Look at the SMG shift paddles. I’ve never seen those outside of a magazine.
Nice side grilles!
Sure wish I had sixty thousand dollars lying around.…
This was exactly why it was better for Rosalie to only use her car out of town.
I wound through the throng of lustful boys to my own car. After a second of hesitation, Bella followed suit.
“Ostentatious,” I muttered as she climbed in.
“What kind of car is that?” she wondered.
“An M3.”
She frowned. “I don’t speak Car and Driver.”
“It’s a BMW.” I rolled my eyes and then focused on backing out without running anyone down. I had to lock eyes with a few boys who didn’t seem willing to move out of my way. A half second meeting my gaze seemed to be enough to convince them.
“Are you still angry?” I asked her. Her frown had relaxed.
“Definitely,” she answered curtly.
I sighed. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought it up. Oh well. I could try to make amends, I supposed. “Will you forgive me if I apologize?”
She thought about that for a moment. “Maybe… if you mean it,” she decided. “And if you promise not to do it again.”
I wasn’t going to lie to her, and there was no way I was agreeing to that. Perhaps if I offered her a different exchange.
“How about if I mean it, and I agree to let you drive this Saturday?” I shuddered internally at the thought.
The furrow popped into existence between her eyes as she considered the new bargain. “Deal,” she said after a moment of thought.
Now for my apology.… I’d never tried to dazzle Bella on purpose before, but this seemed like a good moment. I stared deep into her eyes as I drove away from the school, wondering whether I was doing it right. I used my most persuasive tone.
“Then I’m very sorry I upset you.”
Her heartbeat thudded louder than before, and the rhythm was abruptly staccato. Her eyes were huge. She looked stunned.
I half smiled. It seemed as though I’d succeeded. Of course, I was having a bit of difficulty looking away from her eyes, too. Equally dazzled. It was a good thing I had this road memorized.
“And I’ll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday morning,” I added, finishing the agreement.
She blinked swiftly, shaking her head as if to clear it. “Um,” she said, “it doesn’t help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvo is left in the driveway.”
Ah, how little she still knew about me. “I wasn’t intending to bring a car.”
“How—?” she started to ask.
I interrupted her. The answer would only bring on another round of questions. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be there, no car.”
She put her head to one side, and looked for a second as though she was going to press for more, but then seemed to change her mind.
“Is it later yet?” she asked, reminding me of our unfinished conversation in the cafeteria today.
I should have just answered her other question. This one was much more unappealing. “I suppose it is later,” I agreed unwillingly.
I parked in front of her house, tensing as I tried to think of how to explain… without making my monstrous nature too evident, without frightening her again. Or was it wrong to minimize my darkness?
She waited with the same politely interested mask she’d worn at lunch. If I’d been less anxious, her preposterous calm would have made me laugh.
“And you still want to know why you can’t see me hunt?” I asked.
“Well, mostly I was wondering about your reaction,” she said.
“Did I frighten you?” I asked, positive that she would deny it.
“No.” It was such an obvious lie.
I tried not to smile, and failed. “I apologize for scaring you.” And then my smile vanished with the momentary humor. “It was just the very thought of you being there… while we hunted.”
“That would be bad?”
The mental picture was too much—Bella, so vulnerable in the empty darkness; myself, out of control.… I tried to banish it from my head. “Extremely.”
“Because…?”
I took a deep breath, concentrating for one moment on the burning thirst. Feeling it, managing it, proving my dominion over it. It would never control me again—I willed that to be true. I would be safe for her. I stared toward the welcome clouds without really seeing them, wishing I could believe that my determination would make any difference if I were hunting when I crossed her scent.
“When we hunt… we give ourselves over to our senses,” I told her, thinking through each word before I spoke it. “Govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…”
I shook my head in agony at the thought of what would—not what might, but what would—surely happen then.
I listened to the spike in her heartbeat, and then turned, restless, to read her eyes.
Bella’s face was composed, her eyes grave. Her mouth was pursed just slightly in what I guessed was concern. But concern for what? Her own safety? Was there any hope that I’d finally made the realities clear? I continued to stare at her, trying to translate her ambiguous expression into sure fact.
She gazed back. Her eyes grew round after a moment, and her pupils dilated, though the light had not changed.
My breathing accelerated, and suddenly the quiet in the car seemed to be humming, just as in the darkened Biology room this afternoon. The electric current raced between us again, and my desire to touch her was, briefly, stronger even than the demands of my thirst.
