By The Moon
by: @twilitty
Chapter 11: Bake Sale
word count: 3.8k
I eventually end up asking Charlie about having Jessica and Angela over for baking, as well as various other “girls’ night” activities. I don’t specify which activities, not because I’m being evasive but because I’m not sure what the activities are. He agrees and promises me he will be busy and out of the house. He doesn’t elaborate any further, so I don’t pry. We say our good nights, him seated in front of the television and me heading up the stairs.
I make it to my room and quickly prepare my pyjamas in my arms before going into the bathroom and turning on the shower. The scalding heat of the water is welcome and comforting in a way that I can’t entirely explain. It burns away thoughts of this evening, of my mild freak-out in the kitchen. Of how Jacob had to hold me on the porch.
The way he just wrapped his arms around me, just held me so tight, something about that felt natural. I’m not sure if it was natural for him or for me or for both of us, but it felt like something that would’ve happened regardless of the smoke or the alarms. Somehow, I would’ve ended up being held by Jacob Black, but not romantically.
Maybe that’s the message of the evening for me. Maybe some greater being is at work here, and it’s telling me that Jacob Black is my friend and nothing more. Never anything more. He held me like he’d hold a friend, there was nothing else happening.
I mean, of course, it was completely platonic. Had he ever done anything to indicate he saw me in any other way? No. He’s a good person. He’s nice and sweet and funny and comfortable, I shouldn’t go applying my own juvenile daydreams to the situation.
Besides, it’s not as if I see him in any way other than platonic. Not consciously, at least.
Sure, sometimes when I think of him, I focus on very not-friend-like traits. Like his chest or his shoulders or his wide smile. Or how kind he is to me, how he has somehow just accepted our friendship from childhood as still applying today.
I scrub at my skin, a little harder than necessary, to try and banish any further thoughts about Jacob Black. I scrub and scrub and scrub until my skin is pink and new. Until I finally feel clean.
Stepping out of the shower I quickly start thinking about which book to read next. I finished my last book just a couple of days ago, a reread of Sense and Sensibility. I dry myself off, then dress in pyjamas and go about my nighttime routine.
I could do another reread of some classic. Perhaps The Picture of Dorian Gray? I had never finished the entire book, had only gotten fifteen pages into it three years ago before abandoning it for something else. Or I could read something new.
I don’t have any new books in my room, but I’m sure I could pick something up from the store during my next shift. I’m still not sure about when that is. Mr. Webber is still in the process of adding me to the schedule, which is just an online calendar with names filled in the boxes beside time slots. He promised I’d know by the end of the week, and I was too shy to ask whether he meant Friday or Sunday. Did he mean the end of the work week or just simply the end of the week? Regardless, I’d find out soon enough.
I make my way into my room, safe from thoughts of a certain someone, and pick up the first book my fingers touch. I take it to bed and crawl under the covers, but not before closing the blinds.
Since having that nightmare of a dream, looking over at the forest is something I don’t want to partake in. Ever.
I’m halfway through the first chapter when there’s a knock on my door. “Yeah?” I close the book, sliding an old receipt in as a bookmark.
Charlie steps into the room, still dressed in jeans and rubbing at the back of his neck. “Uh, I’m going to hit the store sometime tomorrow. So, if you want to leave a list of ingredients you girls will need for the baking stuff then I can pick it all up.”
I stop moving for a moment, and it seems like he suddenly can’t meet my eyes. “Oh.” He looks up at me now, my voice a little scratchy and higher pitched than I’d like it to be. “Thank you, dad. I really appreciate it.”
He mumbles something unintelligibly under his breath and nods his head briskly a couple of times. It’s clear I acquired my social quirks from his side of the family. “Yes, well…” He gives me a tight-lipped smile before slowly closing the door. “Good night.” The door clicks shut.
I don’t hear his footsteps and quickly call out, “Night!”
He walks away from my door and a smile seems to spread across my face of its own will.
I leave a list for Charlie on the kitchen counter, along with a thank you at the bottom. I included the basics: eggs, cream, baking powder, and flour. Everything else we either already have or I don’t know we need yet.
I then take a few minutes to clear the area of anything that shouldn’t be there. I load the dishwasher, start it, and then hand wash a few plastics and pans that we might need for tonight.
I still have a couple minutes before needing to leave for school, so I quickly run back up into my bedroom and tidy up anything that is obviously out of place. I stack my books appropriately on my dresser, throw a pair of socks in the laundry basket, and smooth out my duvet one last time. There, I think contently, now I can leave.
