In my dream it was very dark, and what dim light there was seemed to be radiating from Edward's skin. I couldn't see his face, just his back as he walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't catch up to him; no matter how loud I called, he never turned. Troubled, I woke in the middle of the night and couldn't sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, he was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within reach.
The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, embarrassing.
To my dismay, I found myself the center of attention for the rest of that week. Tyler Crowley was impossible, following me around, obsessed with making amends to me somehow. I tried to convince him what I wanted more than anything else was for him to forget all about it—especially since nothing had actually happened to me—but he remained insistent. He followed me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. Mike and Erica didn't seem to like that; they flashed more side-eye at him than they did at each other, which made me worry that I'd gained another unwelcome fan.
No one seemed concerned about Edward, though I explained over and over that he was the hero—how he had pulled me out of the way and had nearly been crushed, too. I tried to be convincing. Jessica, Mike, Erica, and everyone else always commented that they hadn't even seen him there till the van was pulled away.
I wondered to myself why no one else had seen him standing so far away, before he was suddenly, impossibly saving my life. With chagrin, I realized the probable cause—no one else was as aware of Edward as I always was. No one else watched him the way I did. How pitiful.
Edward was never surrounded by crowds of curious bystanders eager for his firsthand account. People avoided him as usual. The Cullens and the Hales sat at the same table as always, not eating, talking only among themselves. None of them, especially Edward, glanced my way anymore.
When he sat next to me in class, as far from me as the table would allow, he seemed totally unaware of my presence. Like my seat was empty. Only now and then, when his fists would suddenly ball up—skin stretched even whiter over the bones—did I wonder if he wasn't quite as oblivious as he appeared.
I wanted very much to talk to him, and the day after the accident I tried. The last time I'd seen him, outside the ER, we'd both been so agitated. I still was angry that he wouldn't trust me with the truth, even though I was keeping my part of the bargain flawlessly. But he had in fact saved my life, no matter how he'd done it. And, overnight, the heat of my anger faded and I began to realize that I hadn't really thanked him properly.
He was already seated when I got to Biology, looking straight ahead. I sat down, expecting him to turn toward me. He showed no sign that he realized I was there.
"Hello, Edward," I said pleasantly, to show him I wasn't upset anymore.
He turned his head a fraction toward me without meeting my gaze, nodded once, and then looked the other way.
And that was the last contact I'd had with him, though he was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched him sometimes, unable to stop myself—from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as his golden eyes grew perceptibly darker day by day. Then abruptly they were honey-colored again. And the slow progression continued. But in class I gave no more notice that he existed than he showed toward me. I was miserable. And the dreams continued.
I tried to figure out his attitude and I kept coming back to the same thought; he wished he hadn't pushed me out of the way of Tyler's van. He said himself that day that he didn't know why he had saved me. The thought ate away at me.
Despite my outright lies, the tone of my e-mails alerted Renée to my depression, and she called a few times, worried. I tried to convince her it was just the weather that had me down.
Mike, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between me and my lab partner. I mused that he'd been worried that Edward's daring rescue might have made us best buddies, and he was relieved that it seemed to have the opposite effect. He grew more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Edward as completely as he ignored us.
The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. Mike was disappointed he'd never gotten to stage his snowball fight but pleased that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.
Jessica made me aware of another event looming on the horizon—she called the first Tuesday of March to talk to me about the girls' choice spring dance in two weeks.
"So, just to be clear… you weren't planning on me asking you… right?" she asked carefully. "Because, I mean, we hang out a lot, but I assumed…" her voice trailed off.
"I wasn't planning on you asking me, Jess." I was somewhat surprised she thought there was the possibility that I would want her to.
"I always figured you were…" she stopped short to rethink her phrasing, "I mean when I first met you I guessed… uh, that I wasn't your type?" she said it so delicately, like she was afraid of offending me.
There was a silence for a moment and then we both laughed.
"You're right. You're not my type, Jess." I couldn't help but smile. "But thanks for thinking of me."
"If you need help finding a date…" I think she realized she didn't have a solid idea of who I could even go with, "I'm sure we could find someone!" she said hopefully.
"No, Jess, I'm not going," I assured her. Dancing was glaringly outside my range of abilities.