The throbbing electricity made it feel as if I had a pulse again. My body sang with it. As though I were human. More than anything in the world, I wanted to feel the heat of her lips against mine. For one second, I struggled desperately to find the strength, the control, to be able to put my mouth so close to her skin.
She sucked in a ragged breath, and only then did I realize that when I had started breathing faster, she had stopped breathing altogether.
I closed my eyes, trying to break the connection between us.
No more mistakes.
Bella’s existence was tied to a thousand delicately balanced chemical processes, all so easily disrupted: The rhythmic expansion of her lungs, that flow of oxygen was life or death to her. The fluttering cadence of her fragile heart could be stopped by so many stupid accidents or illnesses or… by me.
I did not believe that any member of my family—except possibly Emmett—would hesitate if he or she were offered a chance back, if he or she could trade immortality for mortality again. Rosalie and I, Carlisle, too, would stand in fire for it. Burn for as many days or centuries as were necessary.
Most of our kind prized immortality above all else. There were even humans who craved this, who searched in dark places for those who could give them the blackest of gifts.
Not us. Not my family. We would trade anything to be human.
But none of us, not even Rosalie, had ever been as desperate for a way back as I was now.
I opened my eyes and stared at the microscopic pits and flaws in the windshield, as though there was some solution hidden in the imperfect glass. The electricity had not faded, and I had to concentrate to keep my hands on the wheel.
My right hand began to sting without pain again, from when I’d touched her before.
“Bella, I think you should go inside now.”
She obeyed at once, without comment, getting out of the car and shutting the door behind herself. Did she feel the potential for disaster as clearly as I did?
Did it hurt her to leave, as it hurt me to see her go? The only solace was that I would see her soon. Sooner than she would see me. I smiled at that, then rolled the window down and leaned across to speak to her one more time. It was safer now, with the heat of her body outside the car.
She turned to see what I wanted, curious.
Always so curious, though I’d answered almost all of her many questions. My own curiosity was entirely unsatisfied. That wasn’t fair.
“Oh, Bella?”
“Yes?”
“Tomorrow it’s my turn.”
Her forehead puckered. “Your turn to what?”
“Ask the questions.” Tomorrow, when we were in a safer place, surrounded by witnesses, I would get my own answers. I grinned at the thought, and then turned away because she made no move to leave. Even with her outside the car, the echo of the electricity zinged in the air. I wanted to get out, too, to walk her to her door as an excuse to stay beside her.
No more mistakes. I hit the gas, and then sighed as she disappeared behind me. It seemed as though I was always running toward Bella or away from her, never staying in place. I would have to find some way to hold my ground if we were ever going to have any peace.
My house appeared calm and silent from the outside as I drove past, heading for the garage. But I could hear the turmoil—both spoken aloud and silently thought—inside. I threw one wistful glance in the direction of my favorite car—still pristine, for now—before I headed out to face the beautiful ogre under the bridge. I couldn’t even make the short walk from the garage to the house before being accosted.
Rosalie shot out the front door as soon as my footsteps were audible. She planted herself at the base of the stairs, her lips pulled back over her teeth.
I stopped twenty yards away, and there was no aggression in my stance. I knew I deserved this.
“I’m so sorry, Rose,” I told her before she had even gathered her thoughts to attack. I probably wouldn’t get to say much more.
Her shoulders squared, her chin jerked up.
How could you have been so stupid?
Emmett came slowly down the stairs behind her. I knew that if Rosalie attacked me, Emmett would come between us. Not to protect me. To keep her from provoking me enough that I would fight back.
“I’m sorry,” I told her again.
I could see that she was surprised by the lack of sarcasm in my voice, my quick capitulation. But she was too angry to accept apologies yet.
Are you happy now?
“No,” I said, the ache in my voice giving proof to the denial.
Why did you do it, then? Why would you tell her? Just because she asked? The words themselves weren’t so harsh—it was her mental tone that was edged with needle-sharp points. Also in her mind was Bella’s face—just a caricature of the face I loved. As much as Rosalie hated me in this moment, it was nothing to the hate she felt for Bella. She wanted to believe this hate was justified, founded solely on my bad behavior—that Bella was only a problem because she was now a danger to us. A broken rule. Bella knew too much.
