"Do you know any of our old stories, about where we came from—the Quaaludes, I mean?" he began.
The what? I didn't even know about my own origins.147 "Not really," I admitted, not wanting to reveal my thoughts and offend him by not caring about his culture.
"Well, there are lots of legends," he began. "Lots and lots and lots of legends." I groaned silently but remained hopeful that one of them would give me an idea about why Fredward didn't come to the beach with me today.
"Some of them claiming to date back to the Flood148—supposedly, the ancient Quaaludes tied their canoes to the tops of the tallest trees on the mountain to survive like Noah and the ark. Another legend claims that we descended from wolves—and that the wolves are our brothers still. It's against tribal law to kill them.
"Then there are the stories about the cold ones." His voice dropped a little lower, his hands pretending to shiver.
"The cold ones?" I asked.
"The cold ones."
"What are the cold ones?" I was starting to get a little intrigued. I felt my eyes widen and my mouth open a bit. My nostrils even flared.
"There are stories of the cold ones as old as the wolf legends, and some much more recent. According to legend, my own great-grandfather knew some of them. He was the one who made the treaty that kept them off our land."
"Your great-grandfather?" I squeaked out. This was way scarier than I'd bargained for.
"He was a tribal elder, like my father. You see, the cold ones are the natural enemies of the wolf—well, not the wolf, really, but the wolves that turn into men, like our ancestors. You could call them werewolves."
147. The Forks High School is also piloting a Sex Ed in a Daze program; Bella hasn't learned much in this course.
148. The historic flood of 1987, when the Forks River overflowed and the town roads were closed for two days.