Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I own some very strange word association, pencil-buns, Vans poetry, and a bunch of yeahs.

Prereader: _ss77_, Dinx Betas: Perrymaxed, Mac214

Playlist: Innocence by Avril Lavigne, Smile by Uncle Kracker

Chapter 13: The Day Masen Goes to Not-Prom

They say Arizona sunsets are stunning, and they're right . . . whoever they are. I've never seen anything like it before. My mother and I used to sit and watch the day turn into night when I lived in Seattle. I haven't done it for a long time, but now that I spend most of my nights with Masen, I watch the sun go down all the time. It's nice that May nights here are beautiful too – cool but not cold.

Or maybe I just think everything is beautiful because I'm with Masen. Who knows?

We sit on the swings at the park adjacent to The Wedge, watching the deep reds and oranges bleed into one another. I brought Masen some dinner and stole him from his skating buddies. He didn't seem to mind. In fact, his eyes lit up when he realized I made him tacos with homemade peach salsa. I'm starting to love it here, so I figured I should learn some southwestern recipes. And anytime I get to feed Masen is a plus. Masen finishes his last bite and throws his trash away. When he returns, he pushes me for a bit. He's silent behind me except for the occasional apple or yeah whispered in my ear when I swing back toward him.

After several teasing pushes, I plant my feet and turn to face him. He pulls me to him by the chains. Once there I wrap my legs around him and let the swing fall away.

"Well, hi," he says, smile wide.

"Hi, yourself."

He pokes me in my side, and I giggle, then give his neck a raspberry. We're so lame. Much lamer than I would've expected. Oh, well.

He shakes his head as he walks us to a bench before plopping me down.

He stands between my legs and shoves his hands into his pockets. I stare at his feet, which seem to be fighting for the same spot on the ground. They overlap, one on top of the other. His brows are furrowed like he's in deep thought. He's quiet tonight—too quiet. Like before quiet.

"Hey, what's going on?" I pull him closer by his belt loops.

"Alec's taking Melanie to prom . . . and Tyler's got his eyes on this junior." I wait while he figures out what else he's going to say. He clearly wants to say something. "Angela and Embry are doing something, not sure what exactly . . . do you—if you want . . . we can—I'll figure something out to pay for it."

"Masen?"

"Hmm?" He's not looking at me; his gaze is fixed on a father chasing after his son.

"I'm not a prom person."

"Oh, okay, I . . ." He fidgets, fingers wiggling in his pockets. It looks kind of silly, actually.

"Hey," I say, drawing him down by the hem of his shirt. I kiss him gently, and he sits beside me, legs wide, head in his hands. "I'm serious. I don't really dance. I would for you, in fact, I have, but I don't—I don't really care about that stuff. I'd rather hang out with you doing nothing than get all dressed up for the prom."

"Yeah?" He peeks up, eyes full of concern.

"Yeah."

"Okay."

"So what's Angela doing?"

"Oh, some not-prom thing, I guess."

"Well, can we crash that?"

Masen shrugs. I'm sure we can. Angela loves company. I'll ask her tomorrow.

Masen still looks so forlorn, the frown on his beautiful face making me want to do something to get rid of it. I lean in and place a delicate kiss on his neck. He wraps his arm around me, and I settle into his side, kissing him again. He's spicy and sweet from the peach salsa and so delicious. I do my best to convince him with my tongue that I really don't care about prom. I think I've succeeded, but when I pull away he slumps slightly, resting his head on the arm of the bench.

I tug him up by the forearm, placing his head in my lap to run my fingers through his hair. He faces my stomach and kisses my belly button through the thin cotton fabric of my shirt. "Thank you . . . for understanding."

"I don't even want to go. Really." We're quiet for a minute, and he strokes his hand up and down my ribcage. "Hey, you're missing the sunset," I say, scratching his scalp.

"Don't care. You're all warm and sunsetty. Don't need it."

"Okay." I watch the sun sink behind the mountain on my own, sort of. It's bittersweet to think I have a limited number of sunsets left with Masen. I vow to see as many as I can with him until he's gone.

-MD-

Of course Angela is ecstatic about double dating with us for our prom thingamabob. Her exuberance was such that she dubbed it "Not-Prom" after I quoted Masen. She even made us glitter glue invitations. God love her.