But I could see how much her judgment was clouded by her jealousy of the girl. It was more now than the fact that I found Bella so much more compelling than I had Rosalie. Her jealousy had twisted and shifted focus. Bella had everything Rosalie wanted. She was human. She had choices. Rose was outraged that Bella would put this in jeopardy, that she would flirt with the darkness when she had other options.
Rose thought she might even trade faces with the girl she thought of as homely, if she could have her humanity in the bargain.
Though Rosalie was trying not to think all these things while she waited for my answer, she couldn’t keep them entirely out of her head.
“Why?” she demanded out loud when I still said nothing. She didn’t want me to keep reading. “Why did you tell her?”
“I’m actually surprised you were able to,” Emmett said before I could respond. “You rarely say the word, even with us. It’s not your favorite.”
He was thinking how much Rose and I were alike in this, how we both avoided the title to the nonlife we hated. Emmett had no such reservations.
What would it be like to feel the way Emmett did? To be so practical, so free from regret? To be able to so easily accept and move forward?
Rose and I would both be happier people if we could follow his example.
Seeing this—our similarities—so clearly made it even easier to excuse the venom-tipped needles that Rose was still thinking my way.
“You’re not wrong,” I said to Emmett. “I doubt I would ever have been able to say it myself.”
Emmett cocked his head to the side. Behind him, inside the house, I could feel the shock from the rest of our audience. Only Alice was unsurprised.
“Then how?” Rosalie hissed.
“Don’t overreact,” I said, without much hope. Her eyebrows shot up. “It wasn’t an intentional breach. It’s probably something we should have foreseen.”
“What are you talking about?” she demanded.
“Bella is friends with the great-grandson of Ephraim Black.”
Rosalie froze with surprise. Emmett, too, was taken off guard. They were no more prepared for this direction than I had been.
Carlisle appeared in the doorway. This was more than just a fight between Rosalie and me now.
“Edward?” he asked.
“We should have known, Carlisle. Of course the elders would warn the next generation when we came back. And of course the next generation wouldn’t credit any of it. It’s just a silly story to them. The boy who answered Bella’s questions didn’t believe anything he was telling her.”
I wasn’t anxious about Carlisle’s reaction. I knew how he would respond. But I was listening very intently to Alice’s room now, to hear what Jasper would think.
“You’re right,” Carlisle said. “Naturally, it would play out that way.” He sighed. “It’s bad luck Ephraim’s progeny had such a knowledgeable audience.”
Jasper listened to Carlisle’s response, and he was concerned. But his thoughts were more about leaving with Alice than silencing the Quileutes. Alice was already watching his ideas for the future, and preparing to refute them. She had no intention of going anywhere.
“Hardly bad luck,” Rosalie said through her teeth. “It’s Edward’s fault that the girl knows anything.”
“True,” I agreed quickly. “This is my fault. I am sorry.”
Please, Rosalie thought directly at me. Enough with the roll-over routine. Stop playing so penitent.
“I’m not playing,” I said to her. “I know I’m to blame for all of this. I’ve made an enormous mess of everything.”
“Alice told you I was thinking of burning your car, didn’t she?”
I smiled—sort of. “She did. But I deserve that. If it makes you feel better, have at it.”
She looked at me for a long moment, thinking about going ahead with the destruction. Testing me, to see if I was bluffing.
I shrugged at her. “It’s just a toy, Rose.”
“You’ve changed,” she said from between her teeth again.
I nodded. “I know.”
She whirled and stalked off toward the garage. But she was the one bluffing. If it wouldn’t hurt me, there was no point to the exercise. Of all my family, she was the only one who loved cars the way I did. Mine was too beautiful to vandalize for no reason.
Emmett looked after her. “I don’t suppose you’d give me the full story now.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said innocently. He rolled his eyes, then followed Rosalie.
I looked at Carlisle and mouthed Jasper’s name.
He nodded. Yes, I can imagine. I’ll speak with him.
Alice appeared in the doorway. “He’s waiting for you,” she said to Carlisle. Carlisle smiled at her—a little wryly. Though we were as used to Alice as it was possible to be, she was often uncanny. Carlisle patted her short black hair as he passed her.
I sat at the top of the stairs and Alice sat beside me, both of us listening to the conversation upstairs. There was no tension in Alice—she knew how it would end. She showed me, and my tension vanished as well. The conflict was over before it started. Jasper admired Carlisle as much as any of us did, and he was happy to follow his lead… until he thought Alice might be in danger. I found that I understood Jasper’s perspective more easily now. It was strange how much I hadn’t understood before Bella. She had changed me more than I’d known it was possible for me to change and still remain myself.
