Chapter 4 - Smells Like Teen Spirit

It's funny; usually I'm complaining that the weekend goes too fast. Hell, everyone does that, right? We work our way through the week, living for the final bell to ring at two in the afternoon. However, this weekend is different. I can't wait for it to be over. I actually want to go to school. My body buzzes with nervous energy, unsure of what exactly to expect. Even if outwardly it doesn't seem like things are changing, inside I know that they are.

I get to school early Monday morning. Whenever I drive in with Lauren and Jess, I make it there seconds before homeroom starts, skirting in as the door's closing. Not today. Today I'm flying solo because I have a mission. A note is in my hand, palmed where no one can see. It's my little secret, holding two words: thank you. I figure it's enough to get the message across, one that Emmett will know is from me. Walking down the same hall is so different than it was Friday afternoon. I'm barely aware of anyone moving around me. My sole purpose is to make it to locker 346 and push this note through the metal slats without running into any of my regular crew.

Saturday morning I'd called Roy. The king of the text message was a little thrown. For as long as we'd been together, we were never really a phone type of couple. Not like my friends, anyway. But I called and as gently as I could, explained that I didn't want to meet him. Not for coffee, not for anything. He was less hostile than he'd been at the party, and I could tell that he was still at Mike's, probably sleeping off his hangover.

Truth be told, he just grunted and hung up, which I took to mean "okay." I guess meeting up with me wasn't as important as he thought the previous night. But who was I to fault him? My perception had changed dramatically from the time I'd spent at Newt's to the next morning.

That afternoon, I'd gone over to the DAR to volunteer for bingo, making small talk with Mrs. Jenks and Mrs. Connelly and the other regulars that I'd gotten to know since I'd started volunteering there. My mom had been an active member for as long as I could remember, serving as the chair of philanthropy and fundraising, and while it had always been expected that I'd put in time when I was old enough, I'd managed to find my own place there. I doubt my mom imagined that her daughter would call out bingo numbers of all things, much less enjoy it, but it was something I looked forward to every weekend that they needed me.

I spent most of my time there on Saturday distracted, though. I was thinking about Emmett, about Friday night. I mentally tried to gather all of the information I knew about him, but it wasn't enough. I wanted to know more. So when I got home, I went immediately to my closet to find my yearbooks. I pulled out every one I had, from seventh grade on. I cringed at some of the photographs chosen, not just because of what we were wearing (what were we wearing?), but from a photography aspect, too. Some were fantastic, but most were mediocre at best. Not that you're a professional, Rosalie.

Wearing Emmett's hoodie and surrounded by class pictures, autograph books, and yearbooks (green and gold for middle school, red and white for high school, all embossed with my name on the front cover), I settled onto the floor of my bedroom.

And I stalked the past.

I skipped the lower grades, the class pictures and the autograph books that we used early on in life, before yearbooks came into play. Prior to the rezoning, Emmett and I weren't in the same school anyway. So I started from the oldest, thumbing through the pages until I landed on the one that held his face. It was then that I realized that he'd signed by his picture, probably when we passed our yearbooks around during the final days of school. I hadn't asked him to since we didn't really talk, but things were different then. Middle school had been more all-inclusive than high school.

It was a short message, Killer spike, and his name, the E and the Mc strong, with the rest of the letters scribbled. I smile now, thinking about how I nearly took Edward's head off with the volleyball during gym class when he was probably staring at Bella. Selfishly, I wished there was more to the message, more of an indication of what made seventh grade Emmett tick. However, I was a little surprised that he'd remembered my volleyball skills from the beginning of the year enough to write anything at all.

Maybe it was because I'd nearly decapitated his best friend? Or maybe…

Maybe.

I wondered if I had signed his yearbook. What had I said? Did I just sign my name, making the dots on the i's into flowers as a totally (not) clever ode to the nickname I'd been given in elementary school?

I knew his picture wouldn't be in the next yearbook, but I still searched for his face and name among the other eighth graders, my fingers trailing over the other M's. There was no space between Carmen Martinez and James Mercer, but I still noticed the gap.

