La Push

I almost remember how to get to La Push. It wasn't really that long ago, the last time I went. It was after services for Grandma. Uncle Billy had invited us all to come to the beach for a sunset bonfire. Mom didn't feel too comfortable. She didn't know anyone there very well. I didn't either, really. Summer visits had been short. I didn't even know then that it was going to be my last visit for a long while.

I don't have to remember the way to get there, now. Since no Cullens are coming, we all fit into Tyler's van. He's the one driving. It feels strange, to be inside the vehicle that almost killed me. I feel like Jonah swallowed by the whale.

I miss Edward.

I miss my Gran.

The beach had been filled with people that evening. Little kids running everywhere. I was too old to run with them, too young to sit with the grown-ups. Jake was really the only one I knew. His sisters were with their boyfriends. The elders held a sing, as the fire blazed on the beach, and the sun, such a rare sight, went down over the water. I can't remember the words. Maybe they were in Quileute. Maybe there were no words, just a chanting that rose and fell, mournful and strong. And someone was beating a big drum.

I've been quiet for so long that Angela has noticed. Eric and Mike and Tyler are carrying on about which movie is going to be the best this year – "300", or "Transformers", or "Sweeney Todd" – so she has a moment to reach over and squeeze my hand.

"We can hang out while the guys are all surfing," she promises. "It'll be fun."

I still miss Edward. And Gran.

Everyone is pretty much agreeing that "Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix" is going to be for pussies. Our group is hard-core. We go surfing in the almost rain.

The beach is like I remember it. It's wide and it's flat, hemmed in by the headlands, with sea stacks breaking up through the waves far out. I can't find the driftwood log that I sat on that night, though. The ones I see all look different. Four years is a long time for driftwood, I guess.

Angela is as good as her word. She's hanging out here with me at the van while the guys and Lauren are out in the water with their boards. Jessica kind of drifts back and forth between us and the shallows, waving at Mike and wishing she owned a wetsuit. It really is still way too cold for her to go out on his board with him. Only the tenth of March. Not even the Ides yet.

I pull off another couple of Twizzlers for Angela and me. The cold makes them taste nutritious.

"Mike's asked Jessica to prom already," Angela says.

I knew that. Jessica told everybody within about two hours of him asking. And then she Facebooked it when she got home.

There's a big old white elephant sitting in the van with us.

"There's still time, right? I mean, a lot of guys haven't asked anyone yet."

"Ange."

"I'm hopeless, aren't I …"

"Maybe he's just shy."

"Eric? Are you kidding me?"

"I mean shy with girls. He's shorter than you. Guys have a thing about height. Maybe he thinks you wouldn't want a guy that you have to look down at. Especially in heels."

"I'd wear flats. I'd totally wear flats. I saw this really pretty pair of ballet shoe sandals …"

"So ask him. Ask him if he wants to go with you. What's the worst thing that could happen?"

"Oh, Bella." And she squeezes my hand, real tight. Everybody in the whole school saw the worst thing that could happen.

"I was just trying to be nice to him. Nobody's ever nice to any of them. Ever."

Neither of us says anything. Edward didn't have to be as rude to me as he was. Maybe they really are all stuck up and clannish. But then why would he bring me the medicine? And put himself between me and death. And the journal. I still can't figure out what that was all about. I can't figure him out at all.

I think of the Edward who wrote all those things. I think of his handwriting, and the fountain pen. Why did he have to die? So young like that. Why did I have to give everything to Edward? I have nothing now, nothing to remember that boy with. I feel like my chest is going to cave in. Why did Edward have to be so mean to me?

And I suddenly realize: he's an Indian giver. He gives things to me and then takes them back. But that's not right either. Because I'm the one who gave the journal back to him. He never asked for it back. Maybe he meant me to keep it. Maybe his feelings were hurt that I gave it back. I don't think he's said a word about the scrapbook to anyone. At least not yet. Did he like it, then?

I'm completely confused now, and don't know what to think.

There's a bunch of kids walking toward us on the beach. I never even saw them arrive. Maybe they came from one of the trails through the woods. Must have. I recognize Jacob as they get closer.

