A/N: So here's some more brilliance from the amazing MeraNaamJoker. Seeya on Sunday for Jake!

Chapter 6 - Bella's POV

The minute I heard the words, "explode if I sat on you right now" come out of my mouth, the part of my mind I privately referred to as Dirty B kicked in with every single double entendre she could come up with in the space of sixty seconds. Jake had mercy on me though - or maybe he was just too full to think of any body part below his waistline - and took it the way I'd intended.

A few minutes later, what was left of my mental processes came to a stammering, stuttering halt when he asked, "How come you never wrote me back?"

How come.

I.

Never wrote.

Him.

Back?

I sat with my mouth gaping open, staring blindly at the sky, my fingers frozen in his hair. My mind rabbited around in circles. I never wrote him back? I never wrote him back? He wasn't a liar or manipulative, not like that - although he used to love to lay on the guilt trip just to see me frantically backpedal and then laugh at me - so he must really have written. But why on earth would I never have gotten his letters?

"Bells?" He sat up, frowning. "Did you just go into a coma? Are you having a stroke? Say something. You're starting to freak me out. I need to know if I should get aspirin."

"I..." I began, trying to form a coherent response. "I..."

Jake was starting to look seriously worried. "B. Do something. Move."

Move.

"Oh my God. We moved."

He looked simultaneously relieved, probably because I was finally responding, and confused, probably because I was making no sense. "We... did?"

I huffed in exasperation. "No, not us, Jake, me and my mom! Right after I came back that summer. I mean, I stepped off the damn airplane and there she was telling me she had to go by the grocery store to pick up more banana boxes." Seeing his eyebrows furrow even more, I explained, "They make the best moving boxes because they have lids that slide off and... That isn't my point. Anyway, we moved the day after I came home and I bet she never filled out the forwarding address forms at the post office. Damn. That is just like her." I looked at him apologetically. "Your letters must've just gotten lost or whatever. I'm so, so sorry."

He didn't look very happy. "Yeah, but..."

I waited. When he didn't continue, I prompted, "Yeah, but what?"

Jake looked like he was eating something sour. Maybe it was just lingering dyspepsia. "You never wrote me. I mean, you had my address too."

I shook my head frantically. "No! No, I mean, I know I had it when I left but in all the rush from the move - you've never moved, so you don't know what it's like, but you lose half your life every time and if you're lucky you find it six months later, when you finally unpack the last box. Renée was so damn determined that we were going to move every piece of furniture a thousand times until the feng shui was right that I never did get a chance to fully unpack before we moved again, and... I guess I just never found it."

He still had a skeptical expression on his face. "And... you couldn't ask Charlie to give it to you? It's practically his second home. I'm pretty sure he could've rattled it off in thirty seconds."

Unable to come up with a decent response, I jerked my shoulder a little in half a shrug.

"What's that?" Jake demanded.

"What?" I was starting to feel defensive now. Seriously, wasn't it enough that he came in all soaked and gorgeous and shirt-sticking-to-amazing-body and pretending he didn't notice the effect it had on me? And then wasn't it enough that he made that crack about me taking off my shirt like he was actually interested in seeing what was - or wasn't - underneath? Just because he was ten times better looking than me didn't mean he had to get all demanding about what I did or didn't say to him.

"This." He imitated my shoulder movement. "Look, B, I don't mean to be a whiny brat about this, but I thought we were friends at the end of that summer." He paused, and when he spoke again his voice had gone so low I almost couldn't understand him. "I thought we meant something to each other. You left - " He abruptly cut himself off, started over. "You left..."

I waited once more. Again, he seemed unable to finish. The look on his face made me drop my eyes in shame and confusion. After a moment, I pulled myself out of my own turmoil and look at things from his point of view. You left. Well, of course I had, it wasn't as if I lived here... Except I had promised to keep in touch. I hadn't said, "As long as you make all the effort first."

You left.

He'd been like a younger brother to me that summer. Maybe I'd been like an older sister?

His real older sisters had left, too. So had his mom, however unwillingly.

Well, holy shit, he wasn't the only one with family issues. Together, our issues had worked to produce a perfect climate of dysfunction. I always expected guys in my life to be way less interested in me than I was in them. It was easier to pretend to everyone, including myself, that they just didn't matter all that much to me either. Now that I was grown up, I could interpret Charlie's reserved nature correctly, but when I was a kid I hadn't been able to see anything outside my own head. Which might possibly explain why I hadn't thought about how Jake would see my failure to pursue his friendship. Damn. I sucked.

"B?"

I realized I was staring into space again when Jake waved his hand in front of my face. "Yeah? Oh! Sorry. I was just... Look, this is going to sound really dumb." I took a deep breath and almost choked on it. I hated telling people the reasons behind my screw-ups. It would be so much easier to just pretend I'd meant to do whatever was wrong... but that wouldn't work here. I couldn't let Jake think I'd meant to ditch him. "I guess I just thought that if you didn't write, it meant you didn't like me as much as I liked you. You were thirteen, and I was more Rachel and Rebecca's friend before that, and I figured you were busy with school and your friends and... girlfriends..."