Emmett McCarty disappeared in eighth grade.

Or at least it seemed like he did. We all came back from summer vacation, tan and bored in only the way that kids without any responsibilities can be. We were still bitching about homework and school, though. It seems laughable now, given how insane my schedule got once I hit high school.

But Emmett didn't come back. I remember the empty seat next to Edward at lunch that first day and the rest of the week. A week turned into a month and then the entire school year passed without Emmett. I heard through the middle school grapevine that he'd gone to live with his dad in Port Angeles, but I didn't know why. Edward didn't given me a reason the one time I asked when passing his front yard on my way to Jess's house. I'd said it so casually - "so, where'd Emmett go?" - but I remember even now how all the blood rushed to my head and my heart. Edward had just shrugged, equally casual as he dribbled a soccer ball across the grass. I knew he knew exactly where Emmett had gone and why, but apparently it hadn't been his story to tell.

When Emmett showed up again, it was three weeks into our freshman year at Forks High School and a month into my relationship with Roy. He and I had spent all summer together, and not just together with our friends, like it always had been. We were together together, just the two of us. He was cute and our parents had always been good friends, so they didn't put up too much of a fuss when we wanted to go to the mall or a movie. He acted so cool at first, like he didn't care, but the tips of his ears always went red when he talked to me or looked at me. And when he held my hand as we walked down the hallways at our new school, it was like it was supposed to be.

But then I'd seen Emmett walking down the hall with Edward, laughing like he hadn't been gone for the past year, taller and tanner and god, so cute and my heart pounded like it never had with Roy, not even when he kissed me for the first time. When Emmett passed by us, his eyes flicked down to Roy's fingers threaded through mine before moving up to my face. And then he looked past me. Even at fourteen, still so new to relationships and boys, I felt like I had lost something important.

My loss was every other freshman girl's gain, though. I wasn't the only one who noticed how much he'd grown while he was gone. I kept secret tabs on girls he dated over the years, the ones that he took to dances, who wrote his jersey number on their cheeks and wooed for him at football games.

I shake my head, pulling out of the memory to focus on the task at hand. The note is folded into one of those mini versions of an origami fortune teller, without the numbers or colors for guessing. It's not as overt as the 88s the girls who are part of the Emmett fan club sport on their face for the pep rally later today, but it's my way of reaching out. My way of saying that in no way, shape or form did I forget any part of Friday night, including when he called me beautiful.

I didn't sign my name to the note. I just hope he'll know, because somehow, in our all too brief interactions with each other, he seemed to get it. He seemed to get me.

Glancing around the corridor, there are a good number of people around. Neither his regular crew nor mine are in the immediate area, though, so I flatten the note as far as it will go. It easily slides into the locker. I hear it land on the books inside, which is all the reassurance I need before walking the few feet to my own locker.

Back to where I belong.

Back to where I'm expected to be.

And not a moment too soon.

I hear them before I see them, their voices carrying around the corner. I busy myself, turning the last digit of my combo and flinging the door open to make it look like I'd been there for a few minutes.

"Posie! Where the hell were you hiding all weekend?" Lauren demands, and we're right back where we started, except now she's wearing her cheerleading uniform.

Jess leans against the locker next to mine. In her hand my camera dangles from the strap. "I believe this belongs to you, darling."

"Thanks for keeping it safe, Jess. Sorry I was MIA. Homework and family stuff. You know."

They accept my excuse at face value, not bothering to ask more questions. Their acceptance makes me feeling like a grade A asshole. These are my best friends; why don't I just tell them what happened?

I just... don't.

Lauren checks out my outfit before threading a red ribbon through my hair. "I'm surprised you aren't all decked out in your red and white for the pep rally. Where's your school spirit, Hale?"

