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twilitty · 2 years

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By The moon

by: @twilitty

word count: 4k

Chapter 6: La Push

The shower finally soothes the tense muscles of my body, the water several degrees warmer than I would have previously run it in Phoenix. The cold seems to have seeped into my bones, holding my warmth hostage from me, and providing no exceptions. I’ve been in Forks a full three weeks now, and I have yet to develop any immunity to the temperature that continues to plague the town.

Angela is the only friend who sympathizes with me, Jessica and Mike bring me supposedly unnecessary mittens and scarves from their homes every morning to tease. They bring each new item, all knitted and cozy, with a laugh and eventually an incredulous look after I put them on.

“It’s cold,” I rationalize each time, my body slowly become a museum to their winter accessories. Each time they laugh with me, retrieving the goods at the end of the day and bringing me fresh ones the next morning. I know they bring me mittens and such as a joke because to them this weather is perhaps quite mild, but even with the extra accessories, my skin continues to run at a freezing temperature.

The shower, I have found, is the only way for me to cope with the weather. Every morning I take a blisteringly hot shower, my skin blotchy with pigments of pink and red after I get out. The warmth within me, granted from the showers, lasts barely long enough to travel to school. But from there I get hats and mittens and scarves and that helps, too.

I’ve clued Charlie in on my friend’s joke, and he offered me mittens of my own. I promptly declined, favouring instead the teasing of my new friends.

I step out of the shower, my skin nearly steaming with the heat, and wrap myself in a thick grey towel. My hair hangs loosely around my shoulders, the ends curling slightly upwards and in dire need of a trim. I wrap it over my head after applying a generous amount of leave-in conditioner, the sole remnants of Renee’s brief stint in cosmetology school.

The light streaming in through my window is bright as if promising a warmer day than last. I know this is false, that indeed the temperature will remain low for at least a little longer. It is March, after all. Charlie had guessed about another two to three weeks of the chilly air before it begins to raise for spring. I cannot wait for spring, and subsequently summer, because my already pale skin is likely to become transparent if I am unable to sit in the sun at least once in the next three months.

I dress in my staple jeans and long sleeve shirt, pulling a thick sweater overtop. If the last of my skin’s pigmentation doesn’t leave, the world's knowledge of my figure surely will. This past week has been characterized by baggy sweaters that reach down mid-thigh. The length and size shouldn’t surprise me, for I’ve been stealing them from Charlie’s closet.

The drive to school has become routine, as has the transition to using the handrails leading down the steps from the porch. The cold weather mixed with rain has caused the ground to be slick with moisture and the last thing I need is a concussion. The last thing Renee needs is a phone call from Forks hospital that her daughter has a head injury less than a month after moving in with her father. Besides, Phil is in heavy, albeit unhelpful, training right now and Renee cannot afford to leave him to come visit me in a hospital bed.

I locate Tyler Crowley’s minivan in the school parking lot, an aged shade of turquoise with an assortment of chains and figures hanging from the rear-view mirror, and pull my truck in next to it. This had become the unofficial meeting spot for all my friends. The side of Tyler’s van is open and inside all the seats are down, blankets thrown around to add some semblance of comfort to the people currently lounging in it.

Tyler had lovingly named it Fran the Van sometime before I arrived in town. The name is fitting, although I could not explain why. Angela is perched in the passenger seat, nursing a cup of something warm, and the others are crammed into the back of the van.

I exit the truck, the chilly air hitting my face and causing my nose to wrinkle in distaste.

“Bella!” Out of instinct I look up and raise my hands to cover my face, something soft hitting my palms and falling to the ground at my feet. A few people laugh at my apparent lack of athleticism and overall basic coordination. “Come on, girl, you just had to close your hands and you would’ve had it!” Mike grins at me, resembling an overexcited golden retriever.

I stoop to collect the knitted hat on the ground, which thankfully hasn’t seeped in the wet of the pavement. I pull it over my head and reach out to accept the matching mittens from Mike while expressing my gratitude. He waves it off and reclines back to lean against Jessica’s knees. She smiles inwardly at their point of contact, Eric noticing and shooting me a horrified look. Despite myself, I laugh and soon Angela joins in as well.

Tyler, in the driver’s seat, taps the dash and reminds us all that class starts in a minute. “Don’t want to be late on the big day, kiddos!”

“Big day?” I ask, the others exiting the van with their bags on.

Angela pauses next to me, letting the others walk ahead to class. “The first beach trip of spring is this Saturday,” she explains.

“But what does that have to do with today?”

She laughs a little to herself, rolling her eyes dramatically. “Tyler and Mike are having a competition to see who people think is the better surfer.” This does not surprise me, both boys are athletic and incredibly competitive. “Today they’re going to try and garner some supporters.” I laugh with her now, unable to maintain a straight face at the thought of my two friends campaigning for the best surfer.

Lunchtime comes around, my new favourite time of the school day, and Mike and Tyler are sending quips across the table at each other. As it turns out Tyler is in the lead with a grand total of twelve supporters. Mike has three.

“You must’ve bought them off,” Mike says grimly, chewing aggressively on a cold slice of pizza. Pizza day in the cafeteria, as I’ve come to find out, is not something to look forward to. Mike resolutely eats three slices, whereas those of us with stomachs that are not made of steel, can barely handle one slice.

Tyler rocks backward in his chair, gulping down his coke and smirking at his opponent. “When you have mad skill like me, people want to support you.”

Mike swallows the rest of his pizza, collects his tray and stands to throw the garbage out. “I’m heading to class,” he grumbles. A sore loser, then.

“Class isn’t for another fifteen,” Jessica interrupts, her thin brows pulled tight together.

Mike nods, refusing to meet Tyler’s eyes. The other boy laughs silently to himself, clearly enjoying the torture Mike is going through. “I know, I just want to get started on the stuff.”

He doesn’t say anything else, just slumps his way out of the cafeteria with a glum look on his face. I feel a little bad for him, my usually boisterous friend a sad puddle of a teenage athlete. His only three supporters are Jessica, me, and Angela. And we’ve also pledged our support to Tyler, which I still think is against the rules but refuse to discuss. So, when you think about it, Mike is at zero supporters, not that I will be mentioning that to him anytime soon.

“Bella, are you going to the La Push?” Eric asks me after Tyler finishes his fit of laughter. I quirk up an eyebrow. “It’s the beach on the Reservation,” he explains. “La Push, baby, it’s La Push.”

The definition of beach appears to change based on location because La Push is different from the beaches I’m used to. The sand isn’t white but instead dark and gravelly with coloured rocks, the waves are not blue but instead shadows of the clouds. The air is chilly, which is to be expected of the time of year, but still a disappointment. The sun has barely peeked out from behind the clouds but throws rainbows off the dark water when it does shine down.

A large group ended up going to the beach, the regular crew from lunch, as well as the many supporters Tyler had gathered. There is still some speculation around his methods to gather these supports, Mike still says they’ve been bribed, but nothing has been proven.

We had carpooled in Tyler’s minivan, the seating arrangements illegal but not entirely unsafe with Tyler’s cautious driving. Angela and I were perched together in the back, our legs a tangle together and our thighs pressed so tight together you couldn’t tell where one of us started and the other ended. Mike and Jessica, as was expected, sat together in the passenger seat with her shooting grins at us over his shoulder. Eric sat on the floor, enjoying the attention it gave him and hamming it up with the jokes the entire way to the beach

There were a few others also in the van, most of whom I don’t remember the names of. One girl I know is named Lauren, and I only remember her because she is short and blonde and always has a horrid grimace on her face. Quite similar to another Lauren I had gone to school with in Phoenix.

The side of the van is opened, a few other vehicles are littered around the small parking lot, and everybody seems to be milling around waiting for the surfing to commence. I sit next to Angela, our sides pressed together, and our legs covered by a colourful crocheted blanket Mike had brought for me as a joke. I really enjoy their jokes. Someone had brought a thermos of hot chocolate, and I happily accept a cup of it to chase away the cold settling in my core.

Tyler is jumping into his wet suit, the rubbery material looking like it will do very little to protect him from the inevitable cold of the water. Everybody’s laughing and joking, Jessica the sole exception as she stands off to the side with a forlorn Mike. “Looks like she’s giving him a pep talk,” Angela whispers in my ear. I cough to cover up my laugh, but Angela just bites off another piece of licorice and grins.

“Bella?” My head swivels quickly at my name, catching sight of a tall boy with dark russet skin, eyes wide and grin even wider. Jacob Black.

He looks the same as the last time I saw him, his shoulders broad and legs long. His hair is sitting around his shoulders, swaying in the chilly breeze. He’s wearing a loose pair of cargo shorts and his shirt is barely more than scrap material. I feel a nudge in my side, Angela, and quickly avert my eyes from his abdomen. If he noticed my staring, he doesn’t show it.

He approaches the van door, two large boys flanking him with easy grins. They are all dressed similarly, although the shortest one has no shirt on. I try not to notice his physique, which appears more like something in a men’s health magazine than the chest of an eighteen-year-old boy.

“Hey, Jake,” I say as he stops before Angela and me. He shoots her a kind smile, and she returns it, offering him a piece of licorice that he takes gratefully.

