I made my way to English in a daze. I didn't even realize when I first walked in that class had already started.
"Thank you for joining us, Mr. Swan," Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone.
I flushed and hurried to my seat.
It wasn't till class ended that I realized Mike wasn't sitting in his usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt. But he and Erica both met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn't totally unforgiven. Mike seemed to become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, and so maybe his beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing him yesterday. It was hard; rain or no rain, it would still only be in the high forties, if we were lucky.
The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was difficult to believe that I hadn't just imagined what Edward had said, and the way his eyes had looked. Maybe it was just a very convincing dream that I'd confused with reality. That seemed more probable. After all, what were the chances that he was that interesting, that attractive, and interested in me? It didn't seem likely.
I was both eager and nervous as Jessica and I entered the cafeteria. I wanted to see his face, to see if he'd gone back to the cold, indifferent person I'd known for the last several weeks. Or if, by some miracle, I'd really heard what I thought I'd heard this morning. Jessica babbled on about her dance plans—Lauren had asked Tyler to the dance, and Angela had asked another boy I didn't know and they were all going together—completely unaware of how preoccupied I was. Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on his table. The other four were there, but he was absent. Had he gone home? Was he just going to disappear suddenly whenever something happened?
I followed the still-babbling Jessica through the line, crushed. I'd lost my appetite—I bought bottle of lemonade, more for something to carry than to actually drink. I just wanted to go sit down. No. I wanted to go home, I wanted to go to sleep and wake up in a world where Edward Cullen wasn't driving me crazy with his mood swings and his cryptic mutterings and his stupid, beautiful, perfect face.
"Edward Cullen is staring at you again," Jessica said, finally breaking through my abstraction with his name. "I wonder why he's sitting alone today."
My head snapped up. I followed her gaze to see Edward, smiling crookedly, staring at me from an empty table across the cafeteria from where he usually sat. Once he'd caught my eye, he raised one hand and motioned with his index finger for me to join him. As I stared in disbelief, he winked.
"Does he mean you?" Jessica asked with astonishment in her voice. I would have been insulted if I wasn't completely shocked myself.
"Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework," I muttered. "Um, I'd better go see what he wants."
I could feel her staring after me as I walked away. I could also feel my face turning red the closer I got to Edward.
When I reached his table, I stood behind the chair across from him, unsure.
"Why don't you sit with me today?" he asked, smiling.
I sat down automatically, watching him with caution. He was still smiling. It was hard to believe that someone so beautiful could be real. Part of me was afraid that he might disappear in a sudden puff of smoke, and I would wake up. Part of me wished he would.
He stared at me, smiling. He seemed to be waiting for me to say something.
"This is different," I finally managed.
"Well…" He paused, and then the rest of the words followed in a rush. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."
I waited for him to explain this new cryptic statement, but he didn't.
The silence got more uncomfortable as the seconds ticked by.
"You know I don't have any idea what you mean," I eventually pointed out.
"I know." He smiled again, and then he changed the subject. "I think your friends are angry with me for stealing you."
"They'll survive." I could feel their stares boring into my back. For once, it didn't bother me.
"I may not give you back, though," he said with a wicked glint in his eyes.
My breath caught in my throat.
He laughed.
"You look worried."
"No," I said, but my voice broke, tellingly. "Surprised, actually… what brought all this on?"
"I told you—I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." He was still smiling, but his ocher eyes were serious.
"Giving up?" I repeated in confusion.
"Yes—giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." His smile faded as he explained, and a hard edge crept into his velvet voice.
"You lost me again."
The breathtaking crooked smile reappeared. "I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems."
"Don't worry—I don't understand any of it," I said wryly.
"I'm counting on that."
We stared at each other for a few seconds, but the quiet wasn't awkward this time. It was more… charged. My face started to get hot again.
"So," I said, looking away so that I could catch my breath. "In plain English, are we friends now?"
"Friends…," he mused, dubious.
"Or not," I offered.
He grinned. "Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you now that I'm not a good friend for you." Behind his smile, the warning was real.
"You say that a lot," I noted, trying to ignore the sudden knots forming in my stomach and keep my voice even. I wasn't sure that I believed what he was saying, but I could tell that hebelieved it.
