The next day was better… and worse.
It was better because it wasn’t raining yet, though the clouds were dense and black. It was easier because I knew better what to expect of the day. McKayla came to sit by me in English, and walked with me to my next class, with Chess Club Erica glaring at her all the way there; that was kind of flattering. People didn’t stare at me quite as much as they had yesterday. I sat with a big group at lunch that included McKayla, Erica, Jeremy, Allen, and several other people whose names and faces I now remembered. I began to feel like I might be treading water, instead of drowning in it.
It was worse because I was tired; I still couldn’t sleep with the rain beating on the house. It was worse because Ms. Varner called on me in Trig when my hand wasn’t raised and I had the wrong answer. It was miserable because I had to play volleyball, and the one time I didn’t dodge out of the way of the ball, I hit two of my teammates in the head with one bad volley. And it was worse because Edythe Cullen wasn’t in school at all.
All morning I was trying not to think about lunch, not wanting to remember those hate-filled stares. Part of me wanted to confront her and demand to know what her problem was. While I was lying awake in bed, I even imagined out what I would say. But I knew myself too well to think I would really have the guts to do it. Maybe if she hadn’t been so abnormally beautiful.
But when I walked into the cafeteria with Jeremy—trying to keep my eyes from sweeping the place for her and totally failing—I saw that her four
adopted siblings were sitting together at the same table as before, and she was not with them.
McKayla intercepted us and steered us to her table. Jeremy seemed thrilled by the attention, and his friends quickly joined us. I tried to tune into the conversations around me, but I was still uncomfortable, waiting for Edythe’s arrival. I hoped that she would simply ignore me when she came, and prove that I was making a big deal out of nothing.
She didn’t come, and I got more and more tense.
I walked to Biology with more confidence when, by the end of lunch, she still hadn’t showed. McKayla, who was starting to seem weirdly, I don’t know, territorial about me, walked by my side to class. I hesitated for a second at the door, but Edythe Cullen wasn’t here, either. I exhaled and went to my seat. McKayla followed, talking about an upcoming trip to the beach. She lingered by my desk till the bell rang, then she smiled at me wistfully and went to sit by a boy with braces and something close to a bowl cut.
I didn’t want to be arrogant, but I was pretty sure she was into me, which was a strange feeling. Girls hadn’t noticed me much at home. I wondered if I wanted her to like me. She was sort of pretty and everything, but her attention made me feel a little uncomfortable. Why was that? Because she’d picked me instead of the other way around? That was a stupid reason. Ego running wild, like it had to be my decision first. Still, it was not as stupid as the other possibility I’d thought of—I really hoped it wasn’t because of the time I’d spent staring at Edythe Cullen yesterday, but I was kind of afraid that was it. Which was about the stupidest thing possible, really. If I based my reaction to a girl’s looks off a face like Edythe’s, I was doomed. That was fantasy, not reality.
I was glad that I had the desk to myself, that Edythe wasn’t here. I told myself that again and again. Still, I couldn’t get rid of this annoying feeling that I was the reason she was gone. It was ridiculous, and egotistical again, to think that I could affect anyone that much. It was impossible. But I couldn’t stop worrying about it.
When the school day was finally done, and the patches of red were fading out of my face from the latest volleyball incident, I changed quickly back into my jeans and heavy sweater. I rushed from the locker room, glad to find that I had successfully evaded McKayla for the moment. I hurried
out to the parking lot. It was crowded now with fleeing students. I got in my truck and dug through my backpack to make sure I still had what I needed.
It was no secret that Charlie couldn’t cook much besides fried eggs and bacon. Last night, I’d requested that I be assigned kitchen detail for the duration of my stay. He was willing enough to let me take over. A quick search revealed that he had no food in the house. So I had my grocery list and the cash from the jar in the cupboard labeled FOOD MONEY, and I was headed to the Thriftway.
I gunned the thunderous engine to life, ignoring the heads that turned in my direction, and backed into a place in the line of cars that were waiting to exit the parking lot. As I waited, trying to pretend that the earsplitting rumble was coming from someone else’s car, I saw the two Cullens and the Hale twins walking up to their car. It was the shiny new Volvo. Of course. I hadn’t noticed their clothes before—I’d been too mesmerized by their faces. Now that I looked, it was obvious that they were all wearing stuff that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Attractive as they all were, they could have worn garbage sacks and started a trend. It seemed like too much for them to have both looks and money. Though, as far as I could tell, life worked that way most of the time. It didn’t look like it bought them any popularity here.