“What are you doing down here?” He asks, snapping off a piece of the candy with startlingly white teeth. “This is my turf; you could be initiating a war right here.” He talks around his chewing, so the words come out all garbled. I bite my lip to keep in the laugh threatening to escape. “You laughing at me, Swan?” It appears that his disappearance from our last meeting hasn’t at all affected his contagious optimism.

I open my mouth to respond but am beat by the taller of Jake’s friends. “Jacob’s awful at introductions, clearly,” he says stepping forward with an extended hand.

I take it and immediately startle, his burning fingers clutching mine not allowing me to drop his hold. He shakes it once, twice, and then shoots me another grin. I can’t feel my expression, but from the way his lips tilt downwards, I assume it cannot be kind.

I work to rearrange my features, lifting my brows and lips to look more polite. It doesn’t work. “You have a fever.” I startle myself with the abrupt statement. I hadn’t meant to say it.

Angela coughs next to me and nudges me with force. “Bella,” she scolds quietly.

I catch myself and drop the boys’ hand, “I’m sorry, I just mean that your skin is really warm.” Nobody says anything for a moment, and I notice that Jacob is watching me carefully, not angrily, but as if he’s looking for something in my expression. “Like, really warm,” I repeat lamely.

The tall boy with the hot hand bursts out laughing, the heavy noise resonating in my chest as it thunders through the bustling parking lot. “Embry Call,” he tells me. He motions to the shorter boy next to him, “And that feisty little guy is Quill Atteara.” The short one, Quill, reaches over to smack Embry but he dodges it and turns back to me. “Rez guys are hotter than the guys in town,” he says as an explanation for his temperature, raising his arms to flex them. “We can’t help it, it’s a curse that we’re born so damn hot. Girls can’t stay away.”

“I’m sure it’s balanced out by your lack of humility,” Angela quips from beside me, her knees knocking against mine as she laughs at her own joke.

“Yeah, yeah, real funny,” Embry replies with a falsely annoyed lip raise. “If you had a body like this you wouldn’t be humble either.”

The banter continues, Jake and I quiet as the other three throw insults and comments between them. He circles around the outside of his friends and waves me forward, towards the beach to our left. I look over to Angela, mouthing that I’m going to be back. She nods and I stand to leave.

The beach is long, stretching between cliff faces and encompassing the rocky sand that I imagine would badly hurt your feet. Perhaps my feet just aren’t tough enough to withstand anything but premium Arizona white sand. A pity that even my feet are not accustomed to this town.

The sky is a tumultuous grey, the sun providing little light and even less warmth. Not that I notice the lack of warmth from the sun, it feels as though Jacob is running a fever just like Embry. Though our skin doesn’t touch, I can feel the emanating heat of his body and it warms me down to my bones.

We touch the beach and I look out to the rolling surf where a few people paddle around aimlessly on long surfboards. I don’t spot Mike or Tyler and assume that they aren’t going out to compete until later in the day. “Looks the same as you remember it?”

I turn my head to take in Jake, his eyes staring over my head at the ocean. I wonder if he sees this water as cold and uninviting as I do. “I remember it being more colourful,” I admit a little sheepishly. It’s true. I remember the rocks being an assortment of colours and the trees and forest floor being startling shades of rich green. I remember the sky being a bright blue when it would show through the clouds. The scene before me today is a swath of grey.

“Yeah,” Jake admits, sounding forlorn and nostalgic. “It was pretty colourful,” a small smirk that tells me he’s fallen into memories. I don’t respond for fear of taking him from them. “It’s still colourful to me, though.” I pause a little at this, my eyes scoping out the scenery and returning to his bashful expression. “What?”

“Jake, it’s grey.” Even to my ears, I sound like a whiny child.

“I mean, yeah, some parts of it are grey. But not everything.” He doesn’t elaborate and I don’t push him, not as his fingers catch on the edge of my bright yellow rain jacket and tug on it. This is bright, his hands seem to say as they drop my jacket. This isn’t grey.

“That’s true,” I say to fill the silence settling between us. It doesn’t feel uncomfortable to not talk with him, but it also isn’t as easy as it is with Charlie. It feels like we have things to talk about, we just don’t talk about them. “So, you’re a senior?”

He nods, clasping and unclasping his large hands. A simple question yet it seems to be a topic that upsets him. He fidgets, and just as I’m about to ask a different question he speaks. “More in theory than in practice, if I’m being completely honest.”

I pause walking, pushing the hood of my jacket off my forehead so that I can see him a little more clearly. “Jacob, are you telling me you’re flunking out?”

He chuckles humourlessly. “No, that’s what my teachers are telling me.” My heart seems to collapse a little at this. I think of his sisters, the twin girls who had led academically inclined lives. Or at least that’s what Charlie had told me. I wonder what they think about Jake’s situation, or if they even know.

“Does your-”

He waves absently and starts walking again, I hurry to keep up with him. “Yeah, my dad knows. My sisters don’t.” Oh.

I decide to try and redirect the conversation, his empty expression twisting at my chest. I like it when he smiles. “What are they up to? Your sisters, I mean.” He smiles at this question, and I find my own lips pulling up in response.

“Well, Rachel is smart as hell. No change there. She’s out at Washington U, finishing up her computer engineering stuff.” I nod, this falls in line with what Charlie had told me. “But Rachel is the pride and joy of the family,” he tells me with a deep voice, as if the words are coming directly from his heart. The way he says family seems to encompass more than blood relations, I get the sense that he means more than just himself and Billy.

“What’s she doing?” I ask, my lips aching to crack another smile.

“She’s painting, like my mom used to.” I remember his mother a little, with dark skin and bright eyes. Her pockets were always stuffed with mint gum. I remember Jacob telling me a couple weeks ago about her brushing out his hair, my heart hurts that she was taken away from her family so soon. “Rach uses oils, though. Still beautiful, the stuff she paints.” Then, he looks over at me with the wide smile I was hoping would make a reappearance. My fingertips tingle at that expression. “When you come back over to the house, I’ll show you some of her paintings, they’re really nice.” He pauses, eyes raising to the ocean behind me. “Beautiful.”

I notice that he says when I come over, not if. This makes me happy, that his leaving so abruptly from the last time we had hung out was not because of me. It feels like we’ve fallen into the pattern of our old friendship, rekindled from our childhood years without a second thought. I’ve missed his easy laughter and witty remarks, I’ve missed him without even realizing it.

We reach a large tree, fallen over and bleached white from years of torment from the sun. Jake climbs up onto its trunk, then pats the spot next to him. My hands grasp at the trunk, which is wide enough to fit three or four of me inside of itself, and my feet clammer at the limbs extending from its sides.

My neck grows warm with blush and my ears begin to tinge an embarrassingly familiar shade of red. If not for the hood I’d adjust my hair to cover them. Jake, seeming to understand my peril, reaches down with large hands and hoists me up from under my armpits.

His skin is hot, burning hot. Even through my jacket and warm layers, I can feel him. The blush grows up my neck and extends into my cheeks. He deposits me atop the trunk next to him, my feet swinging uselessly above the ground. His hands leave me, but the imprint of his warmth remains in my chest. Warming me from the inside out.

“You’re warm,” I say without purpose. He turns to look at me, his cheeks dimpling into a smile at my noticing. “Like the sun.” I’m not sure where the words come from, but they feel right. His lips spread wider, displaying a full set of white teeth. My chin dips, eyes focusing on my shoes beneath me. The toe of his sneaker knocks into mine and I watch the movement, avoiding his gaze for some reason unbeknownst to me.

My chest still feels warm, although I don’t think it’s from his hands.

“I can help you.” The words come out of my mouth quickly and shock settles in my throat. “With your school stuff,” I explain. “I’m doing pretty well. I could tutor you.” That’s an understatement. I am doing exceptionally well in school; my grades are almost consistently at the top of the class. I don’t say this, both for fear of sounding boastful, but also because I doubt Jake wants to hear about my honour roll status when he’s failing out.

“No, no, you don’t have to do that, Bella.” But I can hear the intrigue in his voice. He’s fake declining, the polite response to being offered a gift. The same response I should’ve had when he made me a truck, instead, I had all but snatched the keys from his hand.

It’s my turn to knock my toe against his sneaker and he looks over to me with a slight shake of his head, as if to decline again. “Jake, I want to help you.” And it’s true, I realize after the words come out. The few times I have spoken to Jacob since coming to town have been fun, light, and natural. Even homework couldn’t tone down the way his smile swells something inside my chest.

“Okay, fine.” He pauses, lips quirking to the side and nose scrunching in thought. “Thanks, Bells.” I smile at my nickname. “Now, name your price.” My smile drops and an incredulous sound comes out of my open mouth.

“Jacob Black, you are not paying me.”

He waves me off. “Yes, I most definitely am.”

“No, you’re most definitely not.” I stare him down with a level expression until he finally gives in, his dramatic sigh seeming to fill every corner of the space between us.

“Okay, how about a trade then?” He seems eager to find some way to repay me and as bad as I feel for accepting his offer, I accept it all the same.

“Fine, what are you offering me?” Then, with a mocking roll of my eyes, “Make it good or I’ll revoke my offer. Make me another car?” He kicks at my foot, a loud laugh echoing in my ears.

“I didn’t make the truck,” he repeats with exasperation. “I only fixed it up.” I shrug my shoulders and hands as if to say same difference. He sighs again, loudly. “I can provide you with dinner.”

