The sun was so far behind the clouds that there was no way to tell if it had set or not. After a long flight of chasing it westward, Beau was disoriented. They'd gained three hours, but his internal clock felt off.

"You've been very quiet," Edward murmured. "Did the plane make you sick?"

"No, I'm okay."

"Are you sad to leave?"

"More relieved than sad, I think."

Edward tilted his head slightly, urging Beau to continue.

"Renée is more perceptive than Charlie. It makes me jumpy."

"Your mother has a very interesting mind. Almost childlike, but very insightful. She sees things differently than other people do."

Insightful. It was a good description of Renée when she was paying attention. And this weekend she had paid Beau plenty of it.

Phil was busy with the playoff season for the high school baseball team he coached, so that left Renée, Edward, and Beau to spend the time together. As soon as the hugs and squeals were out of the way, Renée began to watch. The longer she did so, her blue eyes had become confused, then concerned.

Renée and Beau took a walk on the beach in the morning. It was his last day here and he wanted to cherish every minute of it.

He knew something was coming because she wanted them to go alone. Edward's telepathy allowed him to fabricate an excuse—a term paper due on the Monday they got back to school—so that Renée didn't have to ask him to stay behind.

It was already bright and sunny outside. Beau tried to stay in the shadows of the palm trees. Despite the gallons of sunscreen he allowed Renée to rub on his face, Beau felt like he was burning up.

The two found a shady spot and sat down, watching the crashing waves. A few minutes later, Renée spoke.

"Beau?"

"Yeah?"

She sighed, not meeting his gaze. "I'm worried . . . "

"What's wrong? What can I do?"

"It's not me. I'm worried about you . . . and Edward."

"Oh," he mumbled. "I see."

"You two are more serious than I realized."

Beau frowned, reviewing the last two days in his head. Edward and Beau had barely touched—in front of her, at least. He wondered if she had held back her lecture about responsibility until they were completely alone.

It had been an awkward week leading up to Florida. Beau was still angry with Edward for sabotaging his car. But his ire was about more than just the car. It was about the restrictions on his liberty to come and go as he pleased. Everywhere was on the table except the one place he really wanted to go: La Push.

The two still drove to school together, sat in the cafeteria together, and hung out at Charlie's house until curfew. But Beau had left his window shut since the night of their fight. To his displeasure, he found sleep difficult to come by without Edward lying next to him. By Friday morning, Beau was nearly as pale as Edward. The dark circles under their eyes were almost identical.

Yet he was not ready to yield.

Suspecting his parents were communicating behind his back, Beau thought the sleeping arrangements would lean in a more conservative direction: Beau in one room and Edward on the couch.

So it confused him when Renée had led the way to the guest room. The bed was newly made, pillows fluffed to perfection. A pile of clean towels sat on the end of the bed.

It was all very adult and organized. Very unlike Renée. Skydiving lessons aside, Phil must have been rubbing off on her.

Beau felt the back of his neck break out into a cool sweat as he stood there. Was this some kind of parental trick? Reverse psychology, nature versus nurture?

"I have you boys in here, I hope the mattress is comfortable. We just picked it up last week. Edward, are you a light sleeper?"

"Not at all. Once the light's off, I'm dead to the world."

Renée had her back turned and therefore missed Beau rolling his eyes.

Two weeks ago, Beau would have been jumping for joy. Now he was apprehensive. Sleeping separately would give Renée the wrong idea.

Yet the boys couldn't sleep in the same bed; they were at odds.

Beau decided to take the path of least resistance. The guest room would simply have to do. Parental approval to share a bed with his boyfriend was unheard of. Even if they weren't on the same page, Beau wasn't about to let this opportunity pass him by.

His mother left them to unpack with a promise of pizza for dinner. Beau wondered how Edward was going to handle the Hawaiian pizza—it was Renée's favorite. Judging by the grimace on Edward's face, his thoughts were on the exact same thing.

"I'm sorry about that," Beau told him later that night, as Edward climbed through the bedroom window. He'd snuck out to retch up the pizza at the end of the cul-de-sac, far away from Renée's hearing.

Edward changed into a pair of Beau's athletic shorts. He didn't bother with a shirt, something Beau appreciated, even when the two were a tiff.

He paused at the end of the bed. "I can go to the couch, if you . . . "

Beau shook his head. "There's a spot for you right here."

Edward climbed into bed beside him. Beau shifted until they were close enough to touch. The central air system was not as strong on this side of the house; Beau was grateful for the chill coming from Edward's skin.