But I couldn’t really believe that. The isolation had to be something they chose; I couldn’t imagine any door their beauty wouldn’t open for them.
They looked at my noisy truck as I passed them, just like everyone else. Except they weren’t anything like anyone else. I saw that the big blond guy
—Royal, it must be. Figured. Anyway, Royal had his hand casually on the hip of the really tall girl with the dark curly hair, who looked like she was just as familiar with the weight room as he was. He had to be a good two inches taller than even I was, but he only had a half-inch on her. Though he was obviously pretty sure of himself, I was still kind of surprised he felt comfortable doing that. Not that she wasn’t hot—she was super, mega hot
—but not… approachable. Like, not even the Rock would dare to whistle at her, if you know what I mean. The blond girl caught me looking, and the way her eyes narrowed made me turn straight ahead and punch the gas. The truck didn’t go any faster, the engine just grumbled even louder.
The Thriftway was not far from the school, a few streets south, off the
highway. It was nice to be inside the supermarket; it felt normal. I did most of the shopping at home, and I fell easily into the pattern of the familiar job. The store was big enough inside that I couldn’t hear the tapping of the rain on the roof to remind me where I was.
When I got home, I unloaded all the groceries, reorganizing the cupboards till everything was in a place that made sense. Charlie’s system was kind of haphazard. I hoped Charlie wouldn’t mind, that he wasn’t OCD about his kitchen the way I was. Once I was satisfied with the organization, I worked on the prep for dinner.
I kind of have a sixth sense about my mom. I realized, as I was sticking the marinade-covered steak into the fridge, that I hadn’t let her know I’d made it yesterday. She was probably freaking out.
I ran up the stairs two at a time and fired up the old computer in my room. It took a minute to wheeze to life and then I had to wait for a connection. Once I was online, three messages showed up in my in-box. The first was from yesterday, while I was still en route.
“Beau,” my mom wrote.
Write me as soon as you get in. Tell me how your flight was. Is it raining? I miss you already. I’m almost finished packing for Florida, but I can’t find my pink blouse. Do you know where I put it? Phil says hi. Mom.
I sighed, and went to the next. It was sent six hours after the first.
Beau,
Why haven’t you e-mailed me yet? What are you waiting for? Mom.
The last was from this morning.
Beaufort Swan,
If I haven’t heard from you by 5:30 p.m. today I’m calling Charlie.
I checked the clock. I still had an hour, but Mom was known for jumping the gun.
Mom,
Calm down. I’m writing right now. Don’t do anything crazy.
Beau.
I sent that, and then started the next, beginning with a lie.
Everything is great. Of course it’s raining. I was waiting for something to write about. School isn’t bad, just a little repetitive. I met some okay kids who sit by me at lunch.
Your shirt is at the dry cleaners—you were supposed to pick it up Friday.
Charlie bought me a truck, can you believe it? It’s awesome. It’s old, but really sturdy, which is good, you know, for me.
I miss you, too. I’ll write again soon, but I’m not going to check my e-mail every five minutes. Relax, breathe. I love you.
Beau.
I heard the front door bang open, and I hurried downstairs to take the potatoes out and put the steak in to broil.
“Beau?” my father called out when he heard me on the stairs.
Who else? I thought to myself. “Hey, Dad, welcome home.”
“Thanks.” He hung up his gun belt and stepped out of his boots as I moved around the kitchen. As far as I was aware, he’d never shot the gun on the job. But he kept it ready. When I’d come here as a child, he would always remove the bullets as soon as he walked in the door. I guess he considered me old enough now not to shoot myself by accident, and not depressed enough to shoot myself on purpose.
“What’s for dinner?” he asked warily. Mom was an imaginative cook, when she bothered, and her experiments weren’t always edible. I was surprised, and sad, that he seemed to remember that far back.
“Steak and potatoes,” I answered. Charlie looked relieved.
He obviously felt awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. I think we were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steak cooked, and set the table.
I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.
“Smells good, Beau.” “Thanks.”
We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn’t awkward. Both of us like quiet. In some ways, we were good roommates.
“So, how did you like school? Make any friends?” he asked as he was taking seconds.
