That weekend, the gang set off for La Push.

Dense, water-laden greenery licked the sides of the crumbled road. With the weather clocking in at "balmy," we rolled the windows down to give our cramped party of nine some air. Peeking sunlight splashed down through leaves of trees and landed dappled across my face. I closed my eyes, breathed in, and dreamed dreams of sunlight swallowing me whole.

Whenever I came to Forks as a kid, Charlie would humor what he called my "Rene-like tendencies," and we'd bum around the beach for hours. But La Push was just a foggy patch of memory; I barely recognized the scene. Gray water lapped against a beach of stones and driftwood and green muck. Mountains framed our entire horizon like we were being cradled by the earth. A cold, briny wind swept through the surrounding forests.

A black pit opened up at the bottom of my stomach. Something about this place made me terrified, like a heavy claw crawling up my chest and crushing my throat closed.

I opened my mouth to tell the group I was gonna head back, but Angela nudged my shoulder and smiled when she passed. "Coming?"

And while I wished I could grab her hand, or tell her how irrationally scared this made me, I found myself doing neither. Instead, I gave a weak smile. I followed her on to the beach. If only to win her approval.

We picked our way down to the beach, Eric leading the way to a ring of driftwood logs. An ashy fire pit stood in the center. While some starting throwing around a football, setting out food and drinks on a bench, cobbling together a playlist, Angela stood together in silence, hypnotized by lapping water. Eric and Jess gathered broken branches of dry driftwood and propped up a Boy Scout–approved tipi of wood atop the old cinders.

"Have you ever seen a driftwood fire?" Eric asked me. I was sitting on one of the bone-colored benches, muscles slowly unfurling; the other girls clustered on either side of me. "Shit. Anyone got a lighter?"

"Right here." Angela dug a white lighter from her pocket and handed it to him. Eric kneeled by the fire, lighting one of the smaller sticks with a flick of the lighter.

"Check it out," he said. Flames licked up the wood, crackling and spitting. He looked back to watch my reaction.

My eyes widened. "It's blue." The kind of blue you wished water would look like.

"Yeah, pretty cool, right?"

"Haha, yeah, totally." Jess was leaning in, smiling. When Eric turned his attention toward her, she shot me a quick glance.

Say no more. Eric was that bland brand of cute, the kind with dimples and freckles and perfect teeth. But he did bring the beer, and I could relate to the awkwardness he wore on his sleeve, so at the end of the day, I was happy to take his alcohol and abscond.

Angela sat on a log next to me, turning Eric's lighter in her hand. She held up to a hand to deny the drink. I cracked the can open but didn't drink. It just gave my hands something to do.

"You good?" Angela asked me, and I nodded, slurping the foam off the top of the can. It was the insecure part of me that didn't speak up. Because I didn't know why the water grated on me. And I didn't want her to know I was tense, some big baby afraid of...nothing.

So I distracted, gesturing my head towards her lighter and grinning."You know white lighters are cursed, right?"

For a second she frowned. Once she realized what I was talking about, she rolled her eyes and laughed. "Yeah, right."

I snickered. It was easy to feel comfortable around her. "They are! Tons of musicians died with a white lighter in their pocket. Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, Janis Joplin…."

"My dad used to say that all the time. That's just a myth."

I laughed, digging my toes into the sand.

"Hey!" Eric shouted and waved to a small crowd. Guys with shining black hair and terracotta-brown skin had stepped onto the beach. And a round of introductions revealed that they were kids from La Push. Tattered memories flashed through my mind.

We all started socializing, and soon enough, we were passing around food and soda and beer. I sat next to Angela while I ate. It was kinda cool, being comfortable enough not to talk to each other. Not that I didn't want to. But it was first time I didn't feel pressure to speak.

Once afternoon teetered into evening, the clouds started to advance, stealing the sun for seconds at a time. Waves blackened. As they finished eating, people started drifting away in twos and threes. Some walked down to the edge of the waves, trying to skip rocks across the choppy surface. Others gathered a second expedition to the tide pools. Eric—with Jessica close behind—went with them.

By the time they all had scattered, I was sitting alone on my driftwood log, listening to flames snap and pop. Ignoring the water. Angela and some other guy were drinking beers and occupied themselves with the speaker someone had brought.

That's when a young guy sauntered over to sit with me. He looked sixteen, maybe fifteen, and had long, glossy black hair pulled back with a rubber band at the nape of his neck. Dark eyes sat atop high cheekbones of a russet-brown face. Childhood still rounded his chin. He had a knowing grin on his face.

