idea. We can go to my place so you won't be tempted to be obsessive. You could bring your schoolwork—you have to be getting behind, because I know I am."
"Homework might be a good idea." He made a face, and I wondered how much he was leaving undone to be with me.
"Yes," I agreed. "We'll have to start being responsible occasionally, or Billy and Charlie aren't going to be so easygoing about this." I made a gesture indicating the two of us as a single entity. He liked that—he beamed.
"Homework once a week?" he proposed.
"Maybe we'd better go with twice," I suggested, thinking of the pile I'd just been assigned today.
He sighed a heavy sigh. Then he reached over his toolbox to a paper grocery sack. He pulled out two cans of soda, cracking one open and handing it to me. He opened the second, and held it up ceremoniously.
"Here's to responsibility," he toasted. "Twice a week."
"And recklessness every day in between," I emphasized.
He grinned and touched his can to mine.
I got home later than I'd planned and found Charlie had ordered a pizza rather than wait for me. He wouldn't let me apologize.
"I don't mind," he assured me. "You deserve a break from all the cooking, anyway."
I knew he was just relieved that I was still acting like a normal person, and he was not about to rock the boat.
I checked my e-mail before I started on my homework, and there was a long one from Renee. She gushed over every detail I'd provided her with, so I sent back another exhaustive description of my day. Everything but the motorcycles. Even happy-go-lucky Renee was likely to be alarmed by that.
School Tuesday had its ups and downs. Angela and Mike seemed ready to welcome me back with open arms—to kindly overlook my few months of aberrant behavior. Jess was more resistant. I wondered if she needed a formal written apology for the Port Angeles incident.
Mike was animated and chatty at work. It was like he'd stored up the semester's worth of talk, and it was all spilling out now. I found that I was able to smile and laugh with him, though it wasn't as effortless as it was with Jacob. It seemed harmless enough, until quitting time.
Mike put the closed sign in the window while I folded my vest and shoved it under the counter.
"This was fun tonight," Mike said happily.
"Yeah," I agreed, though I'd much rather have spent the afternoon in the garage.
"It's too bad that you had to leave the movie early last week."
I was a little confused by his train of thought. I shrugged. "I'm just a wimp, I guess."
"What I mean is, you should go to a better movie, something you'd enjoy," he explained.
"Oh," I muttered, still confused.
"Like maybe this Friday. With me. We could go see something that isn't scary at all."
I bit my lip.
I didn't want to screw things up with Mike, not when he was one of the only people ready to forgive me for being crazy. But this, again, felt far too familiar. Like the last year had never happened. I wished I had Jess as an excuse this time.
"Like a date?" I asked. Honesty was probably the best policy at this point. Get it over with.
He processed the tone of my voice "If you want. But it doesn't have to be like that."
"I don't date," I said slowly, realizing how true that was. That whole world seemed impossibly distant.
"Just as friends?" he suggested. His clear blue eyes were not as eager now. I hoped he really meant that we could be friends anyway.
"That would be fun. But I actually have plans already this Friday, so maybe next week?"
"What are you doing?" he asked, less casually than I think he wanted to sound.
"Homework. I have a… study session planned with a friend."
"Oh. Okay. Maybe next week."
He walked me to my car, less exuberant than before. It reminded me so clearly of my first months in Forks. I'd come full circle, and now everything felt like an echo—an empty echo, devoid of the interest it used to have.
The next night, Charlie didn't seem the smallest bit surprised to find Jacob and me sprawled across the living room floor with our books scattered around us, so I guessed that he and Billy were talking behind our backs.
"Hey, kids," he said, his eyes straying to the kitchen. The smell of the lasagna I'd spent the afternoon making—while Jacob watched and occasionally sampled—wafted down the