“Well, I have a few classes with this guy named Jeremy. I sit with his friends at lunch. And there’s this girl, McKayla, who’s friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice.” With one outstanding exception.
“That must be McKayla Newton. Nice girl—nice family. Her dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here.”
We ate in silence for a minute.
“Do you know the Cullen family?” I asked, trying to sound casual. “Dr. Cullen’s family? Sure. She’s a great woman.”
“They—the kids—are a little… different. They don’t seem to fit in very well at school.”
I was surprised to see Charlie’s face get red, the way it does when he’s angry.
“People in this town,” he muttered. “Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary she gets here,” he continued, getting louder. “We’re lucky to have her
—lucky that her husband wanted to live in a small town. She’s an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they’re all very mature—I haven’t had one speck of trouble from any of them. That’s more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should—camping trips every other weekend.… Just because they’re newcomers, people have to talk.”
It was the longest speech I’d ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.
I backpedaled. “They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept
to themselves. They’re all very attractive,” I added, trying to be more complimentary.
“You should see the doctor,” Charlie said, laughing. “It’s a good thing she’s happily married. A lot of the hospital staff have a hard time concentrating on their work with her around.”
We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—I went upstairs to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.
That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep fast, exhausted.
The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the kids at school. In Gym, the people on my team learned not to send the ball my direction. I stayed out of their way.
Edythe Cullen didn’t come back to school.
Every day, I watched, pretending I wasn’t looking, until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without her. Then I could relax and join in the conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that McKayla was putting together. I was invited, and I agreed to go, more out of politeness than a strong urge to hit the beach. I believed beaches should be hot, and—aside from the ocean—dry.
By Friday I was totally comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edythe would show. For all I knew, she’d dropped out of school. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn’t totally erase the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.
My first weekend in Forks continued without incident. Charlie worked most of the time. I wrote my mom more fake cheerful e-mails, got ahead on my homework, and cleaned up the house—obviously OCD wasn’t a problem for Charlie. I drove to the library Saturday, but I didn’t even bother to get a card—there wasn’t anything interesting I hadn’t read; I would have to visit Olympia or Seattle soon, and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got… and winced at the thought.
The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep.
People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn’t know all their names, but I smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but at
least it wasn’t raining. In English, McKayla took her now-normal seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy.
All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.
When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind was freezing against my cheeks, my nose.
“Wow,” McKayla said. “It’s snowing.”
I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.
“Ugh.” Snow. There went my good day.
She looked surprised. “Don’t you like snow?”
“Snow means it’s too cold for rain.” Obviously. “Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes—you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips.”
“Haven’t you ever seen snow fall before?” she asked incredulously. “Sure I have.” I paused. “On TV.”
McKayla laughed. And then a big, wet ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of her head. We both turned to see where it came from. I suspected Erica, who was walking away, her back toward us—in the wrong direction for her next class. McKayla had the same idea. She bent over and began scraping together a pile of white mush.
“I’ll see you at lunch, okay?” I kept walking as I spoke. The last thing I wanted was a wad of dirty ice melting down my neck the rest of the day.
She just nodded, her eyes on Erica’s back.
I kept a sharp lookout on the way to the cafeteria with Jeremy after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I had a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield. Jeremy thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept him from lobbing a snowball at me himself.
McKayla caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, her usually sleek hair turning frizzy from the wet. She and Jeremy were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.
Jeremy pulled on my arm.
“Hey? Beau? What do you want?”
I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn’t done anything wrong.
“What’s with Beau?” McKayla asked Jeremy.
“Nothing,” I answered. I grabbed a soda bottle as I caught up to the end of the line.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Jeremy asked. “Actually, I feel a little sick,” I said. He shuffled a few steps away from me.
I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to the table, my eyes anywhere but the back corner of the cafeteria.
I drank my soda slowly, stomach churning. Twice McKayla asked, with a concerned tone that seemed a little over the top, how I was feeling. I told her it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse’s office for the next hour.
Ridiculous. I shouldn’t have to run away. Why was I being such a coward? Was it so bad to be glared at? It wasn’t like she was actually going to stab a knife in me.
I decided to allow myself one glance at the Cullen family’s table. Just to read the mood.
I kept my head turned away and glanced out of the side of my eye. None of them were looking this way. I turned my head a little.
