Masen Days by Purelyamuse

Summary: Bella meets Masen at the local skate park. He's a quiet, mysterious loner. She wants to help him, love him even. Will he let her? Or will he skate away like he always does?

Disclaimer: Stephenie Meyer owns Twilight. I own some very strange word association, pencil-buns, Vans poetry, and a bunch of yeahs.

A/N: It takes a team of people to make me look good. All mistakes are mine.

Prereaders: _ss77_, LuvinJ Betas: Perrymaxed, Mac214

Playlist: Lifeline by Papa Roach, We're Going to be Friends by White Stripes

Chapter 1: The Day I Meet Masen

I'm sitting with Angela and a few other girls whose names evade me. Angela—I remember her because she's flamboyant and easy to talk to. We sit on the burning concrete, watching some boys skate around under a dirty bridge. They're all very good, but one, in particular, keeps catching my eye. He's doing his own thing, but he seems trapped in his own head, too—like he's throwing his own tricks, not paying attention to anyone, but when some other skater biffs it and falls into his way, he reacts in a second, steering clear smoothly. He seems a man among boys—on skateboards.

He's tall and lean, I think; from where I'm sitting it's hard to tell. His new-penny hair, overgrown and shaggy, is shocking against the drab tee stretched across his angular shoulders.

"That's Alec—the tall one with dark hair." She points to another boy—a shorter, beefier one. "That's Tyler; he's got the Pink Floyd shirt. He's kinda loud. You know Embry. Gawd, I love his fauxhawk. So hot. And that's Masen. He's quiet, keeps to himself mostly."

Masen. I'll remember that name. He sounds interesting. I hope I can get to know him. Actually, I hope to get to know anyone. I just moved here. Here being Scottsdale, Arizona. Boring, fake, and hot as hell Snobstale.

It was clear during my first week in this town that boobs are fake, noses are fake, teeth are fake, people are fake. Fake people make me want to hurl. This place is nothing like my home town, Seattle, where everyone is laid back, a bit grunge, and completely real. "Just be yourself," my mother had always said. And she was no hypocrite: when her younger student teacher got on his knee and asked her to marry him in front of twenty-two kindergartners, she said yes, and I was shipped off to Dad's. See? She knows who she is. She is nothing if not herself: a little bit selfish. She wants time with her new man. I get it, I do, but being a senior and moving to a new state and school completely blows. But, whatever, I'll deal. I always do. I have to. I'm a product of a bad divorce. Shit happens. You move on.

There's a lull in the conversation, so I offer up something of the lame variety. "So this is The Wedge, huh?"

"Yep. We come here every day after school so the boys can skate. Sometimes we smoke out, sometimes we just hang and do homework, and sometimes we make out. Well, we being Embry and me." Angela turns to me and bats her eyelashes. I love her already. So real, so fun, so different from the other girls here. I didn't realize I'd be hanging out with skaters when I moved to Arizona, but it seems to be working out so far. They're genuine.

"How cool are these?" she asks, pulling down the top of her massive boot to show me a black and red striped knee sock. "Dollar Store. Can you believe it? You never know what you can get there."

"Nope, you never know."

"Hey, so I'll see you tomorrow . . . first day of scho-ool," she sing-songs. "I think I'm going to steal my man and go. You'll be okay?"


"Oh, wait, no—I have an idea." Angela screams for Embry at the top of her lungs. He nearly falls off his skateboard, but he's laughing.

"What, woman!" he shouts back.

She waves frantically for him to come and adds, "Bring Masen!"

He talks to the redhead, who nods, and they both zigzag through various obstacles. Masen rides a bar on top of a series of steps, landing smoothly before coming to an abrupt stop in front of us.

"Masen, this is Bella Swan. She's over on Fair. Can you make sure she finds the way?"

He nods and glances in my direction briefly. Is he even looking at me?

I say, "Hi."

He says nothing in response. Just shakes his head to get the sweaty strands out of his eyes—which I think are the color of the sea—but I can't be sure because the hair curves back over his face a second later. My eyes sweep over his features, landing on a leather choker around his neck. It's plain but suits him.

"I'm not in any hurry. Feel free to stay awhile."

He turns and skates away, meeting up with the other guys under the bridge and riding the curves of the concrete.

I try to pay attention to the other boys, who show off, doing aerials as if gravity doesn't exist, but I can't keep my eyes off Masen. It's really impressive the way his body moves on such a silly thing as a piece of wood attached to some wheels. I wonder how long he's been a skater and want to ask. I'm not sure if I'll be brave enough, though. Besides, Angela is right: he's quiet.

Masen skates closer after awhile, this time jumping from the top of the stairs, landing back onto his board. I'm so scared for him, but I shouldn't be. He's amazing at this.

"Ready?" he asks. I nod, and he grabs his ratty backpack from a heap on the concrete, swinging it over his shoulder. I don't want him to know I'm ogling the muscles in his arms when he does, so I fuss with my hair, stealing a pencil from someone's bag to twist my hair into a bun. It's too hot with it down anyway. Without a word, he walks away, skateboard in hand. Guess that's my cue. I follow, falling into step beside him.

The silence is deafening and lasts for almost the entire trip home. I stumble due to my discomfort when he says, "Like your Vans."

"Thanks." I look down at my light blue shoes. "I've had them for a few years. They're comfy."

He stops at the end of the sidewalk and kicks up his white and black checkered shoe, saying, "Brand new. Had to buy new ones 'cause my feet got too big."

"Sounds like a personal problem," I say, then mutter, "but not a bad one to have." I can't believe I just said that.

Desperate to recover I say, "I mean, 'cause you know what they say about men with big feet . . ." I suck at first impressions.

He chuckles quietly and glances my way while running his hand through his hair, pushing it back. His eyes are so bright, and I was right—sea green. He smiles and, wow, it's gorgeous. Come to think of it, he's gorgeous. It's really the first time I've seen him still, and I like still Masen.

I smile in return, and he looks away, almost as though he's ashamed. Was he upset about my crude comment? No, couldn't be. He laughed.

"I'm on Brooks, down this way," he says.

"Okay. See ya in school?"

"Yeah, sure." He looks down at his feet like they're fascinating and hops on his board, leaving me on the corner. I walk myself the rest of the way home.

A/N: Masen Days Extras are available on my blog: purelyamuse dot blogspot dot com. Teasers, visuals, and peeks into Masen's notebook will be posted weekly (Wednesdays) as a follow-up or sneak peek of a chapter. You can sign up for email updates or follow the blog. Enjoy!

Masen Days Outtakes can be found here: www . fanfiction s/7364652/1/Masen_Days_Outtakes.

A special thanks to my prereading/beta team. _ss77_ makes a great cheerleader and spoils me with her excitement about my stories. My betas Perry and Mac . . . what can I say about them? Without them this fic would be rife with boring verbs, missing a billion commas, and have oodles of unnecessary prounouns and prepositions. Perrymaxed, thanks for letting me borrow your words and getting me to flesh this out. Mac214, thanks for encouraging me without making me cry and teaching me grammar rules I've never even heard of.