“Dinner?” I repeat, my chest twisting at the thought.

“Yeah.” Then, after he pauses and his expression changes to wide-eyed and a little startled, “I mean, like, I can make dinner when you tutor me. Like, I can make it. Not, like, going out for…” He exhales and looks back to our shoes. “-dinner.”

The thing in my chest twists once more, tightening as my breath catches, then releases and I exhale in time with him.

“That works,” I assure him, watching his side profile. His long nose and high cheekbones, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. “But if you give me food poisoning, I quit.”

A/N: I was on a brief pause to finish my school term, I'm on summer break now and will get back to posting // also why does the formatting look so funky? I think tumblr must’ve changed something but idk what

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twilitty · 2 years

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By The Moon

by @twilitty

word count: 2.5k

Chapter 7: The Dream

I’m standing in the middle of Charlie’s backyard, staring out at the forest bordering his property. It’s thick and dark, ominously silent as the moon beats down its omniscient judgement on me. It’s as if I can feel the disappointment of everybody, everything, around me. The grass dares me to step forward, to take the twelve steps needed to immerse myself in the forest.

But something holds me back. Something I can’t focus on calls out to me from the depths of my subconscious. Hesitancy layers my bones and my muscles ache with the refusal of the steps I’m dared to take. The forest beckons me forward with a single bird call. A heavy silence falls back over me, blanketing me in discomfort.

Forks has never been this dark, I’ve never had a true moment of silence. Something is wrong.

I take a step forward and the forest rushes towards me, air spinning around me and whistling in my ears, my hair shielding my view of the trees before me. One step leads me twelve paces away from my original spot, my eyes now blind by the midnight lighting of the woods.

I look over my shoulder, but the border of trees before the backyard is thick with brambles and thorny bushes that were not there before. I cannot turn back. I must keep walking.

The bird calls again and I find myself turning and taking another step deeper into the woods. Then another. And another. And another.

My eyes adjust to the darkness enveloping me, the small shreds of light sifting down from the canopy above lighting the trees and underbrush before me.

“Bella.” I turn quickly, my feet catching on a root and nearly sending me down into the dirt. It was a man’s voice, deep and authoritative. But there is no man here, there is nobody here.

I want to call out, to ask who’s there but something stops me. That same unsettling knowledge held just a breath away from me in my subconscious. Something I only feel, not understand. I shouldn’t speak, shouldn’t draw attention to myself.

“Bella!” It’s the same man and my breath comes quicker, shallower. He’s angry and loud. He doesn’t care about who hears him.

Predator and prey, my subconscious tells me. It doesn’t provide me with any other information, but those three words are enough to set alarm bells off in my mind. I have to get out of here, I have to escape before he finds me.

A bird calls again and my feet scramble to follow it, its caw sounding less threatening than the man. I have to find my way out.

I crash through the underbrush; the path is covered in the thick vines that bordered Charlie’s backyard and they tug at my loose jeans. Blood trails down my shins, skin stinging upcoming impact with each plant. “Bella! Get out of here!”

Predator, my subconscious tells me again with certainty. I look over my shoulder, trying to find the owner of the angry voice. The midnight light is too dim, I can barely see five feet in any direction and it’s useless to waste time trying to see someone who doesn’t want to be seen.

“Bella-”

The voice clicks in my mind, the bird stops calling out to me, and my heart slows to a stop. Jacob Black.

Something in me shifts and turns away from the statement my unconscious had given me about his voice. Jacob wouldn’t hurt me. Jacob will help me; he’ll help me get out of here.

“Jake?” I whisper it, the words falling from my lips in a barely audible breath. I’m about to repeat it when my heart kicks into overdrive and a footstep sounds behind me.

I whir around, coming face to face with a large man.

His face is Jacob’s, long nose and prominent cheekbones, full lips, and white teeth. But this is not Jacob. His teeth are long, pointed, and barred behind pulled lips. His nose is lifted in some trait of dominance. The most un-Jacob part of him is his posture.

The creatures’ shoulders are thrown forward in a grotesque hunch that sooner resembles a hunting lion than a teenage boy. “Jake?” I whisper again. His lips widen impossibly so, displaying a full set of sharp white teeth.

“Bella!” It’s Jake’s voice, coming from somewhere behind me. Not from the dangerous, predatory mouth of the creature-Jacob before me. I turn quickly, to catch sight of my Jacob sprinting towards me, his eyes wide in fear and mouth parted to scream my name again. “Look out!”

I hear it before I see it.

The growl could be heard from the neighbouring town, it reverberates through my chest and my feet twist together as I turn to come face to face with the true creature. Its muzzle is pulled back, lined in dark brown fur and dripping some dark substance.

Blood, my inner voice tells me.

Jacob is yelling at me from behind, telling me to run. I can barely hear him over the continued growl of this wolf. It’s as tall as I am, its massive paws approaching me slowly, stalking me. It’s massive, it’s rippling in corded muscles and the bloodlust in its eyes is raw. Primal.

It lunges.

I lurch into a sitting position, my breathing ragged. A dream, I tell myself as I work to calm down my nervous system. My extremities tingle with residual fear, my arms a shadow of pain from the inevitable mauling I would have received from that beast. It had felt so real. I could feel the wolf's warm breath on my face, I could hear with crisp clarity Jacob yelling my name in desperation. Just a dream.

My phone reads five in the morning, but I forgo any attempt at falling back to sleep. It would do me no good, my heart is racing far too fast to fall back asleep. And what I try to not say to myself, try to not think about, is that I am incredibly afraid of closing my eyes and finishing the dream. Receiving the mauling that I know was coming.

I push my purple comforter off, step down onto the cool hardwood, and prepare for my day.

Charlie is coming down the stairs, dressed in his full uniform, as I throw my schoolbag over the shoulder of my yellow jacket. “Hey, kid,” he calls to me as I move to open the door. I turn and see a stricken expression playing over his features, knitted brows and thin lips. “I’ll be out in the woods most of the day,” a pause as he clears invisible lint off his pressed shirt. “Just do me a favour and don’t go out there, okay?”

I feel the beast’s breath on my face again, hear the anguished yell of Jacob Black. I nod vigorously, no hope in hell I’ll be going out into the forest anytime soon.

But even the horrific dream doesn’t suppress my insatiable curiosity. “Why are you going out in the woods?” I ask.

He looks at me with that same expression, it makes my shoulders tighten and the footsteps of the wolf echo in my head. “There’s been some animal attacks, real gruesome. I’m heading out with some rangers, look for tracks and the animal causing this.” I nod, picturing my own body lying in bloody ribbons on the forest floor. The ending of my dream that I narrowly avoided.

“Be safe,” I tell him with sincerity.

“I will,” he pats his hip and the empty holster that is sitting there. “I always am.”

Tyler is busy taunting Mike in the lunchroom, discussing the gory details of the surfing championship over the weekend. After Jake and I went back to join the group Mike and Tyler were paddling out into the ocean. It was not a quick win for Tyler, although his boasting would likely make others assume it was. Mike held his ground for the first couple of waves, his body someone surviving the icy water.

A couple of kids from school had placed bets on the two guys, and very quickly the bets were turning in Mike's favour. Unfortunately for both the gamblers and Mike, he lost. If it was not for Jessica and his obvious crush on her, I am sure he would’ve hidden in the back of the van and cried. She had continued to encourage him, telling him that she knew it was an off day for him and that next time he’d win easily.

“Drop it, man,” Mike grumbles over a sad bite of wilted salad. His shoulders are slumped forward over his plastic tray, a diet coke with a blue straw sticking out and towards his mouth. He takes a long, undignified slurp that even Jessica winces at. Angela and I make eye contact from across the table, her eyebrows raised up into her auburn-coloured bangs.

“Tyler, didn’t you cough up a ball of seaweed afterwards?” I ask to divert attention away from our sulking friend. I get a pointed glare from Tyler, which as more people turn to look at him, turns into a sheepish smile.

“I wouldn’t say a ball,” he replies with little force, quickly turning his attention down to the table.

“I would!” Someone else calls out, receiving a chorus of laughter in their wake.

“Anyways,” Angela drawls out with a long exhale. “Bella, have you had any luck with the job hunt?”

Heat settles in my face and embarrassment clouds my words as I respond, “I haven’t really thought about a job, actually.”

She starts at this, her eyes widening. “Your truck must cost a fortune for gas; how do you pay for it?”

“I have a lot saved up.” It’s the truth. I had worked a couple jobs back in Phoenix, and due to my lack of social life, rarely spent any of the money. Renee had worked as an elementary school teacher, which seemed to suit her bubbly personality and energetic nature.

I had volunteered in her classes a few times, and each time was amazed at the ease with which she communicated with the young children. Kids always felt foreign to me, like they were living on some frequency I was unaware of, or perhaps unable to reach. They would babble a seemingly inaudible speech pattern and my mother would launch into action, grabbing them a snack or a toy. I would stand there like an imbecile staring at the child, trying to understand what their mumbled request truly meant.

“Oh, well you know the store is hiring,” Angela informs me in a singsong voice that indicates her excitement at the opportunity. Working with my friend seems fun, all my jobs in Phoenix were fairly isolating. The employees and I never truly understood each other. The only issue is that I have no idea what store Angela is talking about. I decide to fake it until I make it.

