Descending Star

FERAL

Zoey and Ben emerged from her rooftop apartment and descended the exterior stairs with considerable trepidation, because they could see Jacob's glower, Jacob's slavering rancor, Jacob's feral opprobrium, tall and forthright against the heroic backdrop of Archie Newton's gauche, kitsch, miniscule paint and composition board reproduction of El Capitan.

"This, too, is expected," Zoey muttered, as they crossed the parking lot. "You've got my back, Ben. Right?"

"Hell, no," he said, laughing. "This I've gotta see."

She laughed, too, but with a devious edge that had him taken aback, and as they converged on the fuming and mightily aggrieved Quileute boy, she airily said, "You deal with him, Ben. I have to supervise the stowage of the gear for the night."

"No! Zoey... no! I have to get home. Clear the clutter. Sort the mail. Mop the floor. Wash the dishes."

"I'm not royalty, Ben. Clutter's cool. I won't trip on it." She chuckled once more at Ben's glare and joined her students.

Ben couldn't believe this hairpin turn. How had he gotten himself stuck with handling Jacob Black? He crooked a finger at Jacob, planted himself at the picnic table with as severe an expression as he could manage, given the inherent comedy of the situation, and said, "Have a seat, Jake."

Jacob stood over him with a scowl and clenched fists.

Ben said, "I'm only at half strength. You'd be whaling on a defenseless cripple. Jake. Sit down."

Jacob hurled a few more largely symbolic daggers from his eyes and planted himself. The entire picnic table tipped, and Ben's side briefly elevated off the ground. Ben assessed Jacob once more, in context. He hoped that a physical altercation, should negotiations collapse, would not be totally one-sided, but he ruefully conceded to himself that he would likely be mincemeat, should it come to that. Jacob started the high-level talks.

"Dude. What the hell? I thought you were with Edythe Cullen. What happened with that, and why are you making moves on my girl?"

Ben saw red. "Okay, Jacob Black. Two things, before we start. The first thing is, Edythe Cullen has nothing to do with this, and our relationship is off limits. Second thing: I've told you before. I told you that Zoey isn't chattel."

Jacob railed, truthfully enough, "And I told you I don't know what that means!"

"It means, she is not a possession. She's not your damned Volkswagen, Jake. She's her own person. She's not yours, locked to a chain. Get it?"

Jacob shook his fists at the sky. "Dude! I know that, in theory, okay? Look, I'm not from Phoenix, okay, and I don't speak your language. Do they have girlfriends in Phoenix? Do they have boyfriends? Because that's all I want to be. To her. And vice-versa. It's not complicated. How do you say it down there? In your language?"

"Pretty much like that," Ben admitted, momentarily disarmed. "Jacob, all I'm saying is, your possessiveness isn't winning any points. You're only pushing her away."

Jacob threw up his hands. "Fat chance of that! I can't lose what I don't have. She's got me holed up in summer school all day long"–

"You did that to yourself, Jake, when you dropped out of school"–

"And now she's found Jesus or whatever and I don't even get Sundays, and every minute my back is turned, you're making moves on her! I race down here after a grueling day in that hot-house hell, not even air conditioning, and what do I find? You're up there in her forbidden no-boys-zone getting all lovey-dovey."