"Yes, because you're not listening to me. I'm still waiting for you to hear me. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."
Then I had to smile, and I watched as his smile got bigger in response. "I thought we'd already come to the conclusion that I'm… what was it? Absurd. I suppose… not smart isn't far behind."
He smiled apologetically.
"So, as long as I'm being absurdly unintelligent," He laughed at that, "we'll try to be friends?"
"That sounds about right." I looked down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do now, but feeling oddly satisfied. Still, it was so strange to sit with him here—like normal people. I was so sure only one of us was normal.
"What are you thinking?" he asked curiously.
I looked up into his deep gold eyes, became befuddled, and, as usual, blurted out the truth.
"I'm trying to figure out what you are."
His jaw tightened, but he kept his smile in place with some effort.
"Are you having any luck with that?" he asked in an offhand tone.
"Not too much," I admitted.
He chuckled. "What are your theories?"
I blushed. I had been vacillating during the last month between Clark Kent and Peter Parker. There was no way I was going to own up to that.
"Won't you tell me?" he asked, tilting his head to one side with a shockingly tempting smile. I felt my throat go dry.
I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."
"That's really frustrating, you know," he complained.
"Really?" I raised my eyebrows, "Like, someone refusing to tell you what they're thinking, even if all the while he's making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what he could possibly mean… frustrating like that?"
He frowned, but the pout of his lips was distractingly attractive.
"Or is it frustrating like, say, he's also done a bunch of other strange things—for example, saving your life under impossible circumstances one day, then treating you like a pariah the next—and he never explained any of that, either, even after he promised he would. Frustrating like that?"
His frown twitched, but I thought I saw the hint of a guilty smile. "You're not over that, are you?"
"No, not quite."
"Would an apology help?"
"It wouldn't hurt."
He smiled, "I'm sorry I broke my promise."
It was a genuine apology and I didn't expect it. I felt a warmth course through my body.
"Th-thank you." I said softly, "It's still not an explanation."
He glanced over my shoulder, and then, unexpectedly, he snickered.
"What?"
"Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you—he's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." He snickered again.
"I don't have a boyfriend, and you're trying to change the subject."
He ignored the second half of my statement. "You might not think of him that way, but he wishes you did."
"You don't know that."
"I do. I told you, most people are easy to read."
"Except me."
"Yes. Except for you." His mood shifted suddenly; his eyes turned brooding. "I wonder why that is."
I had to look away from the intensity of his stare. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.
"Aren't you hungry?" he asked, distracted.
"No." My stomach was full of butterflies. There was no way I could eat now.
"You?" I looked at the empty table in front of him.
"No, I'm not hungry." I didn't understand his expression—it looked like he was enjoying some private joke.
"Can you do me a favor?" I asked after a second of hesitation.
He was suddenly wary. "That depends on what you want."
"It's not much," I promised.
He waited, still guarded but clearly curious.
"Could you warn me beforehand? The next time you decide to ignore me for my own good. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at the lemonade bottle as I spoke, tracing the circle of the opening with my pinkie finger.
"That sounds fair." He was pressing his lips together to keep from laughing when I looked up.
"Thanks."
"Then can I have a favor in return?" he asked.
"Sure." It was my turn to be curious. What would he want from me?
"Tell me one theory."
Whoops. "Not that favor."
"You didn't qualify, you just promised one favor," he reminded me.
"And you've broken promises yourself," I reminded him back.
"Just one theory—I won't laugh."
"Yes, you will." I was positive about that.
He looked down, and then glanced up at me through his long black lashes, his gold eyes scorching.
"Please?" he breathed, leaning toward me. Without meaning to, I leaned closer to him, like he was a magnet and I was trapped in his pull, till his face was less than a foot from mine. My mind went blank. Holy crow, how did he do that?
"Er, what?" I asked, dazed. I forced myself to sit back.
"Tell me just one little theory." He practically purred the words. "Please?" His eyes still smoldered at me.
"Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was he a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?
"That's not very creative," he scoffed.
"I'm sorry, that's all I've got," I said, miffed.
"You're not even close," he teased.