"It will be really fun." Her attempt to convince me sounded more sympathetic than anything, like the thought of me being there without a date would be awful but she didn't want me to feel bad. Then again maybe those were just my own feelings.
"Who are you thinking of asking?" I tried to change the subject.
"Well, I was thinking of asking Mike." I could tell she was smiling widely.
"Mike Newton?" Uh oh. I still hadn't determined if Mike constantly following me around was just him being overly friendly or something more.
"Yeah! He's just so cute," she was clearly excited, "He hangs out with you a lot, what do you think?"
I didn't want to say that I thought Mike might not be interested her in the same way Iwasn't interested, but at the same time she had sensed where my attractions lie fairly quickly so maybe I was wrong.
"You have fun with Mike," I encouraged.
The next day, I was surprised that Jessica wasn't her usual gushing self in Trig and Spanish. She was silent as she walked by my side between classes, and I was afraid to ask her why. If Mike had turned her down, it meant I was right, but I hoped I was wrong for Jessica's sake.
My fears were strengthened during lunch when Jessica sat as far from Mike as possible, chatting animatedly with Tyler. Mike was unusually quiet.
Mike was still quiet as he walked me to class, the uncomfortable look on his face a bad sign. But he didn't broach the subject until I was in my seat and he was perched on my desk. As always, I was electrically aware of Edward sitting close enough to touch, as distant as if he were merely an invention of my imagination.
"So," Mike said, looking at the floor, "Jessica asked me to the spring dance."
"That's great." I made my voice bright and enthusiastic. "You'll have a lot of fun with Jessica."
"Well…" He floundered as he examined my smile, clearly not happy with my response. "I told her I had to think about it."
"Why would you do that?" I let disapproval color my tone, though I was relieved he hadn't given her an absolute no.
His face was bright red as he looked down again. I began to feel nervous.
"I was wondering if… well, I was thinking maybe we could… you know… You and me could… go." If it was possible, his face got even redder. "Like, stag. Go stag. Together."
I paused for a moment, feeling horribly awkward. I hoped my face didn't betray how I felt. From the corner of my eye, I saw Edward's head tilt reflexively in my direction.
"Mike, I think you should tell her yes," was all I could think to say.
"Did someone already ask you to go?" Did Edward notice how Mike's eyes flickered in his direction?
"No," I assured him. "I'm not going to the dance at all."
"Why not?" Mike demanded.
I didn't want to get into the safety hazards that dancing presented, so I quickly made new plans.
"I'm going to Seattle that Saturday," I explained. I needed to get out of town anyway—it was suddenly the perfect time to go.
"Can't you go some other weekend?"
"Sorry, no," I said. "So you shouldn't make Jess wait any longer—it's rude."
"Yeah, you're right," he mumbled, and turned, dejected, to walk back to his seat.
I closed my eyes and pressed my fingers to my temples, trying to push the guilt and sympathy out of my head. What a mess, even though Mike didn't outright ask me I couldn't help but feel bad. Not just for him, but for Jessica, too, who clearly liked him. Mrs. Banner began talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.
And Edward was staring at me curiously, that same, familiar edge of frustration even more distinct now in his black eyes.
I stared back, surprised, expecting him to look quickly away. But instead he continued to gaze with probing intensity into my eyes, like he was trying to find something very important inside them. There was no question of me looking away. My hands started to shake.
"Mr. Cullen?" the teacher called, seeking the answer to a question that I hadn't heard.
"The Krebs Cycle," Edward answered, seeming reluctant as he turned to look at Mrs. Banner.
I looked down at my book as soon as his eyes released me, trying to find my place. I couldn't believe the rush of emotion pulsing through me— just because he'd happened to look at me for the first time in six weeks. I couldn't allow him to have this level of influence over me. It was pathetic. More than pathetic, it was unhealthy.
I tried very hard not to be aware of him for the rest of the hour, and, since that was impossible, at least not to let him know that I was aware of him. When the bell rang at last, I turned my back to him to gather my things, expecting him to leave immediately as usual.
"Beau?"
His voice shouldn't have been so familiar to me, as if I'd known the sound of it all my life rather than for just a few short weeks.
I turned slowly toward him, not wanting to feel what I knew I wouldfeel when I looked at his too-perfect face. I'm sure my expression was guarded; his was unreadable.