They were laughing. Edythe, Jessamine, and Eleanor all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Archie and Royal were leaning away as Eleanor flipped her dripping hair toward them, leaving a wide arc of splatters across the front of their jackets. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else—only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.
But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn’t quite figure out what that difference was. I examined Edythe, comparing her to my memory of last week. Her skin was less pale, I decided—flushed from the snow fight maybe—the circles under her eyes much less noticeable. Her hair was darker, wet and slicked down against her head. But there was something else. I forgot to pretend I wasn’t staring as I tried to put my finger on the change.
“What are you staring at, Beau?” Jeremy asked.
At that precise moment, Edythe’s eyes flashed over to meet mine.
I turned my head completely toward Jeremy, shifting my shoulders in his direction, too. Jeremy leaned away, surprised by my sudden invasion of his personal space.
I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes had met, that she didn’t look angry or disgusted as she had the last time I’d seen her. She just looked curious again, unsatisfied in some way.
“Edythe Cullen is staring at you,” Jeremy said, looking over my shoulder.
“She doesn’t look angry, does she?” I couldn’t help asking.
“No.” Jeremy looked confused, then he suddenly smiled. “What did you do, ask her out?”
“No! I’ve never even talked to her. I just… don’t think she likes me very much,” I admitted. I kept my body angled toward Jeremy, but the back of my neck had goose bumps, like I could feel her eyes on me.
“The Cullens don’t like anybody… well, they don’t notice anybody enough to like them. But she’s still staring at you.”
“Stop looking at her,” I insisted.
He snickered, but finally looked away.
McKayla interrupted us then—she was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jeremy agreed enthusiastically. The way he looked at McKayla left little doubt that he would be up for anything she suggested. I kept silent. I wondered how many years I would have to live in Forks before I was bored enough to find frozen water exciting. Probably much longer than I planned to be here.
For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. Edythe didn’t look like she was planning to murder me anymore, so it was no big thing to go to Biology. My stomach twisted at the thought of sitting next to her again.
I didn’t really want to walk to class with McKayla as usual—she seemed to be a popular target for snowballs—but when we got to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, hiding my smile. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.
McKayla kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.
Once inside the classroom, I was relieved that Edythe’s chair was still empty. It gave me a minute to settle myself. Mrs. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class still had a few minutes before it started, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.
I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but I kept my eyes focused on the pattern I was drawing.
“Hello,” said a quiet, musical voice.
I looked up, shocked that she was speaking to me. She was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but her chair was angled toward me. Her hair was dripping wet, tangled—even so, she looked like she’d just finished shooting a commercial. Her perfect face was friendly, open, a slight smile on her full, pink lips. But her long eyes were careful.
“My name is Edythe Cullen,” she continued. “I didn’t have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan.”
My mind was whirling with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? She was totally polite now. I had to say something; she was waiting. But I couldn’t think of anything normal to say.
“H-how do you know my name?” I stammered.
She laughed softly. “Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town’s been waiting for you to arrive.”
I frowned, though it wasn’t as if I hadn’t guessed as much.
“No,” I persisted like an idiot. “I meant, why did you call me Beau?” She seemed confused. “Do you prefer Beaufort?”
“Absolutely not,” I said. “But I think Charlie—I mean, my dad—must call me that behind my back—that’s what everyone here seemed to know me as.” The more I tried to explain, the more moronic it sounded.
“Oh.” She let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.
Luckily, Mrs. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as she explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren’t supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, she would be coming around to see who had it right.
“Get started,” she commanded.
“Ladies first, partner?” Edythe asked. I looked up to see her smiling a dimpled smile so perfect that I could only stare at her like a fool.
She raised her eyebrows.
“Uh, sure, go ahead,” I sputtered.
I saw her eyes flash to the splotches blooming across my cheeks. Why couldn’t my blood just stay in my veins where it belonged?
She looked away sharply, yanking the microscope to her side of the table.
She studied the first slide for a quarter of a second—maybe less. “Prophase.”
She switched out the slide for the next, then paused and looked up at me. “Or did you want to check?” she challenged.
“Uh, no, I’m good,” I said.
She wrote the word Prophase neatly on the top line of our worksheet. Even her handwriting was perfect, like she’d taken classes in penmanship or something. Did anyone still do that?
