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The Twilight Saga 2: New Moon: Page 22
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His hand was rough, and very warm.
Despite the path, we were both tripping over our feet in the darkness. So we were also both laughing when the house came into view. The laughter did not go deep; it was light and superficial, but still nice. I was sure he wouldn't notice the faint hint of hysteria.
I wasn't used to laughing, and it felt right and also very wrong at the same time.
Charlie was standing under the little back porch, and Billy was sitting in the doorway behind them.
"Hey, Dad," we both said at the same time, and that started us laughing again.
Charlie stared at me with wide eyes that flashed down to note Jacob's hand around mine.
"Billy invited us for dinner," Charlie said to us in an absentminded tone.
"My super secret recipe for spaghetti. Handed down for generations," Billy said gravely.
Jacob snorted. "I don't think Ragu's actually been around that long."
The house was crowded. Harry Clearwater was there, too, with his family��his wife, Sue, whom I knew vaguely from my childhood summers in Forks, and his two children. Leah was a senior like me, but a year older. She was beautiful in an exotic way��perfect copper skin, glistening black hair, eyelashes like feather dusters��and preoccupied. She was on Billy's phone when we got in, and she never let it go. Seth was fourteen; he hung on Jacob's every word with idolizing eyes.
There were too many of us for the kitchen table, so Charlie and Harry brought chairs out to the yard, and we ate spaghetti off plates on our laps in the dim light from Billy's open door. The men talked about the game, and Harry and Charlie made fishing plans. Sue teased her husband about his cholesterol and tried, unsuccessfully, to shame him into eating something green and leafy. Jacob talked mostly to me and Seth, who interrupted eagerly whenever Jacob seemed in danger of forgetting him. Charlie watched me, trying to be inconspicuous about it, with pleased but cautious eyes.
It was loud and sometimes confusing as everyone talked over everyone else, and the laughter from one joke interrupted the telling of another. I didn't have to speak often, but I smiled a lot, and only because I felt like it.
I didn't want to leave.
This was Washington, though, and the inevitable rain eventually broke up the party; Billy's living room was much too small to provide an option for continuing the get-together. Harry had driven Charlie down, so we rode together in my truck on the way back home. He asked about my day, and I told mostly the truth��that I'd gone with Jacob to look at parts and then watched him work in his garage.
"You think you'll visit again anytime soon?" he wondered, trying to be casual about it.
"Tomorrow after school," I admitted. "I'll take homework, don't worry."
"You be sure to do that," he ordered, trying to disguise his satisfaction.
I was nervous when we got to the house. I didn't want to go upstairs. The warmth of Jacob's presence was fading and, in its absence, the anxiety grew stronger. I was sure I wouldn't get away with two peaceful nights of sleep in a row.
To put bedtime off, I checked my e-mail; there was a new message from Renee.
She wrote about her day, a new book club that rilled the time slot of the meditation classes she'd just quit, her week subbing in the second grade, missing her kindergarteners. She wrote that Phil was enjoying his new coaching job, and that they were planning a second honeymoon trip to Disney World.
And I noticed that the whole thing read like a journal entry, rather than a letter to someone else. Remorse flooded through me, leaving an uncomfortable sting behind. Some daughter I was.
I wrote back to her quickly, commenting on each part of her letter, volunteering information of my own��describing the spaghetti party at Billy's and how I felt watching Jacob build useful things out of small pieces of metal��awed and slightly envious. I made no reference to the change this letter would be
from the ones she'd received in the last several months. I could barely remember what I'd written to her even as recently as last week, but I was sure it wasn't very responsive. The more I thought about it, the guiltier I felt; I really must have worried her.
I stayed up extra late after that, finishing more homework than strictly necessary. But neither sleep deprivation nor the time spent with Jacob��being almost happy in a shallow kind of way��could keep the dream away for two nights in a row.
I woke shuddering, my scream muffled by the pillow.
