A/N: I don't own Twilight. Here is chapter 68 of Static, where the shift in focus changes for a moment. Warning: this chapter contains some gun violence.

Enjoy.

(In response to the most recent guest reviews:

-Emma: The baby isn't Jacob's, and there is a feature on this website where when you search for characters, you can also search for pairings as indicated by brackets. This story is listed as Bella, Jacob, Leah, Paul. The order of importance should actually be different, but as disclosed at a previous time, it was automatically put in alphabetical order. I DIDN'T put any brackets indicating pairings because I already knew things would shift around as the story progressed. It would be misleading to categorize this story as Leah x Paul when they were so on and off, and the same goes for Bella x Jacob. Also, this is my last fanfiction anyway so I'd recommend leaving now. Bye.

-Guest: That would be craaaazy. But Emmett's role in this story only exists to show Leah's attachment to Paul, among other things.

-JaneAmber: Yeah, true.

-Other Guest: Lol.

-Kadence: Bye.

-Karma: The point of this story is that nearly nothing can stay in place. Anything can be shifted just like that. That's where the irony in the title comes in. I know exactly where this story is going. Hopefully, you'll see that, too, but the story just isn't over yet.)

LXVIII.

don't act like you forgot

On the nineteenth of March, the last day of winter, Quil approached Jasper Cullen's mansion in Forks. The handgun (which Jasper had sold to him) was cold in his right hand, but he was hot with anger. For the little amount of sleep he had gotten last night, he was full of energy. The energy ran right through him, rampant and unwavering.

Game fuckin' over, Quil thought. It's over.

And he was right—at least, partly. It would all be over soon enough.

A day prior to the last day of winter, Quil met up with Jasper in the usual spot. It was late—about nine-thirty. They stood in a dark clearing in the woods near Jasper's house in Forks, but just far enough away that Quil couldn't exactly tell where he lived, but he had a good idea. They were the same age, but Quil felt that for someone who sold guns in Forks and helped run a chop shop in Port Angeles, Jasper didn't know a damn thing about being street-smart. He wasn't book-smart, either, and it was a tragedy. Quil wasn't book-smart, but at least he knew he was street-smart.

The two men were pissed at each other. They stood yards apart in the clearing with tight stances, hard faces, and closed fists.

"You need to talk to your boy Paul," Jasper said, his breath the most visible part of him out here.

"Why?" Quil asked. "He's doing everything the garage wants him to. He knows how to steal cars, and he's fucking good at it."

It was true. Paul had stolen a lot of cars for a variety of chop shops in Seattle and Los Angeles in the last few years. He didn't know anything about disassembling or assembling them, but he knew how to take them, and he was the best at it. He had stopped a while ago when he'd decided to stay in the badlands, but due to current circumstances that he said Quil didn't need to know about, Paul needed the fast cash again. He had another job—a real job—but the daytime paychecks from the Thriftway weren't cutting it. So Quil, being a good friend, had hooked Paul up with an opportunity.

"The issue isn't how he's doing it," Jasper clarified. "It's where he's doing it. It's coming a little too close to where my brother lives."

"Your brother goes to school on the east coast," Quil said.

"No, the other one. The lawyer. His neighbor's car disappeared the other night and the whole neighborhood is losing their minds over it. Dude, my sister-in-law—who is already a huge bitch—is losing her mind over it. She has a fucking baby. You know how much stress you're putting my family under?"

"Fine, then," Quil said. "Paul won't touch your brother's perfect little neighborhood anymore, but that doesn't mean he's being put out of business."

"I never said I wanted him to be."

"You gotta keep up with your end of this, though," Quil said.

"What?"

Quil narrowed his eyes. "Don't act like you forgot I saw you with Claire the other night at Eric's place."

He hadn't seen Claire around here at all since she had broken up with him in the summer, until a few nights ago, and she had been smoking weed and drinking with none other than Jasper. Quil and Jasper were the same age (Jasper was actually a couple of months older), and if it was fucked up for Claire to be with Quil, it was fucked up for her to be with Jasper, too. And, anyway, there were plenty of dumb girls in Forks for Jasper to be with; he could leave Quil's ex alone.

"Yo, she really likes me, though," Jasper said. "You know all these Indian girls love this dick. Go ask Kim."

"Man, shut the fuck up," Quil said. "Kim doesn't even like dick, and Claire's hella young. You should quit fucking with her."

Jasper smiled a silly smile that made Quil wanna knock his teeth out. "She's not too young for me."

Quil took a huge step forward, and Jasper didn't even flinch. Quil knew sketchy people and could get into sketchy situations sometimes, but he was still the goofy kid who sat in the back of the classroom writing rhymes about the things he loved most besides his mom: money, weed, and pussy, all without trying to say the "N" word. Quil wasn't as hard as some of the people he knew out here, and neither was Jasper, but Jasper could see right through him.

And Jasper saw right through him now. Quil's clenched fist or his need to protect his underage ex-girlfriend didn't mean shit to Jasper.

Jasper stepped forward, closing the space between them, and his voice was low when he spoke. "Look, Squanto," he said. "I'm gonna fuck with whoever I want. If you know better, you'll fuck right off."

He turned around and left, leaving Quil in the clearing.

Quil remembered who he was, loosened his fist, and returned home.

That night, Quil sat in his basement. It was eleven-thirty, only a few hours after he'd met with Jasper, and Quil was rolling a blunt. He loved his mom, he really did, but he'd always been one to shift the rules around. Someone could tell him to jump, and he'd ask, "Can I hop instead?" His mom had told him not to smoke weed in the house, but the basement wasn't really part of the house. It was his own little space. If it was really part of the house, she would visit it sometimes. And besides, after sending him off to Neah Bay to get clean a while ago, he clearly hadn't gotten clean.