"No spiders?"
"Nope."
"And no radioactivity?"
"None."
"Dang," I sighed.
"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either," he chuckled.
"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"
He struggled to compose his face, but his shoulders shook from holding the laughter back.
"I'll figure it out eventually," I warned him.
His humor vanished like a switch had flipped off. "I wish you wouldn't try."
"Because…?"
"What if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the bad guy?" He smiled playfully, but his eyes were impenetrable.
"Oh," I said, as several things he'd hinted fell suddenly into place. "I see."
"Do you?" His face was abruptly severe, as if he were afraid that he'd accidentally said too much.
"You're dangerous?" I guessed, my pulse quickening as I intuitively realized the truth of my own words. He wasdangerous. He'd been trying to tell me that all along. He just looked at me, eyes full of some emotion I couldn't comprehend.
"But not the bad guy," I whispered, shaking my head. "No, I don't believe that."
"You're wrong." His voice was almost inaudible. He looked down, stealing my bottle lid and then spinning it on its side between his fingers. I stared at him, wondering why I didn't feel afraid. He meant what he was saying—that was obvious. But I just felt anxious, on edge… and, more than anything else, fascinated. The same way I always felt when I was near him.
The silence lasted until I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.
I jumped to my feet, and he looked up. He seemed… sad. But resigned. Like this was the reaction he'd been waiting for.
"We're going to be late," I told him, scrambling to gather my things.
He was surprised for just a second, and then the now-familiar amusement was back.
"I'm not going to class today," he said, twirling the lid so fast it was just a blur.
"Why not?"
"It's healthy to ditch class now and then." He smiled up at me, but his eyes were still troubled.
"Well, I'm going," I told him. Maybe if he asked me to ditch with him… No, that was stupid and irresponsible to ditch class for a boy.
He turned his attention back to his makeshift top. "I'll see you later, then."
I hesitated, torn, but then the first bell sent me hurrying out the door—with a last glance confirming that he hadn't moved at all, and the lid was still spinning in a tight circle like it would never stop.
As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning just as fast. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised.
I was lucky; Mrs. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled quickly into my seat, aware that both Mike and Angela were staring at me. Mike looked resentful; Angela looked surprised, and slightly awed.
Mrs. Banner came in the room then, calling the class to order. She was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in her arms. She put them down on Mike's table, telling him to start passing them around the class.
"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," she said as she produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of her lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against her wrists seemed ominous to me. "The first should be an indicator card," she went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator—" she held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "— and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." She held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped.
"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you." She began at Mike's table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares. "Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet.…" She grabbed Mike's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Mike's middle finger. Oh no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead and my ears began a faint ringing.
"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." She demonstrated, squeezing Mike's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, my stomach heaving.
"And then apply it to the card," she finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the humming in my ears.
"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." She sounded proud of herself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission—I have slips at my desk."
She continued through the room with her water drops. I put my cheek against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on as everything seemed to get farther away, slithering down a dark tunnel. The squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers all sounded far off in the distance. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.
"Beau, are you all right?" Mrs. Banner asked. Her voice was close to my head, but still far away, and it sounded alarmed.
"I already know my blood type, Mrs. Banner. I'm O negative." I said in a weak voice. I couldn't open my eyes.
"Are you feeling faint?"
"Yes, ma'am," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I had the chance.
"Can someone help Beau to the nurse, please?" She called. I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Mike who volunteered.
"Can you walk?" Mrs. Banner asked.
"Yes," I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I thought. I'll crawl.
Mike seemed eager as he put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the classroom.
Mike towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mrs. Banner was watching, I stopped.
"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I begged. He helped me sit on the edge of the walk. "And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned. I was still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. That seemed to help a little.
"Wow, you're green, Beau," Mike said nervously.
"Just gimme… a minute…"
"Beau?" a different voice called from the distance.
Oh, please no. Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice.
"What's wrong—is he hurt?" His voice was closer now, and he sounded upset. I wasn't imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut, wondering if maybe I would die. That would be nice right now. If not that, at the very least, to not to throw up would be great.
Mike seemed stressed. "I think he fainted. I don't know what happened, he didn't even stick his finger."