Truth be told, I'd been so wrapped up in back stalking and dreaming of Emmett's words while sleeping in his hoodie (I'm pathetic, I'm fully cognizant of this fact), I'd forgotten about the pep rally altogether until I walked into the school. Not to mention that when I scrolled through my phone to maybe call Edward on Saturday to possibly hear Emmett in the background, I found that he'd taken the liberty to add his own number to my phone sometime the night before.

Right there, nestled above Crowley and Cullen... Creep. First name, Weirdo.

I'd smiled when I saw it and kept going back to it, looking at the seven digits and memorizing the number. That's not to say I called him. I could have. And I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But everything that I thought of sounded stupid - practiced and rehearsed and just plain stupid. So rather than sounding stupid, I wrote him a note. When weighing the options of stupidity, this seemed like the least stupid way to go.

Of course, this is before I feel him, his eyes boring into mine as he walks down the hall, exuding the quiet confidence that I don't possess. He's headed toward the very locker holding the (now stupid) note that I dropped in there. I give a low groan, wondering if I can fit inside my own. Just climb in there and shut the door, hide out for the rest of the day. Now that I see him, I don't know exactly what to do with myself and that simple thank you I wrote sounds...

Well, you know.

Lauren is talking to me about something - what to have for lunch or how she heard the teachers are voting for Homecoming court this week (the teachers chose the Homecoming court based on student leaders and who they deem worthy, as opposed to Prom, which is all based on popularity), which means court will be announced next week. For all I know, she's telling me how to solve the country's economic crisis. It's all white noise. All of my energy is focused on Emmett, while acting like none of my energy is focused on Emmett. He's opening his locker now, pulling the door toward him. It's only a matter of time until he sees that folded-up piece of paper.

My cheeks are hot and I duck my head, pretending to dig around for my Calc book so Jess and Lauren won't see. If they do, they'll know something's up.

This is my secret still. I want to keep him close. Maybe it's also that I don't know what else to do, what I want this to be.

"...Your boobs are way too big for strapless, Stan. Did you seriously learn nothing from Prom?" Lauren is saying. Her fingernails tap against the locker next to mine, an unconscious habit. She always does it while she's waiting.

"Whatever, like nips slips are so rare in this day and age."

My attention slides back to Emmett. I watch him through gaps between the bodies separating us. He's wearing his football jersey with jeans and white sneakers as scuffed as the linoleum beneath them. I can see the ever-present baseball hat sticking out of the back pocket of his pants, the muscles in his forearm move as he - shit shit shit, he's unfolding my note. I want to run away and get closer at the same time. I can't look away. It takes him half a second to read it and my heart starts pounding when the corner of his mouth pulls up.

And then we do that thing where you're staring at someone, thinking you're being sly, that they'll never look your way. But suddenly his eyes dart to me and I'm caught in his gaze for a split second, tethered by this crazy electricity. It moves through me even after I look away, which is immediately, and I have to bite my lip to keep from making some sort of noise.

What is he thinking? That it's dumb? It's dumb, of course it is. It's a note that just says thank you. What does that mean, thank you? I'm not even sure they're the words I wanted to say, although I can't really think of what else I could have said, not now.

Not yet.

"Rosalie!" Jess practically bellows in my ear.

"What?" I whirl around, my heart dropping and then rebounding at lightning speed. I'm startled and annoyed at being interrupted in my gawking, so I come off bitchier than I intended. She and Lauren exchange a look, then turn back to me, eyebrows in their hairline. "What is it?" I repeat, calm and placid, clearing my throat primly.

Lauren gives me a dry smile. "There's this thing called homeroom we're supposed to go to. Not sure if you're familiar with the practice."

I turn to Jess. "Aw, Mallo's trying out sarcasm."

"It's precious," Jess clucks, reaching out to pinch Lauren's cheek. She smacks Jess' hand away, rolling her eyes.

"Well, I'm going," she says, walking backwards. People make a path for her, which is a good thing considering she isn't watching where she's going at all. "You two slackers have fun. See you in English."

"She calls us slackers yet doesn't have an AP class anywhere on her schedule," I muse as she strolls away. Tyler finds her halfway down the hall and slings an arm around her shoulder, pulling her around the corner. I can hear her laughter even over the buzz of voices.