"Bella Swan, right?"

"Isabella, y—" But few people called me Bella. "Wait." I squinted. "Jacob?"

"So it's Isabella, now, huh?" he grinned.

I laughed. "Isabella, Bells, Bella, I go by everything. —Damn, dude, I can't believe it's you!"

"The one and only."

"Mistah Black," another guy uttered in a feigned British accent as he passed, laughing and clasping Jake's shoulder. Jake pushed the cackling guy away, and said, while wiping the guy's spilled beer on the side of his jeans, "I was the one that fixed your truck up for you."

Oh. "Wow. I didn't even make the connection. Long time no see! I didn't even recognize you without your Power Rangers shirt."

Jacob's eyes burned with buoyancy. Even blushing with embarrassment, his carefree, cheery energy left me breathless. "No worries. Surprised you remember that much, considering I was just the little brother crashing all your games of 'house' and 'doctor.'"

I laughed. "Wow. Yeah, Caitlin and I used to play pretend for hours. I haven't thought about her in years. God. How is she?"

"Um." His voice faltered. No trace of a smile remained. "I uh— think you're actually talking about Rachel? Caitlin passed away. Remember?"

Oh. Shit. Could this be the most humiliating, embarrassing, shameful thing that's ever happened to me? How could I not remember that one of his sisters had died? More than that, why, why, with a fifty-fifty shot, did I think of the wrong sister? "Oh— y-yeah. I'm sorry. Yeah. I guess I was thinking about Rachel. I'm so sorry."

"No big deal." Jake smiled, sympathetic. "It was a long time ago. —Rachel's great. Got a scholarship to study abroad in Finland. Bioengineering."

We chatted about The Thing—Jacob loved the name—and my move to Forks. Our voices attempted to drown lapping waves, drunken teen chatter, and a crackling bonfire. We talked about Jacob's love for building cars. Reminisced about old fishing trips. Complained about the wet.

Well, I complained. "It'd be a lot better if it were warmer," I said. "I hate the cold. And the mist. Especially the mist. The mist is everything I've ever hated."

Jacob laughed. "Y'know, that's why I used to be scared of this beach when I was little."

"Really?" I laughed, nervous. "I'm scared of this beach now."

"No dude, I get it! It's the mist that does it. Creepy as hell. Night of the Living Dead vibes. Dad used to say when the mist rolls across the lake, that's when the red-eye strangers come." He waggled his fingertips at me and laughed. "You remember, right?"

"Red-eye stranger?"

"Yeah. Just some old story. We have a lot of community events—some are just for the Quileutes, but a lot of times after those events ended, the whole community would get together, all of La Push. Sharing food, dancing, whatever. We always had a bonfire, and the kids would get to stay up late and hear ghost stories. You've must've been to one, right?"

Although I had even fewer memories of La Push in my arsenal, the drive up there with Charlie rang a bell or two. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

"Back when I was real little, like, pre-Power Rangers–shirt little —" I laughed "— my great-grandad was the tribe leader back then. Great storyteller. Every year La Push would have their summer festival and he would tell ghost stories in the amphitheater for it cuz he was that good. And Dad picked up the tradition after he died. The best one was the story of the red eye strangers. Oh, and that story about the dude who cut off his thumb. He told that one really well."

I snorted a laugh. "Okay, that one I remember. Bloody stump guy with the Band-Aids." We both snickered. "Yeah, no, I don't remember the red-eyed strangers, though."

"Really? That was the classic story at the bonfires. It was all about these vampires that would roam the earth for eternity, looking for victims."

I arched a brow. "Vampires."

"Hell yeah." He shifted closer to me, leaning in. "Every kid in La Push knows the story about the red-eyed strangers. Maybe even your friends have heard it. Angela definitely has." Jacob's voice lowered, husky and snarling and slow as if exaggerating it to spook me. "Long ago, the red-eyed strangers came to the land to kill every living thing in their path, luring unsuspecting humans into the mist with the light of the souls they killed. Venom dripping from their fangs." I laughed as Jake hissed with his canines out. "And the last thing you see before their ghostly light fizzles out? It's their black eyes turning red when they bite you."

I saw the black-eyed stranger down the hall for the first time in a week that Friday.

When the Cullens didn't have their "contacts" in, something about them seemed— odd. Not in their movements; they remained graceful. Not in their looks; they remained poreless, airbrushed, flawless. Something changed in their demeanor. They were meaner. Less focused. Antisocial.

Or maybe, at this point, I should know better than to expect kindness from the Cullens.