"Beau." Edward's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear me?"
"No," I groaned. "Go away."
He chuckled.
"I was taking him to the nurse," Mike explained in a defensive tone, "but he wouldn't go any farther."
"I'll take him," Edward said. I could hear the smile still in his voice. "You can go back to class."
"What? No," Mike protested. "I'm supposed to do it."
Suddenly the sidewalk disappeared from beneath me. My eyes flew open in shock. Edward had scooped me up in his arms, like I weighed nothing at all. Then again, I didn't weigh as much as a van.
"I'm fine, I swear. Put me down." Please, please let me not vomit on him. He was walking before I was finished talking.
"Hey!" Mike called, already ten paces behind us. Edward ignored him.
"You look awful," he told me, grinning.
"Put me back on the sidewalk," I groaned. "I'll be fine in a few minutes."
He simply looked forward, smiling. I'd never been carried by someone before, it felt strange. Despite my nausea, I felt a strange tingling sensation running down my back and limbs. Being this close to Edward, touching him wasn't something I was remotely prepared for in this moment.
"So you faint at the sight of blood?" he asked. This seemed to entertain him.
I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and took a deep breath. The nausea was already fading.
"And not even your own blood," he continued, enjoying himself. I don't know how he opened the door while carrying me, but it was suddenly warm, so I knew we were inside.
"Oh my," I heard a female voice gasp.
"He fainted in Biology," Edward explained.
I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Edward was striding past the front counter toward the nurse's door. Ms. Cope, the redheaded front office receptionist, ran ahead of him to hold it open. The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a novel, astonished, as Edward swung me into the room and placed me gently on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then he moved to stand against the wall as far across the narrow room as possible. His eyes were bright, excited.
"He's just a little faint," he reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood typing in Biology."
The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."
He muffled a snicker.
"Just lie down for a minute, honey; it'll pass."
"I know," I sighed. The nausea was mostly gone.
"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.
"Sometimes," I admitted. Edward coughed to hide another laugh.
"You can go back to class now," she told him.
"I'm supposed to stay with him." He said this with such assured authority that—even though she pursed her lips—the nurse didn't argue it further.
"I'll go get you some ice for your head, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.
"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close.
"I usually am—but about what in particular this time?"
"Ditching ishealthy." I practiced breathing evenly.
"You scared me for a minute there," he admitted after a pause. His tone made it sound like he was confessing a humiliating weakness. "I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."
"Hilarious." I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.
"Honestly—I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."
"That's morbid."
He chuckled.
"Poor Mike. I'll bet he's mad."
"He absolutely loathes me," Edward said cheerfully.
"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered…
"You should have seen his face. It was obvious."
"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching." I was pretty much fine now, though the queasiness would probably pass faster if I'd eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.
"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response—it surprised me.
I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.
"Here you go, dear." She laid it across my forehead. "You're looking better," she added.
"I think I'm fine," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.
I could see she was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and Ms. Cope stuck her head in.
"We've got another one," she warned.
I hopped down to free up the cot for the next invalid.
I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."
And then Mike staggered through the door, now supporting a sallow-looking Lee Stephens, another boy in our Biology class. Edward and I drew back against the wall to give them room.
"Oh no," Edward muttered. "Go out to the office, Beau."
I looked up at him, bewildered.
"Trust me—go."
I spun and caught the door before it closed, floundering out of the infirmary. I could feel Edward right behind me.
"You actually listened to me." He said, surprised.
"I smelled the blood," I said, wrinkling my nose. Lee wasn't sick from watching other people, like me.
"People can't smell blood," he contradicted.
"Yeah, I can."
"No. Humans can smell the iron in blood, but only when it's rubbed against skin or sometimes when there are large amounts or it's dried." The way he said humans, like they were a different species from himself was strange. "Either way, you shouldn't be able to smell a pinprick of fresh blood."
"Well, I can—that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt."
He was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.
"What?" I asked.
"It's nothing."
Mike came through the door then, glancing from me to Edward. The look he gave Edward confirmed what Edward had said about loathing. He looked back at me, his eyes glum.
"You look better," he accused.
