A/N: Paul and Rachel won by a landslide! I am so glad you guys enjoyed my Jared/Kim story. Truly, you guys are the best and simply made my year with your kind words and support. Thanks for coming back. I needed a bit of a break after the loss of my long Quil/Claire story- I'll rewrite it soon but eee, I needed a break after the big computer glitch. So this is a nice fresh start! Read on, friends!

APRIL 18, 2002

Fifty-five days. Rachel stared longingly at her planner. Only fifty-five days til Graduation, and only 124 days until she was able to move into her dorm on Campus, and get away from La Push.

It wasn't that she hated La Push...no, sometimes she thought maybe she loved it too much and that was why it hurt so much after Mom died. Because this place of comfort and safety suddenly became lacking, and no amount of time seemed to cure it. It had been four years. Time seemed suspended, always. Living in a place that wasn't home anymore, in a life that didn't always feel like hers. She did what she could to stay strong for Dad's sake, and for Jake's...but it was hard to hold it together sometimes. Other than an occasional late-night cry with Rebecca, cuddled up on the floor between their beds, Rachel tried to keep herself on a tight leash. She had to keep her emotions squashed down, carefully, so that they didn't erupt and bring everyone down, or slow her down.

She was determined to make Mom proud; and that could only be accomplished if she kept her head on straight. Nose-to-the-grindstone. Tenacity was her talent. "You get that from me," Sarah always told her , with a wink. "Don't let anyone keep you from going where you want to go."

Rachel lived by that mantra. She heard her mom's voice on-repeat in her head most days, almost to the point where it became a riddle she was fixated on. Even if she didn't quite know where she wanted to go nowadays, she knew where she didn't want to be...and that had to count for something, right?

And if she worked hard enough and kept focused, maybe one day she'd look around and realize she'd found home- and was living her life- again. She had to keep faith that it would happen.

With a sigh, she circled the numbers at the top of her page.

55. 124.

Tomorrow it would be 54 and 123. Nose-to-the-grindstone, like Mom would say.

So each day was filled with tasks, and goals. Things like- Tutoring Club. Which was why she was sitting in Senora Lopez's classroom at 3:21 PM, organizing her notes and waiting to see if anyone would come before her "shift" ended at 3:30 PM.

Thursdays were usually the slowest days, so Rachel wasn't holding her breath.

"Assemblies are so stupid," said a voice just outside the door. "Nothing worse than a bunch of Student Council nerds trying to organize fun. As if they'd fucking know."

Rachel's eyes shot toward the open door; the speaker wasn't visible, but the comment rankled. Rebecca was on Student Council, and Rachel knew her sister worked hard on those events. They were stressful and required a lot of pre-planning.

So hearing this ungrateful boob's unsolivited opinion had Rachel's jaw clenching, feeling her temper rise to her earlobes with the need to say something-

"No," she murmured to herself, taking a breath. It wasn't worth getting worked up about. Not worth it. Nose-to-the-grindstone. She glanced at her wristwatch. 3:22 PM.

"So what are you tagged for?" asked a second voice.

"That fight with Jimenez. And the one with Breffman."

"How's his nose, by the way?"

The Assembly-Hating Asshole had a flippant tone. "No idea. Don't care. Hooked up with his girlfriend on Monday though and she said she hadn't seen him since I kicked his ass."

Rachel had heard vague gossip that some freshmen had had a pretty bloody interlude in the parking lot last week. She couldn't remember the names.

"If you keep fucking around, man, you're never gonna get on Wrestling."

"Funny you say that. Coach already approached me. I got my grades up enough. I'm on the team next September. So fuck off, Nick." Assembly-Hating Asshole sounded smug.

"Speaking of grades. You gotta go in now?" asked the second.

"Just trying to wind the clock down," said the original, assembly-hating voice. "All I need is the signature. Don't want to waste anymore time in there than I have to."

"Good luck with that."

