"OKAY, WHERE'S YOUR CLUTCH?"I pointed to the lever on my left handlebar. Letting go of the grip was a mistake. The heavy bike wobbledunderneath me, threatening to knock me sidewise. I grabbed the handle again, trying to hold it straight.

　　"Jacob, it won't stay up," I complained.

　　"It will when you're moving," he promised. "Now where's your brake?""Behind my right foot.""Wrong."He grabbed my right hand and curled my fingers around the lever over the throttle.

　　"But you said—""This is the brake you want. Don't use the back brake now, that's for later, when you know what you'redoing.""That doesn't sound right," I said suspiciously. "Aren't both brakes kind of important?""Forget the back brake, okay? Here—" He wrapped his hand around mine and made me squeeze thelever down. "That is how you brake. Don't forget." He squeezed my hand another time.

　　"Fine," I agreed.

　　"Throttle?"I twisted the right grip.

　　"Gearshift?"I nudged it with my left calf.

　　"Very good. I think you've got all the parts down. Now you just have to get itmoving.""Uh-huh," I muttered, afraid to say more. My stomach was contorting strangely and I thought my voicemight crack. I was terrified. I tried to tell myself that the fear was pointless. I'd already lived through theworst thing possible. In comparison with that, why should anything frighten me now? I should be able tolook death in the face and laugh.

　　 My stomach wasn't buying it.

　　I stared down the long stretch of dirt road, bordered by thick misty green on every side. The road wassandy and damp. Better than mud.

　　"I want you to hold down the clutch," Jacob instructed.

　　I wrapped my fingers around the clutch.

　　"Now this is crucial, Bella," Jacob stressed. "Don't let go of that, okay? I want you to pretend that I'vehanded you a live grenade. The pin is out and you are holding down the spoon."I squeezed tighter.

　　"Good. Do you think you can kick-start it?""If I move my foot, I will fall over," I told him through gritted teeth, my fingers tight around my livegrenade.

　　"Okay, I'll do it. Don't let go of the clutch."He took a step back, and then suddenly slammed his foot down on the pedal. There was a short rippingnoise, and the force of his thrust rocked the bike. I started to fall sideways, but Jake caught the bikebefore it knocked me to the ground.

　　"Steady there," he encouraged. "Do you still have the clutch?""Yes," I gasped.

　　"Plant your feet—I'm going to try again." But he put his hand on the back of the seat, too, just to be safe.

　　It took four more kicks before the ignition caught. I could feel the bike rumbling beneath me like an angryanimal. I gripped the clutch until my fingers ached.

　　"Try out the throttle," he suggested. "Very lightly. And don't let go of the clutch."Hesitantly, I twisted the right handle. Though the movement was tiny, the bike snarled beneath me. Itsounded angry and hungry now. Jacob smiled in deep satisfaction.

　　"Do you remember how to put it into first gear?" he asked.

　　"Yes.""Well, go ahead and do it.""Okay."He waited for a few seconds.

　　"Left foot," he prompted.

　　"I know," I said, taking a deep breath.

　　"Are you sure you want to do this?" Jacob asked. "You look scared.""I'm fine," I snapped. I kicked the gearshift down one notch.

　　 "Very good," he praised me. "Now, very gently, ease up on the clutch."He took a step away from the bike.

　　"You want me to let go of the grenade?" I asked in disbelief. No wonder he was moving back.

　　"That's how you move, Bella. Just do it little by little."As I began to loosen my grip, I was shocked to be interrupted by a voice that did not belong to the boystanding next to me.

　　"This is reckless and childish and idiotic, Bella," the velvet voice fumed.

　　"Oh!" I gasped, and my hand fell off the clutch.

　　The bike bucked under me, yanking me forward and then collapsing to the ground half on top of me. Thegrowling engine choked to a stop.

　　"Bella?" Jacob jerked the heavy bike off me with ease. "Are you hurt?"But I wasn't listening.

　　"I told you so," the perfect voice murmured, crystal clear.

　　"Bella?" Jacob shook my shoulder.

　　"I'm fine," I mumbled, dazed.