He didn't say anything.
"Yes?" I asked.
He just looked at me.
"So are you or are you not speaking to me again?" I finally asked with an unintended but slightly petulant tone to my voice.
His lips twitched, fighting a smile.
"No, not really," he admitted.
"Okay." I closed my eyes and sighed. He waited.
"Then what do you want, Edward?" I asked, keeping my eyes closed; it was easier to talk to him coherently that way.
"I'm sorry." He sounded sincere. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."
I opened my eyes. His face was very serious.
"I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice hesitant.
"It's better if we're not friends," he explained. "Trust me."
My eyes narrowed. I'd heard that before.
He seemed surprised by my reaction.
"What are you thinking?" He asked, his voice seemed softer but I could see frustration in his face.
"I guess… It's just too bad you didn't figure that out earlier," I sighed, again. "You could have saved yourself all this regret."
"Regret?" My answer seemed to have caught him off guard. "Regret for what?"
"For not just letting Tyler's van crush me."
He looked completely shocked. He stared at me in disbelief for a moment and when he finally spoke he almost sounded mad.
"You think I regret saving your life?" the words were quiet, but intense.
"I can tell that you do," I was exhausted by his mood swings, "I just don't know why."
"You don't know anything." He was definitely mad.
I had reached my limit. His mood swings were too much for me to deal with today. I gathered my books together, then stood and walked to the door. I needed to be out of the room—make a point with a dramatic exit—but of course I caught the toe of my boot on the doorjamb and dropped my books. I stood there for a moment, thinking about leaving them. Then I sighed and bent to pick them up. He was there; he'd already stacked them into a pile. He handed them to me, his face hard.
"Thank you," I mumbled.
"You're welcome," he answered. He still sounded mad, but there was something else in his voice that I couldn't quite identify.
I straightened up swiftly and hurried off to Gym without looking back.
Gym was brutal. We'd moved on to basketball. My team never passed me the ball, so that was good, but I fell down a lot. Sometimes I took people with me. Today I was worse than usual because my head was so filled with Edward. I tried to concentrate on my feet, but he kept creeping back into my thoughts just when I really needed my balance.
It was a relief, as always, to leave. I couldn't wait to be back inside my truck, alone. The truck was in decent shape after the accident, all things considered. I'd had to replace the taillights, and if the paint job wasn't already hopeless, I would have touched up the new scrapes. Tyler's parents had to sell their van for parts.
I almost had a stroke when I rounded the corner and saw a figure leaning against the side of my truck. Then I quickly realized it was just Erica. I started walking again.
"Hey, Erica," I called.
"Hi, Beau."
"What's up?" I said as I fumbled with my keys. I wasn't paying attention to the uncomfortable edge in her voice, so her next words took me by surprise.
"Uh, I was just wondering… if you would go to the spring dance with me?"
"I'm… I'm not going to the dance, Erica." I said, too startled to be diplomatic.
I had to turn and look at her then. Her face was down, her black hair hiding her eyes.
"Oh, okay."
I recovered my composure and tried to make her feel better. "Thank you for asking me, but I'm going to be in Seattle that day."
"Oh," she said. "Well, maybe next time."
"Sure," I said without thinking. I didn't want to encourage her to pursue the impossible.
"See ya," She waved over her shoulder as she hurried off before I could set things straight.
I heard a low chuckle.
Edward was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, his lips pressed together. I jerked the door open and jumped inside, slamming it a little too hard behind me. I revved the deafening engine and reversed out into the aisle. Edward was in his car already, two spaces down, sliding out smoothly in front of me, cutting me off. He stopped there— to wait for his family; I could see the four of them walking this way, but still by the cafeteria. I considered taking out the rear of his shiny Volvo as revenge for his ridiculous mood swings, but there were too many witnesses. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Directly behind me, Tyler Crowley was in his recently acquired used Sentra, waving. I was too preoccupied with my thoughts to acknowledge him.
While I was sitting there, looking everywhere but at the car in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. I looked over; it was Tyler. I glanced back in my rearview mirror, confused. His car was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway down, then gave up.
"I'm sorry, Tyler, I'm stuck behind Cullen." I gestured to the Volvo. Obviously there was nothing I could do.
