You’re making judgments

      “Claire is two,” Jacob told me.
      Rain started to fall. I blinked furiously as the drops pelted my face.
      Jacob waited in silence. He wore no jacket, as usual; the rain left a spatter of dark spots on his black T-
shirt, and dripped through his shaggy hair. His face was expressionless as he watched mine.
      “Quil . . . imprinted . . . with a two-year-old?” I was finally able to ask.
      “It happens.” Jacob shrugged. He bent to grab another rock and sent it flying out into the bay. “Or so the
stories say.”
      “But she’s a baby,” I protested.
      He looked at me with dark amusement. “Quil’s not getting any older,” he reminded me, a bit of acid in his
tone. “He’ll just have to be patient for a few decades.”
      “I . . . don’t know what to say.”
      I was trying my hardest not to be critical, but, in truth, I was horrified. Until now, nothing about the
werewolves had bothered me since the day I’d found out they weren’t committing the murders I’d suspected
them of.
      “You’re making judgments,” he accused. “I can see it on your face.”
      “Sorry,” I muttered. “But it sounds really creepy.”
      “It’s not like that; you’ve got it all wrong,” Jacob defended his friend, suddenly vehement. “I’ve seen what
it’s like, through his eyes. There’s nothing romantic about it at all, not for Quil, not now.” He took a deep
breath, frustrated. “It’s so hard to describe. It’s not like love at first sight, really. It’s more like . . . gravity
moves. When you see her, suddenly it’s not the earth holding you here anymore. She does. And nothing
matters more than her. And you would do anything for her, be anything for her. . . . You become whatever she
needs you to be, whether that’s a protector, or a lover, or a friend, or a brother.
      “Quil will be the best, kindest big brother any kid ever had. There isn’t a toddler on the planet that will be
more carefully looked after than that little girl will be. And then, when she’s older and needs a friend, he’ll be
more understanding, trustworthy, and reliable than anyone else she knows. And then, when she’s grown up,
they’ll be as happy as Emily and Sam.” A strange, bitter edge sharpened his tone at the very end, when he
spoke of Sam.
      “Doesn’t Claire get a choice here?”
      “Of course. But why wouldn’t she choose him, in the end? He’ll be her perfect match. Like he was
designed for her alone.”
      We walked in silence for a moment, till I paused to toss a rock toward the ocean. It fell to the beach
several meters short. Jacob laughed at me.
      “We can’t all be freakishly strong,” I muttered.
      He sighed.
      “When do you think it will happen for you?” I asked quietly.
      His answer was flat and immediate. “Never.”
      “It’s not something you can control, is it?”