electricity that flowed through me, amazed that it was possible to be
more aware of him than I already was. A crazy impulse to reach over and
touch him, to stroke his perfect face just once in the darkness, nearly
overwhelmed me. I crossed my arms tightly across my chest, my hands
balling into fists. I was losing my mind.
The opening credits began, lighting the room by a token amount. My eyes,
of their own accord, flickered to him. I smiled sheepishly as I realized
his posture was identical to mine, fists clenched under his arms, right
down to the eyes, peering sideways at me. He grinned back, his eyes
somehow managing to smolder, even in the dark. I looked away before I
could start hyperventilating. It was absolutely ridiculous that I should
feel dizzy.
The hour seemed very long. I couldn't concentrate on the movie — I didn't
even know what subject it was on. I tried unsuccessfully to relax, but
the electric current that seemed to be originating from somewhere in his
body never slackened. Occasionally I would permit myself a quick glance
in his direction, but he never seemed to relax, either. The overpowering
craving to touch him also refused to fade, and I crushed my fists safely
against my ribs until my fingers were aching with the effort.
I breathed a sigh of relief when Mr. Banner flicked the lights back on at
the end of class, and stretched my arms out in front of me, flexing my
stiff fingers. Edward chuckled beside me.
"Well, that was interesting," he murmured. His voice was dark and his
eyes were cautious.
"Umm," was all I was able to respond.
"Shall we?" he asked, rising fluidly.
I almost groaned. Time for Gym. I stood with care, worried my balance
might have been affected by the strange new intensity between us.
He walked me to my next class in silence and paused at the door; I turned
to say goodbye. His face startled me — his expression was torn, almost
pained, and so fiercely beautiful that the ache to touch him flared as
strong as before. My goodbye stuck in my throat.
He raised his hand, hesitant, conflict raging in his eyes, and then
swiftly brushed the length of my cheekbone with his fingertips. His skin
was as icy as ever, but the trail his fingers left on my skin was
alarmingly warm — like I'd been burned, but didn't feel the pain of it
yet.
He turned without a word and strode quickly away from me.
I walked into the gym, lightheaded and wobbly. I drifted to the locker
room, changing in a trancelike state, only vaguely aware that there were
other people surrounding me. Reality didn't fully set in until I was
handed a racket. It wasn't heavy, yet it felt very unsafe in my hand. I
could see a few of the other kids in class eyeing me furtively. Coach
Clapp ordered us to pair up into teams.
Mercifully, some vestiges of Mike's chivalry still survived; he came to
stand beside me.
"Do you want to be a team?"
"Thanks, Mike — you don't have to do this, you know." I grimaced
apologetically.
"Don't worry, I'll keep out of your way." He grinned. Sometimes it was so
easy to like Mike.
It didn't go smoothly. I somehow managed to hit myself in the head with
my racket and clip Mike's shoulder on the same swing. I spent the rest of
the hour in the back corner of the court, the racket held safely behind
my back. Despite being handicapped by me, Mike was pretty good; he won
three games out of four singlehandedly. He gave me an unearned high five
when the coach finally blew the whistle ending class.
"So," he said as we walked off the court.
"So what?"
"You and Cullen, huh?" he asked, his tone rebellious. My previous feeling
of affection disappeared.
"That's none of your business, Mike," I warned, internally cursing
Jessica straight to the fiery pits of Hades.
"I don't like it," he muttered anyway.
"You don't have to," I snapped.
"He looks at you like… like you're something to eat," he continued,
ignoring me.
I choked back the hysteria that threatened to explode, but a small giggle
managed to get out despite my efforts. He glowered at me. I waved and
fled to the locker room.
I dressed quickly, something stronger than butterflies battering
recklessly against the walls of my stomach, my argument with Mike already
a distant memory. I was wondering if Edward would be waiting, or if I
should meet him at his car. What if his family was there? I felt a wave
of real terror. Did they know that I knew? Was I supposed to know that
they knew that I knew, or not?
By the time I walked out of the gym, I had just about decided to walk
straight home without even looking toward the parking lot. But my worries
were unnecessary. Edward was waiting, leaning casually against the side
of the gym, his breathtaking face untroubled now. As I walked to his
side, I felt a peculiar sense of release.
"Hi," I breathed, smiling hugely.
"Hello." His answering smile was brilliant. "How was Gym?"
My face fell a tiny bit. "Fine," I lied.
"Really?" He was unconvinced. His eyes shifted their focus slightly,
looking over my shoulder and narrowing. I glanced behind me to see Mike's
back as he walked away.
"What?" I demanded.
His eyes slid back to mine, still tight. "Newton's getting on my nerves."
"You weren't listening again?" I was horror-struck. All traces of my
sudden good humor vanished.
"How's your head?" he asked innocently.
"You're unbelievable!" I turned, stomping away in the general direction
of the parking lot, though I hadn't ruled out walking at this point.
He kept up with me easily.
"You were the one who mentioned how I'd never seen you in Gym — it made
me curious." He didn't sound repentant, so I ignored him.
We walked in silence — a furious, embarrassed silence on my part — to his
car. But I had to stop a few steps away — a crowd of people, all boys,
were surrounding it.
Then I realized they weren't surrounding the Volvo, they were actually
circled around Rosalie's red convertible, unmistakable lust in their
eyes. None of them even looked up as Edward slid between them to open his
door. I climbed quickly in the passenger side, also unnoticed.
"Ostentatious," he muttered.
"What kind of car is that?" I asked.
"An M3."
"I don't speak Car and Driver."
"It's a BMW." He rolled his eyes, not looking at me, trying to back out
without running over the car enthusiasts.
I nodded — I'd heard of that one.
"Are you still angry?" he asked as he carefully maneuvered his way out.
"Definitely."