"Now that I've ingested and vomited up four slices of pizza, am I forgiven for arranging this trip?"

Beau glanced in the other boy's direction. The trickle of sympathy in his heart was about to become a waterfall. Edward was miserable, and it was from far more than the best Hawaiian pizza in northern Florida. His best laid plans had led to him and Beau spending their nights apart, until now.

Beau nodded. "Yes, I forgive you."

"But not for the other thing."

"No, not yet."

"That's fair."

Beau could have argued his case further, but he was tired. It was hard work keeping the happy couple act up for his mother. Whatever issues the boys had in Forks would have to be solved in Forks.

Edward had opened his arms, still tentative, as if expecting Beau to refuse. Beau moved in, resting his head over the vampire's still heart. They weren't totally on the same page again, but they were a lot closer.

Beau shook his head, trying to focus on the conversation with his mother.

"There's something . . . strange about the way you two are together. The way he watches you, it's so . . . protective. Like he's about to throw himself in front of a bullet to save you or something."

His eyes were still on the waves. "That's a bad thing?"

"No, it's just different. He's very intense about you . . . and very careful. I feel like I don't really understand your relationship. Like there's some secret I'm missing . . . "

He lifted one shoulder to shrug. "I think you're imagining things, Mom."

But a flicker of unease went through him anyway. He'd forgotten how much his mother saw.

Something about her view of the world pierced right to the truth of things. If she became a vampire, Beau thought her gift would fall somewhere on the spectrum between Alice's and Edward's.

This had never been a problem before. There had never been a secret Beau couldn't share with her.

"It's not just him. I wish you could see how you move around him."

"What do you mean?"

"The way you move—you orient yourself around him without even thinking about it. When he moves, even a little bit, you adjust your position at the same time. Like magnets, or gravity. You're like a . . . satellite, or something. I've never seen anything like it."

"Are you rewatching Star Trek again?"

"Could be, but we're talking about you right now." He was forever teasing Renée about being a secret Trekkie.

"You should stick to romcoms. You know how you freak yourself out."

Renée smiled at that. "I'm being silly, aren't I?"

Beau smiled back, but inside, he was squirming. He trivialized the issue and she'd caved so quickly, as she often did when he played the grownup card.

But this time, she had Beau dead to rights, and he didn't want her to know that.

"Not silly—just being my mom."

Renée laughed, then gestured toward the water. "And all of this isn't enough to get you to move back in with your silly mom?"

Beau wiped a hand dramatically across his forehead. "I'm melting."

"You get used to the humidity."

"You can get used to the rain, too."

"I didn't last up there," Renée reminded him, but she was smiling. "Come on. Let's have some coffee before you go."

Other than her maternal worrying about Beau, his mother seemed happy. She and Phil were still in the honeymoon phase. That was comforting to see. Her life was full and satisfying.

Surely she didn't miss Beau that much, even now . . .

Edward's icy fingers brushed along Beau's cheek. They were in front of Charlie's house now. All the lights were on and the cruiser was parked in the driveway. It was dark; Beau must have fallen asleep on the drive back from the airport.

Beau saw a curtain twitch in the living room window. The weekend was over—Charlie was waiting to pounce.

"How bad?"

"Charlie's not going to be difficult. He missed you."

Beau was doubtful. Edward seemed tense. He insisted on carrying Beau's duffel bag into the house, even if it was carry-on size.

Charlie held the door open for them. "Welcome home, kid! How was Jacksonville?"

"Moist. And buggy."

"I take it your mother didn't sell you on the University of Florida?"

Beau grinned at that. "She tried. But I'd rather drink water than inhale it."

Charlie's eyes flickered to Edward. "Did you have a nice time?"

"Yes, Renée was very hospitable."

"That's . . . um, good. Glad you had fun."

Charlie turned away from Edward and pulled Beau into an unexpected hug. "Subtle."

Beau felt his father laugh. "I really missed you. The food around here sucks when you're gone."

"I'll get on it."

"Would you call Jacob first? He's been bugging me every five minutes since six o'clock this morning. I promised I'd have you call him before you even unpacked."

Beau didn't have to look at Edward to guess what he was feeling. This explained the tension.

"Jacob wants to talk to me?"

"Pretty bad, I'd say," Charlie said. "He wouldn't tell me what it was about. Just said it was important."

The phone rang as if on cue. Charlie shook his head.

"That's him again, I'd bet my next paycheck."

