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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!! =]


8. Pebble

Rating 0/5   Word Count 1122   Review this Chapter

I wandered the stacks of the Forks High library, looking for books to use for the essay Mrs. Glass, my history teacher, had assigned. Even though I knew everything there was to know about the Spanish Influenza epidemic, thanks to my father, the assignment called for five published sources. I didn’t think my father’s century-weathered journal—a perfect first-hand account up to the day before his transformation—would count as a credible source. I sighed and shook my head at the irony.

I was already carrying four yellow-paged texts. I allowed my finger to graze the spines of worn volumes as I passed until I came across a thick volume that seemed promising—Plague and Death: The Influenza Virus of the Early 20th Century.

I pulled it from the shelf and balanced it atop the leaning tower in my arms, but the books fell in a noisy, scattered heap as I squeaked and jumped in shock. A large burgundy eye was staring at me through the gap in the titles where the book used to be.

"What the hell?!" I whisper-shouted.

Gavin was chuckling as he rounded the corner. "Sorry, Cullen, didn’t mean to scare you," he laughed as he reassembled my books into my arms.

"You know what, you can stop wondering," I spat.

"What are you talking about?" he looked amused.

"I know what your gift is," I accused, shifting the weight of the stack onto my right arm. He gulped, dropping his arm to his side. It seemed as if he trying to conceal the spine of the book he had been holding, but I had already seen. I made a mental note of the author’s last name, still visible within his folded grasp. I scowled momentarily, but continued.

"You do?" he gulped.

"Surely you’re aware of how expertly you annoy me, and, undeniably, other people." I pushed past him toward the circulation desk.

He raked his fingers through his hair. "Ha, yeah. That must be it."

"And anyway, I don’t know why you’re—" I spun around in a full circle. He was no longer standing beside me.

"Jerk," I muttered under my breath.

"What was that, young lady?" Mrs. Katz, the librarian said as she slid my books back across the counter to me.

"Nothing, ma’am," I hurried. She appraised me over the rim of her bifocals as I thanked her and pushed my way through the exit turnstile.

When I got to my truck, I set the stack in the seat beside me. I was just about to turn the key in the ignition when I looked up and saw Gavin stalking toward me. He looked over his shoulders quickly to see if anyone was around before he closed the distance in a millisecond, stopping at my window.

He spoke first, making me lose my thought.

"Like I said before, we’re not friends, but if you can, please do me this one favor." His glare was piercing, menacing like the first day Mr. Parsons had sat me next to him in English.

"You’re in no position to be asking— "

"Just stop trying to figure me out, okay? You’re just going to get in my way."

And he was gone again before I could object. With his hasty appearances and disappearances, I was sure he was set on making me believe I was hallucinating but I wouldn’t be fooled. Even the most vivid object of my imagination couldn’t make me convulse with irritation like he did. I was livid at the thought that he had the nerve to treat me like a pebble in his shoe.

I hadn’t so much as glanced toward him ever since last week’s ‘test’. Part of me refused to believe that his attacking Jacob was purely accidental. In spite of my avoidance of him, here he was telling me I was getting in the way. In the way of what, exactly, I had meant to ask. I thought back to the book he had tried to conceal from me. Farwall, the author’s name blazed in my memory.

I nearly tore my door from its hinges as I ran from my truck, back to the library. Gavin was nowhere in sight. I made sure by breathing in deeply, searching for his sent. Gone, out the south exit of the parking lot, probably halfway to my house already to train with Grandfather Carlisle. As I clambered through the entrance turnstile, Mrs. Katz frowned at me, a finger over her lips as she shushed me.

I raised my palm in apology and offered a sheepish smile. As I strode to card catalog, I scanned the drawer labels. The second drawer in the seventh column was labeled FA-FE. I pulled it open. The long deck was still open to the entry Gavin had searched. Sloppy, I thought, for someone who was trying to cover his tracks. I read the first few lines of the card:

Farwall, Joseph, 1962—

Allies and Foes: making sense of power and victory.

I laughed. What was my problem? To think, I had my suspicions that he was an evil genius, plotting the fate of the free world. I had forgotten he was in Mrs. Glass’ class the hour right after mine. He had an essay to write, just like me. He probably hadn’t been trying to hide the book at all; I had just imagined such because I assumed he was up to something. I grimaced, feeling foolish as I pushed the drawer shut.

I saluted Mrs. Katz as I pushed through the exit turnstile again.

I pulled out of the parking lot, which was almost empty by now.

I was convinced I was being silly, but why couldn’t I shake my distrust of Gavin? His words, "you’re just going to get in my way" rang in my ears. What did he mean? He surely wouldn’t get so hot and bothered over a simple high school essay—he had all of eternity to redeem himself for one bad paper. No...he had said to stop "trying to figure him out". But if he was losing concentration on trying to adapt to our lifestyle, that was his own fault, not mine; he was the one so preoccupied with keeping his guard up.

Almost aware of the fact that I had pulled into the garage, I sat, still deep in thought. I didn’t even bother unfastening my seatbelt.

"Sweetheart," I looked up to find my mom, leaning against the beam in the middle of the garage.

"Hey, Mom," I smiled, hastily analyzing her face before she could notice that I was. She looked so weary, fragile. "What’s up?" I swung my legs out of the cab, trying to keep my voice steady but it was unsettling seeing her sturdiness falter.

She looked into my eyes, pleading, and threw her arms around me in a tender, icy embrace.