Jess turns to me, her expression serious as she tucks back the ribbon that's wrapped through my hair. "You okay? You seem a little... I don't know. You seem a bit out of it. Is it because of that douchebag, Roy?"

It seems like cheating to not only rely on the Roy excuse but to also let him take the fall and be referred to as a douchebag, as Jess so delicately put it. My out-of-it-ness has absolutely nothing to do with Roy. I briefly think about confiding in Jess, pulling her to the side (you know, somewhere that doesn't include Emmett standing five feet from us) and telling her exactly what happened. But god, how would that go over? My prediction: not so well. She doesn't exactly err on the understanding side when it comes to high school politics, even if she is a bit gentler than Lauren.

"Um, Rosalie?" A quiet voice interrupts us. Jess looks annoyed, but I'm grateful. I turn to see Angela Weber hovering nearby, seeming almost nervous to come closer. Even though we're in a few classes together, I don't know her very well. She's always been quiet, has kept to herself.

Then again, so have I with people I don't know. People in glass houses...

"Oh, hey Angela." I smile warmly, trying to make her feel comfortable.

"Do you have a minute? I have a question." Jess raises her eyebrows at me, obviously wondering what Angela Weber could possibly have to ask me. Really, it's sort of bitchy. "It's about the school paper," Angela clarifies. I know she's caught Jess' look and feels the need to clarify that it's "business" related, although it's not necessarily my business. I've never really had much to do with the school paper other than answer random student polls or give quotes about the honor society.

"I'm gonna go, Posie." Jess hitches a thumb in the direction of her homeroom. "Have fun," she tacks on, as though I'll be having anything but.

"Later, Stan," I say, quick and dismissive, hoping to convey how annoyed I am with the attitude she's putting out. I turn my attention back to Angela, who's standing there silently. I can still see Emmett over her shoulder, sort of half-frowning at me. What does that mean? "What's up, Angela?"

She launches into her spiel and I can tell by the way she's talking that she's rehearsed this. "Well, I was talking to Bella on the way in to school today." She pauses and looks concerned. "You know Bella, right? Bella Swan? Edward's Bella?"

"I know who Bella is, Angela," I say with a quiet smile, hoping that it puts her at ease.

"Right, well, I was talking to her and mentioned that Marcus, who usually takes pictures during the pep rallies, is sick today. And normally, I would cover for him but I'm supposed to write an article about the rally. So she mentioned that she knew you took pictures because, like, she's seen you with your camera and sometimes in the photo lab." She gestures to my camera, which is still in my hand. "And I see you that you have your camera with you. So basically, I was wondering..." she trails off hopefully, asking without actually saying the words.

"If I'd take pictures at the pep rally?" I prompt her. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Emmett, leaning against his closed locker, listening to the entire conversation. He's nodding absentmindedly at something Alice is talking about, but his eyes are on me, raising goose bumps on my arms.

"Yes! I mean, if you're not busy with anything else."

Being involved with the paper and yearbook is something I've always considered but haven't ever done due to my required commitments. Now the opportunity is presenting itself without any strings attached. I can help out this once, and if I don't like it, I'll be done.

I nod once, resolving to do something for myself, something I want to do. "Sure, I'll help out."

"Wonderful," Angela breathes out and pulls a page from her notebook - it's all the shots they're hoping to get. I glance at it quickly with her, then promise to meet her a few minutes before the pep rally to talk about where I can stand to get the best pictures. With that, the second bell rings and she scurries off.

The halls are clearing, students filing to the rooms they belong in. I place my camera at the top of my bag and start walking toward my own, taking my time since my homeroom teacher occasionally runs late herself.

Making an attempt at casual, I flip my ponytail over my shoulder, trying to get a glimpse, a mental snapshot of Emmett.

Only to find him a few paces behind me.