She forced me to go shopping at a vintage thrift shop. We decided to go sort of retro, and I found a soft white dress that's modest yet pretty.

I observe Angela twirl around in front of the large mirror, blowing kisses at herself. She's so ridiculous but beautiful nonetheless. She looks like a pinup girl in her blue dress with white polka dots. I have a feeling Masen and I will be watching Angela and Embry smooch some more. What else is new?

As she changes, we talk. She's been such a good sounding board lately.

"So what's the latest news about California?" She unzips her dress as I stand facing the corner. I've never felt comfortable in situations like this, but Angela has no qualms about me being in here. In fact, she dragged me in, claiming she wouldn't be able to hear me on the other side of the thick velvet curtain.

"No news. We don't talk about it."

"Masen not talking? Shocker."

"I know. I want to . . . I don't know . . . discuss it—options, I mean."

"You want him to stay? Wait, is he even open to options?" I turn to face her as she smoothes her shirt down. "Right, how would you know if he's not talking? Well, I hate to say it, but you might just need to bite the bullet and have it out."

"I've never—we've never done that before. What if it turns into a fight?"

"First fights are important. They sort of set the precedent. Just do it fast, like ripping off a Band-Aid."

"I'm not sure I can do anything fast with Masen."

"Ooh, let's hope not."

"You're so gross."

"You're gross." She sits and pulls on her boots, lacing them up. "Really, though, is there someone here he can stay with?"

"Well, I'm not sure, but I have a few ideas."

"You should tell him, and tell him why you want him to stay. The why is just as important as the how."

"It just feels so selfish. How can I ask him to stay? What does he have here worth staying for?"

Angela stands and wraps me in her arms, squeezing me. She pushes me back by the shoulders and flicks my forehead. "You're as stupid as he is sometimes. That boy loves you. You take care of him in so many ways. You feed him, you cuddle him, you make sure he's having fun. He's never had any of that before. Not really. I don't think, anyway." She fixes her hair in the mirror and touches up her lipstick. She catches my eyes in the reflection and adds, "And don't just cast aside what I've said because I know. I know pre-Bella Masen. He was quiet and lonely and hurt and bored. You've already made an impact on his life, and you could make an impact on his future. That may be by asking him to stay. Regardless of where he ends up—here or there—he's going to love you forever."

I nod and bite my lip, thinking about her words. Maybe she's right. Maybe he would stay for me. But how could I ask him to? And how could we make it work?

"You have to tell him what you're thinking, what you're feeling. You can't let him just leave without ever saying anything. You'll regret it the rest of your life."

"How'd you get so smart?"

"I hate to admit it, but being with Embry has taught me a lot."

I laugh, and she flicks me again. This time on the ear.

"Don't tell him that."

"Never," I say as we exit the dressing room, arms linked.

-MD-

The day of Not-Prom Masen and I ditch class, sitting outside G Hall. I'm in his lap sharing a cookie with him while he talks about his final writing project for Ms. Robinson. I haven't even thought about mine. We're supposed to write about where we'll be in ten years. The topic is too painful—and I honestly don't know where I'll be in ten years—so I've been putting it off. Masen, however, is really excited about it. He has a master plan—one that doesn't include me, sadly. I'm trying to listen, but my attention is elsewhere. My discussion with Angela has been haunting me. I know I have to say some things to Masen, but it's pretty terrifying to even think about. Even so, I find the courage to get my thoughts out in the open when he's finished sharing his ideas for his essay.

"Masen?"

He's not really looking at me, focusing on some birds that just flew away.

"Have you considered all your options?" I finish off the last bit of cookie and wipe the crumbs off my hands.

"What options? For my future?" he asks, making eye contact. I'm too scared to clarify just yet, so I let him continue. "I already know what I want to study. Art. You know that."

"No, I meant moving to California. Have you considered staying . . . staying here with someone other than your parents, I mean?" I look away. I'm prepared for him leaving. At least, I said I was initially, but now I'm not so sure. All I know is I just want him around . . . all the time. And if he goes to California . . .

He lets out a long exhale and places his hands on my hips. "There's no one really . . ."

"What about Tyler?" I run my fingers up and down his chest, trying to keep him calm while we talk.

"What about him?"

"You've stayed there before, could you . . . I mean, stay there, like, really stay there?"