He laughed a little. "Girlfriends?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, you're good-looking, you must have had some girlfriends, right? Or... a lot..."

He was looking at me like I was speaking a foreign language. "Yeah. Girlfriends."

I stumbled forward down the conversational tunnel, trying to find something to make him understand. "Jake, I know I must seem flaky but you have no idea what it was like living with Renée. She's constantly flitting from interest to interest, job to job, house to house, man to man - I can't believe Phil and she have made it last this long, the guy has the patience of a saint - and I was always trying to stay just one step ahead so I could save us both from the consequences of her impulsiveness. But now here I am, I'm twenty years old and I've been so busy living her life that I don't know what to do with mine! I'm such a loser. I mean, General Studies? Really? I was supposed to be picking a major and instead I was talking my mother out of a three-month-long course in deep crystal insertion. So I never really got around to checking the pre-reqs for the majors that interested me. And then I just couldn't muster up the energy to pick something. How lame is that?"

He was laughing again, this time genuinely, shaking his head at me.

"What?" I demanded, crossing my arms and glaring.

"You're so funny. You don't need energy, you just need someone to go with you to pick up the paperwork, don't you? But you wouldn't ask because that would mean you had to admit that you never declared your major."

I gaped again. "How did... how did you..."

"B." He scooted closer, and when I met his eyes with my own the tenderness I saw there shocked me. "I know you."

"I don't know why you want to," I heard myself whimper, like a pathetic little girl instead of the grown-ass woman I pretended to be. "I can't believe I did that to you."

He shrugged, edging even closer. He was invading my personal space, and I didn't mind at all. "I could've asked Charlie to make sure I had your address right, but I was too embarrassed, so, it's not all on you. I like you. You're funny and you're beautiful, and even when I was thirteen I was just barely smart enough to know you were awesome. Now I know it even more. I have no clue why you don't know what you're good at. When you were explaining that poem, I got it. Do you know how hard it is for me to understand something that doesn't come with an owner's manual? My teachers at the tribal school will tell you: almost impossible. But you explained it to me in thirty seconds. And you loved it! You should go to grad school and get your master's in education."

I tried my best not to stare at his mouth, but it was really damn hard. "Um. Wow. That sounds pretty... I hadn't thought of that."

"Easier to plan someone else's future than my own." He shrugged again. "Especially when a lot of mine's already planned for me."

"What is your future supposed to be?" I asked, curious.

"Well... I'm supposed to go to college, but then I'm supposed to come back. A lot of times if one of us goes to college, he or she never comes back. The girls marry outside the tribe, which sucks because we have a rule that if a baby isn't born on the rez then it can't be called Quileute, so we lose a lot of potential members that way. So I have to come back or my dad'll never speak to me again. And then I'm going to be on the tribal council after my dad passes away, which hopefully won't be till I'm fifty or whatever."

Tribal council? That didn't sound promising for me. A sudden, ridiculous surge of panic fluttered in my throat. "Tribal council? Does that mean you, um, you have to marry a member of your tribe, too?" Or possibly only date her?

He laughed. "No, as long as whoever I end up with is willing to live on the rez, which is usually a tough sell. And automatically rules out a lot of non-Native chicks. But it's not like I haven't been with white girls in the past or whatever, so I guess it's a possibility."

Oh.

Well.

That made me draw back and drop my gaze to my lap. "You've been with... a lot of girls, then?"

The instant I said it, I regretted it, knowing how it sounded, but there was nothing I could do to erase the words from where they hung in the air between us.

When he spoke, I could hear him choosing his words carefully. "I wouldn't say a lot, exactly. I mean... You're older than me, so you've probably been with way more guys, right?"

I couldn't decide whether to be more upset about the "older than me" or the "way more guys." Was he saying I was an aging skank, or was he implying that if I hadn't been with a ton of men by this point that clearly I was a loser? "Define way more, Jake."

He shrugged. "You know. More than, like, ten."

Ten. Try two. I swallowed, still staring at my interlaced fingers. After a moment, I managed to croak out. "Yeah. No."

He was laughing again. "Which is it, B?"

"I haven't been with ten guys." I said it fast in a monotone.

"Oh."

He sounded shocked. I jerked my head back up and fixed him with a piercing stare. "You've been with ten girls, though, haven't you?"

His mouth opened. No sound came out for a second. At last he said sheepishly, "It's not as if I counted."

I raised an eyebrow. "You mean you lost count."

Jake gave me a deprecating look. "You've got to be kidding me. What sort of guy do you think I am? Next thing you know you're going to be asking about notches on my bedpost."

"You have notches on your bedpost?" I knew it!

"No! Holy shit, B!" He scooted close again. "Why? Does it matter to you?"

No, I just tried to pin down the sexual history of every hot guy I'd ever met. "Yes! Because... I'm just worried! About... your health. It can't be good... I mean, it's probably bad for you... Hell."

His arm went around my shoulders. Despite myself, I leaned into him and immediately felt better. I suddenly realized, no matter how screwed up my mental processes, touching Jacob was the quickest route to feeling settled. When I turned my face into his chest, I felt his heart thudding a little too fast. My arms encircled his waist. We sighed in tandem, then chuckled.

