“That was for Tyler’s sake, not mine. I had to give him his chance.” And then I laughed. I couldn’t help it, thinking of her expression yesterday.
“You—” she gasped, and then broke off, appearing to be too furious to finish. There it was—that same expression. I choked back another laugh. She was mad enough already.
“And I’m not pretending you don’t exist,” I finished. It was right to keep this casual, teasing. She would not understand if I let her see how I really felt. I would frighten her. I had to keep my feelings in check, keep things light…
“So you are trying to irritate me to death? Since Tyler’s van didn’t do the job?”
A quick flash of anger pulsed through me. Could she honestly believe that?
It was irrational for me to be so affronted—she didn’t know of the transformation that had happened in the night. But I was angry all the same.
“Bella, you are utterly absurd,” I snapped.
Her face flushed, and she turned her back on me. She began to walk away.
Remorse. I had no right to my anger.
“Wait,” I pleaded.
She did not stop, so I followed after her.
“I’m sorry, that was rude. I’m not saying it isn’t true” —it was absurd to imagine that I wanted her harmed in any way— “but it was rude to say it, anyway.”
“Why won’t you leave me alone?”
Believe me, I wanted to say. I’ve tried.
Oh, and also, I’m wretchedly in love with you.
Keep it light. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
113
“I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me.” A course of action had just occurred to me, and I laughed.
“Do you have a multiple personality disorder?” she asked.
It must seem that way. My mood was erratic, so many new emotions coursing through me.
“You’re doing it again,” I pointed out.
She sighed. “Fine then. What do you want to ask?”
“I was wondering if, a week from Saturday…” I watched the shock cross her face, and choked back another laugh. “You know, the day of the spring dance—”
She cut me off, finally returning her eyes to mine. “Are you trying to befunny ?”
Yes. “Will you let me finish?”
She waited in silence, her teeth pressing into her soft lower lip.
That sight distracted me for a second. Strange, unfamiliar reactions stirred deep in my forgotten human core. I tried to shake them off so I could play my role.
“I heard you say that you were going to Seattle that day, and I was wondering if you wanted a ride?” I offered. I’d realized that, better than just questioning her about her plans, I might share them.
She stared at me blankly. “What?”
“Do you want a ride to Seattle?” Alone in a car with her—my throat burned at the thought. I took a deep breath. Get used to it.
“With who?” she asked, her eyes wide and bewildered again.
“Myself, obviously,” I said slowly.
“Why?”
Was it really such as shock that I would want her company? She must have applied the worst possible meaning to my past behavior.
“Well,” I said as casually as possible, “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.” It seemed safer to tease her than to allow myself to be serious.
“My truck works just fine, thank you very much for your concern,” she said in the same surprised voice. She started walking again. I kept pace with her.
She hadn’t really said no, so I pressed that advantage. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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Would she say no? What would I do if she did?
“But can your truck make it there on one tank of gas?”
“I don’t see how that is any of your business,” she grumbled.
That still wasn’t a no. And her heart was beating faster again, her breath coming more quickly.
“The wasting of finite resources is everyone’s business.”
“Honestly, Edward, I can’t keep up with you. I thought you didn’t want to be my friend.”
A thrill shot through me when she spoke my name.
How to keep it light and yet be honest at the same time? Well, it was more important to be honest. Especially on this point.
“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,” she said sarcastically.
She paused, under the edge of the cafeteria’s roof, and met my gaze again. Her heartbeats stuttered. Was she afraid?
I chose my words carefully. No, I could not leave her, but maybe she would be smart enough to leave me, before it was too late.
“It would be more…prudent for you not to be my friend.” Staring into the melted chocolate depths of her eyes, I lost my hold on light. “But I’m tired of trying to stay away from you, Bella.” The words burned with much too much fervor.
Her breathing stopped and, in the second it took for it to restart, that worried me. How much had I scared her? Well, I would find out.
“Will you go to Seattle with me?” I demanded, point blank.
She nodded, her heart drumming loudly.
Yes. She’d said yes to me.
And then my conscious smote me. What would this cost her?
“You really should stay away from me,” I warned her. Did she hear me? Would she escape the future I was threatening her with? Couldn’t I do anything to save her from me?
Keep it light, I shouted at myself. “I’ll see you in class.”
I had to concentrate to stop myself from running as I fled. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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116
6. Blood Type I followed her all day through other people’s eyes, barely aware of my own surroundings.
Not Mike Newton’s eyes, because I couldn’t stand any more of his offensive fantasies, and not Jessica Stanley’s, because her resentment toward Bella made me angry in a way that was not safe for the petty girl. Angela Weber was a good choice when her eyes were available; she was kind—her head was an easy place to be. And then sometimes it was the teachers who provided the best view.
I was surprised, watching her stumble through the day—tripping over cracks in the sidewalk, stray books, and, most often, her own feet—that the people I eavesdropped on thought of Bella as clumsy.
I considered that. It was true that she often had trouble staying upright. I remembered her stumbling into the desk that first day, sliding around on the ice before the accident, falling over the low lip of the doorframe yesterday… How odd, they were right. She was clumsy.
