "He hates it. That's why he, why he hates me, and had to—"

"No," I interrupted again. I didn't really know what to say, but I knew everything about what she was saying was wrong. And somehow, even after all this crap, it was still my job as her big brother to help.

Crawling over to her, I tried to weave my hands into hers, but they were clenched too tightly around her calves. "He didn't have to do a damn thing, Ali. He fucked up, but that is not your fault." She refused to open her eyes or loosen her hands so I shook her knee gently and asked, "Do you hear me? It's not your fault."

Only then did her eyes open, but they looked so anguished that it didn't really bring relief. I watched her, trying my best to look calm and understanding and waiting patiently for her to say something. She didn't, but she finally let me grab her hands and pull her against my chest. I kind of wanted to pull her into a classroom where she could work this out in private, but no one had walked by this little corner of a dead end hallway for a while and I was hesitant to disturb her.

It was impossible to be mad at her now, even though we hadn't really said everything that needed to be said. Now that both Seth and I knew what was going on, though, I hoped that the worst was behind us. It felt like it was.

She cried dark stains into my shirt until she was only sniffling, and then finally began to talk. By the time she had composed herself, I'd heard most of the drama students filter out the opposite way and we were able to sit in the dusty hallway with no fear of being interrupted.

After some gentle prodding she filled me in on what had happened that last night Dad was in town, only she actually told me everything. The unnerving thing was, she really hadn't left much out the first time, other than when Dad had actually hit her. It just hadn't clicked before that she would blame herself. I still didn't understand how she could feel responsible for her hair or eye color, or for Dad's fucked up inability to cope, but I hugged her all the same. This time, when she mumbled about not wanting to be a Masen or a Bailey, or even be herself anymore, I just hugged her fiercely and told her that I loved her, no matter what. I told her that it wasn't her fault more times than I could count, and even though I didn't know how much she believed me, at least it had been said. A lot.

I even got her to tell me – to promise – that Dad hadn't hurt her before that night. His typical acerbic mood had gotten worse, sure, but she swore that was the only time I didn't already know about.

Finally, when both of us were slumped against the lockers and her legs were sprawled untidily across the hallway, I came to the conclusion that we had talked ourselves out. Things weren't fixed, but at least they made more sense and everybody was on the same page. Really, I thought, at least Ali is talking to me. We may not have regained that easy trump-all Masen bond, but after wading through all the muck of the afternoon, things at least seemed better.

Eventually the tired conversation meandered onto the play, mostly because it was an easy topic and it made her perk up visibly. I got her blessing to come see the show, but she insisted I come on closing night because of something to do with stage presence and technical bugs and whatever else.

Sooner than I thought possible, Jas came hurrying around the corner, still wet from his shower and probably the rain too. Damn, it was good to see him.

In the pecking order of comfort, I knew that he'd be willing to wrap me up and calm me down like I would do for Alice – and for him too, of course, it's not like I wouldn't. He just didn't seem to need comfort very often.

Jas stopped when he saw us, and eyed us both very cautiously – probably looking for signs that we were mid-breakdown. I nodded for him to come closer and he did, gripping his backpack straps and hoisting it higher on his back.

"Seth told me where to find you," he said, obviously bewildered by that unlikely source.

I just nodded again, mulling over where to even start. He held a hand out to help me up, and then I offered the same to Alice. Jas was even further bewildered when Ali wrapped an arm around my waist for a little sideways hug, but the tiniest quirk of a smile told me he was starting to figure it out. Not that he could ever guess the real story, but I'd fill him in.

As Ali slipped away I caught her hand, asking, "I'll see you soon?"

"Yeah," she nodded, giving me a vague, if tired, smile. "You can buy tickets from me later."

I watched her disappear around the corner before looking back to Jas, who had a little smile for me.

If he was already done and showered that meant it was past five o'clock, and I marveled at how three hours had gone by in a flurry of worries and words. They had been a hard three hours but still, all things considered, they had passed with little lasting damage.

Jas was doing that intimate-but-public thing he did where he stepped right up to me and trailed his fingers over the back of my hand. I caught a finger and squeezed it, not even bothering to look down.

"I'm glad you're here."

"I sent you a whole bunch of texts," he said, scrunching up his eyebrows.

"Oh," I said, patting down my pockets. "Was Coach mad?"

"Kinda, just 'cause he didn't believe I didn't know where you were."

"Sorry," I said, leaning towards him to bump his shoulder.

