Disclaimer: Of course I don't own anything, silly. Also, this takes place in-between Eclipse and Breaking Dawn, but before the newborn ambush. Hope that doesn't confuse anyone. (:

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Chapter One:

Freddie

"Fredward Benson, how could you forget to pack your rectal thermometer? You know how inaccurate the under-the-tongue method is!" My mother burst out, outraged. She was using her 'no-son-of-mine-will-get-an-infectious-disease' tone of voice, which irritated me to the core. It didn't help with Sam and Carly giggling in the backseat; this trip had gotten off to one hell of a bad start.

The four of us sat in my mother's recently acquired SUV, which she said was the safest vehicle in its class. We hadn't even made it an hour out of Seattle when she began ranting about how irresponsible I'd been while packing, forgetting this and that. I purposely slipped some Tylenol PM's into her nightly medication capsule—I prayed that would put her out for a few more hours than necessary once we got to this strange place called La Push.

"Mother," I said with heavy emphasis, gritting my teeth, "I haven't used one of those things since—well, last year." I had little confidence that this would affect her protests.

"Last year? Wow, Benson, you are a nub!" Sam cawed, paging through an issue of 'Pork Rinds Weekly'. I snorted and Carly laughed.

"Shove it, Pucket." I growled, returning my attention to the road ahead of us.

"The thermometer?" she questioned with another hysterical laugh. Carly followed suit; I felt my face reddening. Perhaps I should have given those two the sleeping pills instead.

It wasn't entirely my idea that my two best friends—well, best friend and co-worker—accompany me on this trip to an Indian reservation near Forks, Washington, but Carly insisted that our web show needed a little change in scenery. I agreed, figuring it would be better than spending the trip with just my mom. Guess I was wrong—Sam was only making it worse, and if Carly was sitting in the backseat the whole time, how was I supposed to execute my brilliant pick-up lines? All that practice for nothing. . .

"So, Freddie, why exactly are we going to this La Poosh?" Carly asked, adding a witty French accent to the name.

"Your guess is as good as mine," I answered honestly. I turned to look at my mother. "Mom, are you gonna tell me why we're making this trip such a necessity before I turn 16?"

My birthday was less than a month away, and before it was official, my mother had insisted that she take me to the La Push reservation before it was "too late". I wasn't sure what she meant by this, but then again, I didn't think I wanted to; my mom was a very odd individual, and knowing her, we were probably catching a sale on some sort of Indian, ultra-healing herb. I chuckled at the thought.

"We'll talk later, Freddie. Please don't distract me while I'm driving—that's very dangerous, you know." My mom was nervous as she said this, and I watched her facial features arrange themselves into an unreadable expression. I wondered what she was keeping from me; she never acted like this.

"Okay," I said politely, avoiding the questions that were now prominent in my head.

The duration of the trip was spent sleeping, eating, or enduring Sam's insults, which made it a relatively quick couple of hours. It was dark when my mother pulled the SUV into a quaint hotel in the small city of Forks, Washington, which was less than fifteen minutes away from La Push.

"Gee, Benson, your mother drives slower than my grandma—and she's a paraplegic." Sam ranted, half-asleep, pulling herself out of the car. She and Carly gathered their things from the back and lulled themselves into the hotel lobby.

"Stay here Freddie—and don't believe anything that anyone tells you!" my mom instructed with a hint of hysteria as she went to the front desk to purchase the rooms.

"Freddie, why is your mom acting so—well, I don't know—frenzied?" Carly asked, leaning on Sam's shoulder. "I mean, it's nice that she brought us and all, but does she really have to act so crazy?"

"Sorry, guys," I apologized, only meaning it sincerely to Carly, "I'm not really sure why she's being so peculiar."

"Peculiar?" Sam repeated mockingly. "Oye, Frederic—looks like your mom is becoming contagious."

I rolled me eyes. It was already late and I didn't feel like adding fuel to Sam's never-ending fire. I was thankful when my mother handed Carly the key to their room and we headed to our own. Though the rooms had an interconnecting door, I was relieved to at least have a few feet away from Sam. She got overwhelming after awhile.

My mom was still acting frantic as she unpacked. She disregarded to alphabetize my medication in the cabinets, and didn't even force me to organize my underwear by day of the week. That's when I knew something must really be bothering her, so I planted myself on the bed and gave her a stern look.

"Mom, tell me what's going on." I demanded in a not-so-Freddie sort of voice. Sam Pucket would have been proud.

My mom sighed in defeat. "Freddie—I've been keeping something from you." She stood up now and began pacing the room, as if debating to herself whether or not she wanted to reveal her secret.

"So tell me," I pressed, wondering exactly where all this confidence came from.

"It's about your father," she said at last, sighing once again. She looked at me with difficulty.

"What about him?" I gulped. Mom didn't talk much about my dad—whoever he was—because she felt it was an overly sensitive subject. As far as I knew, he left my mom as soon as he knew she was pregnant.