As the dim morning light filtered through the fog outside my window, I lay still in bed and tried to shake off the dream. There had been a small difference last night, and I concentrated on that.
Last night I had not been alone in the woods. Sam Uley��the man who had pulled me from the forest floor that night I couldn't bear to think of consciously��was there. It was an odd, unexpected alteration. The man's dark eyes had been surprisingly unfriendly, filled with some secret he didn't seem inclined to share. I'd stared at him as often as my frantic searching had allowed; it made me uncomfortable, under all the usual panic, to have him there. Maybe that was because, when I didn't look directly at him, his shape seemed to shiver and change in my peripheral vision. Yet he did nothing but stand and watch. Unlike the time when we had met in reality, he did not offer me his help.
Charlie stared at me during breakfast, and I tried to ignore him. I supposed I deserved it. I couldn't expect him not to worry. It would probably be weeks before he stopped watching for the return of the zombie, and I would just have to try to not let it bother me. After all, I would be watching for the return of the zombie, too. Two days was hardly long enough to call me cured.
School was the opposite. Now that I was paying attention, it was clear that no one was watching here.
I remembered the first day I'd come to Forks High School��how desperately I'd wished that I could turn gray, fade into the wet concrete of the sidewalk like an oversized chameleon. It seemed I was getting that wish answered, a year late.
It was like I wasn't there. Even my teachers' eyes slid past my seat as if it were empty.
I listened all through the morning, hearing once again the voices of the people around me. I tried to catch up on what was going on, but the conversations were so disjointed that I gave up.
Jessica didn't look up when I sat down next to her in Calculus.
"Hey, Jess," I said with put-on nonchalance. "How was the rest of your weekend?"
She looked at me with suspicious eyes. Could she still be angry? Or was she just too impatient to deal with a crazy person?
"Super," she said, turning back to her book.
"That's good," I mumbled.
The figure of speech cold shoulder seemed to have some literal truth to it. I could feel the warm air blowing from the floor vents, but I was still too cold. I took the jacket off the back of my chair and put it on again.
My fourth hour class got out late, and the lunch table I always sat at was full by the time I arrived. Mike was there, Jessica and Angela, Conner, Tyler, Eric and Lauren. Katie Marshall, the redheaded junior
who lived around the corner from me, was sitting with Eric, and Austin Marks��older brother to the boy with the motorcycles��was next to her. I wondered how long they'd been sitting here, unable to remember if this was the first day or something that was a regular habit.
I was beginning to get annoyed with myself. I might as well have been packed in Styrofoam peanuts through the last semester.
No one looked up when I sat down next to Mike, even though the chair squealed stridently against the linoleum as I dragged it back.
I tried to catch up with the conversation.
Mike and Conner were talking sports, so I gave up on that one at once.
"Where's Ben today?" Lauren was asking Angela. I perked up, interested. I wondered if that meant Angela and Ben were still together.
I barely recognized Lauren. She'd cut off all her blond, corn-silk hair��now she had a pixie cut so short that the back was shaved like a boy. What an odd thing for her to do. I wished I knew the reason behind it. Did she get gum stuck in it? Did she sell it? Had all the people she was habitually nasty to caught her behind the gym and scalped her? I decided it wasn't fair for me to judge her now by my former opinion. For all I knew, she'd turned into a nice person.
"Ben's got the stomach flu," Angela said in her quiet, calm voice. "Hopefully it's just some twenty-four hour thing. He was really sick last night."
Angela had changed her hair, too. She'd grown out her layers.
"What did you two do this weekend?" Jessica asked, not sounding as if she cared about the answer. I'd bet that this was just an opener so she could tell her own stories. I wondered if she would talk about Port Angeles with me sitting two seats away? Was I that invisible, that no one would feel uncomfortable discussing me while I was here?
"We were going to have a picnic Saturday, actually, but�� we changed our minds," Angela said.
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