He shrugged, that little shoulder half-lift I was none too fond of, but studied my face. "Is everything okay?"

I pondered the definition of okay before saying, "It's… better."

"Did she apologize?" he asked, and his suddenly cold voice reminded me that he hadn't been as lenient about Alice's moods as I had. My anger usually passed quickly, like a hot flash bulb that was already fading even while it flared. Jas, for all his easy going smiles and determinedly neutral mannerisms, could hold a grudge. And I knew that once he found out about Seth's theory, he would definitely be mad.

"No," I said, shaking my head a little reluctantly.

He raised a dirty-blonde eyebrow, waiting for me to elaborate, but I was exhausted and stiff and tired of having important conversations in a dusty, secluded hallway.

"Come on," I said, tugging on his finger again, and giving him my best 'everything's okay' smile even though it wasn't entirely. "I wanna go home."

I swear that eyebrow stayed up the entire walk to the car. Even through the rain, he kept glancing at me, completely incredulous that I was asking more pointless questions about how mad Coach Clapp was. We were both warm and buckled into my car before I even thought about rehashing the whole afternoon.

I started off by saying I knew why Seth was such a prick, and got about halfway through my explanation before Jas exploded.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" he demanded, looking way too tense to be caged up in my front seat.

I just pressed on though, hitting all the main details and making sure to point out that Ali had seemed just as blind-sided as me, and that she blamed herself for what Dad had done.

Jas had quite a bit to say on the complete waste of space that was Jacob Black, and even more to say on Ali's selfishness – and rant that didn't stop when I pulled into the driveway, so I left the engine on to keep us warm while we sat. He sympathized with her, of course, and agreed that it was important to help her pull away from her self-flagellation, but insisted it didn't excuse what she'd let happen.

I agreed with a lot of what he said, I really did, but getting angry just didn't seem like it would accomplish anything anymore.

"Edward," he said pointedly, pulling a knee up against the center console and turning to face me. "She shouldn't get away with this."

"What can I do?" I asked, waving an energetic hand around. "She knows this situation was all sorts of fucked up – and dangerous for both of us. Other than going back in time to prevent all this shit, what am I supposed to do?"

He pulled at the seams of his sweater, readjusting and getting comfortable.

Then, with a sigh that finally sounded as tired as I felt, he said, "Look. I know you're happy she's talking to you again, but you can't just pretend none of this ever happened. She owes you an apology – a massive one – but got away without one because she cried all over you instead."

"That's just how we are, Jas," I insisted. "You know that. That's just her going back to the way things used to be – which is what I want."

"I know," he said, eyes wide and earnest. "But she should earn it. Get her to say sorry."

"Okay," I said, reaching out to him. He looked unconvinced, like he thought I was just appeasing him.

And maybe I was, a little, but I also knew he had a point. Jas rarely had this kind of emphatic determinedness, and I trusted him to have my best interest at heart. It was a comforting thought, knowing that even though I'd let things slip through the cracks lately, he would be there to help me pick them up.

"Okay," I said again, curling my hand around his knee. He was warm, even through the thick denim and I stared at that one point of contact as I whispered, "Thanks."

"For what?" he asked, just as softly, as he reach up to trace the outline of my fingers. I could feel the scrape of his blunt nail against the side of my middle finger, and it seemed to resonate all the way up my arm.

For some reason, that feeling was back. The one where it seems like there's a magnet in my chest, a South tugging me toward Jasper's North. It came in a wave, nearly overwhelming me as I gripped harder onto his knee.

"For, you know," I said, when I could focus again, still not lifting my eyes. "Caring."

He moved over to my pointer finger. "Of course I care."

I nodded dumbly, unsure what to say back, but when I looked up I couldn't help but smile. It seemed like the most inappropriate time to be feeling all glowy over a few words and a little finger-touching, but I wasn't the only one. He was staring at our hands, trying to tug his lips out of the brilliant smile that was forming anyway, and it occurred to me that whatever this crazy feeling was, it seemed like he felt it too.

Some stuff to point out:
The first ever Slash Awards are taking nominations til 2/28 at theslashawards . blogspot . com, and they have lots of fun categories, so head on over :P Also, the lovely Yogagal interviewed me for her guest spot on the So You Think You Can Write blog, which was lots of fun, so you can check that out if you want.

As far as this chapter goes, many thanks to my beta Elvelethril, and if anyone's curious about the epigenetics that Edward mentions, feel free to PM me.