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Harvest Moon

It seems that danger is as constant as the clouds of Forks, hanging over the Cullens, just waiting to rain. It always seems to come when times seem the happiest. With it now pouring down upon them with full force, driving a wedge in the tight-knit family, will the Cullens be able to maintain their bonds and triumph once again? Renesmee's P.o.V. REVIEWS are greatly appreciated!! =]


6. Distance

Rating 5/5   Word Count 1588   Review this Chapter

"Honestly, Jacob, you don’t have to do this," I groaned to the russet wolf trailing me to the garage. I briefly turned to face him when we reached my truck, tossing my backpack into the cab and scooting into the driver’s seat, but he had already launched himself into the bed.

"Jake, the whole point of my going to high school was to be normal," I whined, reemerging from the cab to plead with him. "I hardly think parading around with a horse-sized canine in my truck bed counts as normal." He snorted and shook out his fur, in the same instance, shedding the snout, scruff, and paws.

I wheeled around to face the wall of the garage as he pulled on his shorts.

"What am I supposed to do, Nessie? Just sit around while psychopathic strays follow you home?" His eyes burned into mine intensely, vulnerable but guarded.

I was sure his perceptions of Gavin were heavily influenced by my own suspicions of him, though not aided by Gavin’s hasty arrogance. However, sometimes, I wished Jacob’s thoughts would comfort me instead of aiding in my uneasiness.

I placed both of my palms on either side of his face and smiled.

You’re supposed to be the brave one. Come on, just let me go. I’ll be fine. No more strays, I promise.

He chuckled and let the hair fall into his eyes.

"You’re right, you’re right. Go on, you’ll be late for Homeroom," he said as he ushered me back into the cab.

I turned the key in the ignition. Jacob reached through the open window to run his fingers through my hair. He rested his hand on my neck, just below my ear, with his fingers still combed into my curls. I laid into his palm then kissed it.

I watched him grow smaller and smaller in my rearview mirror.

I was glad when I was on solid pavement, free of the earthen drive of my hidden home, free from Jacob’s cautious stares, free from my father’s mental probing. I had the whole drive to school, finally alone, to think.

It made me nervous that I was keeping something from Jacob, and from the rest of my family. However, I feared that telling them of my first meeting with Gavin would force them to deduce that I was too delicate to for Forks High. Even though I was convinced that Gavin had shown me the full force of his vampiric gift that day, no matter how apprehensive it made me feel having him around my family, I had to figure him out on my own before I surrendered to house arrest.

I didn’t quite understand what Gavin had actually done to me. He had made me relive my memories. Could he see them too, when he was holding my hand? Was he like Aro of the Volturi, able to see the mind of whomever he touches? Or was he like Zafrina of the Amazon coven, able to show you illusions? But how could he have shown me my own intimate memories having not known me beforehand?

I was still confused as I crawled into a parking space next to an old green, paint-chipped boxy sedan.

"Hey, Renesmee!" Amanda Webber waved excitedly as she fastened a blue bicycle to the rack in front of the school entrance.

"Hi, Amanda," I made my way toward her. She closed the distance by bounding to my side and we walked through the front doors together. "You know, you can call me Nessie. I know my whole name is kind of a mouthful."

"Alright then, Nessie," she chirped. "So how was your first day yesterday? I didn’t get to catch you after school." Something in the way she looked at me suggested she may have seen Gavin with me and was now trying to decide which conclusion to draw.

"Oh, it was..." I shuddered, reliving the handshake with Gavin. "It was interesting," I finished. She seemed satisfied with this. She didn’t push me further. We made our way into the English classroom. I paused at the door and she stopped with me, following my gaze. I was glad Gavin was not looking at us. He would’ve thought it strange, both of us staring at him, even for those few seconds before Amanda squeaked an "ehem" and led us to our neighboring desks.

As we sat, she made eye contact with me then threw an exaggerated glance at Gavin, then met my eyes again, smiling and fluttering her eyelashes.

"Oh, for goodness sake, it’s not even like that," I whisper-shouted.