13. ANOTHER COMPLICATION
I DID NOT FEEL THE USUAL GUILT WHEN I RETURNED TO BELLA’S ROOM that night, though I knew I should. But it felt like the correct course of action—the only right thing to be doing. I was there to burn my throat as much as possible. I would train myself to ignore her scent. It could be accomplished. I would not allow this to be a difficulty between us.
Easier said than done. But I knew this helped. Practice. Embrace the pain, let that be the strongest reaction. Beat the element of desire entirely out of myself.
There was no peace in Bella’s dreams. And no peace for me, watching her twitch restlessly and hearing her whisper my name over and over. The physical pull, that overwhelming chemistry from the darkened classroom, was even stronger here in her night-black bedroom. Though she was not aware of my presence, she seemed to feel it, too.
She woke herself more than once. The first time she did not open her eyes; she merely buried her head under her pillow and groaned. That was good luck for me—a second chance I didn’t deserve, since I didn’t put it to good use and leave as I should have. Instead, I sat on the floor in the farthest dark-shadowed corner of the room, and trusted that her human eyes would not spot me here.
She didn’t catch me, even the time that she got up and stalked to the bathroom for a glass of water. She moved angrily, perhaps frustrated that sleep still evaded her.
I wished there was some action I could take, as before with the warm blanket from the cupboard. But I could only watch as I burned, useless to her. It was a relief when she finally sank into a dreamless unconsciousness.
I was in the trees when the sky lightened from black to gray. I held my breath—this time to keep the scent of her from escaping. I refused to let the pure morning air erase the ache in my throat.
I listened to breakfast with Charlie, struggling again to find the words in his thoughts. It was fascinating—I could guess at the reasons behind the words he said aloud, almost feel his intentions, but they never resolved into full sentences the way everyone else’s thoughts did. I found myself wishing that his parents were still alive. It would be interesting to trace this genetic trait further back.
The combination of his inarticulate thoughts and his spoken words were enough for me to piece together his general mindset this morning. He was worried about Bella, physically and emotionally. He felt similarly concerned about the idea of Bella roaming Seattle alone as I would—only not quite so maniacally. Then again, his information was not as up-to-date as mine; he had no idea about the number of close calls she’d lived through recently.
She worded her reply to him very carefully, but it was only technically not a lie. She was obviously not planning to tell him about her change of plans. Or about me.
Charlie was also worried about the fact that she wasn’t going to the dance on Saturday. Was she disappointed about this? Was she feeling rejected? Were the boys at school cruel to her? He felt helpless. She didn’t look depressed, but he suspected that she would hide anything negative from him. He resolved to call her mother during the day and ask for advice.
At least, that was what I thought he was thinking. I might have misconstrued parts.
I retrieved my car while Charlie loaded his. As soon as he had driven around the corner, I pulled into the driveway to wait. I saw the curtain twitch in her window, then heard her stumbling footsteps race down the stairs.
I stayed in my seat, rather than get out to hold the door for her as I perhaps should have. But I thought it was more important to watch. She never acted the way I expected, and I needed to be able to anticipate correctly; I needed to study her, to learn the ways she moved when left to her own devices, to try to anticipate her motivations. She hesitated a moment outside the car, then let herself in with a small smile—a little shy, I thought.
She wore a dark, coffee-colored turtleneck today. It was not tight, but still fitted closely to her shape, and I missed the ugly sweater. It was safer.
This was supposed to be about her reactions, but I was abruptly overwhelmed with my own. I didn’t know how I could feel so peaceful with everything that was hanging over both our heads, but being with her was an antidote to pain and anxiety.
I took a deep breath through my nose—not every kind of pain—and smiled.
“Good morning. How are you today?”
The evidence of her restless night was obvious in her face. Her translucent skin hid nothing. But I knew she wouldn’t complain.
“Good, thank you,” she said with another smile.
“You look tired.”
She ducked, shaking her hair around her face in a move that seemed habitual. It obscured part of her left cheek. “I couldn’t sleep.”
I grinned at her. “Neither could I.”
She laughed, and I absorbed the sound of her happiness.
“I guess that’s right,” she said. “I suppose I slept just a little bit more than you did.”
“I’d wager you did.”