I lock the door behind me, dash into my truck, and start the engine all within a matter of seconds. That level of speed and efficiency is an accomplishment. In the past, I’ve tripped down the porch steps, stumbled over loose gravel, and dropped my keys down between the heavy pot and the house. It would take me half a minute to move the stupid pot, which weighs nearly thirty pounds and seems to be made from weighted concrete.
Today, though, I am in the truck without any issues, and it feels like a good omen for the rest of my day.
I make the drive to school in record time, which is nothing to celebrate. Forks residents claim to have traffic on the highway and main streets, but I’ve never encountered it. Maybe we just have different definitions of traffic, in the same way, that we apparently have different definitions of beaches.
I pull in next to Fran the Van, which is packed to the point of overflowing with my friends. Jessica is sitting in the passenger seat, her knees pulled up to her chest and arms wrapped around her shins. She’s in a short sleeve violet blouse, her hair curled and a little frizzy around her shoulders. All in all, dressed inappropriately for the weather.
“Jess,” I say, stepping out of my truck and leaning against it. My backpack sits on the ground by my feet. She looks over at me, a serene smile outlined by glossy lips. “You do realize it’s barely April, right?”
“April is spring,” She retorts not unkindly. Her serene smile is now a disapproving frown. “Spring means short sleeves and sun.” We both look up at the sky, which is decidedly not sunny. “Okay, well, it’s still early spring and that means short sleeves.” I don’t say anything for a moment, and she rolls her eyes. “Bella, I swear, you are so out of touch.”
Mike closes his eyes dramatically from inside the van, shaking his head at me to communicate that it’s okay if I’m out of touch. Mike seems more awake than he usually is at this hour, which is to say that he’s all smiles and laughing jokes with those inside the vehicle. I question whether the weather, which is barely a degree warmer than it was yesterday, has infected the good students of Forks high school with something.
How can they all call this weather, grey and dreary, spring weather? This is a warm winter if anything.
I spot Angela, already walking towards the scattering of buildings and pick up my backpack to follow her. I’d like to discuss the girl’s night tonight with her before I include Jessica in the conversation. Angela seems more down-to-earth, more understanding of my apparent lack of social experiences.
I catch up to her, walking at a fast pace but not jogging. Jogging would likely result in me face down on the pavement and requiring concussion protocol. Angela looks over at me, her auburn hair pulled up into a ponytail and her eyes outlined with mascara. Her eyelashes are much longer than I recall them being, and the dark makeup on them only brings out the hazel of her eyes.
“You look pretty,” I tell her. She ducks her head and mumbles a thank you, a clear indication that she looks particularly put together for a reason today. I open my mouth to question it, but as she looks over her shoulder I quickly see the reason for her mascara and shyness. Ben Cheney is exiting a shiny silver vehicle and appears to be the only other person dressed sensibly today. He’s wearing a large hoodie and a loose pair of trousers. “Ah,” I look back to my friend who quickly picks up the speed. As though she’s racing away from him.
“Don’t say ‘ah’,” she criticizes lightly, shooting me a dark look out of the corner of her eye.
“Sorry, what noise would you rather I make?” I giggle at her scowl, which quickly parts to a close-lipped smile. “Are you avoiding him or what’s happening?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she replies quickly. She’s an awful liar.
“Angela Webber, you basically ran away when you saw him.”
“Only my mom calls me by my full name,” she says.
“If you give me your middle name then I can give you the true motherly experience.” This causes her to laugh, which I appreciate.
“Okay, fine, it’s Francis.”
“Francis?” I pause, looking over at my friend with fresh eyes. “Your full name is Angela Francis Webber?”
“Don’t look at me like that, it’s a perfectly normal middle name.” A sniff of displeasure, then, “It was my great grandmother's name.” I don’t say anything, just work to conceal the smile and subsequent laugh trying to surface. “Oh, please!” She throws her hands up exasperatedly. “Fine, what’s your middle name?”
“Marie,” I answer automatically. The smile I’ve been hiding breaks through, and Angela Francis Webber rolls her eyes at me. I laugh at the thought of her full name; she does not appreciate it.
“Of course, someone with the middle name ‘Marie’ will dislike Francis.” She picks up the pace, walking at almost a full jog. I work to keep up with her, which is futile because her long legs propel her at Olympic speeds.
“Angela!” I call out to her, and she barely spares me a glance over her shoulder before taking a tight turn around the first building. I swear I can hear her laughing as she leaves me in her dust.