Edward loved to play the good guy when he had got his golden "contacts" in. Polite, charming—dare I say flirty?—with just a dash of cocky confidence that prompted him to ask inquisitive questions about my life.

Day after day they darkened, those contacts. As his eyes turned from honey to caramel to cider, so did his demeanor change from good-humored to polite to regretfully distant to cold. The last time we spoke—two days ago, now—we exchanged nothing but hellos. Tried conversing—no go. Granted, at the end of class he slipped me a paper sniglet of his top three tracks from Girls! Girls! Girls!

So on Friday, when Edward had been reduced to a clenched shell of a person who glared at me, who glared at Banner and his off-color comments to students, who ignored greetings and spat responses, I decided to pull a classic me: I would take away the choice and left. I wasn't gonna let him make me feel bad, or make it hard for him to live a happy life. I would remove myself from the situation. Then, after class ended, I would talk to Banner about changing partners. It was the only solution.

Weights rolled off my shoulders once I'd left the classroom, a signed hall pass clutched in my right hand. When Edward had his dark-eyed days, his moodiness infected everything around him. But, y'know, at least he didn't lure me into the mist and kill me like the red-eyed strangers would. It was a low bar, but he'd already set expectations pretty low.

I smiled to myself.

And there, down the hall, strutting past the science lab: "Alice. Hey!"

Even surprise made the Cullens look cute. Alice's dark eyes widened and shock crossed her face. She froze as if doing so would make her invisible. It didn't.

Alice backed away but smiled weakly. "Bells. Hi. I'm just about to win a bet, then I have to rush off to class. Sorry!"

"No, hang on, wait." I made a beeline for her, dodging desks and monitors. "I just—" Damn, I forgot her thank-you drawing in my backpack "—I wanted to thank you."

"Oh. It's not necessary. Thank you!" Alice's lilting voice sang a cherry song, but her smile remained tight.

"Please, I—I just wanted you to know, y'know, there's no—I haven't—told anyone." I lowered my voice even though the hall was empty.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about, but thank you."

"About the bathroom." I shuffled to move beside her. "I haven't said anything. But I need to know, I mean, how—how did you know?"

That stopped Alice from turning in the opposite direction. She didn't flinch back from me this time when I took another step forward. Her lips twisted into a frown. Shadowy eyes avoided mine. "I didn't."

"You did."

"But that's not what I—" Alice bit back the last word and huffed, frustrated. "Thanks for your vote of confidence. But the van was—not what I expected. I'm glad Edward ended up being there."

"You're telling me," I joked. "Quick as a whip, that guy."

"Faster than I would have been," she muttered in a breath. "But I shouldn't have said anything. Apparently. I still put you in danger." Her eyes combed through the carpeting and when they lifted again, they glanced over my shoulder. More shock.

I turned.

Edward.

"Oh, good," he growled. "Just who I wanted to see."

But he wasn't looking at me, of course. He wasn't even looking at Alice. Instead, she spun around, and chimed, "Oh, Principal Johnson! Glad I could catch you!"
How Alice knew the principal's name, I had no idea. But as Edward descended on Alice, and Alice walked towards the balding Johnson, a game I wasn't even part of fell into place.

Just as the principal greeted her with a lukewarm wave and a curt nod, Alice blew him a kiss and turned back to toss a wink in Edward's direction.

"Don't you dare," he told her. "You'll get Carlisle involved."

Alice turned to the fire alarm and pulled.

More than pulled. The alarm's handle broke off like a toothpick.

And as the school screamed, as Edward flinched from the sound of it all, as Principal Johnson sprung into action, Alice turned to us both with a cheery demeanor that reminded me of Rosalie. "Don't you think," she said to Edward, "it would be prudent of you to escort the lady out safely?" She broke into a wolfish grin just as the principal clasped a hand on her left shoulder and yelled at her over the alarm about "completely unacceptable behavior."

The principal shuffled into the storm of students, Alice in tow. Edward's lips pursed. I turned to him; he looked at me. Teachers shouted over excited classrooms, and squeaking sneakers filled the halls. We turned and left without a word towards the side-door by the stairwell. Though I hesitated at the glaring red sign that screaming EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY: ALARM WILL SOUND IF DOOR IS OPENED, Edward pushed through without a second thought.

We burst into the crisp freezing holy hell I don't have a sweater or a coat. Wow. This was cold. Couldn't Forks have one nice day?

Edward skipped and hopped up the steps to the end of the sidewalk. I stumbled after him, shivering.