There's no one else here but our group, and so Mike and Tyler and everybody come in from the surf to say hi. It's a public access beach. It's not like we're trespassing or anything, but we are on tribal land. And these are the kids who call this beach home. Jacob and I say 'hey' to each other as introductions go around: Paul, Embry, and Sam. I sort of remember Sam. He looks like a grown-up, now, which he sure didn't before. He's wearing his hair all long. They all are. Not making anything of it, just there. I break off Twizzlers for everybody. I'm really glad I brought them.

"You surfing, Bella?" Sam asks, with quite a lot of disbelief.

"Definitely not." He could have seen that for himself. I'm pretty sure I hear Jake growl at him, and I do my best not to laugh.

"You guys should stay and keep Bella company," Jessica says. "Her date bailed."

"Edward Cullen, resident weirdo," Mike adds.

"Resident evil," the kid named Embry mutters.

What the hell?

"She was just trying to be nice," Angela defends. "It's no big thing. Anyway, they're all doing stuff for their mom, today."

Sam smirks at that, and gives me a hard look at the same time. "The Cullens don't come here," he says. Like that's the last word. Period.

Tyler makes half-hearted invitations to the Quileute boys to hang out with us for the barbeque. They're not really interested. They look like they've got something else to do. Sam reminds us to bury our fire with sand before we go. I'm pretty sure that's code for "Make sure you take all your garbage with you when you leave."

Everybody goes back to what they were doing before – the townies to surfing, the Quileutes to patrolling their beach. Jacob hangs back to stay with me, and this leaves Angela free to go check out tidal pools with Eric.

Jacob bums another Twizzler off of me, and punches me softly in the shoulder.

"Hey, you good?" he asks.

"Always am."

He laughs at that, around his mouthful of cherry red sweet. "Wanna walk?"

I do, actually. I really do.

… … …

The sea on our left is all dark and grey. The waves are choppy out past the surf line. We walk on the mist-wet sand, dodging the odd wave that comes up higher onto the beach. To our right, the boulders and forest are every shade of black.

Just walking feels good, like I've done it before, and it's good: good to be here, good to remember my Gran. And Uncle Billy with both his legs. Did he have a shell and a raven's wing? Was he smudging smoke out over the water, blessing Gran's spirit as we all said goodbye? It's not a memory. Just a picture in my mind. Ever since Jacob said his Dad had put a blessing on the truck. Come to think of it, the truck had probably been here, too – younger, redder – the back of it filled with kids hitching a ride because most days they walked to everywhere.

I could almost be happy; except that I can't get Embry and Sam's comments out of my mind. The flinty look in their eyes.

The Cullens don't come here.

Is this why Edward blew me off?

"So how come the Cullens aren't welcome out here?" I ask, as we pass a twisted grey skeleton of a tree, lying down along the highest tide mark.

Jacob shoots me a look. A little alarmed. A little worried.

"You caught that, huh?"

Jeez, Jacob.

But he doesn't go on, so I have to prod.

"Is there some kind of, like, bad blood between the Cullens and the Quileutes?"

Jacob lets out a short, barking laugh. "Bad blood! Huh! You're funny, Bella."

"Well?"

"They're palefaces. We don't like their kind."

"Jacob, I'm a paleface."

"Not that pale."

"So, what, now the Quileutes are getting all racist or something?"

"Bella, it's nothing. Embry and Sam, they were just horsing around."

Our feet have carried us pretty far from the rest of the group. I can see Mike and Tyler trying to show off on their surfboards. Lauren is out there with them, not taking a back seat to anyone. Jacob's friends have drifted on almost to the far curve of the headland. I wonder if they'll walk back this way or just go up through the woods. Eric and Angela are out of sight somewhere, and Jessica is in a quiet spot, ankle deep, waving to Mike again. They all look distant and small. I can't hear any sound but the waves.

"My Dad says your Dad wouldn't let Dr. Cullen treat him," I press. "Is that part of this whole Quileute / Cullen … thing?"

"That was two years ago, Bella. They'd just blown into town. Who knew if the guy was a quack or what?"

"My Dad says he's good. Real good."