Yes, good luck with that, Rachel thought sardonically. The rules of Tutoring Club were that if a student was ordered to participate as academic punishment, they were required to report in for a thirty-minute session. She was going to assume that Assembly-Hating Asshole was not here of his own volition and he was trying to lazy-his-way past the rules. Rachel's mouth quirked. With a big stretch of the arms, she reclined back in her desk chair, counting down. They talked for a few more minutes- mostly bitching about school and minimum GPA requirements for playing sports- and talking about girls. Rachel felt a migraine brewing. How much game could fucking freshmen have?

The way these two talked, you'd figure they were true Casanovas. They bragged endlessly about their conquests- some in explicit detail which had Rachel rearing back with buzzing disgust, and others with such hyperbole that she was afraid she was going to puncture her bottom lip with her own teeth from trying to contain her laughter. Rachel figured only about 25% of what they said was true.

Again. Freshmen.

God, her ribs were going to be so sore after this. "You're killin' me," she murmured, trying to restrain her grin. She couldn't wait to see one of these punks.

At 3:24 PM, a guy loped in. He had shaggy dark hair, and was surprisingly tall for a freshman. When he pushed his hair out of the way, and she caught sight of his face, she suddenly was second-guessing if he was a freshman. His face had softness to it, but his eyes were hard. Freshmen didn't usually look so caustic.

He dropped himself into the chair opposite of her. Immediately, a crumpled little sheet of paper was foisted onto the table. Green, defiant eyes met hers.

"Hey."

"Hello," she said in a bright, patronizing tone.

His eyes dropped to the crumpled paper. She raised her brows when he pointedly looked back at her.

"So. I need a signature," Asshole said.

"Oh. Is this an academic consequence session?" she asked blithely.

"Yeah."

She gestured to the crumpled pink sheet. She'd be damned if she was going to uncrumple it.

After a second, and with a hard pause, the Asshole smoothed it flat. The name PAUL LAHOTE was at the top, with Recommended Subjects: English, Geometry typed below that. Reason: Pre-Q, A833, Policy Violation 12, 13, 17. 30 Minute Minimum Required. A signature from the Front Office's guidance counselor. Finally, on the very bottom, a blank space for her signature and date/time log.

She didn't recognize the policies listed. Probably had to do with the fighting, or just general bad grades that could prohibit his Wrestling prospects. Lahote also was a vaguely familiar name, but she didn't know why. And she certainly didn't recognize him. She didn't exactly keep names logged for miscreants and underachievers.

"Oh, shoot. Paul, is it?"

"Yeah."

"I hate to say it, Paul but- it's 3:27." She tapped her watch. "I close up shop at 3:30."

His green eyes narrowed. "Okay? So you have three minutes. Plenty of time. I'm smart enough to get the gist of it. Tutor me."

"I'd be happy to. But I won't be able to sign off. See this little bit here?" she pointed to the text with her index finger. "Thirty minutes are required. And I don't have enough time."

There was a pause, where Paul was eyeing her thoughtfully. He probably sensed a little bit of glee in her voice. She decided not to hide it any longer. She smiled at him fully.

He looked a bit taken aback at her full smile. Probably confused as all get-out.

"Well- I won't tell anyone if you just sign it," he said, trying to recover. "Our little secret."

"Oh, no. I don't break the rules." She glanced down at her watch again. "It's 3:28. Fridays are off for Tutoring Club, but someone else will be here on Monday. Best to come right after school. And you can choose which subject you'd like to delve into. Bring whatever book it is you're working on in English or bring your Geometry notes."

His face gradually shifted to one of annoyance and disgust at her tone. "'Suppose it's no good trying to convince you to break the rules, just this once?" he asked tonelessly.

"Nope."

"You really aren't gonna sign my paper," he stated, rather than asked.

"Nope," she enunciated.

"You're that into this club?"

She shrugged, picking her backpack up off the floor, and never breaking eye contact.

