JК
Breaking Dawn :: Meyer Stephenie
Страница: 83 из 429But it wasn’t PaulI wanted to fight with. Not really.
I tried to listen to other sounds, the wind in the trees. It wasn’t the same, not through human ears. There were a million voices in the wind that I couldn’t hear in this body.
But these ears were sensitive enough. I could hear past the trees, to the road, the sounds of the cars coming around that last bend where you could finally see the beach—the vista of the islands and the rocks and the big blue ocean stretching to the horizon. The La Push cops liked to hang out right around there. Tourists never noticed the reduced speed limit sign on the other side of the road.
I could hear the voices outside the souvenir shop on the beach. I could hear the cowbell clanging as the door opened and closed. I could hear Embry’s mom at the cash register, printing out a receipt.
I could hear the tide raking across the beach rocks. I could hear the kids squeal as the icy water rushed in too fast for them to get out of the way. I could hear the moms complain about the wet clothes. And I could hear a familiar voice.…
I was listening so hard that the sudden burst of Paul’s donkey laugh made me jump half off the bed.
“Get out of my house,” I grumbled. Knowing he wouldn’t pay any attention, I followed my own advice. I wrenched open my window and climbed out the back way so that I wouldn’t see Paul again. It would be too tempting. I knew I would hit him again, and Rachel was going to be pissed enough already. She’d see the blood on his shirt, and she’d blame me right away without waiting for proof. Of course, she’d be right, but still.
I paced down to the shore, my fists in my pockets. Nobody looked at me twice when I went through the dirt lot by First Beach. That was one nice thing about summer—no one cared if you wore nothing but shorts.
I followed the familiar voice I’d heard and found Quil easy enough. He was on the south end of the crescent, avoiding the bigger part of the tourist crowd. He kept up a constant stream of warnings.
“Keep out of the water, Claire. C’mon. No, don’t. Oh! Nice , kid. Seriously, do you want Emily to yell at me? I’m not bringing you back to the beach again if you don’t—Oh yeah? Don’t—ugh. You think that’s funny, do you? Hah! Who’s laughing now, huh?”
He had the giggling toddler by the ankle when I reached them. She had a bucket in one hand, and her jeans were drenched. He had a huge wet mark down the front of his t-shirt.
“Five bucks on the baby girl,” I said.
“Hey, Jake.
I tried to listen to other sounds, the wind in the trees. It wasn’t the same, not through human ears. There were a million voices in the wind that I couldn’t hear in this body.
But these ears were sensitive enough. I could hear past the trees, to the road, the sounds of the cars coming around that last bend where you could finally see the beach—the vista of the islands and the rocks and the big blue ocean stretching to the horizon. The La Push cops liked to hang out right around there. Tourists never noticed the reduced speed limit sign on the other side of the road.
I could hear the voices outside the souvenir shop on the beach. I could hear the cowbell clanging as the door opened and closed. I could hear Embry’s mom at the cash register, printing out a receipt.
I could hear the tide raking across the beach rocks. I could hear the kids squeal as the icy water rushed in too fast for them to get out of the way. I could hear the moms complain about the wet clothes. And I could hear a familiar voice.…
I was listening so hard that the sudden burst of Paul’s donkey laugh made me jump half off the bed.
“Get out of my house,” I grumbled. Knowing he wouldn’t pay any attention, I followed my own advice. I wrenched open my window and climbed out the back way so that I wouldn’t see Paul again. It would be too tempting. I knew I would hit him again, and Rachel was going to be pissed enough already. She’d see the blood on his shirt, and she’d blame me right away without waiting for proof. Of course, she’d be right, but still.
I paced down to the shore, my fists in my pockets. Nobody looked at me twice when I went through the dirt lot by First Beach. That was one nice thing about summer—no one cared if you wore nothing but shorts.
I followed the familiar voice I’d heard and found Quil easy enough. He was on the south end of the crescent, avoiding the bigger part of the tourist crowd. He kept up a constant stream of warnings.
“Keep out of the water, Claire. C’mon. No, don’t. Oh! Nice , kid. Seriously, do you want Emily to yell at me? I’m not bringing you back to the beach again if you don’t—Oh yeah? Don’t—ugh. You think that’s funny, do you? Hah! Who’s laughing now, huh?”
He had the giggling toddler by the ankle when I reached them. She had a bucket in one hand, and her jeans were drenched. He had a huge wet mark down the front of his t-shirt.
“Five bucks on the baby girl,” I said.
“Hey, Jake.