He's got this lazy grin on his face, a book and spiral notebook clutched in one hand, and I slow my pace until we're actually walking together. He looks sideways at me, something I notice he does a lot, but doesn't say anything.

"What?" I ask finally. The hallway's nearly empty now, save for a few stragglers running for their classrooms.

He raises an eyebrow. "What?"

I raise mine back and his smile widens. "Are you following me?"

"Do you want me to follow you?"

"Do you always answer questions with questions?"

"No." He flashes his dimples, obviously fully aware of his charm. I let out a delicate snort, trying not to show how it affects me when he's this close, or by the fact that we're walking together. There's really no one around and it's not like we're doing anything crazy like making out in the middle of the hallway, but my heart's still pounding.

Actually, now it's pounding harder thinking about making out with him.

"Earth to Rosalie." Emmett waves his hand in front of my face.

Dammit, he's been talking and I've been thinking about what it would feel like to kiss him. Even the thought makes my knees weak, which has never happened from a kiss or anything else, much less from the possibility of one.

"Sorry, what?"

Emmett smirks like he somehow knows what I was thinking. "I said, you're going to take pictures at the pep rally?"

"Following me and listening in on my conversations?" I shoot back, trying to get back on even playing ground. "Wow, you're right, you are a creep, Creep." His laugh, low and almost intimate, washes over me. "Angela seemed like she was in a bind and I've got my camera here, so...no big deal."

"It's really cool, though, that you're helping her out," he replies.

I look over at him and see the small grin pulling at the corners of his mouth. Maybe I've just gotten too used to my friends' attitudes regarding things they deem unworthy of our time, because his compliment and the earnest tone of his voice catch me off-guard. It also makes me feel as warm as the smile he's wearing.

"I want to do it," I say with an honesty that almost surprises me.

"And here I am thinking you're being selfless," he teases. His dimples deepen as he shoots me a sly look.

I laugh. "I was being maybe eighty percent selfless." He's still looking at me with that small, soft grin, and it's so distracting that I almost walk right past my homeroom. "Oh, uh, this is my stop." I hitch my thumb toward the open door, then raise an eyebrow. "I guess I'll see you later?"

He nods once, murmuring under his breath, "You can count on it."

It's almost embarrassing to admit how much I do.

xoxo

Gyms smell awful. They just do. No one's ever walked into a gym and said, "Wow, it smells good in here." There's that lingering smell of old sweat that never quite goes away.

Add in the entire student body and all the teachers and it's just a cacophony of stink rather than sound, although the sounds currently coming from the gym could be described as cacophonous as well. The band is warming up and random cheerleaders' voices ring out with shouts of "Go Spartans!" Lauren's voice is louder than the rest when she yells, "Go Tyler!"

Jess and I both quit cheering before high school, but Lauren has always loved it and became co-captain during our junior year. Bossing around the girls on the squad is the perfect leadership role for her.

"Oh, there's Mike!" Jess links her arm through mine and starts steering us in his direction. "Come on, Posie."

Somewhere along the way, Jess stopped referring to him as Newt. She simply calls him Mike now, or Michael when she's feeling especially mature. She's only Stan to him in group settings. When she sleeps over and they talk on the phone at night (we can always hear them, cell phones do nothing for privacy), it's always Jess or Jessi. Secretly, I've always envied that simple show of closeness between them. It was a place Roy and I never got to.

My eyes jump around the room, searching for Angela. I don't see her, so I figure I have a few minutes before I need to set up. We get to where Mike is milling around with a few of the other football players. My blood is racing, skin tingling, at the thought of seeing Emmett again. He isn't in the cluster of football players, and I try to focus on my friends instead of spending the entire time I'm talking to them looking around, distracted.

I don't know most of the guys on the team that well, so it's weird standing amongst them, not really knowing what to say. I'm uncomfortable in my skin, a stranger trying to act familiar. The discomfort comes and goes, but it's in situations like this that I feel it the most.