"Wow." His face turned thunderous. He rose from his seat.

Rachel rose from hers.

"You're a fucking weirdo," he hissed. "What the hell is your problem?"

"I don't like people who try to cheat the system," she told him honestly. "I also didn't like what you said out in the hall about the Assembly."

His expression turned guarded. "Why? You on the Student Council or something?"

"No, but my sister is, and she works hard to make those events good. It's unfair when people shit all over someone's hard work." Her eyes were stern. "Especially when you don't really seem to know much about hard work yourself."

"You don't know shit about me," he snarled.

"I'm figuring out plenty," she replied.

"Oh, Miss Perfect knows everything." His jaw tightened- and for a second, Rachel had a glimpse of what his features might mature into. Hard, cutting jawline to go with hard, cutting eyes. He looked ready to throw the desk between them to the side.

"Your temper tantrums don't scare me. I know why you're in here in the first place." Not exactly true- the Front Office purposefully used vague codes on paperwork to protect student privacy, but he didn't know that. She pulled her cargo jacket on, and shook her head to dislodge her ponytail from the collar.

"Just sign the fucking form, Rachel."

Surprised, she asked, "You know me?"

"Everybody knows Miss Perfect. Chief's daughter." He studied her with a critical eye, and ran his tongue over his teeth with disdain. "Thinks she's too good for this place."

A little twitch of outrage curled through her chest. "You don't know shit about me," she said, hurling the words back at him.

"I've been on this Rez for three years," he told her, expression relaxing from one of rage to snideness, as he obviously thought he got the upperhand. "And I have ears. Twin golden sisters. Golden son. Chief's a lucky guy, except for the whole dead wife thing."

Her mouth popped open. "Wh-what did you-" Nobody had ever been that callous. That direct. She wasn't sure what to do with it. It didn't hurt- it was a fact, actually- but it was shocking all the same.

Paul jerked his chin up. Somewhere between acknowledgment and challenge. "Dead mom. That sucks."

"Yeah, it really fucking does." Rachel stomped out of Senora's classroom, affronted and - confused?

"My mom's out of the picture, too." Paul was right behind her, pink slip crumpled in his fist. "Not dead though. Might as well be. She doesn't want anything to do with me. If she were dead at least, well...then there'd be a good reason that she left me with my dad." His voice took on a weird quality that had her stopping to turn and look back at him.

It was easier to dislike this guy when he was just the boastful douchebag in the hall, inadvertently insulting her twin sister. Was he manipulating her?

"Don't like your dad?" she asked noncommittally.

"Hate the bastard." His tone was frank and acidic. "I'm sure you've heard of him, what with your dad being Chief."

Oh, duh. Yes, that's why Lahote rang a bell. Randy Lahote was, in short, the town drunk. There were plenty around here who had booze or drug problems, sure, but Randy was the one who got into fights at the bars in Forks and would fall asleep in odd, embarrassing places like the cart corral at the Grocery store. Billy had had a few conversations with him. Charlie Swan had booked him overnight a few times. Never did any good.

She thought she also remembered something about him getting violent at home a couple times, to the point where neighbors called her dad at late hours, concerned about "that little boy of his."

Rachel swallowed, not sure what to do with any of these puzzle pieces.

"I was with my mom for a little while, doing the back and forth thing. Then after a year, she decided it was better- to just have me fuck off entirely." Paul's shoulders were set back, and for a second, she saw the reality of him. A fourteen-year-old kid, whose dickhead attitude was residual of hiding from an overturned home-life.

She could relate. She didn't become a dickhead, per say, but she could identify with the need to get away. At least she channeled it into productivity, into achievement. She channeled it with the intent to get out. He channeled his into violence and temper tantrums.

But then again, she at least had Rebecca and Jacob to lean on. And her dad, who wanted the best for her and was a good guiding hand. He was a parent.