“That sounds fun!” I don’t remember where Angela works. I look over to Eric, who is watching me with a painfully amused expression. He nods his head once as if trying to communicate that he’ll help me out.

“You like reading, Swan?” He asks with a toothy smile. He’s taken to calling me by my last name, which doesn’t offend me but also makes me feel like an animal in a zoo. Literally. Hey, Swan, you hungry? I almost expect him to throw breadcrumbs at me when he speaks like that. I try not to show any annoyance, it tends to prompt him to continue. Teenage boys are incredibly odd.

Odd but funny.

“I do, yeah.”

He nods seriously, Angela rolling her eyes. “Eric, why do I feel like you have some ulterior motive here?” She asks with a tinge of attitude. I like it when Angela gets feisty.

“Me? An ulterior motive? You wound me!” He fakes a knife going into his chest, gasping in false pain, and collapsing back on his chair. Angela and I make eye contact, and my traitorous mouth opens into a laugh. She rolls her eyes at me, too. Eric straightens back up, done with his show. “I’m only trying to make sure that Bella is well suited for a job at the bookstore with you.”

Angela gives him a funny look and the flush of embarrassment inside of me subsides. I give Eric a grateful smile and hope he interprets it as so. “I can hand in my resume,” I tell Angela before she can nag on Eric for his supposed ulterior motives again. “Would you mind texting me the address?”

“Well, actually, my parents own the shop.” I look up at her sharply, my fingertips buzzing with electricity at her words.

“Your parents own a bookstore?” I ask incredulously, my hands tapping against my knees under the table as I picture what she’s told me. An old bookstore, creaky floors, hot coffee, lots and lots of books. Kind people, quiet music, being surrounded by things that you love. “That sounds amazing, I can’t believe I didn’t know this.”

She appears pleased with my response, pushing her narrow glasses up the bridge of her sloped nose. “Yeah, it’s pretty cool.” A pause which feels as though she’s preparing to say something. Her eyebrows come together, and her teeth dart out to bite at her lower lip. “And, okay, I hope this doesn’t sound weird.” My brain is still on the fact that her parents own a bookstore, my thoughts still sprinting in happy circles and my hands still tapping excitedly. I can’t imagine growing up working in a bookstore, going there immediately after school to visit your parents. It sounds like a dream. “But,” I’m pulled from my thoughts by her soft tone. “I kind of already asked them about the job… For you.” I nod her along and she exhales the words as one giant syllable. “They said you can have the job if you want it, but obviously I won’t force you to take it. I just really like spending time with you, and I thought it would be cool to work together because we both enjoy reading and-”

“Angela, Swan is going into a coma. Give her a chance to breathe.” This is Eric and he’s appraising me with a funny expression. I look down, my hands are doing a weird little dance that I hadn��t realized was taking place. Heat creeps up into my face. I put them on my lap under the table, out of sight, and try to suppress my excitement.

“I have the job?” I say quickly and perhaps a little too loudly.

I realize I second too late that I’ve forgotten my manners again, just like when Jacob had given me the truck. I’m supposed to fake decline first, then accept after they insist. I curse my own excitement, the electricity that still surges through my veins at the opportunity of working at a family-owned bookstore.

“Yes,” Angela tells me happily, “you have the job.” She doesn’t seem affected by my impolite response, my lack of false decline. I appreciate this, but more so, I appreciate the job.

I thank her profusely, and for the rest of the day, I don’t let a minute go by without her being painfully aware of how grateful I am. She promises that she knows I appreciate the job, but I continue to thank her.

I remember my unfortunate Google search for a public library when I first arrived in town and the awful drive I would have to take into Port Angeles to get myself new reading material. Finding a bookstore in town is definitely a better alternative, the best alternative is that I get to work there.

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twilitty · 2 years

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By The Moon

by @twilitty

word count: 5.3k

Chapter 10: Who Can't Make Lasagna?

I talk to Renee Wednesday morning on the drive to school. I know it isn’t entirely safe to drive while talking on the phone, but it seems the safer alternative to having Renee call me during class. She has been anxiously awaiting the details of my shift yesterday, or at least that’s what Charlie told me this morning when I woke up. “She called at half past six this morning. Seems a little anxious to hear about how the shift at the Webbers went.”

I have never known my mother to be anxious. Harebrained, erratic, a little extravagant: yes. But not anxious.

So, I call her before I pull out of the driveway, thankful that Charlie had already left for work. He frowns upon phone usage while driving, not that I blame him. I usually frown upon it as well, but today I seem to make an exception for myself. A casual hypocrite in my own way.

I tell her all about the bookstore, the coffee shop next door, my friend Angela, and how nice the entire experience was. She laughs at all the appropriate parts and makes excited noises when I reveal a particularly interesting piece of information.

“Angela says we can use the ceramic mugs from the coffee place as long as we return them before closing,” I tell her. She can’t see my grin, which stretches across my face and pulls at the muscles in my cheeks, but I know she can hear it in my words.

“Ah! You hate cardboard to-go cups!” My grin grows infinitely at her casual mention of one of my quirks.

“I do hate them, yeah!” And so, the conversation continues.

It continues until I pull into the school parking lot and nearly clip someone’s car. “Mom, I got to let you go before I get into an accident.”

“Okay, sweetie, have a nice day!”

I toss my phone beside me on the seat and drive for a moment longer before I pull into my usual spot beside Fran the Van.

The entire group is already here, lounging in or around Tyler’s mom’s van. I notice Angela leaning against the hood, her arms wound around her chest as she nods along to something Jessica is saying. I never really imagined Jessica and Angela being good friends, which is perhaps due to my initial, and likely biased, perception of Jessica Stanley.

She’s a beautiful girl, with long dark hair and a rounded chin. She, unlike Angela, is extroverted and seems to speak at a volume just below a yell. She’s a good friend of mine, and her boisterous traits don’t detour me in any way. In fact, it might be because of her extroversion that I enjoy her company so much.

I had assumed, rather stupidly, that her sociable tendencies and Angela’s quiet demeanour left the girls at odd ends of the friend spectrum. Clearly, I was wrong in that assumption. The two girls have broad smiles on their faces as Jessica says something animatedly with emphatic hand movements.

She turns as I close my door behind me. “Oh! Bella!” This causes Angela to turn and her smile to soften at me. “I’m so glad you’re here, I was just telling Angela about that bake sale for the homeless people. We should totally make brownies or something, right?”

My response is cut off before it begins. Eric pokes his head out of the open passenger window of the van. His hair is greased back with some heavy-duty hair products, so heavy-duty that I doubt a hurricane could move a strand out of place. “It’s not for the homeless, Jess.”

Jessica rolls her eyes in response, throwing me a wounded look. “Well, okay, fine. Who’s it for then?”

“It’s for the volleyball team,” He responds before popping back into the van. Jessica and Angela stand quietly for a moment as if considering his words for truth.

“No,” Jessica says loudly. “The volleyball team is running it, not getting the money.”

Eric doesn’t respond, just shakes his head, and maintains his conversation with Tyler. I approach my two girl friends as the school bell rings. Everybody begins moving at once, but Jessica links her elbow with mine before we can depart. “I’m, like, completely positive the money is for the homeless people. Don’t listen to Eric.”

“Well, if you still want to bake for it, I don’t mind helping.” She squeals at this, reaching over and smacking Angela on the arm excitedly. Angela looks over quickly, her eyes wide.

“Why am I getting hit suddenly? Did Angelina Jolie-”

Jessica waves away our friend’s suggestion, “No, no, no. Angelina Jolie did not follow me back. Which I think is so stupid, I am very clearly her type and I’m also so much better than Brad Pitt.” She looks back over to me, momentarily distracted. “Like, have you seen his hairline? It’s absolutely horrendous.”

We walk in silence for a few more beats, Jessica’s face screwed up in concentration. “Well,” I interject quickly as we step onto the paved pathway leading to our respective buildings. “If you guys need any help with baking just let me know.”

I turn to depart, unlinking my arm with Jessica’s when she calls my name. “That would be so amazing! We could make it a whole girl’s night!”

The thought of having a girls' night introduces equal amounts of fear and excitement into my body. Somehow, knowing Angela would be involved soothes the fear portion of my emotions.

I spend the rest of the morning thinking about the implications of a girl’s night. Am I supposed to bring something in particular? Maybe ice-cream? Nail polish? Perhaps my best pop CDs?

I cringe at my own thoughts, the stereotypes that I am embracing by assuming that nail polish must be brought to a girl’s night. Although, in my defence, I have never truly attended a girl’s night that had an attendance of more than just Renee and me. And Renee was a big fan of all things beauty and self-care. We’d listen to trashy music and eat soft-baked cookies. I’d paint her nails and she’d braid my hair in an elaborate way that seemed to take an eternity to finish.

I meet up with my friends again at lunch, prepared to assault them with questions.

Angela and Jessica have their heads together, whispering discretely between the two of them as the conversation continues around the room. I take the only open seat, which is between Mike and Lauren and across from Eric. Jessica and Angela are sitting to the side of Eric and acknowledge me with kind smiles.