I didn’t know why this was so funny to me, but I laughed out loud as I walked from American History to English and several people shot me wary looks. How had I never noticed this before? Perhaps because there was something very graceful about her in stillness, the way she held her head, the arch of her neck…
There was nothing graceful about her now. Mr. Varner watched as she caught the toe of her boot on the carpet and literally fell into her chair.
I laughed again.
The time moved with incredible sluggishness while I waited for my chance to see her with my own eyes. Finally, the bell rang. I strode quickly to the cafeteria to secure my spot. I was one of the first there. I chose a table that was usually empty, and was sure to remain that way with me seated here.
When my family entered and saw me sitting alone in a new place, they were not surprised. Alice must have warned them.
Rosalie stalked past me without a glance. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
117
Idiot.
Rosalie and I had never had an easy relationship—I’d offended her the very first time she’d heard me speak, and it was downhill from there—but it seemed like she was even more illtempered than usual the last few days. I sighed. Rosalie made everything about herself.
Jasper gave me half a smile as he walked by.
Good luck, he thought doubtfully.
Emmett rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Lost his mind, poor kid.
Alice was beaming, her teeth shining too brightly.
Can I talk to Bella now??
“Keep out of it,” I said under my breath.
Her face fell, and then brightened again.
Fine. Be stubborn. It’s only a matter of time.
I sighed again.
Don’t forget about today’s biology lab, she reminded me.
I nodded. No, I hadn’t forgotten that.
While I waited for Bella to arrive, I followed her in the eyes of the freshman who was walking behind Jessica on his way to the cafeteria. Jessica was babbling about the upcoming dance, but Bella said nothing in response. Not that Jessica gave her much of a chance.
The moment Bella walked through the door, her eyes flashed to the table where my siblings sat. She stared for a moment, and then her forehead crumpled and her eyes dropped to the floor. She hadn’t noticed me here.
She looked so…sad. I felt a powerful urge to get up and go to her side, to comfort her somehow, only I didn’t know what she would find comforting. I had no idea what made her look that way. Jessica continued to jabber about the dance. Was Bella sad that she was going to miss it? That didn’t seem likely…
But that could be remedied, if she wished.
She bought a drink for her lunch and nothing else. Was that right? Didn’t she need more nutrition than that? I’d never paid much attention to a human’s diet before. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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Humans were quite exasperatingly fragile! There were a million different things to worry about…
“Edward Cullen is staring at you again,” I heard Jessica say. “I wonder why he’s sitting alone today?”
I was grateful to Jessica—though she was even more resentful now—because Bella’s head snapped up and her eyes searched until they met mine.
There was no trace of sadness in her face now. I let myself hope that she’d been sad because she’d thought I’d left school early, and that hope made me smile.
I motioned with my finger for her to join me. She looked so startled by this that I wanted to tease her again.
So I winked, and her mouth fell open.
“Does he mean you?” Jessica asked rudely.
“Maybe he needs help with his Biology homework,” she said in a low, uncertain voice. “Um, I’d better go see what he wants.”
This was another yes.
She stumbled twice on her way to my table, though there was nothing in her way but perfectly even linoleum. Seriously, how had I missed this before? I’d been paying more attention to her silent thoughts, I supposed… What else had I missed?
Keep it honest, keep it light, I chanted to myself.
She stopped behind the chair across from me, hesitating. I inhaled deeply, through my nose this time rather than my mouth.
Feel the burn, I thought dryly.
“Why don’t you sit with me today?” I asked her.
She pulled the chair out and sat, staring at me the whole while. She seemed nervous, but her physical acceptance was yet another yes.
I waited for her to speak.
It took a moment, but, finally, she said, “This is different.”
“Well…” I hesitated. “I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly.” （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
119
What had made me say that? I supposed it was honest, at least. And perhaps she’d hear the unsubtle warning my words implied. Maybe she would realize that she should get up and walk away as quickly as possible…
She didn’t get up. She stared at me, waiting, as if I’d left my sentence unfinished.
“You know I don’t have any idea what you mean,” she said when I didn’t continue.
That was a relief. I smiled.
“I know.”
It was hard to ignore the thoughts screaming at me from behind her back—and I wanted to change the subject anyway.
“I think your friends are angry at me for stealing you.”
This did not appear to concern her. “They’ll survive.”
“I may not give you back, though.” I didn’t even know if I was trying to be honest now, or just trying to tease her again. Being near her made it hard to make sense of my own thoughts.
Bella swallowed loudly.
I laughed at her expression. “You look worried.” It really shouldn’t be funny… She should worry.
“No.” She was a bad liar; it didn’t help that her voice broke. “Surprised, actually… What brought this on?”
“I told you,” I reminded her. “I got tired of trying to stay away from you. So I’m giving up.” I held my smile in place with a bit of effort. This wasn’t working at all— trying to be honest and casual at the same time.
“Giving up?” she repeated, baffled.