"I don't want you to think I'm an asshole like your ex," he said, voice rumbling against my ear. "I never cheated on my girlfriends - I've had three, by the way, since I was thirteen - and anybody else who slept with me, it was because that was all she wanted from me. I didn't lead anyone on and I swear I've never broken up with anyone online. Or by text. Or... whatever."

That made me feel a little better. "You don't owe me any explanations. I don't even know why I care."

"I think I know why you care."

"You... do?" I waited for it. If he called me out, I'd be forced to agree. I couldn't lie to him. Why yes, Jake, you're right. I am totally crushing on your good looks and saintly capacity for self-sacrifice. Let's make half-Quileute babies.

Admit everything was rapidly climbing my "Desirable Outcomes" list, falling only beneath Jake performs striptease while declaring undying devotion.

"Well, you know. You used to play with Rachel and Becca all the time and you probably feel like a big sister to me too, right? I know that Rachel's always on my case every time she calls. It must be an older sibling thing."

I stopped breathing. I'd been afraid of this, but I hadn't really prepared myself for the reality. Older sister proxy?

All right, Isabella. Suck it up and be honest. Tell him how you feel. This is the moment.

I tried. I even opened my mouth and attempted to say the words. But I couldn't do it. If just one thing between us was different... Oh hell. Who was I kidding? Even if he gave me an engraved invitation to the party in his pants I'd probably still be asking him for clarification on the time and date.

In the end, I agreed weakly, "Yeah. Sure. Just... another big sister. Since those two punked out on you. Need any ass-kicking? Some complaints about your slovenly habits? I'm your go-to girl."

He heaved a big sigh, but pressed into his shirt, I couldn't see his face when he replied, "Maybe later."

I had the same sick feeling in the pit of my stomach I'd experienced when I was four and let the dog out the back gate so he could make new friends. He'll never come back and it's all my own fault.

Jake kissed the top of my head. I could've cried.

The next day was a gray blur of laundry, comfort baking and The Price is Right, only briefly interrupted by a horrifying moment when I walked in on Charlie wearing only his mustache. Every single minute outside that was occupied with thoughts of Jacob. What was he doing? Or, perhaps more to the point, who was he doing? I slept restlessly that night, my dreams inhabited by hot skin pressed against mine and then me always, always, embarrassing myself into rejection. I tried to sleep in the next morning, but it was a lost cause, so I shuffled out to the mailbox instead. When I checked the interior, an envelope with a Forks postmarkcaught my eye, mostly because it was the only piece of snail mail I'd received since coming to Washington. After tossing the junk into the recycle bin and setting the bills on Charlie's armchair for inspection, I opened my letter.

It was from Jake, handwritten in his nearly illegible scrawl. B, there's something you need to know. I don't feel like a little brother about you.

Oh my God.

I never have and I never will. If you want to be friends and that's it, I'll take it because it's way better than nothing. But I can't think about you like a big sister. You're my big sisters' hot friend.

Hot? He thought I was hot?

I wanted to explain it to you, but it seems like every time we talk I end up saying the wrong thing and we end up misunderstanding each other, and I'm too chickenshit to just grab you and kiss you.

Oh my God that sounded so good.

So instead I'm enclosing this. It's... kind of evidence. Evidence of how much of a geek I was, but also evidence that this isn't the sort of thing that's going to go away. You're my standard for every girl I meet.

With a gulp, I fished in the envelope. I pulled out.. an old piece of paper? When I carefully unfolded it, though, my heart jumped into my throat. It was a letter from fourteen-year-old Jake. I looked at the date in the top right-hand corner. He'd kept writing for a year after the last time we saw each other. And then he'd kept the undeliverable results till now.

Hey Bells -

Aw. He almost never called me that now, but he'd never called me anything else that last summer. Except when I pissed him off, which was when I became Bella.

Embry and Quil want you to know that if you don't respond to this letter they're "staging an intervention." I don't know what that means exactly but I'm scared to find out. So if you don't want them to lock me up or whatever an intervention means then you'd better write me back this time.

I laughed, then clapped a hand over my mouth.

I've been working on a Rabbit. It's not a bunny though, it's a car, just so you're not wondering if I turned into a mad scientist who experiments on rodents. Quil says that with the way we've been growing it's going to look like a clown car if we ever ride in it, assuming I ever get it running, which is assuming a lot.

I giggled as I read the whole thing. From beginning to end, it was Jake, not as confident as he was now but still so funny and endearing. I'd never let anyone have a record of my correspondence from when I was fourteen. It would be too embarrassing. But here it was, a testament to his unrequited efforts to get in touch, sent over in an effort to get things straight between us. He'd basically left himself exposed to my malice or affection in the unjustified hope that I returned his feelings.

He was fucking brave.

It was time for me to develop some balls of my own. I reached for my cell phone to call him, but that wasn't enough. No, this sort of thing required face-to-face interaction. I grabbed my keys and phone, and then got into Ruby to head up to the reservation.