"I can't—I don't really—it's not his job to give me a place to stay." He drops his hands from my hips onto the pavement and looks out into the passageway, eyes scanning the dead grass and trash. He's pulled away, and we've just begun talking. This is not going well.

"Well, what about Embry? His mom and brother adore you."

"They barely know me. They wouldn't understand why I'd need . . . and they—full house, I don't think . . ."

"Okay, but Tyler knows, right?"

"I can't . . . just impose like that, and I wouldn't—it's not—I don't . . . " He turns his gaze back on me, eyes locked with mine. "Can we . . . I can't talk about this. Please . . ."

"I'm sorry, I just—"

"It's fine." His tone is that of a man who's surrendered. I hate that I've done that to him, and I hate those words. I wish he would just tell me what he really wants to say, but I can't blame him. I'm not doing any better. I can't seem to tell him that I even want him to stay to begin with. In fact, I just sound like I'm telling him his idea sucks, which is not at all how I feel. I just think there are other ways he can get away from his parents that don't include moving to another state and leaving me behind.

"I'm just trying to help."

"I know, but it took me a long time to make this decision. I've already made plans with Alice, and it's . . . I just want to enjoy the time we have while we have it, don't you?"

"Yes . . . I mean, yeah." I take his cue and decide to back off. He's not ready to talk about this, and I guess I'm not either. I wrap my arms around his neck and snuggle into his chest, breathing in his scent—cinnamon and chocolate for the moment.

He kisses me, then helps me up and walks me to my next class. We share a sweet kiss but part without words. It's unsettling. Even though I'm used to Masen's silence, this is different. I don't think he's mad, but I've certainly made him uncomfortable.

I feel like if we're going to figure something out—an alternative to him moving to California—then now's the time. But I didn't really do a good job of leading the conversation. I only got as far as sharing my plan with him. When that didn't go so well, he shut down and I shut down, choosing not to tell him how much I need him here, how much I want him here. He seemed so determined though, so anxious to get out of here. How can I express to him how much I love him and want him to stay without sounding callous and naïve? I've never pretended to know a lot about what goes on in his home, or any broken home. He's shared some things with me, but, on the whole, I'm ignorant to it.

I may be the product of a broken marriage, but I was raised in a good home by a good mother. She may be a bit self-centered, but she was never neglectful and always loving. I know I can't comprehend what it must be like for Masen to live in an abusive environment. He's probably itching to get out. What I do know is we'll miss each other. We're in love, and if we can find a way to be together that works for both of us, then we should do it. We have to sift through our options, or—as Angela said—we will regret it. I will regret it.

I promise myself when the time is right I'll tell Masen exactly how I feel—I love him, I want to be with him, and I want him to stay.

When English rolls around, Masen's in better spirits, and we pass his notebook back and forth, making plans for the night. At one point he scribbles a random note which reads, "You do help. Every day." It makes me feel so much better. And I'm proud of myself that I tried to get Masen to think of other options. It's a start, at least.

The day rolls by fast after English, and before I know it I'm at home, dressed and ready, waiting for Masen. Despite my emotional day, I'm really excited to go out with Masen tonight. We deserve to have some fun.

He arrives at my home at six, looking so cute in jeans and a corduroy jacket.

"Hi," I say, unable to keep the embarrassing smile off my face since he dressed up for me. Wearing that jacket in this Arizona heat must be uncomfortable for him.

"Hey, what's with . . ." He points to my face, looking goofy himself.

"You look really cute." I smooth my hands over his lapels and give him a gentle kiss. My dad clears his throat. Oops.

"What time will you be back?" Dad asks.

"Angela has a lot of plans, but no later than one, I'd guess."

Dad nods his head, but keeps his eyes on Masen, who looks a bit nervous now. They haven't had a whole lot of interaction, and it's been fleeting at that. Hi's and bye's really, so this should be interesting.

"My daughter's pretty, isn't she?"

"Yes, sir," Masen says quietly.

"You'd better tell her that before the night is over. You know the best way to tell her?" Dad gives Masen a minute to think it over, then says, "You use words—only words."

Masen rubs his hand over his neck and nods. Dad is so insane. Why doesn't he just come out with a shotgun and say, "Don't make me a granddad!"?

"Okay," I say, clapping my hands. "We gotta get goin'."

Masen takes my hand, and we walk to the door. He opens it when Dad says, "Bella?" I turn to look at him, but keep my hand in Masen's. "You look great, kiddo."