“Trouble in paradise?” I nearly jump out of my skin at the voice behind me, which causes the teenage boy responsible to laugh at an obnoxious volume.
“Jesus, Eric,” I mutter, throwing him a look as I take a deep breath and try to calm my nervous system. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”
“Sorry, just heard that you guys are planning something tonight and thought I might get an invite?” He gives me his brightest smile, even going so far as to clasp his hands under his chin like a poor commoner boy asking for another bowl of soup.
“It’s a girl’s night, so girls only.”
He exhales heavily, laying on the guilt trip as he drops his hands to his pockets. “I hate being excluded,” he whispers in an obviously unhappy voice.
“You aren’t being excluded,” I tell him. I try to remain assertive, even as he pouts.
“I also hate being ostracized.”
“You aren’t being ostracized.”
Jessica and Angela arrive together in Jessica’s car. My initial excitement over having an opportunity to hang out with my friends outside of school is overridden by the large bag hanging over Jessica’s arm. Oh, yikes.
I step out onto the front porch, my arms dangling uselessly by my sides. The horror of what could be in Jessica’s bag occupies my mind. Alcohol? Charlie is a progressive man; he understands the tendencies of the younger generation. But still. He’s a cop and cops typically are not fans of underage drinking.
Stop overthinking everything, Bella. My inner voice does little to quiet the steady stream of anxiety coursing through my mind.
“Hey!” Jessica skips the middle stair and all but leaps onto the porch. I hear no incriminating noises coming from the bag, no sounds of glass bottles clinking together. Good.
“Jess, want me to take that?” I offer, already moving to remove it from her arm. She nods gratefully and hands it over. It’s surprisingly light for such a large bag and again my interests are piqued.
Angela follows up the porch, a backpack over her shoulder and a couple bags of chips in her arms. I greet her with a friendly expression that she reciprocates.
Inside the house, we drop the bags onto the floor in the living room, which I made sure to tidy up long before anybody arrived. I notice my friends’ eyes wandering a little more than I had anticipated, their focus quickly drawn to a series of my school photos on the mantle. They approach the framed photos quickly as if they might miss them by walking too slowly.
“You guys better not bully me about my middle school years,” I warn. Jessica giggles in response and points to one of the photos.
“I like your smile in this one,” she says with a bit too much of a laugh behind her words. “It’s very-”
Angela smacks her arm before she can finish talking. “Jess, I have half a mind to kick you out of here on Bella’s behalf.” Laughter descends upon the group, which seems to call Charlie out of his hiding spot from upstairs.
His footsteps are softer than usual, which hints at his nervousness. “Jessica Stanley and Angela Webber,” he says from the foot of the stairs. Both of my friends turn quickly and put on their best smiles for my father. I feel a swell of pride somewhere inside me, but I’m not entirely sure why. Is it because of my polite, kind friends? Is it because of my dad who knows my friends’ names? Or maybe it’s a pride for me, for going out of my comfort zone and inviting people over.
“Hello, Chief Swan,” Angela says, stepping forward and extending a hand to shake my fathers. He shakes it and shoots a grin at the group of us.
“Call me Charlie, there’s no badge on my chest today.” Then, with a wink in my direction he says, “I’m Bella’s dad today and nothing else.”
“Well, thanks for letting us come over. We really appreciate it.” Angela nods along with Jessica as the brunette talks. A soft blush settles over my father’s cheeks and the prideful feeling in my chest swells again.
Something about this moment feels so right as if I was meant to be standing here in my father's living room with my two new friends waiting to bake for some fundraiser. It’s as if every moment of my life has pushed me toward this place. As if everything happening right now is meant to happen.
I’m not one to believe in fate or some cosmic force controlling our lives, but in the second I might believe just a little bit. As my first two girl friends laugh with my dad. My dad is trying so hard to give off a good impression, to make this a great night for me. I wonder if he knows this is my first true girls’ night. I wonder if that’s why he keeps looking at me with such a large smile.
“I’m going to run out and meet with some guys down on the Rez. You girls need anything before I leave?”
“I think we’re good, dad, but thank you.” He says goodbye and pulls a jacket over his shoulders. A minute later I hear his cruiser start up and drive away.
“Okay, so I brought supplies,” Jessica announces, quickly producing a portable speaker from the top of her large bag. “Bur first,” she taps a button on the top of the machine and music fills the room. “Music!”