She studied Paul. From the sound of it, Paul...was alone. Isolated and without siblings or a real parent, from the sounds of it.

Attention-seeking. That's what it was. His temper tantrums. His bragging about girls.

And really...what was she? Endless schedule-stuffing, wracking up accolades to get her full-ride to WSU. There'd be times- in the night, shoulder-to-shoulder with Rebecca- that she sobbed out the reality of her actions: attention-seeking, because it might help fill the void of needing Mom's approval but never able to get it because she was gone. She always hoped it would bring her down from this rootless suspension that she'd been hurled into.

Rachel assessed him from head-to-toe pensively. The dirty shoes. The scuffed up, thinning jeans. A faded t-shirt that looked a bit small on the growing frame of a teenage boy. A young face with chub still on the cheeks, and softness still on a jaw that would soon melt away. A true adolescent, stuck in-between childhood and adulthood but belonging in neither. The challenging green eyes with anger lurking at the edges. And something else that probably would make her cry if she looked too hard and too long.

So she reached forward, instead, and yanked the pink slip out of his hand. She grabbed the pen from her coat pocket, and jammed the clicker down. "Turn around, please."

He did so immediately. She flattened the paper against his back, scrawling her signature across the bottom.

When he turned around, Rachel handed him the paper with a somber expression.

"Thanks," he said, in a quiet, hesitant voice.

"You're welcome." She swallowed, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm sorry to hear about- your mom."

"Yours too." A beat, then he changed his manner entirely, to scoff, "I don't need your pity though. Don't go around telling people that you felt bad for me or something, and played the Good Samaritan or some shit."

She heaved a sigh. "Right. You could just tell people you actually got tutored."

He laughed mockingly.

"Well, just tell your buddies you manipulated me then and got what you wanted." A thought occurred, forcing her to bite out, "And don't you dare say you seduced me or something. I heard you and your buddy in the hall- I'll seriously sabotage your grades and ensure you'll never be on the Wrestling team if you go around spreading sexual lies about me, got it?"

In a totally mortifying, pride-wounding move- Paul's whole face shot stark. "Seriously? You- with you? No, I wouldn't do that. You're not my type."

"Well, that's lucky then." Rachel chuckled stiffly, offended but not sure why. She sure as hell wasn't into arrogant freshmen babies. "Could've been a little more chill in that answer but it's a relief all the same."

After a second, Paul added, "No offense," but his lip was still curled as if repulsed.

"Seriously?" Her brow puckered. "Fix your face. I just got your ass out of a probably very-needed-tutoring session. A little gratitude would be awesome."

"Sorry." He ruffled his shaggy hair. "I'll only say it once. Thank you, Rachel."

"Fine by me." She looked at this opprobrious, sulky freshman. The damage was already done. She had a sort of...soft spot for him. Fuck. "Goodbye, Paul."

"Bye, Rachel."

TWO YEARS LATER - JULY 11, 2005

Paul hated his dad, hated his fucking life.

And he hated that he loved the taste of beer.

There was nothing more terrifying than enjoying the very thing that had fucked up everything since the day he was born- his parents' marriage, his dad's job, his homelife on the whole. And yet here he was, enjoying it like it wasn't fucking evil, and like he didn't know it.

He took another swig. This was his second bottle, and he knew he had to stop after this.

A mental image of his dad assailed him, eyes blood-shot and resentful, loping into the house in the early hours of the morning after being dropped off by a police car.

This would be the last bottle of the night. It had to be.

"Paul." His name broke through his morose reverie. He jerked his eyes up to the speaker, irritated. Around him, the sounds of partying teenagers suddenly came back full-force.

"What?"

Ashley Lodge stood before him, dressed in denim shorts and an oversized blue tank-top. A bottle of beer was in her hand. "It's been awhile."

He considered her for a minute before letting one of his flirty smiles curl his mouth. "It has been. You look hot."

"Same. I almost don't recognize you," she teased.