There's a jarring blast of music followed by a hiss of feedback, adding to the mess of sounds and scaring me half to death. The techies scramble to fix it quickly. Jess doesn't even notice; she's too busy bouncing next to Mike, bopping her head and lip syncing to the rap song now being pumped through the PA system. I don't say anything. I just stand there with my camera in one hand and the other on my hip. My eyes search the crowd, secretly seeking out Emmett while pretending like this isn't completely awkward. Jess looks over her shoulder at me, grinning with her hand wrapped around Mike's bicep. She's at home in any kind of party atmosphere, even when it's school-sponsored and alcohol isn't involved. Give her danceable music and a crowd and she's happy.

I'm the odd woman out of our little clique, I guess. Lauren and Jess live to socialize and do so effortlessly, no matter where we are or whom we're with. I've never been able to do that. Honestly, nothing makes me more irritable than being surrounded by people I don't know, particularly in loud, noisy situations. I'm decidedly out of my element right now.

It must be written all over my face. My thoughts are a jumble of this music sucks and it's getting hot in here and where the hell is Emmett? James Mercer strolls by me, his jersey pristine because he rarely gets off the bench. He smiles as he passes, probably not realizing that it looks more like a leer. The smile I try for comes out feeling (and probably looking) like an awkward facial tic, but I don't have the patience to pretend. I barely know the guy anyway.

His eyes narrow as he mutters, "Such a bitch."

I'm standing right here, ass, I think, but I don't say anything. I've heard it enough that the word "bitch" doesn't hurt, not from someone who hasn't taken the time to get to know me well enough to learn it's not true. I'm not even sure he knows what my face looks like; his eyes are almost always focused on my chest. If he calls me a bitch now, I'd love to know what he'd call me if I said what I think every time he looks at me: "My eyes are up here, asshole."

When I look to my left, Emmett is suddenly there, standing not five feet away with Jasper. He's got his arms crossed - god, his biceps - staring James down. James is completely oblivious as he pushes past Emmett to exchange some stupid boy handshake with Laurent. Emmett's gaze shifts to me briefly and he shakes his head back and forth, just once. It's quick; anyone else would think he was answering Jasper, but I know it's for me.

He's telling me he knows that I'm not. It's a reiteration of what he said in Edward's yard and now, in this context, it means that much more.

I catch sight of Angela, a small notebook in her hand, talking to Bella and Edward, who's wearing his soccer jersey. Jess is still talking to Mike, so I lean over and give her a peck on the cheek. "Stan, I'll see you later. Have fun, Newt."

Mike is bobbing his head in time with the music, too. They really make quite a pair. "Later, Pose. Don't forget, my house after the game. Celebrating our win and my arrival into this world eighteen years ago."

"Not until next Thursday," Jess reminds him, giving me a look like, can you believe this guy? Mike's parents are in Seattle for the night, but won't be out of town again for a couple of weeks. He takes every opportunity they're away to throw a party, but this one will probably be a rager given the extra reason for celebration. Sometimes I wonder if his parents know what he does when they're away, but the house is always cleaned up by the time they get back. Besides, they raised his brother and sister before him; at this point I think as long as Mike doesn't knock Jess up or get arrested, he's on a pretty long leash.

Mike throws her an indulgent smile, and then points at me sternly. "Win. Birthday bash. Be there."

I choose to ignore the party comment since I'll be cutting out of there early. No need to tell them that. "I love how you say win like it's a done deal," I say instead.

"Well, it is."

Jess grabs my hand. "Wait, where are you going?"

I blink, holding up my camera. I told her and Lauren about this in English. They'd exchanged a pretty pointed look, so I know it sunk in. "Pictures, remember?"

"Right." She drags out the word. Now it's my turn to give her a look. She winces and then smiles, more genuine. Sometimes all it takes is the bitch brow to pull her back from Stan, the girl who cares about appearances and what's cool, to Jess, who supports her best friend no matter what. "Hey, all right, Posie. See you later?"

"Yep, later," I say shortly.