She giggled. "I know, I’m just teasing."

I figured the only way I could end this consuming curiosity was if I just asked him. I would get my chance during passing period to our next class. It was difficult to keep from going insane with Mr. Parsons’ droning. I was led to believe that only he could make the "electric tension between Elizabeth Bennett and Mr. Darcy" sound so depressing. He sounded like he was doing a commercial for eye drops. I slumped against my fist, staring at the clock behind Mr. Parson’s head. Only nineteen minutes had passed. My jaw dropped involuntarily, but I recomposed myself, feigning intent concentration on the lecture, flipping to the pages he referenced, though I had the whole book memorized—it was my favorite so I had read it to my mother numerous times as a child. Shockingly, though, my half-hearted attention made time pass at a bearable pace.

The bell rang and I began to pack up my backpack. I turned to secure a conversation with Gavin so that I could finally ask him about the handshake, but he was already halfway to the door.

"Wait, Gavin—" I started shoving my belongings hurriedly into random pockets of my backpack but paused to watch him. He had stopped, only for a second, at my call, to look at me over his shoulder from the corner of his eye. But instead of waiting, he left. I felt as if he had punched me in the stomach. I looked at Amanda. She watched after him as he left, then looked at me, eyebrows raised nearly to the tip of her hairline.

I flung my backpack onto my back, fuming. I couldn’t believe that, after yesterday, after I took him into my home, brought him to my family, helped him, he would completely disregard me this way. I wanted nothing more than to slap him. Better yet, I wanted Uncle Emmett to get a hold of him.

I was in a bad mood the rest of the day. I couldn’t wait to get home and rant to my family about Gavin’s rudeness, to convince them not to help him. But as I was walking out of the garage, there he was, leaning against my truck.

"You drove here and I still beat you," he taunted.

"Oh, now you can see me? What are you even doing here?" I spat acidly.

His grin faded. "Look. Just think of me as one of your Grandfather’s patients. I’m coming here to be treated. We’re not friends. This is business—I’m nothing more than a client."

"Fine," I stated coolly. "We’re not friends. But seeing as I have the ability to convince my family to exile you, I’d say you owe me an explanation." I crossed my arms.

He stared at me, annoyed. He grabbed my arm at the elbow and dragged me away from the house, toward the forest.

I yanked my arm out of his grasp. "I can walk, you know." I continued to follow him until we stopped, just at the edge of our acreage, at the boundary between the soft earth and the black pavement. I knew his intent. They wouldn’t hear us here. My father wouldn’t be able to "hear" us either. He paced, stepping lightly between pavement and soil.

"What is it you want, then, though I’m sure I know where this is going?" he demanded.

"You know, considering I helped you, it’d be nice if you could adjust the way you speak to me. Even if we’re not friends, you can at least be civil."

"Sorry," he said.

"Sure you are," I said. "But your remorse is beside the point. I’ve just been meaning to ask you something."

"And that is?"

"When you shook my hand yesterday, it did something to me and I was wondering—what is your gift?"

"I, oh, um." He was searching, sputtering. "I’ve told you, countless times, that I’ve never quite been in tune with my new nature."

"Okay..." I was suddenly impatient.

"I don’t really have a firm grasp of what I can do, actually. It’s very selective, as if it has a mind of its own," he was serious now. His voice no longer bitter, he sounded deep in thought.

I wondered though, whether he was genuinely unaware of his power or if he was trying to gauge if the lines he was feeding me were working. It seemed all too rehearsed, from his words, to his confusion, to the way he absently scratched at his temple.

As if in response the latter theory, he continued, "I don’t know why I’m even trying to explain this to you. I really don’t owe you anything. Like I said, I could’ve easily just followed you home."

"Hm," was all I could manage as I looked upon his face. I was seething now, completely overtaken by sheer frustration. I stared at him, anger ebbing in my veins, then pushed past him, starting back toward the house. I heard him following me, two steps behind, keeping his distance.

Jacob opened the front door before I could reach out to grab the knob.