Bad Apple [Twilight Fan Fiction]

12. Scary Stories

12. Scary Stories

            The weeks passed by again. I became closer with Edward and Alice more than I thought possible. I still hadn’t gone over to their house and I was a little grateful. My list has grown over the past few weeks. Charlie finally made up with Billy so it was a good thing that Jacob was back in my life.

He had called the house and talked to me on more than one occasion. I needed to talk with him. I barely remember a conversation that I had with him on first beach.

~Flashback~

Mike, Jessica, and Angela had invited me to go with them to La Push. It’s a small reservation outside of Forks. Charlie has friends over there that I completely forgot about. Jacob had shown up grinning his entire face lighting up around him.

Jessica mentioned my epic fail of trying to be friends with the Cullens but the La Push boys didn’t accept it.

“The Cullen’s don’t come here.” said one of them.

I was really curious why he would say something like that. I managed to get Jake to walk with me down the beach. I had never flirted before so I wasn’t sure if I was rusty or not but I tried my hardest.

“Who was that other boy Lauren was talking to? He seemed a little old to be hanging out with us.” I purposefully lumped myself in with the youngsters, trying to make it clear that I preferred Jacob.

“That’s Sam – he’s nineteen,” he informed me.

“What was that he was saying about the doctor’s family?” I asked innocently.

“The Cullens? Oh, they’re not supposed to come onto the reservation.” He looked away, out toward James Island, as he confirmed what I’d thought I’d heard in Sam’s voice.

“Why not?”

He glanced back at me, biting his lip, “Oops. I’m not supposed to say anything about that.”

“Oh, I won’t tell anyone, I’m just curious.” I tried to make my smile alluring, wondering if I was laying it on too thick.

He smiled back, though, looking allured. Then he lifted one eyebrow and his voice was even huskier than before.

“Do you like scary stories?” he asked ominously.

“I love them,” I enthused, making an effort to smolder at him.

Jacob strolled to a nearby driftwood tree that had its roots sticking out like the attenuated legs of a huge, pale spider. He perched lightly on one of the twisted roots while I say beneath him on the body of the tree. He stared down at the rocks, a smile hovering around the edges of his broad lips. I could see he was going to try to make this good. I focused on keep the vital interest I felt out of my eyes.

“Do you know any of our old stories, about where we come from – the Quileutes, I mean?” he began.

“Not really,” I admitted.

“Well, there are lots of legends; some of them claiming to date back to the Flood – supposedly, the ancient Quileutes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark.” He smiled, to show me how little stock he put in the histories.

“Another legend claims that we descended from wolves – and that the wolves are brothers still. It’s against tribal law to kill them. Then there are the stories about the cold ones.” His voice dropped a little lower.