She peered at me around her hair, eyes lit up in a way I recognized. Curious. “So what did you do last night?”
I laughed quietly, glad I had an excuse not to lie to her. “Not a chance. It’s my day to ask questions.”
The little frown mark appeared between her eyebrows. “Oh, that’s right. What do you want to know?” Her tone was slightly skeptical, as though she couldn’t believe I had any real interest. She seemed to have no idea how curious I was.
There were so many things I didn’t know. I decided to start slow.
“What’s your favorite color?”
She rolled her eyes—still doubting my interest level. “It changes from day to day.”
“What’s your favorite color today?”
She thought for just a second. “Probably brown.”
I assumed she was mocking me, and my tone shifted to match her sarcasm. “Brown?”
“Sure,” she said, and then she was unexpectedly on the defensive. Perhaps I should have expected this. She never liked judgments. “Brown is warm. I miss brown. Everything that’s supposed to be brown—tree trunks, rocks, dirt—is all covered up with squashy green stuff here!”
Her tone brought back the sound of her sleeping complaint the other night. Too green—was this what she had meant? I stared at her, thinking how right she was. Honestly, looking into her eyes now, I realized that brown was my favorite, too. I couldn’t imagine any shade more beautiful.
“You’re right,” I told her. “Brown is warm.”
She started to blush a little and unconsciously retreated deeper into her hair. Carefully, bracing myself for any unexpected reaction, I swept her hair behind her shoulder so that I could have full access to her face again. The only reaction was a sudden increase in her heart rate.
I turned into the school lot and parked in the spot next to my usual place; Rosalie had taken that.
“What music is in your CD player right now?” I asked as I twisted the keys from the ignition. I’d never trusted myself that close to her while she’d slept, and the unknown teased me.
Her head cocked to the side, and it seemed as though she was trying to remember. “Oh, right,” she said. “It’s Linkin Park. Hybrid Theory.”
Not what I was expecting.
As I pulled the identical CD from my car’s music cache, I tried to imagine what this album meant to her. It didn’t seem to match any of her moods that I’d seen, but then, there was so much I didn’t know.
“Debussy to this?” I wondered.
She stared at the cover, and I could not understand her expression.
“Which is your favorite song?”
“Mmm,” she murmured, still looking at the cover art. “‘With You,’ I think.”
I thought through all the lyrics quickly. “Why that one?”
She smiled a little and shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
Well, that didn’t help much.
“Your favorite movie?”
She thought about her answer for a brief moment.
“I’m not sure I can pick just one.”
“Favorite movies, then?”
She nodded as she climbed out of the car. “Hmm. Definitely Pride and Prejudice, the six-hour one with Colin Firth. Vertigo. And… Monty Python and the Holy Grail. There are more… but I’m blanking.…”
“Tell me when you think of them,” I suggested as we walked toward her English class. “While you consider that, tell me what your favorite scent is.”
“Lavender. Or… maybe clean laundry.” She’d been looking straight ahead, but suddenly her eyes cut over to me for a second, and a faint pink colored her cheek.
“Was there more?” I prompted, wondering what that look meant.
“No. Just those.”
I wasn’t sure why she would omit part of her answer to such a simple query, but I rather thought she had.
“What candy do you like best?”
On this she was very decided. “Black licorice and Sour Patch Kids.”
I smiled at her enthusiasm.
We were at her classroom now, but she hesitated at the door. I, too, was in no hurry to separate from her.
“Where would you like to travel to most?” I asked—I assumed she was not going to tell me Comic Con.
She leaned her head to one side, her eyes narrowing in thought. Inside the classroom, Mr. Mason was clearing his throat to get the class’s attention. She was about to be late.
“Think about it and give me your answer at lunch,” I suggested.
She grinned and reached for the door, then turned back to look at me. Her smile faded, and the v appeared between her eyes.
I could have asked her what she was thinking, but that would have delayed her, possibly gotten her in trouble. And I thought I knew. At least, I knew how I felt, letting that door close between us.
I forced myself to smile encouragingly. She darted inside as Mr. Mason started to lecture.
I walked quickly to my own class, knowing I would spend the day ignoring everything around me again. I was disappointed, though, because no one spoke to her in any of her morning classes, so there was nothing new to learn. Just glimpses of her staring into space, her expression abstracted. The time dragged while I waited to see her again with my own eyes.
When she left her Trigonometry class, I was already in place, waiting for her. The other students stared and speculated, but Bella just hurried toward me with a smile.