"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned him again.
"It's not bleeding anymore," he muttered. "Are you going back to class?"
"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back."
"Yeah, I guess.… So are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While he spoke, he flashed another glare toward Edward, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.
I tried to sound as friendly as possible. "Sure, I said I was in."
"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten." His eyes flickered to Edward again, wondering if he was giving out too much information. His body language made it clear that it wasn't an open invitation.
"I'll be there," I promised.
"I'll see you in Gym, then," he said, moving uncertainly toward the door.
"Yeah, see you," I replied. He looked at me once more, his round face slightly pouting, and then as he walked slowly through the door, his shoulders slumped. A swell of sympathy washed over me. I didn't wantto hurt his feelings, but it seemed like it just kept happening. I pondered seeing his disappointed face again… in Gym.
"Gym," I groaned.
"I can take care of that." I hadn't noticed Edward moving to my side, but he spoke now in my ear. "Go sit down and look pale," he muttered.
That wasn't a challenge; I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. Fainting always exhausted me.
I heard Edward speaking softly at the counter.
"Ms. Cope?"
"Yes?" I hadn't heard her return to her desk.
"Beau has Gym next hour, and I don't think he feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take him home now. Do you think you could excuse him from class?" His voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming his eyes would be.
"Do you need to be excused, too, Edward?" Ms. Cope fluttered.
Why couldn't I do that?
"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind."
"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Beau," she called to me. I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.
"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With his back to the receptionist, his expression became sarcastic.
"I'll walk." I stood carefully, and I was still fine.
He held the door for me, his smile polite but his eyes mocking. I walked out into the cold, fine mist that had just begun to fall. It felt nice—the first time I'd enjoyed the constant moisture falling out of the sky—as it washed my face clean of the sticky perspiration.
"Thanks," I said as he followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym."
"Anytime." He was staring straight forward, squinting into the rain.
"So are you going? This Saturday, I mean?" I was hoping he would, though it seemed unlikely. I couldn't picture him loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; he didn't belong in the same world. But just hoping that he might gave me the first twinge of enthusiasm I'd felt for the outing.
"Where are you all going, exactly?" He was still looking ahead, expressionless, but his question made me hope he was considering it.
"Down to La Push, to First Beach."
I studied his face, trying to read it. His eyes seemed to narrow infinitesimally. He glanced down at me from the corner of his eye, smiling wryly.
"I really don't think I was invited."
I sighed. "I just invited you."
"Let's you and I not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap." His eyes danced; he was enjoying the idea more than he should.
"Mike-schmike," I muttered, preoccupied by the way he'd said you and I. I liked it more than Ishould.
We were near the parking lot now. I veered left, toward my truck. Something caught my jacket and yanked me back half a step.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asked, surprised. He was gripping a fistful my jacket in one hand.
I was confused. "I'm going home."
"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?" He smirked.
"What condition?" I complained.
"You've had quite the day, Beau." He smiled.
"Okay, so what do you suggest?"
His smile got wider, "I suggest that you get into my car, and you let me drive you home."
"Okay, first of all that's not necessary, and second, what about my truck?"
"Necessary is a subjective word. I'll have Alice drop it off after school."
I turned to face him, and he let go of my jacket. Looking up into his smug, handsome face I felt that strange tingling run down my back again.
"Are you going to put up a fuss?" he asked when I didn't speak.
"Is there any point in resisting?"
I tried to decipher all the layers to his smile, but I didn't get very far. "It warms my cold heart to see you learning so quickly. This way."
"You're not cute." I narrowed my eyes. This was a lie, he was cute. Very cute. He laughed.
"It's open," he grinned as we reached the shiny Volvo. He got in the driver's side.
"I really am perfectly capable of driving myself home!" I put up one last feeble attempt.
He lowered the automatic window and leaned toward me across the seat. "Get in, Beau."
I didn't move. He sighed.
"Please, Beau?"
"This is really is unnecessary," I sighed as I climbed into the passenger seat. He smiled widely.
The inside of the Volvo was just as pristine as the outside. Instead of the smell of gasoline and tobacco, there was just a faint pleasant smell. Like a delicate, expensive cologne. It was almost familiar, but I couldn't place it. Whatever it was, it smelled amazing.