I’d much rather sit beside them than Lauren. The blonde-haired girl with a slender face seems to have taken some extreme disliking to me, and I cannot understand what prompted it. She tends to avoid speaking to me directly and goes out of her way to ignore my presence entirely. Just last week she had asked if everybody- her words, not mine- wanted to go to her house to swim once the weather got warmer. Apparently, her parents had a pool large enough to host the entire football team, and it was somewhat of a fan favourite amongst our friends.

Everyone at the table had happily agreed, already beginning to make plans for the inevitable ‘first swim of the season’ when she looked over at me and made an exaggerated frown. “Oh, Bella, you probably already have something to do that day though, right?” Her voice was sugary sweet and concealed in faux concern. Despite the fact that nobody had mentioned any specific date yet, I found myself slowly nodding my head and agreeing with her. It’s as if her words had some power over me. I constantly found myself succumbing to her teasing, it was infuriating.

“Bella!” I look over to Jessica who’s picking at a plate of lukewarm nachos with too much lettuce and too little cheese. The lunches for the past few days had been especially awful and I wonder if one of the lunch ladies is trying to get fired. On Monday someone bit into a burger to find it still pink inside. “I texted my mom and she’s doing her book tomorrow night, so we can’t do it at my house?”

“Oh, that’s okay, Jess,” I say low enough to try and keep our conversation from Lauren. The last thing I need is her injecting her venom into the plans. I should be the bigger person and extend an olive branch but considering how much she dislikes me she’d probably bite off the olive branch and sneer. “We can always do this weekend.”

“Well, actually the bake sale is on Friday, so we have to do it either tonight or tomorrow night.” Angela smiles apologetically and I get the impression that I’m about to be hosting girl’s night. “I have swim tonight so I can’t do anything and tomorrow my brothers are having their friends over to play some video game thing.”

“Oh.” I sound stupid, even to my own ears.

Both girls blink at me, but Angela quickly interjects before the silence continues. “If you don’t want to do it at your house then I’m sure we can find somewhere else.”

Jessica continues to watch me expectantly, but not rudely. If I could see her hands under the table, then I’m sure I’d see her fingers crossed.

As much fear, or rather anxiety, that I feel towards our girl’s night, I also feel incredibly excited. I’d rather have a girl’s night at my house than not at all. And besides, I’m sure Charlie would love to see how well I’m adjusting in Forks.

“No, we can do it at my house. I can pick up some baking supplies at the grocery store tonight, I doubt Charlie has anything in the cupboards.” I feel an odd sense of relief as they both thank me for hosting. I can’t pinpoint why exactly but wonder if it has anything to do with knowing I won’t have to navigate the confusing side streets of Forks to find either of their houses.

“Do what at your house?” Mike asks from my right. Jessica blushes lightly as he glances in her direction.

I spare her from the obvious effect he’s had on her. “Just a girl’s night.” My voice comes out a little higher as I notice Lauren leaning forward on her elbows. Damn it. I make eye contact with her quickly before looking back toward Mike. I can only hope her parents had instilled some baseline manners in her and that she won’t invite herself over to my house.

“I’m a girl.” Her voice comes out whiny and upset. Everyone swivels to look at the blonde to my left, her eyebrows lifted delicately in distaste. She’s a good actress, I’ll give her that.

Nobody speaks for a moment, and I can feel my shoulders slouching forwards under her scrutiny. Angela clears her throat, clearly prepared to invite her along to our hangout. I don’t think Jessica and Angela are oblivious to Laurens disliking me, but they’ve also never brought it up and I doubt they’ll start today.

I rush to speak before Angela can. “Yes, you are a girl.” I look down at my lunch tray, taking a large bite of a crunchy apple and chewing harshly as the table silences itself. I can feel my friends’ eyes on my skull, watching me and probably trying to decipher why I said that.

Then, thankfully, Eric bursts out into emphatic laughter. His laughing fit is contagious and quickly has Mike and Jessica joining in. I peek up from under the curtain of my hair and see Angela stifling a laugh with her palm pressed against her mouth. I don’t hear anything from my left and know Lauren must be staring daggers at me right now. She’s probably plotting my murder. A lightness has entered my chest, lifting my spirits and easing the discomfort Lauren instigated.

“What’s so funny?” Someone asks from over my shoulder. I look over and Tyler is grinning down at us, a bottle of apple juice lifted to his lips.

Eric takes a heavy breath before heaving out another bout of laughter. Mike responds for him, “Bella called Lauren a girl!”

Tyler sprays apple juice over the table, wetting the top of my head and the front of Eric's face. The laughing only increases in volume, and I find myself joining in. Lauren leaves for class quickly.

The entire drive home I speak aloud, practicing for how I’ll introduce the idea of a girl’s night to Charlie. I’m hesitant to inform him of our plans, although I know I must. My concern is that he’ll call Jessica and Angela’s parents to confirm the plans. Or that he’ll do something else equally as embarrassing. I can’t really think of anything else that he could do to embarrass me regarding this, but my teenage brain is in the midst of freaking out.

“I was planning on having some friends over tomorrow night,” I say into the empty cab of the truck. The windshield wipers are on the lowest setting, rain pattering the windows. “Is it okay if I have some friends over tomorrow night?” I huff out a sigh, sounding entirely like a dramatic teenager.

Renee had always said that my wise beyond my years. That I only get more middle-aged with each birthday. I don’t think she’s wrong. I was never one to attend parties, to attend football games or other sporting events. I’d never attended a school-organized dance or gone on a weekend road trip with friends. In fact, I don’t recall ever truly having friends in Phoenix.

I was never sad or lonely, not in the way that most people without friends are lonely. I had my mother and, on occasion, her friends or Phil.

She was all the dramatic teenager that I was supposed to be. It was as if we had switched rolls sometime between elementary and middle school. She would invite friends over for late-night dancing and I would read on the porch, in bed and lights out at an honourable hour.

I pull up out front of the Swan residence, in all its aged glory, and put the truck in park. I then experience a full-body refusal to exit the vehicle. It’s not the first time, nor will it be the last. It’s as if my very being is offended by the rain and refuses to step into it. Okay, maybe it’s a mixture of rain-induced repulsion and mild nervousness about having to discuss the girl’s night plans with Charlie.

Okay, maybe it’s just me procrastinating talking to Charlie.

His cruiser is staring at me from its parking spot, laughing at my inability to have a basic conversation with my father. Fine. Okay. Fine. I can do this. There is nothing scary at all about telling Charlie I’m having a couple friends over tomorrow.

Besides, they’re girls so that should make it easier. I doubt Charlie would like it if I had a bunch of boys over. Well, unless it was Jacob Black. In that case, he would probably jump with joy.

I push thoughts of Jacob Black from my mind.

I try to push thoughts of Jacob Black from my mind.

Instead, I have been thrust into a nonstop influx of feelings and images by even the mere mention of his name internally.

Jacob crouched over tide pools, his large hands holding the starfish so gently. His smooth black hair pushed behind his ears every time it falls over his eyes. The way his eyebrows scrunched upwards each time he got stuck on an Algebra question. His muscles bunching underneath his shirt and the casual way he seems to carry himself. Like a boy who knows how beautiful he is but doesn’t let that make him cocky. Make him unlikable.

“Get a grip, Bella,” I mutter angrily into the air.

I stalk up the front porch steps, trying to muster as much courage as possible when the front door opens. I startle, knees knocking together and stumble backwards. An arm winds around my waist, pulling me back onto the porch.

Jacob Black smiles down at me, his hair pulled back and tucked behind his ears. “Bella, hi!” I force my mouth to smile at him, the entire time screaming internally.

I had just been thinking about his back muscles, thinking about how good he looked in that black shirt he had on. I had just been thinking about him in a very not platonic way. And, as per my luck, here he is standing on my porch in a form-fitting shirt.

“Jake,” I mumble, thoughts lost to the hormonal chaos raging inside of me due to the warmth of his arm around my waist. “I didn’t know you were here.” It’s a dumb thing to say, but I still said it and now I can’t take it back.

His smile barely dims, but his eyes flicker down to my midsection, where my arms are raised to not come into direct contact with his arm. His smile dims a little now and my heart plummets with it. He removes his hold on me, instead planting his hands on his hips. He looks a little silly like that, tall and broad as he is but standing like a kindergarten teacher.

“I’m just stopping by,” he says. He doesn’t move from his position, and I don’t dare move either. Something about his lack of movement instigates the same in me. It is then that I notice there is somebody else present.

Charlie is standing in the open doorway, his arms crossed over his chest and moustache pulled up to expose a toothy grin. “Well, now, look at the two of you.” He says it proudly as if we’ve done something worthy of praise. I nearly fell and broke my tailbone and Jake pulled me up, not entirely something commendable on my part. My father looks over to Jacob then, motioning for him to step back into the house. “Jake, you stay for dinner. I have lasagna in the oven.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Chief Swan. I really should get back to the Rez.” Jacob looks between Charlie and me, finally dropping his arms back down to his sides. I stand stupidly, watching this go on.

“You’re making lasagna?” I had only meant to think the words, but apparently, the eventful last few moments have interrupted the channel between my brain and mouth.

Charlie looks at me pointedly, eyes narrowed. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am.” I nod. Once, twice, three times.

