1 | erratic

not even or regular in pattern or movement; unpredictable

Dust swirls in the feeble rays of sunlight streaming in through the door, slightly ajar. In the cramped cupboard under the stairs, I sit back on my heels and stare at the mounds of cardboard boxes before me-some in pristine condition, and some just a gust of wind from falling apart-oddly enough, reminding me of myself.

Cleaning this mess was certainly not how I had planned to spend my Saturday morning. However, when Emily had asked me to come sample wedding cake flavors with her and Sam, cleaning was the only excuse I had been able to come up with on the spot. In the moment, however, I was glad to get away from the hustle and bustle of playing Emily's faithful bridesmaid-as if my past with Sam had never occurred. As if I had never been hurt.

A sturdy box labeled "Yearbooks" in my mother's graceful cursive catches my eye. I'd never cared much for them, but now, they pique my interest for unknown reasons. The very top book is from my sophomore year of high school-when Sam and I had still been dating.

Almost absentmindedly, I open the skinny book to where I know Sam's name will be listed next to his picture. Sure enough, there he is, with his long hair and boyish grin. My fingers linger on his face. I wonder, if shapeshifters and imprinting had never existed, if I would be the soon-to-be Mrs. Uley right now instead of my ex-best friend. The thought is bitter and angry tears prick my eyes as I quickly flip the page. Sam breaking up with me had hurt, but not half as much as Emily's betrayal had.

Through my blurry vision, a face in the corner catches my eye. Scrubbing the tears away, I open my eyes. And then everything changes.

Warmth rushes through my veins like a tsunami. My body burns hotter, but this isn't like when I phase. No, this is not the fire of phasing, but the sun itself, overpowering all my other senses.

In shock, I slam the book shut. No matter what, I cannot erase his face from my mind. Not particularly handsome or beyond average, but yet it was there, imprinted on the backs of my eyelids. And somehow, I know that that delicious burning feeling is like a drug-I have to feel that sensation again. And that burn lays inside that stranger in the yearbook.

A wave of dizziness hits me. The book thuds as it hits the floor and my head falls into my hands. What was that? A rush of emotions unlike anything I'd ever felt before, all from a picture.

I take a breath. Two breaths. Three. "It was nothing," I try to convince myself. "A coincidence. Nothing more." Taking one last glance at the yearbook, I head out to patrol, desperately hoping that this feeling will fade along with my human form.

A/N: It was short, I know. The next chapters and all the ones following it will be much longer, I promise.