"Thanks, Dad," I say softly before Masen pulls me into the night.

-MD-

I drive since he has no car—and no license, for that matter—which is fine. I don't mind. Masen's eyes are on my red flats, hands wringing in his lap. I'm not sure what that's about, but his nervous energy is freaking me out. I reach out and take his hand, so he'll knock it off. It has an immediate calming effect as he runs his opposite hand up and down my arm.

"He's right." Masen's voice is a little too loud for the inside of the car.

"What?" I ask, laughing.

"You—I mean . . ." He runs a hand through his short hair and returns it to my skin. "You look very pretty. Very."

"Oh." It's all I can say because, holy hell, how sweet is he?

I beam the rest of the way to the restaurant where we'll meet Angela and Embry.

Embry's mom works in Tempe at The Pointe, a swank hotel for snowbirds and business types that want a scenic view of the desert without the hassle of Phoenix traffic. She finagled a discounted dinner for us.

We pull up to the restaurant, and Masen tugs at my hand, pulling me his direction, so I can't exit my own door. It's odd, but whatever. Wherever Masen wants to go, I'll go. He hops out and puts his hands on my waist, lifting me out of the car. He sets me down slowly, eyes sweeping over my face as he flexes his hands against me. They're deliciously warm, and I want—

Masen pulls me into an intense kiss, tongue and teeth and heat and wow . . . he can really kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck and yank him toward me, so we're pressed together, the rough corduroy of his jacket against the bare skin of my arms is enticing. He drags his lips slowly over my own in a lingering, belly-tugging kiss before we separate.

"Mmm, hmm," I say, making no sense.

"Yeah. I—really wanted to do that. Sorry about, um, your lips." He grins, looking not the slightest bit apologetic.

I turn to peek in the side mirror of the truck, and my red lipstick is smeared a bit. I fix it, but part of me wants to leave it to show Angela and Embry we can have a good time too even though we don't display it. I tuck my curled hair behind my ears and smile when I remember the earrings I bought for the special occasion. Masen hasn't noticed yet. He'll get a kick out of them, I think.

Angela and Embry are already seated and look as though they're pretending to be adults, poring over their menus. It's so them. As we get closer, I realize they're speaking in British accents. Of course.

"I say, good day, Bella," Embry says in a chipper tone.

"Hey, gov'nah," I offer in a terrible cockney accent.

Angela greets us with, "Finally you're here. Wha', did ya get trapped in the loo, ya bloody gits?"

I laugh and squeeze Masen's hand. He shakes his head at the three of us, and we sit beside our goofy friends.

We order lobster tail, crab cakes, prime rib, and roasted chicken between the four of us. The fine dining experience doesn't keep us from being teenagers, though, and we pass forks back and forth across the table to try each other's delicacies. We also can't seem to let go of the British jargon set as our precedent when we got there. Everyone's joining in the fun except Masen, who's acting shy. I have a feeling if it were just the two of us, he'd jump in without a thought.

We finish off our cheesecake with raspberry sauce, and Angela announces she has to use the bathroom before we go. I sit in the lobby beside the two boys, both looking grown up and handsome in their fancier outfits. Embry tugs at his tie and says, "I hate this bloody thing, but my woman would get sassy with me if I took it off."

"Don't you mean cheeky?" I say, maintaining the British status quo.

"She'd go mad on your arse," Masen adds, and I grin.

"Yay, I got him to do it." I cheer with a toothy smile and silently applaud.

"You did, did you? 'Bout time," Embry says, British accent gone.

"W-what?" I ask. It's one thing for Angela to ask about my sex life, but Embry? Gross.

Masen kicks his foot, and Embry oofs. "Okay, geez, just . . . I was just curious . . . sorry. I'm a guy. What can I say? Sex on the brain all the time."

I pass a look to Masen who then dips his head, fascinated with the toothpick dispenser. Angela joins us, and we go to our respective vehicles.

The short drive from the restaurant to the pool at The Pointe is fairly quiet except for Masen's fidgeting. He sure is wiggly tonight. Then a possibility occurs to me, and I have to speak up. "You know I don't expect . . . I know it's Not-Prom, but we don't have to, like . . ."

Masen shakes his head and grabs my hand. "I know. Just what he said—it, well, it's true. I think about it all the time."