"I got it." Beau hurried to the kitchen. He grabbed the phone mid-ring. "Hello?"

"You're back," Jacob said.

The familiar voice sent a wave of wistfulness through Beau. A thousand memories spun around in his head, tangling together—a rocky beach strewn with driftwood trees, the plastic garage shed that housed their motorcycles, even the cab of Big Red, which served as their home on wheels for the drive through the Southwest. The laughter in his deep-set black eyes and the sunny Jacob smile.

It felt like a type of homesickness, this longing for a place and time and person who sheltered Beau through the darkest nights of his life.

"Yes," Beau said at last.

"Why didn't you call me?"

His angry tone snapped Beau back to reality. "Because I've been in the house for exactly four seconds and your call interrupted Charlie telling me that you'd called."

"Oh. Sorry."

"Sure. Now, why are you harassing Charlie?"

"I need to talk to you."

"I gathered as much. Go ahead."

There was silence on the other end of the line. Beau paused. Was he being Punk'd?

"Are you going to school tomorrow?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I?"

"I dunno. Just curious."

"So . . . what did you want to talk about, Jake?"

"Nothing really, I guess. I . . . wanted to hear your voice."

"Same here, Jake. I'm so glad you called."

Beau wanted to tell him he was on the way to La Push right now. But he couldn't tell him that.

"I have to go," Jacob said abruptly.

"What?"

"I'll talk to you soon, okay?"

"But, Jake—"

He was already gone. Beau stared at the receiver in disbelief.

"That was short."

"Is everything all right?" Edward asked.

Beau turned to face him. Edward's expression was impossible to read.

"I don't know. I wonder what that was about."

He didn't get it. Jacob had been hounding Charlie all day just to ask if Beau was going to school. And if he really wanted to hear Beau's voice, then why did he hang up so quickly?

"Your guess is better than mine," Edward said, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

That was true. Beau knew Jacob inside and out. It shouldn't have been so complicated to get to the bottom of that phone call.

With Beau's thoughts miles away—about fifteen miles away, up the road to La Push—he started combing through the fridge, assembling the ingredients for dinner. Edward leaned against the counter, watching. Neither one of them spoke.

School seemed to be the key. It was the only real question Jacob asked. He had not taken Charlie's word for it, waiting for a verbal confirmation from Beau.

If he skipped school tomorrow, so what? Beau was graduating—by the skin of his teeth, and lots of extra credit work—so one day wasn't going to kill him.

What could have changed in the past three days? What was important enough for Jacob to break the radio silence?

The package of beef patties slipped through Beau's fingers. He waited for the inevitable thud, but it never came. Edward had already caught it, thrown the package on the counter, and stepped in front of Beau, holding his face in his cool hands.

"What's wrong?"

Beau felt stupid it didn't come to him sooner. Three days could change everything.

Had Charlie told Billy that he'd vanished for three days? Did the latter jump to conclusions?

Was Jacob making sure the treaty remained unbroken? That none of the Cullens had dared to bite a human . . . bite, not kill?

"Beau?"

"I think he was checking if I was still human. We were gone for three days."

A low hiss slid out from between Edward's teeth.

"We'll have to leave. Before. So that it doesn't break the treaty. And that means we won't ever be able to come back."

Edward let his hands drop to Beau's shoulder's, drawing him into a hug. "I know."

Charlie chose that moment to clear his throat. He looked annoyed, as he usually did when Edward was there. Beau took that to mean he hadn't heard the rest of their conversation.

Beau pulled away from Edward and went back to his work. The silence became competitive; no one seemed to want to break it.

Charlie gave up after a minute or two. "If you don't want to make dinner, I can order a pizza."

Edward visibly cringed at the word pizza. Beau shook his head.

"That's all right, Dad, I've already started."

"Okay."

Charlie crossed the room to sit at the table. Beau could feel two pairs of eyes on his back, both worried for different reasons.

"If I asked you to do something, would you trust me?"

Beau was confused. Edward had been relaxed and joking just a moment ago. Now there was an edge in his voice. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

"That depends," Beau replied as the Volvo turned into a parking space.

"I was afraid you'd say that."

"What do you want me to do?"

"I want you to stay in the car. I want you to wait here until I come back for you."

"But why?"

That was when Beau saw him. He would have been hard to miss, towering over the other students the way he did, even if he hadn't been leaning against his black motorcycle, which he'd parked illegally on the sidewalk. Naturally.