“Beauty and the Beast,” she announced. “And The Empire Strikes Back. I know that’s everyone’s favorite, but…” She shrugged.
“For good reason,” I assured her.
We fell into step. Already it felt natural to shorten my stride, to lower my head so it was closer to hers.
“Did you think about my travel question?”
“Yes… I think Prince Edward Island. Anne of Green Gables, you know. But I’d also like to see New York. I’ve never been to a big city that was mostly vertical. Just sprawl places like LA and Phoenix. I’d like to try hailing a cab.” She laughed. “And then, if I can go anywhere, I’d want to go to England. See all the stuff I’ve been reading about.”
This led toward my next avenue of inquiry, but I wanted to be thorough before I moved on.
“Tell me your favorite places that you’ve already been.”
“Hmm. I liked the Santa Monica Pier. My mom said Monterey was better, but we never did get that far up the coast. We mostly stayed in Arizona; we didn’t have a lot of time for travel and she didn’t want to waste all of it in the car. She liked to visit places that were supposed to be haunted—Jerome, the Domes, pretty much any ghost town. We never saw any ghosts, but she said that was my fault. I was too skeptical, I scared them all away.” She laughed again. “She loves the Ren Faire, we go to the one in Gold Canyon every year.… Well, I missed it this year, I guess. Once we saw the wild horses at the Salt River. That was cool.”
“Where’s the farthest place from home you’ve ever been?” I asked, starting to become a little concerned.
“Here, I guess,” she said. “Farthest north from Phoenix, anyway. Farthest east—Albuquerque, but I was so young then, I don’t remember. Farthest west would probably be the beach in La Push.”
She went suddenly quiet. I wondered if she was thinking of her last visit to La Push, and all that she had discovered there. We were in the cafeteria line at this point, and she quickly picked out what she wanted rather than waiting for me to buy one of everything. She was also swift to pay for herself.
“You’ve never left the country?” I persisted once we reached our empty table. Part of me wondered if my sitting here had made it off-limits forever.
“Not yet,” she said cheerfully.
Though she’d only had seventeen years to explore, I still felt surprised. And… guilty. She’d seen so little, experienced such a meager amount of what life had to offer. It was impossible that she could truly know what she wanted now.
“Gattaca,” she said, chewing a bite of apple with a thoughtful expression. She hadn’t noticed my sudden mood shift. “That was a good one. Have you seen it?”
“Yes. I liked it, too.”
“What’s your favorite movie?”
I shook my head and smiled. “It’s not your turn.”
“Seriously, I’m so boring. You must be out of questions.”
“It’s my day,” I reminded her. “And I’m not at all bored.”
She pursed her lips, as though she wanted to argue some more about my interest level, but then she smiled. I guessed she didn’t really believe me, but had decided she would be fair about it. This was my day to ask questions.
“Tell me about books.”
“You can’t make me choose a favorite,” she insisted almost fiercely.
“I won’t. Tell me everything you like.”
“Where do I start? Um, Little Women. That was the first big book I read. I still read it pretty much every year. Everything Austen, though I’m not a huge fan of Emma—”
Austen I already knew, having seen her battered anthology the day she read outside, but I wondered at the exclusion.
“Why not?”
“Ugh, she’s so full of herself.”
I grinned and she continued without prompting.
“Jane Eyre. I read that one pretty often, too. That’s my idea of a heroine. Everything by any Brontë. To Kill a Mockingbird, obviously. Fahrenheit 451. All of the Chronicles of Narnia, but especially The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Gone with the Wind. Douglas Adams and David Eddings and Orson Scott Card and Robin McKinley. Did I already say L. M. Montgomery?”
“I assumed as much from your travel hopes.”
She nodded, then looked conflicted. “Did you want more? I’m going on too much.”
“Yes,” I assured her. “I want more.”
“These aren’t in any kind of order,” she cautioned me. “My mom had a bunch of Zane Grey paperbacks. Some of them were pretty good. Shakespeare, mostly the comedies.” She grinned. “See, out of order. Um, everything by Agatha Christie. Anne McCaffrey’s dragon books… and speaking of great dragons, Jo Walton’s Tooth and Claw. The Princess Bride, much better than the movie…” She tapped her finger against her lips. “There are a million more, but I’m blanking again.”
She looked a little stressed.
