Eclipse

I could imagine the frustration pulling his black eyebrows together and crumpling his forehead.

I could picture him writing this --- scrawling the angry letters in his rough handwriting, slashing through line after line when the words came out wrong, maybe even snapping the pen in his too-big hand; that would explain the ink splatters.

Laughing was the last thing I felt like doing now as I reread the words I’d already memorized.

Ever since my former best friend (and werewolf), Jacob Black, had informed on me about the motorcycle I’d been riding on the sly --- a betrayal he had devised in order to get my grounded so that I couldn’t spend time with my boyfriend (and vampire), Edward Cullen --- Edward had been allowed to see me only from seven till nine-thirty p.m., always inside the confines of my home and under the supervision of my dad’s unfailingly crabby glare.

I was mystified.

This was an escalation from the previous, slightly less stringent grounding that I’d earned from an unexplained three-day disappearance and one episode of cliff diving.

The word boyfriend had me chewing on the inside of my cheek with familiar tension while I stirred.

I found a spoon and tried to de-clump the mushy hunk that was scalded at the bottom.

And what was with the surly attitude?

I prodded the noodles in silence, guessing that Charlie would get around to talking about whatever was bothering him in his own time.

Ever since my former best friend (and werewolf), Jacob Black, had informed on me about the motorcycle I’d been riding on the sly --- a betrayal he had devised in order to get my grounded so that I couldn’t spend time with my boyfriend (and vampire), Edward Cullen --- Edward had been allowed to see me only from seven till nine-thirty p.m., always inside the confines of my home and under the supervision of my dad’s unfailingly crabby glare.

He folded his arms across his chest and glared out the back windows into the sheeting rain.

“You would know,” I replied, grinning as I eyed the badge pinned to his leather jacket.

Ever since my former best friend (and werewolf), Jacob Black, had informed on me about the motorcycle I’d been riding on the sly --- a betrayal he had devised in order to get my grounded so that I couldn’t spend time with my boyfriend (and vampire), Edward Cullen --- Edward had been allowed to see me only from seven till nine-thirty p.m., always inside the confines of my home and under the supervision of my dad’s unfailingly crabby glare.

Charlie watched my adjustments with pursed lips.

I found a spoon and tried to de-clump the mushy hunk that was scalded at the bottom.

Edward wasn’t here yet; usually my dad reserved this kind of behavior for my boyfriend’s benefit, doing his best to illustrate the theme of “unwelcome” with every word and posture.

The pasta lump bobbed in the boiling water as I poked it.

I needed something more expressive of eternal commitment….

Edward wasn’t here yet; usually my dad reserved this kind of behavior for my boyfriend’s benefit, doing his best to illustrate the theme of “unwelcome” with every word and posture.

Ever since my former best friend (and werewolf), Jacob Black, had informed on me about the motorcycle I’d been riding on the sly --- a betrayal he had devised in order to get my grounded so that I couldn’t spend time with my boyfriend (and vampire), Edward Cullen --- Edward had been allowed to see me only from seven till nine-thirty p.m., always inside the confines of my home and under the supervision of my dad’s unfailingly crabby glare.

But words like destiny and fate sounded hokey when you used them in casual conversation.

More than that, behind each angry beginning lurked a vast pool of hurt; Jacob’s pain cut me deeper than my own.

The pasta lump bobbed in the boiling water as I poked it.

Edward wasn’t here yet; usually my dad reserved this kind of behavior for my boyfriend’s benefit, doing his best to illustrate the theme of “unwelcome” with every word and posture.

While I was pondering this, I caught the unmistakable scent of a smoking burner rising from the kitchen.

He shrugged out of the jacket as if my glance had reminded him he still had it on, and hung it on the peg reserved for his gear.

I looked in the pan on the stove --- the source of the smell that had alerted me.

What was surprising was how much each crossed-out line wounded me --- as if the points of the letters had cutting edges.

Charlie watched my adjustments with pursed lips.

I looked in the pan on the stove --- the source of the smell that had alerted me.

He shrugged out of the jacket as if my glance had reminded him he still had it on, and hung it on the peg reserved for his gear.

His answer to my pleading note --- passed from Charlie to Billy to him, just like second grade, as he’d pointed out --- was no surprise.

His answer to my pleading note --- passed from Charlie to Billy to him, just like second grade, as he’d pointed out --- was no surprise.

Edward wasn’t here yet; usually my dad reserved this kind of behavior for my boyfriend’s benefit, doing his best to illustrate the theme of “unwelcome” with every word and posture.

This was an escalation from the previous, slightly less stringent grounding that I’d earned from an unexplained three-day disappearance and one episode of cliff diving.

I swiftly removed the lid as I spoke, poured half the sauce into a bowl, and then put the bowl inside the microwave and the jar back in the fridge; I fixed the time and pressed start.

His answer to my pleading note --- passed from Charlie to Billy to him, just like second grade, as he’d pointed out --- was no surprise.

“You’re supposed to take the lid off first, Dad. Metal’s bad for microwaves.”

He shrugged out of the jacket as if my glance had reminded him he still had it on, and hung it on the peg reserved for his gear.

The pasta lump bobbed in the boiling water as I poked it.

This was an escalation from the previous, slightly less stringent grounding that I’d earned from an unexplained three-day disappearance and one episode of cliff diving.

And what was with the surly attitude?

I swiftly removed the lid as I spoke, poured half the sauce into a bowl, and then put the bowl inside the microwave and the jar back in the fridge; I fixed the time and pressed start.

The jar of spaghetti sauce Charlie’d stuck in the microwave was only on its first revolution when I yanked the door open and pulled it out.

The word boyfriend had me chewing on the inside of my cheek with familiar tension while I stirred.

Edward wasn’t here yet; usually my dad reserved this kind of behavior for my boyfriend’s benefit, doing his best to illustrate the theme of “unwelcome” with every word and posture.

More than that, behind each angry beginning lurked a vast pool of hurt; Jacob’s pain cut me deeper than my own.

Don’t give yourself a brain hemorrhage, Jacob, I would have told him.

Ever since my former best friend (and werewolf), Jacob Black, had informed on me about the motorcycle I’d been riding on the sly --- a betrayal he had devised in order to get my grounded so that I couldn’t spend time with my boyfriend (and vampire), Edward Cullen --- Edward had been allowed to see me only from seven till nine-thirty p.m., always inside the confines of my home and under the supervision of my dad’s unfailingly crabby glare.

There had been no more disturbing disappearances to trouble the small town of Forks, Washington, no more sighting of the giant, mysterious wolves in the ever-rainy woods….