The gym is packed with students, so I have to push my way to Angela. She's alone now and is clearly relieved to see me. She launches immediately into where I should stand, reminding me of the shots she'd like me to get. I let her talk; nodding with what I hope is an encouraging smile on my face. I can't help thinking of the look on her face when I walked up. It's obvious she was afraid I'd bail out on our arrangement. I wonder briefly why she didn't just seek me out, but then I think of Jess and Mike and the group we were surrounded by. I think about my own discomfort being in the middle of it. I can't imagine how Angela would feel having to approach us, especially after the not so warm welcome Jess gave her earlier.

Regardless, I'm here now and the anticipation that has been growing since she asked me to help out is back in full force now that I've distanced myself from my friends, now that I'm on my own.

Pep rallies and overt displays of school spirit aren't really my thing, but through my camera lens I see things differently. Watching the world through the viewfinder gives me a new perspective. I sit cross-legged on the gym floor in front of the first row of bleachers, blocking everything beyond my little square inch of sight.

Seeking out a test shot, I find Bella and Edward, just before she pulls her hand from his, their faces close as they lean together. A quiet moment amidst the chaos. And then, it's on. I snap shots of Principal Greene at the podium in the middle of the floor, of Coaches Clapp and Berty and the football and soccer teams behind them, ready for a brand-new season. I get Lauren, pom poms resting on her hips, an exhilarated smile on her face, her cheeks tattooed with red and white Spartans. I get a cluster of freshman sitting on the bleachers not far away, a little scared and kind of in awe, and laugh to myself. I so remember that feeling. Hell, I still get that feeling sometimes, and I'm at the top of the high school food chain.

Through the lens of my camera, I lose track of space and time. Everything's happening around me, but thanks to my official role as memory-capturer, I don't have to take part in them. The cheerleaders lead the student body and teachers in chants while I continuously snap pictures, relieving me from the requisite answer to their call. Each varsity player is announced, soccer first, football team last.

I see them line up near the end of the gym. They're ready to burst through giant sheets of paper the cheerleaders and the dance squad made with the player's names and numbers, one for offense and another for defense. Some of the students have those annoying clapper things. I swear the guy sitting behind me is clapping it directly next to my ear. I scoot forward, attempting to not only get away from him but to get a little closer to the gym floor, where I know Emmett will be soon enough.

Coach Clapp has the microphone and he's doing his very best announcer voice to introduce each player. It's all very let's get ready to rumbleeeeeee."Next up, we have number 88. Emmett McCarty, tight end."

"Yeah, he does!" Kate, Tanya, and Charlotte shout back. This is their "thing" - they do it always. Every. Single. Time.

Usually, I just roll my eyes. Now? It pisses me off.

Emmett jogs toward center court, raising his hand to the crowd, hamming it up all along the way. I busy myself with my camera, taking shot after shot. I'm pretty much staring him down, using my camera to save me from total creeper status. I can see him scanning the crowd and when he finds me, he points and winks.

Yeah, that's the money shot. He also just about made my heart leap out of my chest. I hope it's not too obvious. God, it probably is.

It takes a ridiculous amount of effort to swing my camera back to capture the last introductions instead of keeping it on Emmett, but I have a job to finish. I'm sure Angela would be less than impressed if the majority of my shots were focused on one player instead of all of them.

After what feels like forever, the rally wraps up. Students head for the doors leading to the parking lot, but I hang back to chat with Angela for a few minutes. I show her a few of the pictures on the preview screen, then get her email so I can weed through the shots and send the best along to her. She thanks me profusely and I assure her that it wasn't a big deal. I actually liked it.

A lot.

Before heading out to the senior lot, I run back to my locker to grab the books I need for homework. Of course, my locker is in the complete opposite direction of both the gym and the parking lot, because that's just the way things work in my world. Spinning the dial on my combination, I pop the locker open, only to have a note fall out. I catch it before it hits the ground.

It's folded plainly, in quarters. Jess and Lauren usually decorate the outside with flowers, but this is just a small slip of paper, no extras. I hastily open it, eager to read what it holds.

Your welcome.