“That’s enough for now.” She’d done more exploring in fiction than in reality, and I was surprised she’d listed a book I’d not yet read—I would have to find a copy of Tooth and Claw.
I could see elements of the stories in her makeup—characters that had shaped the context of her world. There was a bit of Jane Eyre in her, a portion of Scout Finch and Jo March, a measure of Elinor Dashwood, and Lucy Pevensie. I was sure I would find more connections as I learned more about her.
It was like putting together a puzzle, one with hundreds of thousands of pieces, and no depiction of the complete image to serve as a guide. Time-consuming, with many false leads, but ultimately I would be able to see the whole picture.
She interrupted my thoughts. “Somewhere in Time. I love that movie. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it right away.”
It wasn’t one of my favorites. The idea that the two lovers could only be together in heaven after their deaths rubbed me the wrong way. I changed the subject.
“Tell me about the music you like.”
She paused to swallow again. And then, unexpectedly, she blushed.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Well, I’m… not super musical, I guess. The Linkin Park CD was a gift from Phil. He’s trying to update my tastes.”
“What were you into, pre-Phil?”
She sighed, lifting her hands helplessly. “I just listened to what my mom had.”
“Classical music?”
“Sometimes.”
“And other times?”
“Simon and Garfunkel. Neil Diamond. Joni Mitchell. John Denver. That kind of thing. She’s like me—she listens to what her mother listened to. She liked to do sing-alongs on our road trips.” Suddenly the asymmetrical dimple appeared with her wide grin. “Remember those definitions of scary we talked about before?” She laughed. “Until you’ve heard my mom and me trying to hit the high notes in the Phantom of the Opera soundtrack, you’ve never known true fear.”
I laughed with her, but wished I could see and hear that. I imagined her on a bright road, winding through the desert with the windows down, the sun bringing out the red shine in her hair. I wished I knew what her mother looked like, and even what kind of car it was, so my picture could be more precise. I wanted to be there with her, to listen to her sing badly, to watch her smile in the sun.
“Favorite TV show?”
“I don’t watch a lot of TV.”
I wondered if she was afraid to go into detail, worried again about me being bored. Maybe a few softball questions would relax her.
“Coke or Pepsi?”
“Dr Pepper.”
“Favorite ice cream?”
“Cookie dough.”
“Pizza?”
“Cheese. Boring but true.”
“Football team?
“Um, pass?”
“Basketball?”
She shrugged. “I’m not really a sports person.”
“Ballet or opera?”
“Ballet, I guess. I’ve never been to the opera.”
I was not unaware that this list I was compiling had a use besides just learning to understand as much as I could of her. I was also learning things that might please her. Gifts I might give her. Places I could take her. Little things and bigger things. It was presumptuous in the extreme to imagine that I could ever have that kind of standing in her life. But how I wished.…
“What’s your favorite gemstone?”
“Topaz.” She said this in a decided way, but then her eyes suddenly tightened and red flushed across her cheekbones.
She’d done this before when I asked about scents. I’d let it go then, but not this time. I was sure the other unmet curiosity would torment me enough.
“Why does that make you… embarrassed?” I wasn’t sure I had the emotion right.
She shook her head quickly, staring down at her hands. “It’s nothing.”
“I’d like to understand.”
She shook her head again, still refusing to look at me.
“Please, Bella?”
“Next question.”
Now I was desperate to know. Frustrated.
“Tell me,” I insisted. Rudely. I felt ashamed at once.
She didn’t look up. She twisted a strand of her hair back and forth between her fingertips.
But she finally answered.
“It’s the color of your eyes today,” she admitted. “I suppose if you asked me in two weeks, I’d say onyx.”
Just as my favorite color was now a deep chocolate brown.
Her shoulders had slumped, and suddenly I recognized her posture. It was just the same as yesterday, when she’d hesitated to answer my question about whether she believed she cared more for me than I did for her. I’d put her in the same position again, of confirming her interest in me without receiving an assurance in return.
Cursing my curiosity, I returned to my questions. Perhaps my obvious fascination with every detail of her personality would convince her of the obsessive level of my interest.
“What kinds of flowers do you prefer?”
“Um, dahlias. For looks. Lavender and lilac for fragrance.”
“You don’t like to watch sports, but did you ever play on a team?”
“Just in school, when they made me.”
“Your mother never put you on a soccer team?”
