Chapter One

Beeeeeep. The overloud squeal of a car horn made me jump. Not a good idea since I was trying to swipe some mascara over my lashes. I took one last look in the mirror. I analyzed my reflection for a moment: average height, curve-less, long boring dark hair. I laughed at the two pitifully small lumps on my chest. As good as it's going to get, I told myself. I looked out the window and sighed- raining in LaPush. What a shocker.

I slung my backpack over my shoulder and grabbed my brown paper lunch bag on the way out, stopping only to peck my mom on the cheek. She was on her way to work. Since my Dad had left us, she always seemed to be working.

"Geez, Quil," I said, annoyed. "Would it kill you to wait five seconds?"

His lips twitched up at the corners. "Maybe," he answered, "But I'd rather not find out."

As soon as my door was shut and my seatbelt securely on- Quil was such a worrywart all the time- we took off. Quil drove a beat-up jeep wrangler, in a deep chocolaty brown, like his eyes.

Quil's car was probably as old as he was. Which is another way of saying that I know nothing about cars. I didn't know how old Quil even is. He looks like he's in his twenties, but sometimes he would crack up laughing and I could swear he looked seventeen. Other times, he would get all serious and look like he was fifty years old or something.

I didn't know a whole lot about Quil- he's always just been around. I remember him being there when I was a little kid, taking me back and forth to t-ball and that when my mom wasn't around. I didn't even know what his job was, other than that he worked with my Uncle Sam. Quil is probably my best friend, which is a little weird. What's a twenty something guy doing with a fifteen-year-old best friend, right?

Whenever I had asked Quil why he didn't find someone cooler to hang out with he always just said, "I'd rather hang out with you," and sigh, "even if you're not cool." Then I would stick out my tongue at him until I had to bust up laughing at his face.

Quil's face was always happy, and when he wasn't moving, he was laughing. The only times I could ever remember him being serious were when I was hurt. Like the time my Dad had left, or when I had broken my arm, effectively ending my t-ball career at age seven. Dang.

"Okay, time for jail- I mean school," Quil teased, pulling up to the grey, windowless building. He was right; the place did look like a prison. Innocent tourists feared for the safety of their children when passing by. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but not by much.

"Ugh," I groaned, "do I have to?"

"Yup." He flashed me a grin. "I'll see you around three."

I hopped out of the car, jogging into the building so I wouldn't be late. Mr. Codey would give me a detention for sure this time. Jerk.

School passed in a boring blur, as usual. And as usual, Quil was waiting for me outside. For all his jokes, he really was a dependable guy. I slid into the jeep and watched him bob his head along to the music. I made the mistake of rolling my eyes. This caused him to start singing the lyrics of the rock song as loudly as possible. Right there in front of my school.

"Quil!" I squealed at him, "Stop it!"

He ignored me, getting into a rhythm now. Oh my god… he was playing the air guitar. I would never live this down.

"Let's get out of here!"

Quil chuckled while pealing out of the school lot. "How was school today?"

"Boring. And I got a C on my math test. I'm actually surprised I didn't fail it," I admitted.

"Claire," he said disapprovingly. I know Quil has never been to college, so I don't get why he's always so ornery about my grades. Who cares?

"C'mon Quil, skip the lecture. What are we gonna do today?" I really needed to get his mind of my pathetic grade point average before he suggested tutoring me again. The one time he tried it had worked out great- not. Quil's even more pathetic at geometry than I am.

"Hmm," he mused, turning to wink at me, "I think Emily just might be doing something fun over at her place tonight. Should we check it out?"

"Sounds like a party," I said sarcastically. I was really only pretending to gripe about it. It was incredibly lame to chill with your aunt and her family on a Friday night, but also really fun.

Quil's booming laugh washed over me again. He knew me better than to believe I didn't want to. Quil probably knew me better than anyone.

"It'll be a blast, Claire," he told me, "Embry, Jake and Sam will be there too. Plus, little Harry's getting so big now."

"Okay, okay," I said, "I guess it has been awhile since I saw Harry."

My cousin Harry was nine years old, and every time I saw him he just seemed to get taller. He was named for Harry Clearwater, Leah's dad, who had died when I was a baby.

In a few minutes, we stopped in front of a small, buttery yellow one story on the edge of LaPush. Compared to the other homes on the reservation, this one wasn't really too tiny. But it felt that way when all the guys piled inside of it. Sam, Quil and his friends were all enormous. I had even asked Quil once if they all took the same steroids. That just made him snort.

I looked over at Quil, waiting for him to unlock the doors so I could get out. I caught him staring at me…again. Quil did that sometimes, he would just stare at my face like he was spacing out or something. Like I said, the boy was weird. A good kind of weird, though.

"Quil?"

He jumped, "Uh, yeah?"

"Are we going to go in or what?" I asked, rolling my eyes at him. I rolled my eyes at him a lot; he was just so goofy. Once in a while, he would tell me I needed to see an optometrist or something.

Quil seemed to realize where we were and unlocked the doors. I clambered out and followed him into the house. Quil had to maneuver carefully through the door, his shoulders were so broad and he was so tall that he could've easily damaged the frame.

"Claire!" Emily called, as soon as we were through the door. I gave her a quick one-armed squeeze.

Sam and Harry acknowledged me vaguely; too busy watching cartoons to really notice me. I smiled- sometimes boys were so comfortingly predictable. Quil went over to join them.

Emily and I chatted and laughed about life while she was making dinner. And when I say making dinner, I mean preparing to feed a village. There were literally about thirty or forty hotdogs there for only six people. Gross.

"Smells good," Sam said, coming over to nuzzle Emily on her cheek. He kissed her scars tenderly. I didn't really know where Emily had gotten her scars from, and I was too shy to ask. They were faded and pink, running from her eye all the way down her face. Like a bear or something had mauled her.

Sam looked at Emily so tenderly as she bustled around the little kitchen. His expression reminded me of something, but I wasn't sure what. I didn't have much time to mull it over, though, because Quil, Harry, Embry and Jake charged into the room.

Twenty minutes and two hot dogs later I was staring at Quil in amazement. He had just put away at least twelve hotdogs, and was reaching for another.

"What?" he said, noticing my revulsion.

"How can you eat that much?"

Embry interrupted us, "Yeah, Quil, Jesus. Give someone else a chance." And with that he swiped the last hotdog from Quil's fingers. Quil blinked for a moment, then snorted.

"So, Claire," Jake said, speaking for the first time. He was kind of a quiet guy, not really making conversation unless forced. "Are you coming tomorrow night?"

"Coming where?"

Sam looked up from tickling Harry and growled a tiny bit. Sam was kind of a big deal around La Push- and no one really seemed to know why. People just did what he said. His reaction piqued my interest.

"Well…" Quil said, looking sheepish for not mentioning it before. "Some of the guys are going down to First Beach for a bonfire. Leah, Emily, and Kim will be there, too."

I sat up straight, excited. I'd never been allowed to go to their parties before. I was always told that I was too young. "Count me in!"

As we left Emily's that night, Sam drew Quil aside. "What are you doing?" he demanded in an authoritative voice, furious for whatever reason.

"Calm down! God, it's not like I'm going to tell her!" Quil defended himself, throwing his hands up in the air.

"Good," was Sam's reply.

Quil followed me into the car after that, sort of shaking a little bit. I was worried about him, but also a little mad. What made him think he could keep something from me?

We were supposed to be best friends; what was Quil hiding?