Beau wondered if his own motorcycle had gone the way of Big Red: scrap metal.

"Oh."

Jacob's face was a calm mask. Beau knew he put it on when trying to keep his emotions in check. It made him look like Sam Uley.

Beau had forgotten how much this face bothered him. It was a stranger's face, nothing like the one Jacob wore until Beau jettisoned himself from their road trip. He'd fled like a thief in the night with Alice, a vampire. All to save another vampire—Edward. For a werewolf, this was a crime of the highest order. It probably came second to turning into a vampire.

"You jumped to the wrong conclusion last night," Edward murmured. "Jacob asked about school because he knew I'd be with you. He was looking for a safe place to talk to me. A place with witnesses."

"I'm not staying in the car."

"Of course not. Well, let's get this over with."

Jacob's face hardened as his eyes fell on their interlocked hands. Beau was used to that—some people weren't as open minded about two boys being a couple.

But this was somehow worse.

Beau couldn't help but notice the faces of his classmates. Their eyes widened as they took in all six foot seven inches of Jacob. Their eyes raked over his black t-shirt, his ragged, grease-smeared jeans, and the glossy black bike.

To an outside observer, he looked like trouble.

Beau bumped into Edward, who'd stopped short. "You could have called us."

"Sorry," Jacob sneered. "I don't have any leeches on my speed dial."

"You could have reached me at Beau's house, of course."

Jacob's jaw flexed in response.

"This is hardly the place, Jacob. Could we discuss this later?"

"Sure, sure. I'll stop by your crypt after school. What's wrong with now?"

Edward looked around pointedly. The witnesses Jacob was after were just barely out of hearing range. A few of them were milling together, as if waiting for something. Did they think a fight was going to break out?

"I already know what you came to say. Message delivered. Consider us warned."

"Warned?" Beau repeated. "What are you talking about?"

"You didn't tell him? Why not, were you afraid he'd take our side?"

"Please drop it, Jacob," Edward said quietly.

"Why?"

"What don't I know? Edward?"

Edward just glared at Jacob as if he hadn't heard.

"Jake?"

"He didn't tell you that his big . . . brother crossed the line on Saturday night?" It was clear Jacob was enjoying this. His eyes flickered back to Edward. "Paul was totally justified in—"

"It was no-man's land!" Edward snapped.

"Was not!"

Jacob was visibly fuming. His hands trembled. But Beau paid this no mind; he was putting the pieces together.

"Emmett and Paul?"

Paul was one of Sam's pack. Jacob told Beau all about him. He sounded volatile, and was probably the last person on the planet Emmett Cullen would get along with.

"What happened? Were they fighting? Did someone get hurt?"

"No one fought or got hurt. Don't be anxious."

Jacob was incredulous. "You didn't tell him anything at all, did you? Is that why you took him away? So he wouldn't know that—"

"Leave, now." Edward had cut him off mid-sentence. He was wearing a mask of his own—the vampire mask, the truly frightening one that reminded Beau he was not of this world. He glared at Jacob with vicious, unveiled loathing.

"Why haven't you told him?"

More and more puzzle pieces were coming together. There was something Edward didn't want him to know. Something Jacob wouldn't have kept from him.

It was something that had the Cullens and the werewolves moving along the territory line. Something that would compel Edward to fly Beau across the country.

It all began with that moment in the cafeteria: Alice's vision.

The realization hit him like a ton of bricks.

"She came back for me."

Victoria.

Beau had been on the run with Jacob the last time, but that hadn't stopped her from prowling through his hometown.

There was a blood debt between them. Edward killed her mate, James, so Victoria wanted to return the favor.

Vampires were masters of the hunt and holding a grudge. She would keep repeating the same pattern—feint and run, feint and run—until she found a hole through his defenders. Foiled by Beau's absence earlier this year, she was back for another round.

Beau found himself wishing the Volturi would get there first. They were more civilized. Death at their hands would be quick, at least.

"It's fine," Edward whispered. "I'll never let her get close to you."

Then he threw a dark look at Jacob. "Does that answer your question, mongrel?"

"You don't think Beau has a right to know? It's his life."

Edward's voice was full of venom. "Why should he be frightened when he was never in danger?"

"Better frightened than lied to."

"Do you really think hurting him is better than protecting him?" Edward asked.

"He's tougher than you think. And he's been through worse."

Abruptly, Jacob's face changed. He was looking at Edward now, his eyes narrowed as though trying to solve a difficult math equation in his head.