Neither of us is walking any more. Jacob has his arms crossed over his chest, and is scowling out to sea. I look at him and realize, dammit, he's taller than me! Not by much. Yet. But a little. When did that happen? And the boy isn't giving me any answers at all. He's as bad as Edward Cullen.

We stand here, not talking, while the wind kind of whips at us. It carries wisps of mist down from the forest, and stings a little, with the salt. Everything is dark and cold and damp, and I wish with all my heart for the Phoenix sun.

No.

I wish for the sun of here. Like the one I saw going down as we were singing for Gran. I miss her. I hardly ever got to see her at all. And then she died. And now Jacob's going all stoic and silent red man on me.

Sam and Embry's words had been hard and final. There hadn't been any joking in their faces at all. I've just asked Jake six ways to Sunday and he's blown me off just like Edward did. Stands there scowling – not at me, but not giving an inch, either. Like there's some deep dark secret that palefaces aren't allowed to know. Even though I still remember the smells of his mother's cooking.

My chest hurts when I breathe.

"My Dad and your Dad went to war together", I say softly. "I thought that counted for something."

"What?"

"You're treating me like an outsider, Jake! You're treating me like an outsider."

He looks at me, all puzzled and pained.

"Bella, it's not like you grew up on the rez. You didn't even grow up in town."

He might as well have driven a stake through my heart.

"THAT WASN'T MY FAULT!" I yell. Into the wind, because I'm already running. I can't feel my body. I just hear the slap of my feet on the wet sand. There are rocks here, too, but I can't see them. Only water in front of my eyes.

Jacob's voice comes from far away.

"Bella! Jesus Christ!"

He's chasing me. I didn't know I could run this fast. Feet pounding. Waves pounding. Suddenly, there isn't any sand left. I feel a rock under my foot, and my ankle turning. I'm going down. Going to smash my face. Break bones. Be ugly for the rest of my life.

Then I'm caught, by arms and a warm body. Jacob has me. "Jesus Christ, Bella! What the HELL!"

I can't talk. He sits me down on a wet, crusty rock. "What the hell?" He just keeps repeating that, rocking me, wrapping me up in warmth. I smell it again, the memory of wood smoke and wolf-pelts from when he was a baby. He holds on, but looking at me from time to time, too, because he's younger than me, and I'm a girl, and it's embarrassing.

I calm down. I can breathe again. Wipe my face on my parka. Talk.

"You're not going to tell me anything, are you?" I ask at last.

Jacob is quiet for a really long time. I can almost feel him fighting with himself. Finally he says, "I'm not an elder, Bella. I can't tell stories."

But he's told me a lot, right there. I feel the wind crawl down my spine. I'm back in the parking lot with Edward's arm around me, and the door of Tyler's van collapsing against his other, outstretched hand.

"What kind of stories?"

There are stories running around the school, now. Three must be the magic number. Ever since the groundskeeper at that lodge was found, all the others have been dredged up to rehash.

"Come on, Bella, don't you people tell your kids scary stories to make them behave? You know, like the bogeyman? Or Sasquatch or something?"

Or chupacabra. That's what all the boys are saying, now. As they describe it all in way more gore than there really was. My dad said the lake water had washed everything clean. But the body had been in pieces. "Badly mauled and partially eaten" is how the reporter put it, with the green trees and yellow tape behind him.

"Jacob, Edward Cullen saved my life. If there's something wrong with him … or his family … don't you think I need to know about it?"

Jacob looks at me sharply. "Is he trying to ask you out?"

"No." Not in a million years.

"Good!"

"Hey!"

"They're not from around here Bella. They're city slickers. Their kind never stay long. All they care about is themselves. They'll suck you dry and leave you for dead."

I realize that Jacob must be just saying what he's heard his Dad say about the Cullens. How could Uncle Billy and my Dad have such opposite views of the same family?

But Jacob is squeezing my shoulders with his teenage-boy, too-big hands. He wants me to listen.

"Steer clear of him, Bella. Not everything that's pretty is good."

A/N: With deepest gratitude to my dear beta, averysubtlegift, who reminds me that a chapter needs meat as well as bones. To geo3, who is WRITING AGAIN! *fangirl squee* Fortune's Gate!

Thank you dear readers, and just fyi, the wolfboys here are the originals:

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