"Would you like my jacket?" he asked, shrugging his peacoat off his shoulders. I glanced again at his black eyes, but when I shuddered, he handed me it anyway. Our hands brushed again, that electric zing stealing up to my elbow. I flinched. "Sorry."

"You're cold," I told him, still holding out the jacket from where he had given it to me. "Don't you want it?"

"Poor circulation." He didn't accept the coat back, so I said nothing and shrugged into it. Its long sleeves fell over my hands; I stuffed them in the front pockets. My fingers toyed with an intricately folded piece of paper he had left in it.

Nestling deeper into the fabric, I frowned. "Your jacket is cold too."

"Anemia."

Except just a week ago he had the energy to run across a parking lot in record time without even getting out of breath.

But what am I gonna do, accuse him of not having a medical condition? I huffed, so at least he could know I was dissatisfied with his answer, but said nothing.

We listened to the fire alarm whining and crying, watched the school's windows flash with white light. Somewhere on the other side of the building, fire engine horns blared in short bursts and turned into the school parking lot. Edward and I watched from the hill overlooking the school, where the green-slicked cement sidewalk crumbled into nonexistence. Behind us, the forest swallowed up the sounds of chaos coming from the school.

"Would you like a ride to Seattle?"

"Huh?"

"Next Saturday. Do you want a ride to Seattle?"

"What? With who?"

"Me. Obviously."

"Why?"

Edward sucked in a breath. "Well, I couldn't go to La Push. And I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks. And frankly, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."

What, this again? What is it with everyone dissing my truck? "The Thing works just fine, thank you very much."

"But can it make it there on one tank of gas?"

"I don't see how that's any of your business."

"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."

"Wow. Edward." The audacity. My veins crackled with electricity at his name on my lips. "You're giving me whiplash. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."

"I said I can't be friends, not that I didn't want to be."

"Thanks. Cleared that one up." The fire alarm silenced. For a moment we observed the flood of students rushing back into the buildings, scattering into their separate wings.

"Will you go? With me?"

I sighed, squeezing the coat closer to my chest. It smelled so good...

I shrugged out of it. "Honestly—I don't think so. No." The word fell between us like an iron curtain. Stunned, Edward accepted his coat without looking at me. We descended back down the steps towards the school. "One minute it seems like you hate me—"

"I don't hate you—"

"—and the next minute you're like this suave—" sexy "—gentleman. And I wanna be friends." He gave me a look. "Well. I don't wanna not like you, anyway." We rounded the corner of the building in silence. "Y'know, I even listened to your Girls! Girls! Girls! picks."

His eyes lit up; the rejection washed away. "Really?"

My eyes fell down to the ground as I nodded to keep him from seeing the blush steal my cheeks. "That riff in 'We'll Be Together' is awesome. 'Song of the Shrimp' made me laugh. And 'Where Do You Come From' is...really cute, actually." We stopped at the metal roof covering the path to class. "They were good tracks. Doesn't change my mind about the album, but..."

"Come to Seattle with me," he breathed, wrapping his hands around one of the metal supports, stopping close in front of me. "Please." His spicy breath drew me deeper into his gravitational pull, into him—

I had to shake my head to clear fuzzies from my brain. "But, see, that's the thing," I said. "I think we have a lot in common and everything—" he smirked "—but you aren't honest. I know there's something up. And if you can't even talk to me, like...how can I even trust you to drive me to Seattle in one piece?" All the while, he stared blankly. I think, if he was more of an open book, I'd see his face fall. Instead, I watched his eyes go dead and dull. "Do you get what I'm saying? Your whole 'I wanna be friends' thing is moot if you don't have the decency to tell me why you treat me this way."

"Yes. I get it. I...appreciate your honesty. I wish there was some way to reconcile my feelings on the matter. But I can't." His lips twisted, like he was forcing himself to mentally reinforce his choice. He was picking something else over me.

And that something stops him from telling the truth? What was his truth? And why the hell did I care?

"No one can force you to do or not do anything," I said, my voice stern. "You're in charge of your actions, and you're making the choice to not be my friend. Which is fine. But since that's the case, my answer is no. I'm sorry. The answer's no."

Unlike previous moves with Rene, this time I wouldn't be sucked into the orbit of friends who didn't actually want me around. This time, I would invest in people who wanted me.

I exhaled the rest of the poison from my lungs. They filled again with the heavy, cold air.

"No," he said softly, "I'm sorry."

"Rejection is unfortunate for everyone," I told him. With nothing else to say, I excused myself and went back to gather my things from Banner's classroom.