"Well, I've never told you about him because . . . well, because I'm ashamed." She began chewing on her fingernails, and that's when I knew this was serious. My mom detested fingernail chewing. "The truth is that he passed away when you were born."

I felt an awful feeling in my stomach. "Why are you ashamed of that?"

"The man you've seen pictures of—that's Fredward Worthington. He left me after you were born because I confessed to him that he wasn't your father . . ." she trailed off, her tone becoming distant. She looked into the mirror as she continued, "I was young when you were conceived, Freddie. I was young and stupid and drunk. Fredward was off on a business trip, and I hadn't become the housewife that he wanted me to be just yet. A couple of my friends convinced me to come cliff-diving on the La Push reservation because it is home to some of the highest peaks in the state, and I agreed. I still had a little life in me then.

"There were some Quileute boys that joined us—they said we were pretty pale-faces. I wasn't sure what that actually meant until I met your father. The way he looked at me, Freddie . . . was unimaginable. I had never believed in love at first sight until then." She was still looking in the mirror with dream-like eyes; I guessed she was trying to imagine herself sixteen years younger, jumping off tall cliffs with her friends. I, myself, couldn't picture it.

"Maybe the alcohol had something to do with it, but I couldn't resist the way your father concentrated on me. It was like he couldn't look away—like he was magnetically drawn to me. He said the sweetest things to me, charmed me. I couldn't restrain myself much longer, and I was impregnated with you that very night." She smiled after saying this, returning to a happy time.

I shuddered at the thought.

"But he was different, Freddie. And I don't mean it in a good way, necessarily." She now looked at me with an unquestionable face. "You see, the Quileute's have all of these absurd legends and folklore—your father and his friends told us some of these stories around a campfire the night we met. They told us about wolves and spirits and a bunch of other pish-posh and it was all very entertaining. But the day me and my friends packed up to leave, your father stopped me and begged me to stay.

"He said that he had imprinted on me, which was one of the Quileute legends about finding one's soulmate. He also said something else . . . something that I would never, ever have believed if he hadn't shown me himself."

My mother's voice now peaked in fear. The feeling in my stomach got worse.

"What was it, mom?" I asked, unsure if I really wanted to know.

"He said—" she paused, looking at me with her big eyes, boring her gaze into me so ferociously that I was almost afraid. "He said he was a werewolf." She breathed at last.

I burst into a fit of uncontrollable laughter. I was sure that Carly and Sam (and anyone within a five-mile radius, for that matter) could hear my countless guffaws.

"Fredward Benson!" my mother interrupted, waving a finger a t me. "This is no laughing matter!"

"Sure, mom—" I said between a laugh. Then I felt her shaking me until I would look at her with a straightened gaze. Her eyes were as serious as I'd ever seen them—just like the time she was convinced that I had stolen a cookie from the forbidden jar when I was six. I knew she meant business, but this was such an outrageous discussion to be having.

"Freddie, he showed me what he meant by this," my mom continued, as if I hadn't interjected. "One minute he was a tall, dark, and handsome man—and the next he was a tall, dark, and malicious wolf! I was so terrified that I ran, but naturally, he caught up to me."

"What happened next?" I asked, trying to keep a straight face.

"He changed back into a man. He explained all the details more thoroughly—that he was a protector of the forest and that I was the object of his infinite affection. He explained that if I left him now, he would surely die. Once they imprint on someone, and that someone rejects them, they can't go on . . . the pain is too substantial.

"But I left him, Freddie! I chose not to believe in any of his strange legends, I pretended that I didn't see a man transform into a massive wolf! I've tried to raise you the best way I can, Freddie—I've kept you away from the flu and the measles and the mumps and everything that I've ever thought that could trigger a mutation." she explained worriedly, wrapping her arms around me in a warm hug. I could tell that she was really bothered by this, but I still wasn't buying any of it. "But I fear the same fate for you, Freddie! That's why we're here—your father said he first transformed when he was 16, which means that it could happen any day now."

"Mom, I'm going to sleep." I said dully, suddenly uninterested in her story. I had played along long enough, but the ride over here was seriously beginning to wear on me. A bed sounded nice. An aspirin, too—my head had suddenly started throbbing. Thanks, mom.

"I know it all sounds unusual, Freddie, but we'll go down to La Push and speak to the elders of the village. I will not have a werewolf for a son." she said defiantly, a ring of finality in her voice. I couldn't believe that she was still going on about this. Then her tone became much lighter as she turned to hug me again. "I'm so sorry about all of this, Freddie. I'm sorry I kept the history of your real father from you, too. I know it might not make sense that you're half Quileute—you had a strange sickness as a baby, and it altered your skin pigmentation, which is why you're so light-skinned—but I need you to believe me. I wouldn't lie to you, would I?"

I didn't know how to answer that question. This was all making my head spin. I understood that I shouldn't believe a word my mother was saying, but the information overload suddenly made me want to toss up my Mighty Kids Meal from earlier this evening. Without another word, I rushed to the toilet and barfed up everything I had. A swell of heat engulfed me, and I felt awful aches all throughout my body.

Once again, thanks mom.

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