He sighed. "Will you forgive me if I apologize?"
"Maybe… if you mean it. And if you promise not to do it again," I
insisted.
His eyes were suddenly shrewd. "How about if I mean it, and I agree to
let you drive Saturday?" he countered my conditions.
I considered, and decided it was probably the best offer I would get.
"Deal," I agreed.
"Then I'm very sorry I upset you." His eyes burned with sincerity for a
protracted moment — playing havoc with the rhythm of my heart — and then
turned playful. "And I'll be on your doorstep bright and early Saturday
morning."
"Um, it doesn't help with the Charlie situation if an unexplained Volvo
is left in the driveway."
His smile was condescending now. "I wasn't intending to bring a car."
"How —"
He cut me off. "Don't worry about it. I'll be there, no car."
I let it go. I had a more pressing question.
"Is it later yet?" I asked significantly.
He frowned. "I supposed it is later."
I kept my expression polite as I waited.
He stopped the car. I looked up, surprised — of course we were already at
Charlie's house, parked behind the truck. It was easier to ride with him
if I only looked when it was over. When I looked back at him, he was
staring at me, measuring with his eyes.
"And you still want to know why you can't see me hunt?" He seemed solemn,
but I thought I saw a trace of humor deep in his eyes.
"Well," I clarified, "I was mostly wondering about your reaction."
"Did I frighten you?" Yes, there was definitely humor there.
"No," I lied. He didn't buy it.
"I apologize for scaring you," he persisted with a slight smile, but then
all evidence of teasing disappeared. "It was just the very thought of you
being there… while we hunted." His jaw tightened.
"That would be bad?"
He spoke from between clenched teeth. "Extremely."
"Because… ?"
He took a deep breath and stared through the windshield at the thick,
rolling clouds that seemed to press down, almost within reach.
"When we hunt," he spoke slowly, unwillingly, "we give ourselves over to
our senses… govern less with our minds. Especially our sense of smell. If
you were anywhere near me when I lost control that way…" He shook his
head, still gazing morosely at the heavy clouds.
I kept my expression firmly under control, expecting the swift flash of
his eyes to judge my reaction that soon followed. My face gave nothing
away.
But our eyes held, and the silence deepened — and changed. Flickers of
the electricity I'd felt this afternoon began to charge the atmosphere as
he gazed unrelentingly into my eyes. It wasn't until my head started to
swim that I realized I wasn't breathing. When I drew in a jagged breath,
breaking the stillness, he closed his eyes.
"Bella, I think you should go inside now." His low voice was rough, his
eyes on the clouds again.
I opened the door, and the arctic draft that burst into the car helped
clear my head. Afraid I might stumble in my woozy state, I stepped
carefully out of the car and shut the door behind me without looking
back. The whir of the automatic window unrolling made me turn.
"Oh, Bella?" he called after me, his voice more even. He leaned toward
the open window with a faint smile on his lips.
"Yes?"
"Tomorrow it's my turn."
"Your turn to what?"
He smiled wider, flashing his gleaming teeth. "Ask the questions."
And then he was gone, the car speeding down the street and disappearing
around the corner before I could even collect my thoughts. I smiled as I
walked to the house. It was clear he was planning to see me tomorrow, if
nothing else.
That night Edward starred in my dreams, as usual. However, the climate of
my unconsciousness had changed. It thrilled with the same electricity
that had charged the afternoon, and I tossed and turned restlessly,
waking often. It was only in the early hours of the morning that I
finally sank into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
When I woke I was still tired, but edgy as well. I pulled on my brown
turtleneck and the inescapable jeans, sighing as I daydreamed of
spaghetti straps and shorts. Breakfast was the usual, quiet event I
expected. Charlie fried eggs for himself; I had my bowl of cereal. I
wondered if he had forgotten about this Saturday. He answered my unspoken
question as he stood up to take his plate to the sink.
"About this Saturday…" he began, walking across the kitchen and turning
on the faucet.
I cringed. "Yes, Dad?"
"Are you still set on going to Seattle?" he asked.
"That was the plan." I grimaced, wishing he hadn't brought it up so I
wouldn't have to compose careful half-truths.
He squeezed some dish soap onto his plate and swirled it around with the
brush. "And you're sure you can't make it back in time for the dance?"
"I'm not going to the dance, Dad." I glared.
"Didn't anyone ask you?" he asked, trying to hide his concern by focusing
on rinsing the plate.
I sidestepped the minefield. "It's a girl's choice."
"Oh." He frowned as he dried his plate.
I sympathized with him. It must be a hard thing, to be a father; living
in fear that your daughter would meet a boy she liked, but also having to
worry if she didn't. How ghastly it would be, I thought, shuddering, if
Charlie had even the slightest inkling of exactly what I did like.
Charlie left then, with a goodbye wave, and I went upstairs to brush my
teeth and gather my books. When I heard the cruiser pull away, I could
only wait a few seconds before I had to peek out of my window. The silver
car was already there, waiting in Charlie's spot on the driveway. I
bounded down the stairs and out the front door, wondering how long this
bizarre routine would continue. I never wanted it to end.
He waited in the car, not appearing to watch as I shut the door behind me
without bothering to lock the dead-bolt. I walked to the car, pausing
shyly before opening the door and stepping in. He was smiling, relaxed —
and, as usual, perfect and beautiful to an excruciating degree.
"Good morning." His voice was silky. "How are you today?" His eyes roamed
over my face, as if his question was something more than simple courtesy.
"Good, thank you." I was always good — much more than good — when I was
near him.
His gaze lingered on the circles under my eyes. "You look tired."
"I couldn't sleep," I confessed, automatically swinging my hair around my
shoulder to provide some measure of cover.
"Neither could I," he teased as he started the engine. I was becoming