Some shit just don't change, he thought as he lit the blunt. He had his music playing in the background, and he was starting to get into the zone.

He wasn't even that high yet when he heard tires squeal as they swerved around the corner of the street.

Just another rez fuckass, Quil thought, taking another hit.

That was when the shooting began.

The gunshots came all at once, firing seemingly randomly. He heard a bullet bounce off the metal frame of his door, and then a few more. His mother had woken up, and he could hear her screaming. She was yelling his name.

"Quil!" Joy shouted. "Are you okay?"

He put down the blunt and ran up the stairs to the rest of the house. Even the gunshots had ended, he ran in a crouch through the hallway to his mother's bedroom, where she was still yelling.

"Ma, you okay?" he asked.

"What the fuck did I tell you about smoking in the—" She was interrupted by the gunshots starting up again, and they crouched, holding each other.

The gunshots were followed by tires squealing again and maniacal cackling.

"You wait right here," he told her. "I'll be back." He let go of her and started to walk to the front door.

"What are you doing?" she demanded. "Quil Ateara, you get back here right now."

He ignored her and left through the front door. All he heard was his mother sobbing and the laughter continuing outside.

Just down the street, Quil saw a group of four people sitting in the bed of a pickup truck, waving their guns around. They all wore ski masks, but Quil knew exactly whose idea this was.

Jasper Cullen whipped off his mask and was howling like a fucking idiot with his group. "We just sent those assholes on the Trail of Tears," he said, high-fiving someone else in the back of the truck.

Quil ran out to the street as the truck drove away. "The Trail of… You dumb-ass!" he screamed. "I'm already as far west as I can get!"

The pickup truck swerved around the corner. Quil saw one of the people in the back remove their mask, and for a second, he could have sworn they were Claire.

The next day was the nineteenth of March, the last day of winter. It had been the longest winter La Push had seen, and Quil was going to put it to rest, right before the equinox, right before everything would change.

"Rich little white boy," Quil thought as he approached the giant white mansion. It was around nine at night.

Only rich little white boys didn't feel bad about dropping out of U-Dub in order to amount to helping run chop shops and sell guns from their parents' house. It was fucking ridiculous. It was also maybe the least inconspicuous thing Quil had ever seen. Not only was Jasper Hale a rich little white boy, but a stupid rich little white boy, too. He had won it all; in a perfect world, he had beat the fucking game.

They didn't live in a perfect world, though. They lived nowhere near it. They lived in the badlands.

All it had taken Quil was a Google search and a little math to figure out Jasper's whole deal. He hadn't had to go to college in the first place, and he was loved so very dearly by his parents (his father was a doctor, and his mother was an interior designer). He had two brothers, too, but Quil already knew that. Back when Quil had been just getting started with selling weed, one of his regulars had been Edward Cullen, who Bella had dated for a long time. And of course, he had to tell Paul to stay away from Emmett's rich neighborhood in Port Angeles. It was all these local connections that kept Jasper as trapped as possible, and he was a goddamn idiot for that.

But he'd learn.

Jasper's whole deal was all so disrespectful that Quil couldn't wrap his mind around it. It was insane. Quil wasn't doing his business for the fun of it like Jasper was; Quil couldn't just tap out when it got a little hard and go back to his regular life. This business was Quil's regular life, even if he was still kind of soft. Jasper was in it for the entertainment, but Quil was in it to survive. It just wasn't fucking fair.

So who was Jasper—this stupid, rich, little white boy—to pull up to Quil's house last night with his posse of other bored, stupid, rich little white boys (plus Claire, who Quil had explicitly told him to stay away from), and start shooting up the place just for kicks?

Only Jasper would be that obvious—Quil felt a bit offended that his only enemy (that he knew of) was this stupid. Only Jasper would think that was funny; he'd seen Friday a little too many times from his U-Dub dorm or his parents' den.

It was a bad joke, though. Quil having to calm his crying, anxious mother down until the morning was a bad joke. A horrible joke. It was about as funny as the Trail of Tears. Jasper had to be hilarious. He also didn't have any cameras in or around his house, because nothing ever happened in quaint, little Forks, but La Push had to be hell on Earth. That was a funny-ass joke on Jasper's end.

Quil was a funny guy, though, and everyone knew it. Quil, you're hilarious. Quil, you're too funny. Quil, you have such a great sense of humor.

Quil had some jokes of his own tonight.

Ding-dong. Quil didn't bother to put the gun in his pocket or anything; he held it right at his side. Jasper wasn't down in his basement—Quil had scoped the place out about a minute ago and had seen very clearly that Jasper was in his living room, his eyes glued to the plasma television screen. He had a nice Xbox. There was also a twenty dollar bill waiting on his coffee table. Money for pizza, probably.

Delivery.

Jasper, being the complete idiot that he was, didn't even check who was there before opening the door. He just swung it open. He didn't see the gun until it was between his eyes. He was unarmed except for a twenty dollar bill.

Quil didn't say anything; he didn't have to. He just wished he could hear Jasper scream. He wanted to hear that asshole scream for as long as Quil had to hear his own mother sobbing her eyes out last night. There just wasn't time for that, though. Quil had business to do, and it was the end of Jasper's pleasure.

Jasper ended up on the ground with a hole in his forehead. Quil ended up driving back home with twenty dollars in his pocket.

A/N: Thanks as always,

HS