Ashley had been his first, at the beginning of freshman year. She was a year ahead, and had "liked his scrappy bravado." He'd been all too eager when a pretty girl had offered to let him grope her, to kiss her and only a few short weeks later, fuck her. It started a bit of a bad habit, because Paul loved having sex...but she had taught him an important lesson early on, which was to make boundaries clear before anything happened. Don't expect to stay friends, don't expect to date.

Not that he'd wanted to date Ashley, but there was some semblance of chivalry, he supposed, when he approached her the next day and asked if they were together.

The look on her face made him realize, oops, no. Wrong track of thought. The pressure for chivalry was put to rest forevermore.

So that was a good learning experience. And having lost his virginity opened up a world of confidence that had him fearlessly approaching girls even in ninth grade, letalone the years following. Paul loved the physical release of sex, and was seemingly charmed when it came to avoiding any partners who tried to imbue it with meaning other than physical. Those types seemed to avoid him instinctively, and the fun-seeking girls got to enjoy him at their leisure.

"Congrats on Graduation. I heard you're doing Grays Harbor," he said, trying to sound conversational but mostly distracted by Ashley's chest. Her breasts stood out in his memory with remarkable clarity. The first pair he'd ever seen in-the-flesh and been able to enjoy.

"I am," she said, flirtation coloring her voice further. She seemed to notice his attention, and wriggled her torso minutely in response. "Staying with Ashley Nordey from Forks. Remember her? We got an apartment close to campus."

"Aww, two Ashleys," he acknowledged, grin a bit feral. He'd fucked Ashley Nordey this past year, after a party just like this. "She's a nice chick."

"I looooove her," Ashley Lodge gushed. "Like, we have so much in common."

Paul's grin widened. "You really do."

"Which of us was better, you little pervert?" she asked with a loud laugh, finally putting the fact out there.

"Little?" Paul was 6'0. He didn't often get called little. Even his dad didn't come around to push him around as much anymore, ever since his junior year growth spurt. Paul hoped senior year would give him another inch, too, just for the hell of it.

"Bad choice of words," she conceded with a purr. Her eyes dropped to pointedly stare at his groin.

"I suppose I'd have to relive the experience to really give a qualified opinion, Ash."

"Aww. I don't get bonus points from being the first?"

"It's a head-start but doesn't guarantee any title," he replied suavely.

"Guess I'll have to do a repeat performance then." Her smile was seductive. "I'm actually excited to try you out again, now that you've got a few more inches on you. Any other surprise inches I should be aware of?"

"You'll have to wait and see, I guess."

She grinned, then with a wink, sashayed away.

One thing Paul was thankful for, was that he pretty much entirely looked like his mother. With the exception of his unusual eye color (which was Randy's only genetic input), Paul was the Xerox'd, masculine version of Gina Lahote- from the shape of his eyes, to his cheekbones, to his jawline and hair texture. Gina was a handsome woman, and so her features morphed onto the frame of a male guaranteed that Paul would never worry about his looks. He knew what people said about him. Even adults in the community would point out what a handsome guy he was, though they usually followed it up with the fact that he was a brawling, temperamental mess. Oh well. Couldn't check every box, right?

He was just glad that the eyes were his only resemblance to Randy He'd been on the receiving end of rants before, where Randy had drunkenly accused Paul of being "some fucker's bastard kid that your bitch mother stuck me with." The first time Randy said that was when Paul was eleven, and had officially been passed off to his custodial parent. He cried for a while after that, but after hearing it five or six more times since...didn't even phase him. Hell, half the time he wondered if he was Randy's kid.

Unlikely, because of the stupid fucking eye color, but a guy could dream, right?

He looked down at the bottle of beer in his hand, and, with a sudden flash of annoyance, decided he was done. He chucked it into a waste basket about ten feet away. It clanked and shattered in the depths of the metal can.

The action startled the group standing closest to it. A couple of girls squealed in surprise. "Watch it, buddy!" said one of the guys.