"I do too." My words are as shy as Masen's smile.

"Really?" He keeps his eyes on me.

"Yeah."

"All the time?"

"Mostly . . . well, yeah."

"Say it again." He kisses my knuckle as I say Yeah, and each consecutive Yeah gets a kiss as well. I like this game.

The radio plays a quiet song about young lovers that I hum along to. As it comes to a close he leans over and kisses me just beneath my ear, whispering, "All the time, Bella, and these red apple earrings are not helping."

I smirk and swivel my head to catch his eyes; he looks so . . . naughty. I want to do something about this tension between us soon. Maybe even tonight . . . although I just said we didn't have to do that. Hmm . . .

-MD-

We all suit up in the clubhouse bathrooms, then Embry straight-up canon balls into the pool. He's such a little kid. Masen sits with his legs dangling in the water and pats the spot next to him. He watches me as I tip toe, trying not to slip on the deck, but I don't think he's worried about me. I think he's checking me out in my bikini. I don't mind.

I sit carefully beside him and dip my legs into the water too. He stares at my thighs, then his gaze moves up higher until he gets to my eyes. He reaches out and tugs lightly on my earlobe. "Not helping at all."

I shrug, playing coy and take his hand in my own, kissing his fingertips. I kind of like blatantly sexually frustrated Masen. He's fun to tease.

We eventually end up in the water and enjoy our time splashing around and playing a childish game of Marco Polo. I have such a sense of pride watching Masen let go and just have fun, knowing I'm responsible—at least, a piece of it. It's getting late, and both of us couples relegate ourselves to opposite ends of the pool. Masen and I make out with much more abandon than I thought possible with Angela and Embry so near. At least we can't hear each other, though. Angela turned on her iPod, so music fills the air around us.

I'm pressed into a corner, my legs wrapped around Masen's hips. His hands are on my thighs—gripping me tight—lips on my neck, sucking on my pool-dampened skin. I'm useless. Utterly useless. My head lulls backward as he smoothes his lips across my throat to get to the other side of my neck. What he's doing feels so good I squirm. I can't help it, but the movement is making him wriggle until he groans and dips into the water, swimming away.

Whoa. Too much.

When he comes back up for air, he squirts water at me with is fist, and I splash him back. He lunges toward me, but I attempt to hop out of the pool. He grabs my ankle before I get too far and slides me back in, trapping me once again in the corner. It's my favorite corner in the whole wide world.

Masen smirks and shakes his head.

"What?" I say.

"You better stop it."

"You stop it. I wasn't doing anything." Pure innocence.

"Mmm hmm. Tell that to your dad when he asks you about my words."

"But you have such a way with words. In fact, I love your words. I love all your words. I'd love any words you'd give me." I dip my head and kiss his neck, sliding my tongue over his skin and hooking my teeth over his choker.

"Bella," Masen says, a weak warning in his tone.

"What?" I say through clenched teeth, the leather still between them.

"Stop."

"You stop." I let go of the choker and lick his smooth neck.

"Not helping at all."

"Never said I would." I slide my hands down his chest, landing them on his hips. I tug him forward and wrap my legs around him again when we're interrupted by Embry's booming voice.

"Yo, we out. Pip pip, cherrio, and all that. A'ight?"

"See ya'." Masen's hungry eyes are fixated on mine. He doesn't even glance in Embry's direction. Wow, maybe I'm really not helping.

Angela and Embry dress and come out of the clubhouse for a quick goodbye before taking off. She leaves me her iPod, so we can have some music. It's nice.

After a good fifteen minutes of French kissing in the corner of love, we get out and dry off, wrapping our towels around our waists. An upbeat song comes on, and I tug Masen by the hand, making him follow me to a paved spot near the barbeque grills. I keep his hand in mine and start rocking it back and forth. He raises his eyebrow like I'm the biggest dork but smiles when I duck underneath his arm, twirling myself. Masen spins me again and pulls me in to dance close and proper, my hand on his chest.

We dance for several songs, enjoying our little bubble. I once thought Masen flipping pancakes was the best image ever. I was wrong. Masen in a towel doing the twist to a hip hop song is better than him flipping pancakes, even ones topped with peanut butter.