Beau felt Edward cringe. His face had gone paler than Beau had ever seen. Beau thought back to the awful afternoon in Italy, when Jane had tortured Edward. Her malignant gift burned him with thoughts alone . . . and this was much the same.

"Whatever you're doing to him, stop."

"It's nothing, Beau," Edward said finally. "Jacob just has a good memory, that's all."

Beau's temper flared. "Jake, I mean it. Lay off."

Jacob only smiled back impishly. He looked like a kid caught doing something he shouldn't, but by someone lax on the rules.

"The principal's on his way to discourage loitering on school property. Let's go."

"Overprotective, isn't he?" Jacob spoke only to Beau, ignoring Edward now. "A little trouble makes life fun. Let me guess, you're not allowed to have fun, are you?"

"Shut up, Jake," Beau said, still thinking of the mental torture inflicted on Edward.

Jacob laughed. "That sounds like a no. Hey, if you ever feel like having a life again, you could come see me. I've still got your motorcycle in my garage."

So the motorcycle survived what Big Red did not. "You were supposed to sell that. You promised Charlie you would."

"Yeah, right. Like I would do that. It belongs to you, not me. Anyway, I'll hold onto it until you want it back."

"Jake—"

"I think I might have been wrong before, you know, about not being able to be friends. Maybe we could manage it, on my side of the line. Come see me."

Beau felt like he had been thrown a life jacket, but he was conscious of Edward beside him. He no longer looked like he was in pain, at least. That lovely face was calm. Patient.

"I don't know about that, Jake."

The antagonistic facade disappeared. Jacob looked like his Jake again.

"I miss you every day, Beau. It's not the same without you."

"I know," Beau sighed. "I'm sorry, Jake, I just . . . "

"I know. Doesn't matter, right? I guess I'll survive or something. Who needs friends?"

Jacob's suffering always triggered Beau's protective side. It was not rational; Jacob was not in need of any physical protection Beau could offer.

Beau yearned to reach out to him. Yet one of his hands remained in Edward's, which showed no hint of letting go.

"Okay, get to class," said a stern voice behind them. "Move along, Mr. Crowley."

Beau recognized the principal's voice at once. "Go to school, Jake."

Jacob went to the Quileute school, but he could still get into trouble.

Mr. Greene was pushing his way through the circle of spectators. "Detention for anyone who's still standing here when I turn around again."

The audience melted away before he was finished speaking.

"Do we have a problem here, Mr. Cullen?"

"Not at all, Mr. Greene. We were just on our way to class."

"Excellent. But I don't recognize your friend." Mr. Greene had turned his authoritative gaze on Jacob. "Are you a new student here?"

Jacob smirked. "Nope."

"Then I suggested you remove yourself from school property at once, young man, before I call the police."

Jacob's smirk had become a full-blown grin. The thought of Chief Charlie Swan showing up to arrest him wasn't just funny—it was hilarious.

Beau liked seeing Jacob smile, but not like this. This smile was too full of bitterness.

"Yes, sir." Jacob saluted him in a way that was dripping with sarcasm. Then he climbed onto his motorcycle and kicked it to life.

Jacob was gone in a matter of seconds, tires squealing in his wake.

Mr. Greene gnashed his teeth together. He was the power-tripping type of school administrator; a defiant teenager was his Kryptonite.

"Mr. Cullen, I expect you to ask your friend to refrain from trespassing again."

Beau scowled. "He wasn't trespassing—"

"He's no friend of mine, Mr. Greene," Edward cut in, shaking his head at Beau. "But I'll pass along the warning."

The principal pursed his lips. Edward's perfect grades and spotless record no doubt factored into Mr. Greene's assessment of the incident.

Beau's grades and attendance certainly weren't helping the situation any. After his weeks-long absence in the last semester of the school year, Beau was sure Mr. Greene was just looking for a reason to make him repeat it.

"I see. If you're worried about any trouble, I'd be happy to—"

"Nothing to worry about, sir. There won't be any more trouble."

"I hope that's true. Well, then. Off to class. You, too, Mr. Swan, you can't afford to miss any more of them."

Edward pulled Beau toward the English building before he could retort.

Class was the last place Beau wanted to be. They needed privacy to talk about what just happened, but with the principal right behind, there weren't a lot of options to choose from.

Mr. Berty ignored them; he was in the middle of reciting a Robert Frost poem.

Beau yanked a page out of his notebook and began to write.

What happened? Tell me everything. And screw the protecting me bullshit, please.

