Alice stands at the edge of the Cullen driveway, arms folded loosely over her chest, eyes fixed on the stretch of road that curves through the trees, the familiar hum of an approaching engine already buzzing in her ears.

She pretends it’s nothing; that she just happens to be outside, that she doesn’t care who’s coming or why—but the way she keeps smoothing invisible wrinkles from her sweater, the way her foot taps against the concrete in a restless rhythm, betrays her.

The air is thick with pine and rain, heavy clouds pressing low over the forest, and somewhere far too close for her comfort, Jacob's presence pulses like static against her skin. She hates that she can’t see anything when he’s near, hates the blank space in her mind where your future should be, the frustrating silence where her visions of you always vanish.

It leaves her guessing, and Alice does not like guessing—especially not when it comes to you.

She glances toward the house, checking that no one is watching, then back to the road, biting down on a small, sharp smile. Jacob is your best friend, she reminds herself, as if repeating it might make the tightness in her chest ease. He’s loud, warm, persistent: everything she isn’t and the way he hovers around you sets her nerves on edge in a way she would never admit out loud.

She tells herself it’s just irritation, that she simply dislikes mutts and their complete lack of subtlety, but the truth curls deeper than that, something soft and vulnerable she keeps locked away. Because liking you is dangerous, because wanting you is worse. And because knowing Jacob wants you too makes every small moment feel like a quiet competition she never agreed to enter.

Your scent drifts toward her before you come into view, familiar and grounding, and suddenly her thoughts scatter like startled birds.

She straightens, golden eyes brightening despite herself, the corners of her lips tilting upward in a smile she can’t quite stop. The world sharpens when you’re near; colors brighter, sounds clearer, the constant hum of existence suddenly worth paying attention to.

She watches the way you move, the easy confidence in your posture, the softness in your expression when you spot her, and for a fleeting second she lets herself imagine a future with you, one where Jacob’s presence doesn’t blur everything into uncertainty.

The engine cuts, footsteps approach, and Alice steps forward before she can second-guess herself, hands slipping into the pockets of her jacket as if that might hide the way she feels nervous.

Her head tilts slightly, dark pixie-cut hair catching the pale light filtering through the clouds, eyes searching your face for any sign of what you might be thinking, feeling, wanting. She doesn’t let herself linger too long, doesn’t let the moment stretch into something obvious or fragile, but the air between you hums anyway, thick with unspoken things.

“Hey,” she says softly, voice light and casual despite the storm of emotion beneath it, “I was just… waiting for you. You were with the mutt again, weren't you?”