"Eat me, kid."

"Hey!"

Oh for fuck's sake. Paul gave a long-suffering sigh, but the frustration that always flickered under his skin was heating up at the prospect of someone to fight with. Summer was the best time to get some of his aggression out, because there was no threat of being suspended from the Wrestling team.

"What, dude? You got a problem?" Paul asked, using his most acidic, instigating tone.

"Yeah, you're crazy, man." The kid stepped aside from the group, and Paul got a better look at him. Long hair, a loose-fitting button-up over a scrawny frame. The kind of kid Paul could pound to smithereens in thirty seconds. The scrawny kid said, "Don't throw shit. If you can't handle your booze then you shouldn't be here."

The fucking nerve. Paul wasn't even drunk. No, Paul was just livid from this kid's presumptuousness. "Who are you to tell me where I can or can't be? And what do you know about my goddamn booze tolerance? Fuck off, ass-wipe."

"Jake, c'mon," said one of the guys next to him. "He's drunk. Forget him."

"I'm not drunk, you moron," he snarled at the other guy. He was starting to piece it together. The long-haired kid was Jacob Black; the other kid was Quil Ateara. Fucking assuming he was drunk? What, 'cause he was a Lahote? Figured. He hated this fucking place. Anger was burning hot, like flames on the side of his face. He changed his tone, pitching it up to croon, "Aww, two Council babies out partying. Do your parents know where you little kiddy-winks even are?"

Quil rolled his eyes, but Jacob smiled with one side of his mouth, mockingly. "I don't know- do yours? Would they even care?"

A cheap goddamn shot. His temper rose to immediate inferno, his vision tunneling into one pinpoint of focus while his body moved forward. He was on Jacob in a second, grabbing his shoulders and pinning him to the ground and about to just fucking pound the little weasel-

"Get off of him, now!" a voice cut through, commanding. Both Paul and Jacob froze.

Sam Uley stood about ten feet away, back to the woods. He wore nothing but a pair of cut-offs. He'd just appeared from there, like some kind of weird, super-buff night-walker. Paul knew he was only 19, but he looked like he was almost thirty. That change had been recent, among other things.

Sam had always been a pretty serious guy, but before he'd still seemed like a normal young guy.

Now, Sam seemed the opposite of young. He didn't seem old, even. He seemed ancient. Like, older than Old Quil Ateara, who was like 80. Sam's gaze had taken on...something, that rendered him just as wizened.

It was weird.

Almost as weird as him just standing there, face stern and imperious.

There was quiet for a moment.

"Get off of him," he repeated.

Paul stayed over Jake, fist still curled into the fabric of his shirt, for another beat or two. Then, with a weird sense of obligation trickling through his anger, straightening his rational mind...Paul decided to move off.

"You got lucky," he snapped at Jacob as he freed him.

"Asshole," the younger guy murmured, sitting up from the dirt.

"What are you doing here, Sam?" asked Quil Ateara, looking spooked.

"I was passing through. Council business." Sam replied, vaguely. His dark, assessing eyes flitted between Paul, Jake and Quil.

"You- you're not gonna tell the Council about this, right?" asked Quil, holding his beer with a death-grip. Paul scoffed. Pussy. But Paul, too, waited for Sam's answer.

After a long pause, Sam answered, "No. But petty violence isn't going to be tolerated, so learn to keep yourselves under-control."

"Yes, dad," Paul said sarcastically.

Ignoring him, Sam looked at Jacob. "Your sister is here. I thought I'd warn you and tell you to get your act together before she finds you."

Jacob immediately looked chagrined, dusting his clothes off hastily. "Oh, hell. Which sister?"

The moment the question was off Jacob's lips, he got his answer from the girl herself: "It's Rachel," came the announcement from somewhere to Paul's left. Having just emerged from the crowd, Rachel Black was bee-lining it toward her brother, face pinched with censure.