"Oh, I know— I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." He grinned.
I sighed, "Oh? What?"
"Will you go with me to the spring dance?" he continued.
What was going on in this school? I knew for a fact that Tyler had a reputation for being a flirt with the girls. Unlike Mike, I knew for certain he wasn't interested in boys.
"I'm not going to be in town, Tyler." My face was red. I could tell.
"Yeah, Mike said that," he grinned.
"Then why—"
He shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting him down easy."
"I wasn't." I was having trouble hiding my frustration, "besides, wouldn't you rather go with a girl?"
"Usually, but I thought maybe you'd like to have someone to go with as a date instead of going stag." His self-assured cockiness would normally charm me in different circumstances, but today it just added to my annoyance.
"Sorry, Tyler," I said, working to hide my irritation. "I really am going out of town."
"That's cool. We still have prom."
And before I could respond, he was walking back to his car. I could feel the shock on my face. I looked forward to see Alice, Royal, Emmett, and Jasper all sliding into the Volvo. In his rearview mirror, Edward's eyes were on me. He was unquestionably shaking with laughter, as if he'd heard every word Tyler had said. I revved the engine, wondering how much damage it would do to the Volvo and the black car beside it if I just muscled my way through and made my escape. I was pretty sure my truck could win that fight.
But they were all in, and Edward was speeding away. I drove home slowly, carefully, and thoroughly confused. Was Mike going to ask Jessica to the dance? Would she blame me if he didn't? Was Tyler serious about taking me to the dance? Or prom? At least fretting over all this drama kept my mind off Edward.
When I got home, I decided to make chicken enchiladas for dinner. It was a long process, and it would keep me busy. While I was simmering the onions and chilies, the phone rang. I was almost afraid to answer it, but it might be Charlie or my mom.
It was Jessica, and she was jubilant; Mike had caught her after school to accept her invitation. I celebrated with her briefly while I stirred. Maybe Mike liked girls after all. She had to go; she wanted to call Angela and Lauren to tell them. I suggested—with casual innocence—that Lauren, a reserved, intelligent girl who had rarely spoke to me at the lunch table, could ask Tyler; I'd heard he was still available. Jess thought that was a great idea. She still sincerely wished I would go to the dance. I gave her my Seattle excuse.
After I hung up, I tried to concentrate on dinner—dicing the chicken carefully; I didn't want to take another trip to the emergency room. But my head was spinning, trying to analyze every word Edward had spoken today. What did he mean when he said it was better if we weren't friends?
My stomach twisted in knots as I realized what he must have meant. He must see how absorbed I was by him; he must not want to lead me on… so we couldn't even be friends… because he wasn't interested in me at all.
Of course he wasn't interested in me, I thought dejectedly, my eyes stinging—a delayed reaction to the onions. Besides, even if he liked boys, I wasn't interesting. And he was. Interesting… and brilliant… and mysterious… and perfect… and beautiful… and possibly able to lift full-sized vans with one hand.
Well, that was fine. I could leave him alone. I would leave him alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii, would offer me a scholarship. I focused my thoughts on sunny beaches and palm trees as I finished the enchiladas and put them in the oven.
Charlie seemed suspicious when he came home and smelled the green peppers. My mom was famous for her disastrous Mexican food. But he was still game to take the first bite. He seemed to like it. It was fun to watch as he slowly began trusting me in the kitchen.
"Dad?" I asked when he was almost done.
"Yeah, Beau?"
"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle for the day a week from Saturday… if that's okay?" I didn't want to ask permission—it set a bad precedent—but I felt rude, so I tacked it on at the end.
"Why?" He sounded surprised, as if he were unable to imagine something that Forks couldn't offer.
"Well, I wanted to get a few books—the library here is pretty limited—and maybe look at some better winter clothes." I had more money than I was used to having, since, thanks to Charlie, I hadn't had to pay for a car. Not that the truck didn't cost me quite a bit in the gas department.
"That truck probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," he said, echoing my thoughts.
"I know, I'll stop in Montesano and Olympia—and Tacoma if I have to."
"Are you going all by yourself?"
"Yes."
"Seattle is a big city—you could get lost," he fretted.
"Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle—and I can read a map, don't worry about it."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
I wondered if he was really that worried about me, or if he just thought all the Saturdays he'd left me alone were starting to add up to neglect. He was probably worried. I was sure that, in his head, he still pictured me as five-year-old most of the time.
"That's okay, dad. It probably won't be that exciting, anyway."
"Okay, Beau."
"Thanks." I smiled at him.
"Will you be back in time for the dance?"
I just stared back at him until he got it.
It didn't take him long. "Oh, that's right," he realized.
"Yeah." I laughed. I didn't get my balance issues from my mom.
The next morning, when I pulled into the parking lot, I deliberately parked as far as possible from the silver Volvo. I didn't want to see him. I wanted to keep my distance, to not notice him anymore.
Getting out of the cab, I fumbled with my key and it fell into a puddle at my feet. As I bent to get it, a white hand flashed out and grabbed it before I could. I jerked upright. Edward Cullen was right next to me, leaning casually against my truck.
"How do you do that?" I gasped.
"Do what?" He held my key out as he spoke. As I reached for it, he dropped it into my palm.
"Appear out of thin air."
"Beau, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant." His voice was quiet as usual—velvet, muted. His lips were holding back a smile, like he thought I was hilarious.
I glared at his perfect face. How was I supposed to ignore him if he kept talking to me? Wasn't he the one that said it would be better if we weren't friends? His eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. I had to look down to reassemble my now-tangled thoughts.
"Why the traffic jam last night?" It was the only thing I could think to say. "I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist."
"That was for Tyler's sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance." He snickered.
"What?" I asked, perplexed. Irritation started to grow in my mind; had he put Tyler up to asking me to the dance? That didn't seem likely. My confusion seemed to amuse him.
"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," he continued.
I met his eyes, trying to remain as focused as I could despite myself. "I don't know what you want from me," I told him.
His amused expression quickly disappeared. His face seemed guarded.
"Nothing." He said too quickly, almost like he was lying.
"Then you probably should have let the van take me out. Easier that way."
He stared for a second. His lips pressed into a hard line, all signs of humor gone.
"Beau, you are utterly absurd," he said, his low voice cold.
My stomach was in the tightest of knots. I turned my back and started to walk away.
"Wait," he called.
I kept walking, sloshing through the rain and forcing myself not to look back. But he was next to me, easily keeping pace.
"I'm sorry, that was rude," he said as we walked.
I ignored him.
"I'm not saying it isn't true," he continued, "but it was rude to say it, anyway."
"Why won't you leave me alone?" I grumbled.
"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me," he chuckled. He seemed to have recovered his good humor.
I sighed, but I slowed down. "Fine, then. What do you want to ask?"
"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday—you know, the day of the spring dance—"
"Are you trying to be funny?" I interrupted him, wheeling toward him. My face got drenched from the rain as I looked up at his expression.
His eyes were wickedly amused. "Will you please allow me to finish?"
Walk away, I told myself.
I didn't move.
"I heard you say you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride."
That was unexpected.
"What?" I wasn't sure what he was getting at.
"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"
"With who?" I asked, mystified.
"Myself, obviously." He enunciated every syllable, like he thought maybe English wasn't my first language.
I was still stunned. "Why?"
"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and, to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."
"My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern." I started to walk again, hoping he wouldn't follow. He did.
"But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?" He matched my pace again.
"I don't see how that is any of your business." Stupid, shiny Volvo owner.
"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's business."
"Honestly, Edward." I felt a thrill go through me as I said his name, and I didn't like it. "I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."
"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."
"Oh, thanks, now that's all cleared up." I said, my voice rich with sarcasm. I realized I had stopped walking again. We were under the shelter of the cafeteria roof now, so I could more easily look at his face. Which certainly didn't help my clarity of thought.
"It would be more… prudent for you not to be my friend," he explained. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau."
His eyes were gloriously intense as he uttered that last sentence, his voice smoldering. I couldn't remember how to breathe.
"Will you go with me to Seattle?" he asked, his voice still intense.
I couldn't speak yet, so I just nodded.
He smiled briefly, and then his face became serious.
"You really should stay away from me," he warned. "I'll see you in class."
He turned abruptly and walked back the way we'd come.