The music shifts over the evening, going from house to pop to some indie/country mixture that Angela puts on. By the time it’s my turn to pick a playlist I’ve already decided on my choice. Classic rock. It produces a couple surprised looks from my friends, but they seem pleasantly surprised.
“I should’ve expected this,” Jessica admits, looking over her shoulder at Angela as she pulls a tray of cookies from the oven. She then pulls out two more trays of assorted baked goods.
“Expected what?” I ask a little critically. Angela closes the oven with a thud and laughs lightly to herself. “Expected what?” I repeat.
Jessica looks back at Angela meaningful, building up the suspense. If she’s good at anything it’s leaving a woman in anticipation. Just as I’m about to repeat myself for a third time she raises a hand to stop me.
“I just mean, doesn’t your friend like rock?” She giggles at the word friend as if there’s something significant about the word.
“Who? Eric?”
Angela comes over and pats me on the shoulder sympathetically before leaning against the kitchen table with me. “She’s talking about a different friend. Who doesn’t live in town.”
I turn back to Jess. “Are you talking about Jacob Black?”
The only answer I get is a chorus of giggles and then an apologetic look from Angela. I cover my face with my hands, the blush creeping up my neck and into my face more than humiliating. Not to mention that the offending blush is also as good of a confession as anything. “Guys,” I groan out from behind my fingers.
“Aw, come on, Bella. You can talk to us about anything.” Jessica takes a moment to sip from her sparkling water. “Or about anyone.” I groan again.
“We are just friends,” I say finally, removing my hands from my face. I keep my eyes down towards the ground. “And I mean that. Just friends.”
“That’s what most people who aren’t ‘just friends’ say,” Jess quips. Angela remains decidedly silent and when I look over at her I see she’s furiously stirring batter with a wooden spoon. Jessica follows my line of sight. “Angela, you’re going to murder that mix if you keep up with that pace.” Angela slows her movements but only slightly.
She looks up from the large bowl to meet my eyes and offers me a reproachful look. “If you don’t want to talk about it, we don’t have to,” she tells me. It’s an offer I appreciate but shake my head.
“No, it’s fine. We can talk about Jake.” I take a deep breath. “But we really are just friends.”
“You sound disappointed,” Angela says. My stomach tightens a little, whether in denial or an admission of guilt I’m not sure.
“No, just upset with myself, I think.”
“Because you like him?” Jess confirms. I nod. “Okay, so does he like you? Does he act like he likes you?”
“How do you act like you like someone?” I feel like it’s a dumb question for me to ask because Jessica goes a little quiet. “I’ve never really had this situation before, so I’m not sure.”
“Does he, like, touch you more than necessary?” I think of my hand in his, of him wrapping his large arms around me in a bear hug. Jessica grins at something on my face and I work to put back on my mask of neutrality. “Based on that expression, I think he might like you.”
“You can’t know that,” I argue, but my traitorous brain has already run wild with the thought and I can’t slow down. Suddenly every touch, every moment of eye contact, and every word passed between us feels significant. Feels monumental. Feels like it means something more than just friends.
“Okay, fine, maybe I don’t know that. But what do you want me to say? That I have no idea? That’s so incredibly anticlimactic.” Then, after a pause of her watching my face she says, “Besides, if he did like you what would you do about it?”
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Would you ask him out?” Angela asks, piping up for the first time in a few minutes. She’s moved from the mixing bowl to pouring the batter into little muffin holders. “Or kiss him maybe?”
“No, no, I wouldn’t.” The words bubble to the surface quickly, too quickly. Why was that my first response? Because I don’t want to kiss Jake? Yeah, right. I’ve thought of that scenario too many times to be healthy. Maybe it’s her first suggestion. Is it that I don’t want to ask him out? Or have us as being more than platonic? “I barely even know him,” I add on a little quieter. Jess has moved on to icing now cooled cupcakes, but Angela is still listening.
“Maybe get to know him better, then?” She suggests. “He’s really attractive, I’m sure he’s got a great personality to match.”
The blush creeps back up my neck. “Yeah, he’s really nice.”
“Swan!” Jessica yells out a little too loudly for the small room. “Paper towel, STAT!”
Angela giggles at our friend, who has icing dripping down her forearms. She catches us watching and shoots a glare. “I said STAT! Does that not mean anything to you people?”
“I guess we’re roleplaying a hospital now,” I joke. Angela laughs and produces a napkin for Jessica. The conversation twists and turns and we wind up back on Angelina Jolie like it usually does when Jessica is involved. I’m happy to talk all about her cheekbones because it keeps my mind away from someone else’s.
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