Rachel was as pretty as Paul remembered. She wasn't hot, per say- not in the way Ashley Lodge or Ashely Nordey was- but she had this confidence about her that made her attractive in a softly ferocious kind of way. A confident woman, in-control of herself.

That was partly what was so mystifying and attractive about her, he figured...self-control didn't always come easily to him, so maybe he found that admirable in her.

Conversely, he knew she wasn't a total dictator. She'd gotten him out of a tough spot before. She had been generous enough to give him a break, to be cool about it. "A break" wasn't something he often got from others, so it wasn't a memory he could easily shake.

Only a few weeks after meeting her, he watched her give her Graduation speech. The principal fawned all over her as she handed Rachel her diploma, oozing into the microphone about how Rachel had won the highest value full-ride scholarship in the history of LPHS, and began listing off everything Rachel had ever done to apparently deserve this almighty honor.

However. While normally he'd be bitter and mocking of such theatrics over a stupid thing like a college scholarship...well, he begrudgingly felt proud to hear about what she'd earned. There was a part of him that realized...she was getting out of this place, and going places. He wished he could do the same, actually.

At least someone had a happy ending coming their way. Might as well be Rachel Black.

Weird girl, and not his type, but he liked her all the same.

Now, admiring her in the low lights of this shitty high school party, he couldn't help but reiterate...she was pretty. Her black, thick hair and softly curved dark eyebrows. Her figure wasn't something he'd noticed before, but two years away at college had done her good...or, two years of growing up suddenly had his hormones perking up. She was trim and fairly straight in her figure- small hips, small shoulders. Not much of an ass or boobs, but willowy in a graceful kind of way. He swallowed, his eyes going back to her profile. She had a really great profile. How the hell was she related to Jacob?

"Rachel!" Jacob said, attempting an expression of welcome, but failing miserably. He looked sickly guilty. "Hi! I didn't know you were coming to the party-"

"I came to collect you. You too, Quil. I called your mom and she thought you both were at our house." Paul watched as Rachel crossed to stand in front of the younger guys. "I didn't blow your secret but I'm sure as hell not going to sit around while you guys get trashed. You're underage. If Dad finds out, you're in major trouble. Imagine if the cops bust this place? Do you know how bad that looks on us?"

"C'mon Rach-"

"Quil. Don't even." She shook her head, stance the same as it was when she was reprimanding Paul a few years ago. "I'm serious."

Speaking of serious...Paul squinted into the dark, trying to find Sam Uley, but he was nowhere to be seen. Back to wandering the woods on behalf of the Council, he guessed sardonically.

"Everybody's here, Rach," Quil tried again. "We're just doing what literally everyone else is doing-"

Rachel cast a dismissive look at the general crowd dancing thirty feet away, at the couples hooking up in lawn chairs, at the small groups goading each other into guzzling more alcohol. She didn't spare a glance back at Paul, not even one, before she answered, "Whatever. You're not everybody else. You two have family reputations to uphold. Think of how this would reflect on-"

Paul groaned loudly. "Good God, girl. No wonder they need a drink. Listening to you nag...damn. It's not that big of a fucking deal."

She whipped around, her brown eyes gleaming with something delicious and unnerving. "What did you say?" she asked sharply.

"You're waaay over-inflating this. They're just some dumb high schoolers, and the Council is just a bunch of geriatrics. People like you are the ones who make stress out of nothing. Learn to let your hair down a little bit and you'll find nobody actually gives a shit."

Rachel looked aghast at his words, so Paul - feeling a little bit powerful? Excited? - goaded, "Aren't you at college? Didn't you learn how to have fun while you were away?"

She squinted at him. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

His temper bloomed a bit, but he forced himself to mute it. Breathe in through the nostrils. She didn't remember him?

"Paul Lahote."

"Oh, great." She made a demonstrative groaning sound, turning back to Jake. "Just get in the car, you two, please? I don't want to fight."