Beau shoved the note at Edward, who sighed. He pushed the paper back in seconds.

Alice saw that Victoria was coming back. I took you out of town as a precaution—there was never a chance that she would have gotten anywhere close to you. Emmett and Jasper nearly had her, but Victoria seems to have some instinct for evasion. She escaped right down the Quileute boundary line as if she were reading it from a map. It didn't help that Alice's abilities were nullified by the Quileutes' involvement. To be fair, the Quileutes might have had her, too, if we hadn't gotten in the way.

The big gray one thought Emmett was over the line, and he got defensive. Of course Rosalie reacted to that, and everyone left the chase to protect their companions. Carlisle and Jasper got things calmed down before it got out of hand. But by then, Victoria had slipped away. That's everything.

Beau couldn't believe it. All of them had been in on the secret. They knew how invested he was in their wellbeing, maybe more than his own.

Beau thought they were close. He'd gone a little nuts on the way back from Italy and vandalized half of the Cullen house in a rage. Emmett and Rosalie had dragged him away, kicking and screaming, until he was calm enough to talk again. They were very understanding of him at the time.

Alice at the very least should have said something. That betrayal hurt the most. She was there when the deal was struck in Italy. She had been the chief negotiator by showing Aro her vision of a future, vampiric Beau.

What about Charlie? She could have been after him.

Edward was shaking his head before Beau finished writing, obviously downplaying any danger to Charlie. Beau ignored his waiting hand and wrote faster.

You can't know that she wasn't thinking that, because you weren't here. Florida was a bad idea.

Edward's reply was maddening.

I wasn't about to send you off alone. With your luck, not even the black box would survive.

Beau was miffed. His luck was bad, but it wasn't that bad. The journey back from Italy had not brought any planes down. Beau was hardly ready for a guest appearance on Lost.

So let's say my bad luck did crash the plane. What exactly were you going to do about it?

Edward was trying to hide a smile now. Why is the plane crashing?

The pilots are passed out drunk.

Easy. I'd fly the plane.

Both the engines have exploded and we're falling in a death spiral toward the earth.

Beau wanted to see what he'd make of that.

I'd wait until we were close enough to the ground, get a good grip on you, kick out the wall, and jump. Then I'd run you back to the scene of the accident, and we'd stumble around like the two of the luckiest survivors in history.

"What?" Edward whispered when the other boy could only ogle at him.

"Nothing," Beau whispered back. Then he reached for his pencil.

You will tell me next time.

Beau knew there would be a next time. This pattern would continue until someone lost.

Edward stared into his eyes for a long moment. Whatever he saw there, it seemed to change his mind. He sighed, then nodded once.

Thanks.

The paper disappeared from under Beau's hand. He looked up in surprise just as Mr. Berty was marching toward them.

"Is that something you'd like to share there, Mr. Cullen?"

Edward held out a sheet of paper. "My notes?"

Mr. Berty scanned the page—no doubt a perfect transcription of his lecture—and then walked around with a frown.

It was later, in Calculus, his one class without Edward, when Beau heard a hint of gossip.

"My money's on the biker guy," someone was saying.

Beau looked up at these words. Tyler, Mike, Austin, and Ben had their heads together, deep in conversation.

"Yeah," Mike whispered. "Did you see the size of that Jacob kid? I think he could take Cullen down."

Ben shook his head. "I don't think so. There's something about Edward. He's always so . . . confident. I have a feeling he can take care of himself."

"I'm with Ben," Tyler nodded. "Besides, if that other kid messed Edward up, you know those big brothers of his would get involved."

"Have you been down to La Push lately? Lauren and I went to the beach a couple of weeks ago, and believe me, Jacob's friends are all just as big as he is."

"Huh. Too bad it didn't turn into anything. Guess we'll never know how it would have turned out."

"It didn't look over to me," Austin said. "Maybe we'll get to see."

Mike grinned. "Anyone in the mood for a bet?"

"Ten on Jacob."

"Ten on Cullen."

"Ten on Edward," Ben agreed.

"Jacob," Mike said.

"Do you guys know what it was about? That might affect the odds."

"Well . . . "

Beau was waiting for the four pairs of eyes to land on him. He stared, stone-faced, projecting all of his anger about being left out of the vampire conspiracy onto four people who wanted to bet on the two people he loved the most.

It had the desired effect: the other boys looked down to their notes, properly chastened. When Beau turned to face the front of the room again, he heard Mike speak for the last time.

"I still say Jacob."