“Okay, cool. I’m sure it’ll be great.” Both men look at me now, Jacob’s eyebrows raised, and Charlie's furrowed over his brown eyes. The same as mine. Well, in colour not in expression. I’m sure my eyes look something like those of a rabbit about to be eaten by a coyote. “What?”

Charlie opens his mouth, raising a finger to say something when he cuts himself off. “Jake, I’d really like it if you could stay for dinner. I’ll give Billy a call and send him a piece home with you.”

“Thanks, Chief Swan.”

“And enough of that Chief Swan stuff, call me Charlie.”

“Thank you, Charlie.”

We all sit around the small kitchen table with its diverse array of chairs and pointedly ignore the growing smell of something burning. The television is playing quietly in the next room, I can barely make out the voices or what is happening. I focus on the tinny noises, trying ardently to avoid Jacob.

“So, Jake, your father tells me that you’re helping out with Sue.” Charlie leans forward on his elbows, eyes darting over to the oven when something makes an odd popping noise from inside. I idly recall Sue Clearwater, the kind wife of Harry Clearwater. I don’t have any memory of her face but know that she used to hang out at the Black’s house every summer with her family.

Jacob nods and looks a little sheepish as he ducks his head. “Yeah, but I’d say it’s more like she’s helping me out. I’m no good with that doctor stuff, honestly.”

“She’s a doctor?” I ask, pulling my attention away from the noises in the living room.

“Yeah, has a practice down on the Reservation,” Charlie tells me before turning his attention back to Jacob.

I ask another question before my father can change the topic. “You want to be a doctor?” Jake looks over at me, his eyes bright and open. There is something underlying his expression, something like humour but I can’t imagine at what.

“No, not really. I’m just learning some basic first aid and stuff,” he pauses, giving me a broad smile that only heightens the blush settling into my face. I look down at the grains in the table, picking at the varnish. “I haven’t really thought about what I want to do after school. Probably just some community work.”

I look up and immediately regret it. Jacob is watching me steadily with his warm, open expression. As if he’s just waiting to hear about what I’m going to say next as if he’s completely unaware of the impact he can have on me. I take a shallow breath and look over at Charlie.

I also regret this.

Charlie is watching Jacob with some form of parental disagreement on his face, his eyebrows pulled down and lips pursed. I have yet to be on the receiving end of that look but feel bad for Jacob who has yet to notice. I clear my throat and Jacob follows my eyes, his eyebrows darting up.

“Jacob, you’re graduating in only a few months.” My father’s voice is stern, the disapproving tone of Police Chief Swan.

Jacob steals a glance at me and then back to my father. I wish I could help him out but being on the receiving end of Charlie’s scolding is not on my agenda for today. Besides, Jacob has broad shoulders, I’m sure he can handle this.

“I am, yes.” Jacob has either missed the point of Charlie’s statement or is choosing to ignore it.

“And you have no plans for college?” I don’t miss the hint of concern now layering my father’s words, and from the softening in Jacob’s expression, I don’t think he missed it either.

“I might go later, but not next year. I have commitments on the Rez, I want to keep them,” Jacob says confidently. Charlie just nods, as if this response has satiated him.

“You still with Sam and the others?” Charlie asks. I don’t know what this means, the name is unfamiliar, but Jacob understands and bobs his head in acknowledgement.

“Yeah, I am.” The conversation is thankfully interrupted by the oven beeping. We all turn our heads to stare at the ancient appliance, the scent of something burning has grown exponentially. Charlie stands, scraping his chair backwards, and opens the oven door slowly.

Smoke pours out and the smell of burnt lasagna is overpowering. My nose tingles a little with the sensation, and I clap my hands over my face as the smoke continues to fill the kitchen and spread the awful smell. Charlie says something that I don’t immediately hear, the tingling in my nose spreading across my face. Gross, gross, gross. I hate the smell of burning things. I hate it when it’s strong like this.

The tingling increases exponentially, and I stand abruptly, Charlie saying something else that I don’t hear. The chair falls and I can feel it hit the floor, feel the impact as it seems to reverberate through my bones. The tingling continues as I step backwards, my heel kicking the chair and nearly toppling it over. I just don’t want to be in the kitchen, don’t want that smell near me, don’t want the smoke touching my face. Don’t want to be near any of it.

Someone else says something but the smoke is still filling the kitchen and there’s a ringing in my ears and it’s loud and bright and hazy from the smoke and I hate the smell of burning things. Gross, gross, gross.

Someone says something again, louder, and I can hear the words, but they don’t entirely make sense. There’s a loud noise, a screaming noise coming from overhead.

My hands clap over my ears as I continue backwards, the tingling numbness spreading over my body like a volcano building to erupt.

Something touches me, my shoulder. I try to say something, but I’m not sure what and I push back against the pressure. Sorry, sorry, sorry, my brain thinks on repeat. Sorry, sorry, sorry. I push back against it, but it doesn’t leave my skin and the ringing from above is getting even louder and my palms don’t cancel out any of the noise. The air is still hazy, and I smell burnt lasagna like it’s right in front of me and I just want it all to stop. I just need it all to stop so I can breathe and think and feel something that isn’t this hazy tingling.

“Bella?” The pressure on my shoulder increases and I push away from it. But it herds me, pulling me away from the hazy room and the ringing noise and the incoherent words and the awful burning smell.

Cold air touches me, presses up against me, and filters out the smell of burnt lasagna.

“Hey, hey.” There’s more pressure on my shoulders now, covering the tingling with warmth and feeling. I know it’s Jacob, only Jake runs a fever at all times of the day. He pulls me against his chest, his large arms wrapping around my shoulders and compressing me against his broad form. “It’s okay.” The numbness in my limbs retreats minorly, leaving some feeling in my fingertips and feet. I drop my hands from my ears. They move so that they are cradled between my chest and his, my arms brought up and away from the startling cold around us.

The ringing in my ears slows, quieting, seeming farther away with each passing breath.

The volcano in my chest, waiting to erupt, has calmed. The force of its buildup has died down and it remains inactive within me. The heat encompassing me contrasts with the cold touching my legs and this difference relaxes something integral inside of me. It forces me to take a deep breath, to press my forehead closer to Jacob’s hard chest. To take another deep breath and then another.

“Bells?” My eyes don’t open yet, still squeezed shut against the world around me.

A few more moments pass and my eyes open. I take another breath, this one filling my chest and expanding my ribs. It’s as if my consciousness flies back into my mind, rewatching the scene I had just made. Rewatching the entirety of the past however long. I don’t say anything and instead, just remain in Jacob Black’s arms for a moment longer. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, the action causing his chest to vibrate under my forehead. “We can stay here for as long as you want.”

I pull away slowly, the comforting hold of his arms dropping from me. I keep my eyes trained on my socked feet, on the aged porch beneath them. “Sorry,” I whisper, glancing up at my friend.

Jake is watching me carefully, but not judgementally. Still, the intensity of his eyes pushes me to look back down at my feet. “It’s okay,” he says finally. I look back up again, my heart skipping as I watch him take a step forward hesitantly. “Are you okay?” His hands reach out as if to hold me again.

I open my mouth, but the words remain in my throat. I force them out in a rush. “Yeah, just super tired, I guess.” His hand's pause, quickly retreating back to his sides.

He opens his mouth now, eyebrows pulling down quickly in response to my quick dismissal of my actions.

“Bella? Jake?” The door swings open and Charlie stands in the opening, oven mitts under one arm and a towel clenched in his hand. “You guys good for pizza?” I nod gratefully and Charlie grunts in approval, turning and heading back into the kitchen. I hear him dialling on the home phone and then begin the order.

“We should head in. Help Charlie to clean up.” I pull the door open and motion for Jake to step inside. He does as instructed, but watches me the entire time as if trying to figure something out in his head.

I hate being looked at like that as if I’m something to investigate. That’s how Renee had looked at me when, instead of crying, I simply sat in a corner on my first day of kindergarten. When I had chosen to skip recess at the ripe age of six to sit in the back of the library and read Archie comics. That’s how Phil had looked at me when I had to transfer hot chocolate from a cardboard to-go cup to my ceramic one. “That’s a waste of time,” he had said simply. “You have to drink it either way, just drink it the way I gave it to you.” But I hate the way cardboard feels, the dry itchiness of the material that seems to stay on my skin even after I’ve stopped touching it.

“Leave her be,” Renee had said with a kind smile towards me. She had stopped looking at me in that investigative way long before. “She doesn’t like the cardboard, that’s okay.” So, I drank my hot chocolate out of the ceramic mug and watched Phil watch me the entire time.

We end up eating pizza fifteen minutes later. Pepperoni for Jacob and Charlie, plain cheese with mushrooms for me. The fire alarms had long since stopped their horrible screaming, the smell of smoke had been filtered out through open windows and replaced with the damp smell of wet grass and the greasy smell of cheap pizza.

Even so, the embarrassment of my earlier behaviour haunts my thoughts and keeps me silent while eating. I let Charlie and Jacob discuss what they want. Let them talk about sports and hobbies and the names of people I don’t know. Jacob occasionally looks over at me, as if waiting for me to contribute to the discussion. I don’t.

Charlie looks at me, too, but only to make a face at the mushrooms on my pizza. “That’s nasty,” he says simply. I stick my tongue out at him, which causes him to laugh and lifts the heavy feeling in my chest.