　　More than fine. The voice in my head was back. It still rang in my ears—soft, velvety echoes.

　　My mind ran swiftly through the possibilities. There was no familiarity here—on a road I'd never seen,doing something I'd never done before—no deja vu So the hallucinations must be triggered by somethingelse… I felt the adrenaline coursing through my veins again, and I thought I had the answer. Somecombination of adrenaline and danger, or maybe just stupidity.

　　Jacob was pulling me to my feet.

　　"Did you hit your head?" he asked.

　　"I don't think so." I shook it back and forth, checking. "I didn't hurt the bike, did I?" This thought worriedme. I was anxious to try again, right away. Being reckless was paying off better than I'd thought. Forgetcheating. Maybe I'd found a way to generate the hallucinations—that was much more important.

　　"No. You just stalled the engine," Jacob said, interrupting my quick speculations. "You let go of the clutchtoo fast."I nodded. "Let's try again.""Are you sure?" Jacob asked.

　　"Positive."This time I tried to get the kick-start myself. It was complicated; I had to jump a little to slam down onthe pedal with enough force, and every time I did that, the bike tried to knock me over. Jacob's handhovered over the handlebars, ready to catch me if I needed him.

　　 It took several good tries, and even more poor tries, before the engine caught and roared to life underme. Remembering to hold on to the grenade, I revved the throttle experimentally. It snarled at theslightest touch. My smile mirrored Jacob's now.

　　"Easy on the clutch," he reminded me.

　　"Do you want to kill yourself, then? Is that what this is about?" the other voice spoke again, his tonesevere.

　　I smiled tightly—it was still working—and ignored the questions. Jacob wasn't going to let anythingserious happen to me.

　　"Go home to Charlie," the voice ordered. The sheer beauty of it amazed me. I couldn't allow my memoryto lose it, no matter the price.

　　"Ease off slowly," Jacob encouraged me.

　　"I will," I said. It bothered me a bit when I realized I was answering both of them.

　　The voice in my head growled against the roar of the motorcycle.

　　Trying to focus this time, to not let the voice startle me again, I relaxed my hand by tiny degrees.

　　Suddenly, the gear caught and wrenched me forward.

　　And I was flying.

　　There was wind that wasn't there before, blowing my skin against my skull and flinging my hair backbehind me with enough force that it felt like someone was tugging on it. I'd left my stomach back at thestarting point; the adrenaline coursed through my body, tingling in my veins. The trees raced past me,blurring into a wall of green.

　　But this was only first gear. My foot itched toward the gearshift as I twisted for more gas.

　　"No, Bella!" the angry, honey-sweet voice ordered in my ear. "Watch what you're doing!"It distracted me enough from the speed to realize that the road was starting a slow curve to the left, and Iwas still going straight. Jacob hadn't told me how to turn.

　　"Brakes, brakes," I muttered to myself, and I instinctively slammed down with my right foot, like I wouldin my truck.

　　The bike was suddenly unstable underneath me, shivering first to one side and then the other. It wasdragging me toward the green wall, and I was going too fast. I tried to turn the handlebar the otherdirection, and the sudden shift of my weight pushed the bike toward the ground, still spinning toward thetrees.

　　The motorcycle landed on top of me again, roaring loudly, pulling me across the wet sand until it hitsomething stationary. I couldn't see. My face was mashed into the moss. I tried to lift my head, but therewas something in the way.

　　I was dizzy and confused. It sounded like there were three things snarling—the bike over me, the voice inmy head, and something else…"Bella!" Jacob yelled, and I heard the roar of the other bike cut off.

　　 The motorcycle no longer pinned me to the ground, and I rolled over to breathe. All the growling wentsilent.

　　"Wow," I murmured. I was thrilled. This had to be it, the recipe for a hallucination—adrenaline plusclanger plus stupidity. Something close to that, anyway.