She barely glanced through the microscope at the second slide, then wrote Anaphase on the next line, looping her A like it was calligraphy, like she was addressing a wedding invitation. I’d had to do the invitations for my mom’s wedding. I’d printed the labels in a fancy script font that didn’t look anything as elegant as Edythe’s handwriting.
She moved the next slide into place, while I took advantage of her diverted attention to stare. So close up, you’d think I’d be able to see something—a hint of a pimple, a stray eyebrow hair, a pore, something— wrong with her. But there was nothing.
Suddenly her head flipped up, eyes to the front of the class, just before Mrs. Banner called out, “Miss Cullen?”
“Yes, Mrs. Banner?” Edythe slid the microscope toward me as she spoke.
“Perhaps you should let Mr. Swan have an opportunity to learn?” “Of course, Mrs. Banner.”
Edythe turned and gave me a well, go ahead then look.
I bent down to look through the eyepiece. I could sense she was watching—only fair, considering how I’d been ogling her—but it made me feel awkward, like just inclining my head was a clumsy move.
At least the slide wasn’t difficult.
“Metaphase,” I said.
“Do you mind if I look?” she asked as I started to remove the slide. Her hand caught mine, to stop me, as she was speaking. Her fingers were ice cold, like she’d been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn’t why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When she touched me, it stung my hand like a low-voltage electric shock.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, quickly pulling her hand back, though she continued to reach for the microscope. I watched her, a little dazed, as she examined the slide for another tiny fraction of a second.
“Metaphase,” she agreed, then slid the microscope back to me.
I tried to exchange slides, but they were too small or my fingers were too big, and I ended up dropping both. One fell on the table and the other over the edge, but Edythe caught it before it could hit the ground.
“Ugh,” I exhaled, mortified. “Sorry.”
“Well, the last is no mystery, regardless,” she said. Her tone was right on the edge of laughter. Butt of the joke again.
Edythe calligraphied the words Metaphase and Telophase onto the last two lines of the worksheet.
We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see McKayla and her partner comparing two slides again and again, and another pair had their book open under the table.
Which left me with nothing to do but try not to look at her… unsuccessfully. I glanced down, and she was staring at me, that same strange look of frustration in her eyes. Suddenly I identified that elusive difference in her face.
“Did you get contacts?” I blurted out.
She seemed puzzled by my apropos-of-nothing question. “No.”
“Oh,” I mumbled. “I thought there was something different about your eyes.”
She shrugged, and looked away.
In fact, I knew there was something different. I had not forgotten one detail of that first time she’d glared at me like she wanted me dead. I could still see the flat black color of her eyes—so jarring against the background of her pale skin. Today, her eyes were a completely different color: a strange gold, darker than butterscotch, but with the same warm tone. I didn’t understand how that was possible, unless she was lying for some
reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.
I looked down. Her hands were clenched into fists again.
Mrs. Banner came to our table then, looking over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.
“So, Edythe…,” Mrs. Banner began.
“Beau identified half of the slides,” Edythe said before Mrs. Banner could finish.
Mrs. Banner looked at me now; her expression was skeptical. “Have you done this lab before?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Not with onion root.” “Whitefish blastula?”
“Yeah.”
Mrs. Banner nodded. “Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?”
“Yes.”
“Well,” she said after a moment, “I guess it’s good you two are lab partners.” She mumbled something else I couldn’t hear as she walked away. After she left, I started doodling on my notebook again.
“It’s too bad about the snow, isn’t it?” Edythe asked. I had the odd feeling that she was forcing herself to make small talk with me. It was like she had heard my conversation with Jeremy at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong. Which was impossible. I was turning paranoid.
“Not really,” I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to shake the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn’t concentrate on putting up a socially acceptable front.
“You don’t like the cold.” It wasn’t a question. “Or the wet.”
“Forks must be a difficult place for you to live,” she mused. “You have no idea,” I muttered darkly.
She looked riveted by my response, for some reason I couldn’t imagine. Her face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.
“Why did you come here, then?”
No one had asked me that—not straight out like she did, demanding.
“It’s… complicated.”
“I think I can keep up,” she pressed.
I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting her gaze. Her long, dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.
“My mother got remarried,” I said.
“That doesn’t sound so complex,” she disagreed, but her tone was suddenly softer. “When did that happen?”