We finish dinner, me before the others because my appetite got lost somewhere between freaking out from the smoke and freaking out from the fire alarm. I excuse myself to use the washroom, and on the way back hear my name. It causes me to stop just at the bottom of the stairs, listening hard to make out Charlie’s words.

“Bella’s a good kid,” he says with a mild amount of fatherly authority. “She’s not a fan of loud noises, no harm in that.” My chest feels oddly hollow at that, the weight of embarrassment leaving me momentarily.

There is something warm in the way Charlie talks about me as if he doesn’t feel the need to understand why I am the way I am. As if he’s never even thought of me in that frustrating, investigative way. As if he’s never felt the need to make sense of me, not in the way that others sometimes do.

I quickly step into the kitchen, to save myself from having to hear anymore. Jacob is already looking up at the entryway, eyes already on me as I step inside. It makes me wonder if he could hear me standing at the bottom of the stairs and if he knows that I was listening in.

“I think I might head out,” he says to me. I check the time on the microwave and see that it’s barely seven o’clock. He notices my scrutiny. “I have a thing with some friends later,” he explains. I nod, feeling awkward for no good reason.

“Sam?” Charlie asks not unkindly. Jacob agrees and this causes Charlie to smile broadly. “I like him, respectable man.”

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twilitty · 2 years

Text

By The Moon

by @twilitty

word count: 3.7k

Chapter 8: Adventuring

A week passes. It’s a happy coincidence that I don’t feel the time rolling away beneath my fingers. Renee calls periodically, by which I mean once Tuesday morning to ask me if I’d cancelled her yoga membership before leaving Phoenix. We spoke quickly as I sat at the kitchen table, staring determinedly at my plate as Charlie's eyes clung to my phone. He does that frequently; reminisces about his life with Renee a little too obviously. I don’t think it’s fair for me to say it makes me uncomfortable, but it does.

It’s hard to have him ask about my mother, like if she’s emailed me recently. It’s especially disheartening when he asks about Phil. I know my mother has moved on from her failed marriage, she is dating a new man and speaks with no hint of nostalgia as she discusses those early years of adulthood. I don’t know that Charlie has moved on. His life here is established, he has ties to the community and friends who occupy him with senile gossip and enough fishing to grow a pair of gills.

But, in the quiet moments when he is not occupied. When he isn’t working or meeting friends or watching a baseball game, he will ask me leading questions. “How’s your mother enjoying Jacksonville?” I respond as neutrally as possible, trying to not encourage the conversation.

Over the past week, I’d spent equal time with my new friends as I had with my father. We go out to the diner some nights, other nights we trade off on making dinner. It’s nice to have someone else take care of me, even if only by providing me with a burger and steamed carrots.

I receive a grade or two back from my teachers, each time receiving praise and congratulations from them. They tell me I’m bright, gifted. That my academic talents could take me far in life. This is similar to the messages I had received from my teachers in Phoenix. The difference is that Charlie takes me out for ice cream after each signed test, Renee had never seen the marks.

I get a call from Jacob Black on the landline at nearly seven in the evening on Thursday. It’s been a long week, exhausting in the best possible way. I’m laying horizontally on the soft couch, a book perched above my nose and the TV announcing the stats of various athletes.

Charlie is the one who rushed up to answer the phone, clicking the remote to mute the television and grumbling about a phone call coming during the game. “Hello,” he had said gruffly. A pause which felt significant, so I looked over the back of the couch towards the kitchen. “Oh, hey, yeah.” A pointed look in my direction that looked distinctly amused. “She’s right here, hold on.”

I get up from the couch, folding over a page in my novel. “Is it mom?” I ask as he hands me the phone, palm over the mouthpiece. He shakes his head and motions for me to bring it up to my ear. “Hello?”

“Hey!” The enthusiastic voice of Jacob Black.

He had called to ask me about visiting him over the weekend, the rain was supposed to hold off and we could do a little bit of “adventuring” mixed in with some studying. I don’t know entirely what this means. The word adventuring feels like a safety hazard when coincided with my lack of coordination. I don’t ask for clarification, both because I feel as though I’d overthink his response and talk myself out of the interaction, as well as because I know Jake needs the academic assistance and I don’t want to fall through on my side of the bargain because of my fear of physical activity.

I agree to come down to the Rez, we settle on a date and time, and then he chats for a couple more minutes in my ear, a string of jokes causing me to laugh softly into the receiver. The game remaining muted doesn’t go unnoticed, and neither does Charlie’s head being tilted in my direction. Trying to listen in on my conversation, clearly.

We hang up and I go back to the couch, letting Charlie in on our plans but not repeating Jacob’s wording. Adventuring. A true safety hazard if I’ve ever heard one.

I’m laying in bed Saturday morning, questioning my sanity, when my alarm goes off on my bedside table. I reach over and turn it off. Silence.

The rain had stopped at some point in the night and the silence is therapeutic. It feels as though I can finally hear my own thoughts without the constant intrusion of rain assaulting my window. My heart soars as the prospect of a day without rain, a day where I can sit outside and enjoy the scenery without-

Enjoy the scenery? Is that what I just thought? No, I tell myself, you are just lacking in fresh air and the idea of going outside is appealing. You are not, by any means, a fan of the mossy mess that is Forks. I swallow back the picture that had formed in my mind.

A blanket swept across dry grass, my novel sitting open, the forest beyond me. The forest beyond me…

A snarl and footsteps echo through my head, a prowling animal waiting to maul me. Yeah, not a fan of the scenery.

My dream from earlier in the week continues to plague my mind, regardless of how many times I banish it to the depths of my subconscious. Driving down the highway turns into a game of “try not to look in the forest” because every time I do it’s as though I can hear that same beast breathing down my neck. I hadn’t told anybody about the dream, everybody gets nightmares. I just can’t seem to understand why this one is lingering.

I’ve had bad dreams before. I’ve dreamt of sea monsters and evil men and villains from movies. But none of those dreams seemed to exist beyond my sleeping state. I’ve been hearing that animal breathing seemingly everywhere. I look out my window at the forest bordering Charlie's property and suddenly I’m standing in the midnight forest of my nightmare and can hear Jake calling out to me.

I wonder if perhaps this is a symptom of the town. My mother had run away from this town, seeking a fast, bright lift in sunny Arizona. She had never mentioned dreams that seem to exist outside of your sleeping mind. She had mentioned Charlie's dull routine and the lack of enjoyment she found in the town, never dreams of psychotic animals looking to kill you.

Maybe I’m the one going insane, and this dream is a symptom of that insanity, not a symptom of the town. Is it possible? Sure, I suppose anything is possible. Is it likely? No. I’m just spiralling into a pit of overthinking chaos, and I know it.

Unfortunately, acknowledging that you’re overthinking does not stop you from overthinking. So, my thoughts continue to repeat themselves as I dress, as I brush my teeth and pull my hair through with a comb. As I make a pot of coffee and throw two pieces of bread in the toaster. As I layer my toast with jam and cut them into triangles.

My mind is preoccupied with thoughts of my obvious insanity when Charlie steps into the house.

“Bella?” He seems surprised and undoes his gun belt, hanging it up on the hook by the front door. I notice the gun is missing and am silently thankful. I, unlike Phil, am not a fan of guns. He had tried to take me to the range a couple of times, perhaps to attempt to bond with his girlfriend’s daughter. The loud noises, alongside the obvious danger of the weapon, were entirely unpleasant.

It seems that those supposed bonding experiences had the opposite effect.

“What are you doing up so early?” He asks me, checking the time on his watch as he unlaces his boots and steps out of them.

“It’s only eight-thirty,” I tell him, motioning to the hot coffee pot in unspoken encouragement for him to have some. “And I should be asking you that question, I thought you had today off?”

He nods grimly, lips pressed together in distaste. “I thought I had today off, too. Unfortunately, the universe had other plans for me today.” I give him a confused look. “Missing hiker,” he explains with a heavy sigh.

Charlie helps himself to a cup of coffee, choosing to drink it black as he leans against the countertop. I wince at his choice of coffee. I remember when he was out in the woods the other day, searching for an animal attacking people in the forest. “Did you guys ever catch that animal?” I ask him.

He doesn’t require further elaboration and seems to immediately know which animal I am talking about. “No,” a groan as he rubs his hand down his face. “We’re pretty sure it’s a bear from some animal sightings, and the prints we’re finding are way too-” He cuts himself off with a raise of his eyebrows and a sip of coffee. “Enough of that talk. Have a nice day with Jake.” He leaves the kitchen and heads upstairs.

The drive over to the Rez is anti-climatic. I make a wrong turn at one point and end up on a side street lined with houses, but I backtrack and get onto the highway again.

It’s not overly bright outside, but the sun is teasing me with its presence. Occasionally it lights up the road before me, the uncharacteristically dry asphalt bringing a slight smile to my face. I don’t spend too long looking to either side of the road, the sight of the forest reminding me both of my nightmare and of Charlie’s comment this morning.

A missing hiker and a crazed bear attacking people. I try not to compare that to my dream, to the large beast staring me down, its rage as it went to maul me. I’m sure he must’ve mentioned the bear before, maybe got the thought into my head, and my brain decided to throw that into my dream.