Paul thought the boys would try to argue, but both acquiesced immediately to her request. He found himself thinking- again- that there was something about Rachel that he really liked, even when her behavior should've left him with an aneurysm.

She turned around again, looking at him with an unreadable expression. He stared hard into her eyes for a moment.

"Are you doing okay?" she asked him coolly.

"Fine as you'd expect." His jaw clenched. "You?"

"Fine as you'd expect." He wasn't sure if she realized, but her gaze flitted up and down his body before she said, "Stay out of trouble, Paul."

Even after she left, Paul felt unsettled- like there was something else that could've been said, or should've been said, but he couldn't figure out what it was. The feeling lingered with him for days.

He didn't see her again that summer.

THE NEXT YEAR - OCTOBER 12, 2005

Life changed forever.

He'd been angrier than ever before in his life; his mood swings were worse. He hated how his dad looked at him, how his dad would growl accusations under his whiskey-breath about Paul plugging up on steroids. He said Paul was one-step away from being an addict, just like the old man, and who the fuck did Paul think he was, and you listen here you little shit it doesn't matter how big you get you're still the little pain in the ass you've always been and don't you turn away when I'm talking to you, you gotta learn some manners you ungrateful bastard-

Paul exploded.

Literally exploded.

Unimaginable pain, but worse than any fight he'd ever had at school. Worse than the first time his dad had swung a fist at his chin when he was fourteen. Worse than all of those combined.

He was heaving, his bones shattered but renewed, and he was on all fours, his breath felt hot and shaking-

And his dad was staring at him with abject terror in his green eyes. He stumbled backward- tripped over one of the overturned chairs in the kitchen. He jumped to his feet, then ran.

Literally ran out the back door.

Paul began to scream, a primal rage that had been building for a lifetime.

Only...it came out as a howl.

- Paul. It's Sam Uley. Stay where you are. Everything will be okay. I'm nearby. A voice thundered through Paul's mind, like a hand surfacing from below the tide of a rolling, angry sea.

Paul could only scream louder, throwing his body toward the same door his dad had just run out of, but he didn't fit- he crashed against the doorframe, a dull pressure reverberating through his already aching body, and the wood of the doorframe actually cracked so Paul overcompensated and jerked to the right, but that splintered the other side of the door frame and caused the screendoor's latch to actually dent, just from him, from his body, from whatever was happening-

He was too big. Too big.

Fur down his arms, no hands. Paws.

Claws.

Pain. Too great.

Too big, too great.

A thought struck with perfect, dreadful clarity: Paul was, in fact, the monster he'd always feared he could be. But this was worse than even his father.

A true monster.

He snarled at the thought, at the sudden onslaught of memories: of his mother, in the last few days before she abandoned him forever here in Washington with his father, of his dad shoving him against the glass of the shower door in the bathroom one night, pointing out water spots left behind from his shower and telling Paul what an ingrate he was, of his mom's Christmas and birthday cards that just sort of stopped.

He threw himself into the woods only feet from his house, raking out gigantic paws against bark, letting lethal claws peel the very skin off the trees as he raged. His senses were going haywire. He heard birds flipping out all around him, the incessant caws and thunderous flapping of wings. Twigs and underbush snapped as all wildlife nustled nearby fled from the creature in their midst.

He was a monster. That's why he was discarded. That what all his life was building to: he was, and always had been, a monster.

- Paul, I'm here.

Paul looked around wildly, catching sight of a huge black wolf only ten feet away.

The only thought that occurred was: Sam?

- You aren't a monster, Paul.

- Look at me!

- You're a protector, Paul. You're one of our legends come to life, and our Tribe will look to you with nothing but respect, once you have mastered this.

Yeah, life changed forever.

A/N: I hope this was a good start! Do you guys like it? Is it worth continuing? Do I have my friends from the Jared/Kim sector of the fandom back over here? I hope so! Please let me know what you think.