Really? Really? I still have the pen in my hand from when I scribbled Angela's email address on a sheet of paper. Grabbing the same piece of paper, I tear off half and write:

"It's you're. Do you need an English tutor? Maybe I could help you with that."

When I walk past 346, I slide it into the slats without hesitation.

The hall near the gym is quiet now; most everyone is outside in the parking lot. Someone's bass pumps faintly through the glass doors, but other than that, it's quiet. Just as I'm making my way past the gymnasium doors, they swing open and Emmett, Jasper and a few of the other guys from the team walk out.

He and Jasper exchange a look and he hangs back until he's walking next to me.

"God, you're everywhere these days, huh?" I tease him. It feels natural, easy, and I realize it's getting easier every time we talk. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth unconsciously.

"I've always been here, Rosalie. Maybe you're just noticing me now."

My answer is quiet, but the sentiment is not. "No, I noticed you before, too."

He smiles, but doesn't say anything for a moment. Hesitance flashes in his eyes before his hand rises up to my ponytail. "Hold still a minute."

"What? Do I have more grass in there or something?" I try to make a joke, to sound nonchalant, but my voice trembles slightly. If he notices, he doesn't show it. He just pulls his hand away with a small smile. I see the red ribbon dangling from it and I look up at him, questioningly.

"I'm just taking a piece of you. For good luck," he answers quietly, making my heart flip flop. I swear, being near him must be putting stress on the old ticker. It's constantly doing acrobatics in there.

We're nearing the door to the lot and I know that I'll be heading in one direction while he goes in a different one. I have to do something. "Give me your hand."

"What?" He looks between us, down at our hands, and I can tell I'm sending the wrong message.

I stop, pulling him off to the side. "Let me see your hand, Creep."

He silently holds his hand out, biting his lip and smiling. I take it in my own, keeping it still as I write my cell number on it. His fingers are long, his palm warm. I want to trace the little lines along it, memorize all of them. There's something about his hand that makes me want to take it, hold on to it, refuse to let go. I've never been much of a hand-holder, but Emmett's are made for it. I don't know if it's how big they are, how they'd make mine feel small and enveloped. Or maybe it's just that they're attached to him.

I think it's entirely possible I'm becoming attached, too. The more time I spend with him, even in these tiny increments, the more I want to know about him. It's not just that he's gorgeous, that he has a smile that turns me inside out. There's still so much to learn about who he is.

"There, now you have my number, too," I say quietly. My heart is going crazy, pounding hard and fast, but not out of nervousness. I'm exhilarated by what I've just done and especially by the goofy grin on his face.

"I'll never wash this hand again, Hale," he teases with a dramatic sigh, then bats his ridiculously long eyelashes for good measure.

I still haven't let go of his hand. I don't want to, but it'll probably get awkward if I don't. I ghost my thumb lightly over his palm, just to remember how warm it is, before releasing him.

"Well, at least wait until my number is in a safer place. I wouldn't want you to lose it."

His voice is low, his eyes fixed on me. "Not a chance."

That look makes me flush, makes me want to grab his hand again. Instead I throw him what I hope is a confident smile and turn on my heel. I don't look back, but I can feel him watching me as I walk away.

It's the second time today I've done something I wanted to do, something that's just for me. It feels good. Ridiculously good. In the scheme of things, it's small, but somehow I get the feeling it's these small steps that might lead me in a new direction.

Maybe even in the right one.

Your reviews, alerts and favorites mean so much to us. We've been pinching ourselves, and each other 'cause it feels good. Thanks for the support! Thanks also to these awesome people: Jan and H, our wonderful betas, and V and JD, our full-support bra. ;)

Hey, so if you want to talk to us, we hang out on Twitter. Come find us at HotMessica. We're posting visual inspiration (particularly of our Emmett, who is extremely yum), teasers...all kinds of good stuff!

Also - we're aware that Forks colors aren't red and white. But well... since it's fiction, we decided to shake it up a bit and change things. Wild and crazy, we are.

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