I had done a fair amount of reading on dream theories two years ago when Renee was involved in a spiritual meditation group. She was more interested in the symbolism of the dreams than I was, but I wanted to relate to her, so I read up on some psychological theories. One of them, perhaps my favourite at the moment, spoke about our brains just throwing out random stimuli in our dreams with seemingly no rhyme or reason.

Our brains have a little storage bin, so to speak, with all the things we’ve seen and heard and tasted and experienced. When we dream our brains just throw random stimuli into our sleeping state. Random neural firing.

My thoughts carry me all the way to the Black's house. It’s been a while since I’ve been there, but Charlie was kind enough to write out the directions on a sheet of paper for me. His print is a little messy, and for some reason, he writes in all capitals, but it made sense and got me here on time.

I pull my truck into the unpaved driveway and throw it into park. Billy’s property line is traced by thick forest, similar to Charlie's. It also holds the same amount of nervous energy that Charlie’s border does. I look at the treeline and my brain revisits the awful dream with uncomfortable clarity. I blink a couple times, trying to rid myself of the imagery.

There’s a garage down a small hill from where I’m parked, its shape mostly concealed with thick pine trees and rocky terrain leading down to it. I’m sure there must be a kinder way to get up and down from the structure, but I can’t see one.

I step out of the truck, schoolbag over my shoulder, and walk up to the front door. Before I get the chance to knock the door is opened. Billy stares up at me with wrinkled eyes, a large grin on his face. “Bella!” I mirror his happy expression. “I’m so glad you’re here!”

I don’t hear Jake coming until he’s standing just over his father’s shoulder, somehow moving soundlessly through the house. He’s huge, every time I see him his shape takes me by surprise. He’s significantly taller than any other boy my age, he must be at least six foot five.

If he notices my appraisal, he doesn’t show it, instead waving me to step in as Billy rolls back from the entryway. “Hey, how was the drive over?” Jake asks me conversationally as we sit on the overstuffed couch. I pull my knees up next to me, dropping my bag on the ground beside the couch.

“It was good, I took a wrong turn a little ways up the road, but I got here okay,” I tell him. He nods and shifts closer to me, his thigh pressing against my knees. His warmth seeps into my body from that minute point of contact, my body relaxing a little. I hadn’t noticed the tightness in my chest until it left.

There is something about Jacob Black that I can’t rationally explain. His existence is so bright and awake and calming. It’s as if just by sitting near him everything inside of me is lighter, happier. Everything just seems easier when he’s near me.

“So, what are we starting with?” I ask him, pulling out a notebook and pencil case from my bag.

“Let’s start with anything but schoolwork,” he responds lightly. I frown at him, my heart not in the expression. I’d also like to not do schoolwork right now, but realistically it needs to be done.

“We can set a timer, do some work, and then take a break?” I offer.

He nods, leaning closer to me and tapping a long finger on my blank piece of paper. “Algebra,” he tells me unhappily. “I’m nearly failing and won’t graduate without it.”

We spend the next few hours working through several algebraic questions, I write him cheat sheets and questions and lend him copies of my notes that he promises he’ll return in time for exams. The time goes by quickly. The sun has reached its peak and began its descent towards the horizon, although it’s still fairly bright outside by Forks standards.

Jacob is sitting with his back against the couch, his legs stretched out across the small living room floor. I’m laying on my stomach beside him, and even with my body completely horizontal, he still somehow seems to extend further than I do. I’d never truly considered myself short until I met Jake.

“Are we good to take a break, now?” He asks me, throwing a piece of popcorn into his mouth. I stifle a laugh as he throws three more consecutively. He somehow seems to act in perfect compliance with both his childish and young adult sides. Serious when he needs to be, but never all the time.

“Yeah, we can take a break.” I roll over onto my back, stretching my arms into the air and popping my elbows with the motion. “Hear that?” I pop them again for emphasis and he makes a distasteful noise. “I’m an old woman.”

He chuckles, “You think that’s bad?” I turn my head to look at him at the exact same time that he looks down at me. Our eyes meet, my stomach rolls in on itself, and my throat suddenly goes very dry. I ignore the sensation. “You should hear my joints,” another laugh that seems to hint at an inside joke I’m not part of. “The noises they make, now that’s cause for concern.”

“Do it,” I dare him, sitting up and pulling my legs into my chest.

He shakes his head, “No, no. It’s hard to do on command, takes lots of patience and practice.”

I shoot him a look. “Jacob Black are you being serious, right now? I can crack every joint in my body, it does not take practice or whatever.”

He playfully pushes against my shoulder with his large hand, the heat spreading through me quickly. “Yeah, Swan, that’s ‘cause you’re an old woman. I’m in prime physical condition.” “You sure about that?” I ask tauntingly. “I would argue that I could probably beat you in any competition.” This earns me a large guffaw as he stares at me incredulously. I maintain a straight face, watching him laugh at my expense. A smile tugs at the insides of my cheeks.

“Bells, honey, you are not faster than I am. Trust me.”

I stand, propping my hands up on my hips and staring down at him. He tilts his head upwards, watching me steadily with his dark eyes, a smirk on his full lips. My stomach rolls again, and I clear my throat before speaking. “I am both faster and stronger than you are, Black.”

He uses the couch to lift himself up to his feet, and at his full height stares down at me. He is incredibly tall. “You sure about that?” He asks in the same taunting voice I had used. I swallow and he grins, clearly proud of his broad stature. “I thought so.”

As it turns out, adventuring is not as dangerous as it sounds. Jacob and I take a walk down to the beach and he shows me the tidepools. The air is marginally warmer today, perhaps hinting at the onset of spring, and the sun has decided to make a full appearance before setting. It’s bright, the white-capped waves reflecting the orange light back into our eyes. Jacob doesn’t seem altered by the sun’s appearance, perhaps due to his sunny disposition and the constant temperature that he seems to run. I tilt my chin upwards, letting the sun warm the skin on my face.

It barely holds a flame to the sun in Arizona, but it’s significantly better than the gloomy days I’ve experienced thus far. “You like the sun, huh?” Jake asks redundantly, watching me bask in the little warmth provided.

I should feel at least minorly self-conscious knowing that he’s watching me mimic a lizard in the sun, but I don’t. I nod eagerly, turning to look over at him. “Yeah, I miss it.”

He doesn’t respond, just makes a noise of agreement, and walks alongside me down the rocky beach. We reach the tidepools, small inlets of water on giant rock forms. He explains the tide to me, but it doesn’t entirely make sense. For all my academic achievements, my expertise does not lie in real-world application.

The tidepools are little pockets of life. It’s beautiful. Little fish and plants sway in the water as it moves with the breeze. Jacob points out a starfish, and then an eel in another. He seems completely in his element here, standing on a rock he’s probably stood on a million times before. He’s been living here, in that little red house, the entire time I was in Phoenix.

It’s hard to imagine being raised here, in this rainy, gloomy town. But watching Jacob pick up the pink starfish and rattle off an excess of facts and information about it, I can see the benefits. I was raised in strip malls and ballet studios. He was raised running along the beach and making mud pies with the other children.

I’m not sure those experiences cancel out the constant threat of cold rain, but perhaps in his mind, it does. “Would you have liked to live somewhere sunnier?” I ask him, sitting with my legs stretched out before me, my weight shifted back on my elbows. The sun's shallow rays trail up and down my neck, kissing my cheeks. I hope this is enough to counter the pallid complexion I’ve developed.

He looks over at me from his position above another tide pool, rocking back on his heels as he considers. “No, I like it here.” I must make a face because he laughs heartily and rolls his eyes, “Bella, this is my home. This is where my family is, my community. It may not be sunny, but does the sun matter if there’s nobody to enjoy it with?” He’s still laughing at my expression, so I try to school it into something neutral. I’m not sure it works but he stops laughing and looks back down at the water, not saying anything else.

I consider his words, the existential value of them. Nobody to enjoy it with, I repeat back to myself. I had Renee. We would spend time together when she wasn’t working or at a class or club. We would watch movies and she’d gossip about the people at work or at her newest club. Phil could also be added to the list, not long after he and Renee started dating, he’d been added to our duo. We would all watch movies, all hang out, and all go to the beach. But even that was rare.

I try to not think about that anymore, the kernel of wisdom Jake provided me with turning sour very quickly. I rotate my head back up to the sun, closing my eyes.

“You made any new friends?” He asks me suddenly, and when I open my eyes, he’s watching me steadily. Something in the sureness of his expression, the casual confidence in his demeanour, it clutches at my chest. Taking a deep breath requires conscience effort.

“I have,” I say and am immediately rewarded with a dazzling smile. “It’s nice to have people to talk to.” His smile dims momentarily, and I worry I’ve said the wrong thing, but just as quickly he’s back to his previous magnitude. So quickly, in fact, I wonder if I’d made it up in my head.

“That’s good.” We lapse into a beat of silence before he quickly stands and reaches down to me with a large, warm palm. I place my hand in it and he gently pulls me up from my perch on the rock. His skin is hot, burning into me and magnifying the effects of the sun.

I’m standing up, but he doesn’t release me. “You sure-”

He cuts me off with an echoing laugh. “Yes, I’m positive I don’t have a fever.” I smirk at him as he drops my hand, the lack of warmth leaving my bones susceptible to the chill of the air.

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