　　"Bella!" Jacob was crouching over me anxiously. "Bella, are you alive?""I'm great!" I enthused. I flexed my arms and legs. Everything seemed to be working correctly. "Let's doitagain.""I don't think so." Jacob still sounded worried. "I think I'd better drive you to the hospital first.""I'mfine.""Um, Bella? You've got a huge cut on your forehead, and it's gushing blood," he informed me.

　　I clapped my hand over my head. Sure enough, it was wet and sticky. I could smell nothing but the dampmoss on my face, and that held off the nausea.

　　"Oh, I'm so sorry, Jacob." I pushed hard against the gash, as if I could force the blood back inside myhead.

　　"Why are you apologizing for bleeding?" he wondered as he wrapped a long arm around my waist andpulled me to my feet. "Let's go. I'll drive." He held out his hand for the keys.

　　"What about the bikes?" I asked, handing them over.

　　He thought for a second. "Wait here. And take this." He pulled off his T-shirt, already spotted withblood, and threw it to me. I wadded it up and held it tightly to my forehead. I was starting to smell theblood; I breathed deeply through my mouth and tried to concentrate on something else.

　　Jacob jumped on the black motorcycle, kicked it to a start in one try, and raced back down the road,spraying sand and pebbles behind him. He looked athletic and professional as he leaned over thehandlebars, head low, face forward, his shiny hair whipping against the russet skin of his back. My eyesnarrowed enviously. I was sure I hadn't looked like that on my motorcycle.

　　I was surprised at how far I'd gone. I could barely see Jacob in the distance when he finally got to thetruck. He threw the bike into the bed and sprinted to the driver's side.

　　I really didn't feel bad at all as he coaxed my truck to a deafening roar in his hurry to get back to me. Myhead stung a little, and my stomach was uneasy, but the cut wasn't serious. Head wounds just bled morethan most. His urgency wasn't necessary.

　　Jacob left the truck running as he raced back to me, wrapping his arm around my waist again.

　　"Okay, let's get you in the truck.""I'm honestly fine," I assured him as he helped me in. "Don't get worked up. It's just a little blood.""Just a lot of blood," I heard him mutter as he went back for my bike.

　　"Now, let's think about this for a second," I began when he got back in. "If you take me to the ER likethis, Charlie is sure to hear about it." I glanced down at the sand and dirt caked into my jeans.

　　 "Bella, I think you need stitches. I'm not going to let you bleed to death.""I won't," I promised. "Let's just take the bikes back first, and then we'll make a stop at my house so Ican dispose of the evidence before we go to the hospital.""What about Charlie?""He said he had to work today.""Are you really sure?""Trust me. I'm an easy bleeder. It's not nearly as dire as it looks."Jacob wasn't happy—his full mouth turned down in an uncharacteristic frown—but he didn't want to getme in trouble. I stared out the window, holding his ruined shirt to my head, while he drove me to Forks.

　　The motorcycle was better than I'd dreamed. It had served its original purpose. I'd cheated—broken mypromise. I'd been needlessly reckless. I felt a little less pathetic now that the promises had been brokenon both sides.

　　And then to discover the key to the hallucinations! At least, I hoped I had. I was going to test the theoryas soon as possible. Maybe they'd get through with me quickly in the ER, and I could try again tonight.

　　Racing down the road like that had been amazing. The feel of the wind in my face, the speed and thefreedom… it reminded me of a past life, flying through the thick forest without a road, piggyback while heran—I stopped thinking right there, letting the memory break off in the sudden agony. I flinched.

　　"You still okay?" Jacob checked.

　　"Yeah." I tried to sound as convincing as before.

　　"By the way," he added. "I'm going to disconnect your foot brake tonight."At home, I went to look at myself in the mirror first thing; it was pretty gruesome. Blood was drying inthick streaks across my cheek and neck, matting in my muddy hair. I examined myself clinically,pretending the blood was paint so it wouldn't upset my stomach. I breathed through my mouth, and wasfine.

　　I washed up as well as I could. Then I hid my dirty, bloody clothes in the bottom of my laundry basket,putting on new jeans and a button-up shirt (that I didn't have to pull over my head) as carefully as I could.

　　I managed to do this one-handed and keep both garments blood-free.

　　"H............