“Last September.” I couldn’t keep the sadness out of my voice. “And you don’t like him,” Edythe guessed, her voice still kind. “No, Phil is fine. A little young, maybe, but he’s a good guy.” “Why didn’t you stay with them?”
I couldn’t understand her interest, but she continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life’s story was somehow vitally important.
“Phil travels most of the time. He plays ball for a living.” I half-smiled. “Have I heard of him?” she asked, smiling in response, just enough for a
hint of the dimples to show.
“Probably not. He doesn’t play well. Just minor league. He moves around a lot.”
“And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him.” She said it as an assumption again, not a question.
My hunched shoulders straightened automatically. “No, she didn’t. I sent myself.”
Her eyebrows pushed together. “I don’t understand,” she admitted, and she seemed more frustrated by that fact than she should be.
I sighed. Why was I explaining this to her? She stared at me, waiting. “She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her
unhappy… so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie.” My voice was glum by the time I finished.
“But now you’re unhappy,” she pointed out. “And?” I challenged.
“That doesn’t seem fair.” She shrugged, but her eyes were still intense. I laughed once. “Haven’t you heard? Life isn’t fair.”
“I believe I have heard that somewhere before,” she agreed dryly.
“So that’s it,” I insisted, wondering why she was still staring at me that way.
Her head tilted to the side, and her gold eyes seemed to laser right through the surface of my skin. “You put on a good show,” she said slowly. “But I’d be willing to bet that you’re suffering more than you let anyone see.”
I shrugged. “I repeat… And?”
“I don’t entirely understand you, that’s all.” I frowned. “Why would you want to?”
“That’s a very good question,” she murmured, so quietly that I wondered if she was talking to herself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.
It was awkward, just looking at each other, but she didn’t look away. I wanted to keep staring at her face, but I was afraid she was wondering what was wrong with me for staring so much, so finally I turned toward the blackboard. She sighed.
I glanced back, and she was still looking at me, but her expression was different… a little frustrated, or irritated.
“I’m sorry,” I said quickly. “Did I… Am I annoying you?”
She shook her head and smiled with half her mouth so that one dimple popped out. “No, if anything, I’m annoyed with myself.”
“Why?”
She cocked her head to the side. “Reading people… it usually comes very easily to me. But I can’t—I guess I don’t know quite what to make of you. Is that funny?”
I flattened out my grin. “More… unexpected. My mom always calls me her open book. According to her, you can all but read my thoughts printing out across my forehead.”
Her smile vanished and she half-glared into my eyes, not angry like before, just intense. As if she was trying hard to read that printout my mom had seen. Then, switching gears just as abruptly, she was smiling again.
“I suppose I’ve gotten overconfident.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. “Um, sorry?”
She laughed, and the sound was like music, though I couldn’t think of the instrument to compare it to. Her teeth were perfect—no surprise there— and blinding white.
Mrs. Banner called the class to order then, and I was relieved to give her my attention. It was a little too intense, making small talk with Edythe. I felt
dizzy in a strange way. Had I really just detailed my boring life to this bizarre, beautiful girl who might or might not hate me? She’d seemed almost too interested in what I had to say, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that she was leaning away from me again, her hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.
I tried to focus as Mrs. Banner went through the lab with transparencies on the overhead projector, but my thoughts were far away from the lecture.
When the bell rang, Edythe rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as she had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after her with my jaw hanging open.
McKayla got to my table almost as quickly.
“That was awful,” she said. “They all looked exactly the same. You’re lucky you had Edythe for a partner.”
“Yeah, she seemed to know her way around an onion root.”
“She was friendly enough today,” McKayla commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. She didn’t sound happy about it.
I tried to make my voice casual. “I wonder what was with her last Monday.”
I couldn’t concentrate on McKayla’s chatter as we walked to Gym, and
P.E. didn’t do much to hold my interest, either. McKayla was on my team today. She helpfully covered my position as well as her own, so I only had to pay attention when it was my turn to serve; my team knew to get out of the way when I was up.
The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was still pretty damp when I got in the truck. I turned the heat up as high as it could go, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine.
As I looked around me to make sure the way was clear, I noticed the still, white figure. Edythe Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. The smile was gone, but at least so was the murder—for now, anyway. I looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my rush. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again. This time I made it. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but I could see enough in my peripheral vision to know that she was laughing.