I force Masen to drive me home even though he doesn't really know what he's doing. He agrees, and we enjoy our drive on side streets in second gear. We pull over two blocks before we get to my house, so we can switch. In the process of trading seats our limbs get tangled, then our lips bump together, and we really have a nice ride in the cab of my truck. He may not be much of a driver, buthe is certainly proficient in something other than skateboarding and poetry. Not-Prom is awesome.

In our haste to get home in time for my one a.m. self-imposed curfew, we failed to change out of our swim suits. Masen keeps staring at me, then grinning when I catch him watching. In my driveway, he pulls his pants over his trunks, and I wrap my dress over my swimsuit, buttoning it up. Masen watches me do that too. His eyes are glazed over, and his lips are swollen. Making out is dangerous.

Masen walks me to my door, our hands swinging between us.

"This was fun."

"Yeah," Masen says, looking shy and staring at our hands. He tips his head up, catching my eyes, looking serious suddenly. "Can I give you a goodnight kiss?"

"Of course," I say, and he levels me with a look. "Yeah." I correct myself with a roll of my eyes.

He leans in slowly, hand reaching my waist before his lips meet mine. He kisses me like we've never kissed before: hesitantly, with tenderness, and so much freaking restraint. I don't know how he does it, but it's driving me crazy—in the best way possible.

He gives me one last, lingering kiss and shifts his weight to his heels. "Yeah," he says, but it sounds more like a sigh. I repeat the sentiment; at least, I think I do. "I should go."

"Mmm."

"But—I don't—not before . . ." He scratches his head, then tugs on my ear, smiling at my silly apple earring, no doubt. "Love you, Bella."

"I love you too." I shuffle forward and steal one last kiss—a chaste one.

"Night."

"Night, Masen."

He nods but makes no move to leave my porch. I don't care. He can stay there forever and really earn the name Porch Guy. I'll stay with him here too. We'll be teenage hobos, living off the scraps my dad will throw our way.

My dad . . . oh, no.

The thought of him on the other side of the door—or worse, watching us—freaks me out and sets me in motion. I pull his skateboard away from the wall, where it's perched and offer it to him, holding it with both hands.

Masen looks me over and groans, pulling at his hair and biting his bottom lip.

"What?" I say, laughing.

"Nothing," he says, like a big old grump. He snatches his skateboard and slaps it against the ground with a thud.

"I was just trying to—"

"Help? Yeah, you in a white dress that's kinda wet in all the right places, holding my skateboard . . . not helping. Not at all."

"Oh, sorry." I shrug. Masen's such a boy.

"And she shrugs. Lovely."

"Shut up. Go home."

"Fine, I'll go."

"Bye."

To my surprise he jumps from the porch onto the lower driveway and skates away. When he reaches the curb, I call out to him, and he comes riding back, fast. I run to him and throw myself at him. He plants one foot on the ground just in time and catches me as I wrap my legs around him and kiss him. We're wild: hands in hair, teeth, pressing against each other. It's amazing and so frigging hot. My tongue slips in his mouth when the screen door bangs open, and there's loud stomping on the porch.

"Time to say goodbye, Bella." My dad is such a killjoy.

I duck my head and grin into Masen's neck. His chest rumbles with silent laughter. I slide down his body and whisper, "Bye," before skipping up the driveway to the sounds of his skateboard clicking against the pavement.

A/N: Masen Days Extras are available on my blog: purelyamuse dot blogspot dot com. Teasers, visuals, and peeks into Masen's notebook will be posted weekly (Wednesdays) as a follow-up or sneak peek of a chapter. You can sign up for email updates or follow the blog. Enjoy!

Modernsafari1 read this chapter on a plane on Friday. She owes me dark chocolate peanut butter cups for life. Everyone here is a witness. Please remind her.

I am so grateful to each and every one of you that takes the time to share with me what this story means to you and how it impacts your day. It means so much. Thank you.

_ss77_ is pregnant and somehow manages to read this between naps and trying not to hurl. She's awesome. Dinx is my proofreader – she catches everything with her non-chicken-like eyes and pimps me any chance she gets. Perry is honest and gets me to add just that little bit more that makes a character really come to life. It's beyond action, dialogue, and internal monologues. She always knows what's missing and tells me about it. I heart her hard. Mac214 is a smartass. She kept Masen from sticking his feet in his pockets and kept Bella from twirling under Masen's eyebrow. That is all. Have a great Masenday!