As the engine gently purred to life, he fiddled with the controls, turning the heater up and the music down
"Clair de Lune?" I asked.
"You know Debussy?" He sounded surprised.
I shrugged. "My mother played a lot of classical music around the house—I only know my favorites."
"It's one of my favorites, too." He stared out through the rain, lost in thought.
"Well, imagine that," I said. "We have something in common."
He didn't say anything, but he was smiling.
I listened to the music, relaxing against the light gray leather seat. It was impossible not to respond to the familiar, soothing melody. The rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. I began to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so steadily, so evenly, though, I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.
"What is your mother like?" he asked me suddenly.
I glanced over to see him studying me with his curious, butterscotch eyes.
"She looks a lot like me—same eyes, same chin. I have Charlie's brown hair, though. My mom is more outgoing than I am, and braver. She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." I stopped. Talking about her was making me sad.
"How old are you, Beau?" His voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't imagine. He'd stopped the car, and I realized we were at Charlie's house already. The rain was so heavy that I could barely see the house at all. It was like the car was submerged under a river.
"I'm seventeen," I responded, a little confused.
"You don't seem seventeen."His tone was reproachful; it made me laugh.
"What?" he asked, curious again.
"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself," I noted.
He made a face and changed the subject.
"So why did your mother marry Phil?"
I was surprised he would remember the name; I'd mentioned it just once, almost two months ago. It took me a moment to answer.
"My mother… she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. At any rate, she's crazy about him." I shook my head. The attraction was a mystery to me, but would anyone ever be good enough for my mom?
"Do you approve?" he asked.
"Does it matter?" I countered. "I want her to be happy… and he is who she wants."
"That's very generous.… I wonder," he mused.
"What?"
"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" He was suddenly intent, his eyes searching mine.
"I-I think so," I stuttered. "But she's the parent, after all. It's a little bit different."
"No one too scary then," he teased.
I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"
"That's one definition, I suppose."
"What's your definition?" But he ignored my question and asked me another.
"Do you think that I could be scary?" He raised one eyebrow, and the faint trace of a smile lightened his face.
I thought for a moment, wondering whether the truth or a lie would go over better. I decided to go with the truth. "Hmmm… I think you could be, if you wanted to."
"Are you frightened of me now?" The smile vanished, and his heavenly face was suddenly serious.
"No." But I answered too quickly. The smile returned.
"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked to distract him. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."
He was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"
"The Cullens adopted you?" I verified.
"Yes."
I hesitated for a moment. "What happened to your parents?"
"They died many years ago." His tone was matter-of-fact.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled.
"I don't really remember them that clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now."
"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way he spoke of them.
"Yes." He smiled. "I couldn't imagine two better people."
"You're very lucky."
"I know I am."
"And your brother and sister?"
He glanced at the clock on the dashboard. "My brother and sister, and Jasper and Royal for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."
"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go."
I didn't want to get out of the car.
"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you don't have to tell him about the Biology incident." He grinned at me.
"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks." I sighed.
He laughed, and there was an edge to his laughter.
"Have fun at the beach… good weather for sunbathing." He glanced out at the sheeting rain.
"Won't I see you tomorrow?"
"No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early."
"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped the disappointment wasn't too apparent in my voice.
"We're going to be hiking in the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier.
I remembered Charlie had said the Cullens went camping frequently.
"Oh, well, have fun." I tried to sound enthusiastic. I don't think I fooled him, though. A smile was playing around the edges of his lips.
"Will you do something for me this weekend?" He turned to look me straight in the face, utilizing the full power of his burning gold eyes.
I nodded helplessly.
"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. So… try not to fall into the ocean or get run over or anything, all right?" He smiled crookedly.
The helplessness had faded as he spoke. I glared at him.
"I'll see what I can do," I narrowed my eyes. He smirked.
I jumped out into the rain and ran for the porch. By the time I turned around, the Volvo had disappeared.
"Oh!" I clutched at my jacket pocket, remembering that I had forgotten to give him the key to my truck.
The pocket was empty.