She shrugged. “My mom liked to keep the weekends open for adventures. I did Girl Scouts for a while, and once she put me in a dance class, but that was a mistake.” She raised her eyebrows as if daring me to doubt her. “She thought it would be convenient because it was close enough for me to walk there after school, but no convenience was worth the mayhem.”
“Mayhem, really?” I asked skeptically.
“If I had Ms. Kamenev’s number, she would corroborate my story.”
She looked up suddenly. All around us, the other students were gathering their things. How had the time passed so quickly?
She stood in response to the commotion, and I rose with her, gathering her trash onto the tray while she slung on her backpack. She reached as if to take the tray from me.
“I’ve got it,” I said.
She huffed quietly, a little exasperated. She still didn’t like being taken care of.
I couldn’t focus on my still-unanswered questions as we walked to Biology. I was remembering yesterday, wondering if that same tension, with the yearning and the electricity, would be present today. And sure enough, as soon as the lights went off, all the same overwhelming cravings returned. I had positioned my chair farther from hers today, but it didn’t help.
There was still that selfish part of me arguing that holding her hand would not be so wrong, even suggesting that this might be a good way to test her reactions, to prepare myself for being alone together. I tried to ignore the selfish voice and the temptation as best I could.
Bella was trying, too, I could tell. She leaned forward, chin propped against her arms, and I could see her fingers gripping under the edge of the desk so tightly that her knuckles were white. It made me wonder what precise temptation she was struggling against. Today she didn’t look at me. Not once.
There was so much I didn’t understand about her. So much I couldn’t ask.
My body was ever so slightly leaning toward her now. I pulled myself back.
When the lights came back on, Bella sighed, and if I’d had to guess, I would have named her expression relief. But relief from what?
I walked beside her to her next class, fighting the same internal battle as the day before.
She stopped at the door and looked up at me with her clear, deep eyes. Was that expectation, or confusion? An invitation or a warning? What did she want?
This is just a question, I told myself as my hand reached out to her of its own volition. Another kind of question.
Braced, not breathing, I let just the back of my hand graze the side of her face, from her temple to her narrow jaw. Like yesterday, her skin warmed to my touch, her heart beat faster. Her head tilted just a fraction of a centimeter as she leaned into my caress.
It was another kind of answer.
I walked away from her quickly again, knowing that this one aspect of my self-control was compromised, my hand smarting in the same painless way.
Emmett was already seated when I arrived at the Spanish classroom. So was Ben Cheney. They were not the only two to note my entrance. I could hear the other students’ curiosity, Bella’s name thought alongside mine, the speculation.…
Ben was the only human not thinking of Bella. My presence made him bristle a little, but he wasn’t antagonistic. He’d already spoken to Angela and made a date for this weekend. Her reception of his invitation had been warm, and he was still riding the high. Though he was wary of my intentions, he was cognizant that I had acted as catalyst for his current happiness. As long as I stayed away from Angela, he had no problem with me. There was even a hint of gratitude, though he had no idea this was exactly the outcome I’d desired, too. He seemed a clever boy—he rose in my estimation.
Bella was in Gym, but as in the second half of yesterday’s class, she did not participate. Her eyes were far away whenever Mike Newton turned to look at her. She was obviously elsewhere in her head. Mike guessed that anything he had to say to her would be unwelcome.
Guess I never really had a chance, he thought, half-resigned, half-sullen. How did it even happen? It was, like, overnight. Guess when Cullen wants something, it doesn’t take him long to get it. The images that followed, his ideas of what I’d gotten, were offensive. I stopped listening.
I didn’t like his perspective. As though Bella had no will of her own. Surely, she’d been the one to choose, hadn’t she? If she had ever asked me to leave her alone, I would have turned around and walked the other way. But she’d wanted me to stay, then and now.
My thoughts drifted back to check in on the Spanish classroom, and they naturally tuned in to the most familiar voice, but my mind was tangled around Bella as usual, so for a moment I didn’t realize what I was hearing.
And then my teeth clamped together so hard that even the humans near me heard. One boy looked around for the source of the cracking sound.
Oops, Emmett thought.
I curled my hands into fists and concentrated on staying in my seat.
Sorry, I was trying not to think about that.
I glanced at the clock. Fifteen minutes before I could punch him in the face.
I didn’t mean any harm. Hey, I took your side, right? Honestly, Jasper and Rose are just being silly, betting against Alice. It’s the easiest wager I’ll ever win.
A wager about this weekend, whether Bella would live or die.