“Yes—giving up trying to be good.” And, apparently, giving up trying to be casual. “I’m just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may.” That was honest enough. Let her see my selfishness. Let that warn her, too.
“You lost me again.”
I was selfish enough to be glad that this was the case. “I always say too much when I’m talking to you—that’s one of the problems.”
A rather insignificant problem, compared to the rest. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
120
“Don’t worry,” she reassured me. “I don’t understand any of it.”
Good. Then she’d stay. “I’m counting on that.”
“So, in plain English, are we friends now?”
I pondered that for a second. “Friends…” I repeated. I didn’t like the sound of that. It wasn’t enough.
“Or not,” she mumbled, looking embarrassed.
Did she think I didn’t like her that much?
I smiled. “Well, we can try, I suppose. But I’m warning you now that I’m not a good friend for you.”
I waited for her response, torn in two—wishing she would finally hear and understand, thinking I might die if she did. How melodramatic. I was turning into such a human.
Her heart beat faster. “You say that a lot.”
“Yes, because you’re not listening to me,” I said, too intense again. “I’m still waiting for you to believe it. If you’re smart, you’ll avoid me.”
Ah, but would I allow her to do that, if she tried?
Her eyes tightened. “I think you’ve made your opinion on the subject of my intellect clear, too.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what she meant, but I smiled in apology, guessing that I must have offended her accidentally.
“So,” she said slowly. “As long as I’m being…not smart, we’ll try to be friends?”
“That sounds about right.”
She looked down, staring intently at the lemonade bottle in her hands.
The old curiosity tormented me.
“What are you thinking?” I asked—it was a relief to say the words out loud at last.
She met my gaze, and her breathing sped while her cheeks flushed faint pink. I inhaled, tasting that in the air.
“I’m trying to figure out what you are.”
I held the smile on my face, locking my features that way, while panic twisted through my body. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
121
Of course she was wondering that. She wasn’t stupid. I couldn’t hope for her to be oblivious to something so obvious.
“Are you having any luck with that?” I asked as lightly as I could manage.
“Not too much,” she admitted.
I chuckled in sudden relief. “What are your theories?”
They couldn’t be worse than the truth, no matter what she’d come up with.
Her cheeks turned brighter red, and she said nothing. I could feel the warmth of her blush in the air.
I tried using my persuasive tone on her. It worked well on normal humans.
“Won’t you tell me?” I smiled encouragingly.
She shook her head. “Too embarrassing.”
Ugh. Not knowing was worse than anything else. Why would her speculations embarrass her? I couldn’t stand not knowing.
“That’s really frustrating, you know.”
My complaint sparked something in her. Her eyes flashed and her words flowed more swiftly than usual.
“No, I can’t imagine why that would be frustrating at all—just because someone refuses to tell you what they’re thinking, even if all the while they’re making cryptic little remarks specifically designed to keep you up at night wondering what they could possibly mean…now, why would that be frustrating?”
I frowned at her, upset to realize that she was right. I wasn’t being fair.
She went on. “Or better, say that person also did a wide range of bizarre things— from saving your life under impossible circumstances one day to treating you like a pariah the next, and he never explained any of that either, even after he promised. That, also, would be very nonfrustrating.”
It was the longest speech I’d ever heard her make, and it gave me a new quality for my list.
“You’ve got a bit of a temper, don’t you?”
“I don’t like double standards.”
She was completely justified in her irritation, of course. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
122
I stared at Bella, wondering how I could possibly do anything right by her, until the silent shouting in Mike Newton’s head distracted me.
He was so irate that it made me chuckle.
“What?” she demanded.
“Your boyfriend seems to think I’m being unpleasant to you—he’s debating whether or not to come break up our fight.” I would love to see him try. I laughed again.
“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” she said in an icy voice. “But I’m sure you’re wrong anyway.”
I very much enjoyed the way she disowned him with her dismissive sentence.
“I’m not. I told you, most people are easy to read.”
“Except me, of course.”
“Yes. Except for you.” Did she have to be the exception to everything? Wouldn’t it have been more fair—considering everything else I had to deal with now—if I could have at least heard something from her head? Was that so much to ask? “I wonder why that is?”
I stared into her eyes, trying again…
She looked away. She opened her lemonade and took a quick drink, her eyes on the table.
“Aren’t you hungry?” I asked.
“No.” She eyed the empty table between us. “You?”
“No, I’m not hungry,” I said. I was definitely not that.
She stared at the table her lips pursed. I waited.
“Could you do me a favor?” she asked, suddenly meeting my gaze again.
What would she want from me? Would she ask for the truth that I wasn’t allowed to tell her—the truth I didn’t want her to ever, ever know?
“That depends on what you want.”
“It’s not much,” she promised.
I waited, curious again.
“I just wondered…” she said slowly, staring at the lemonade bottle, tracing its lip with her littlest finger. “If you could warn me beforehand the next time you decide to ignore me for my own good? Just so I’m prepared.” （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
123
She wanted a warning? Then being ignored by me must be a bad thing… I smiled.
“That sounds fair,” I agreed.
“Thanks,” she said, looking up. Her face was so relieved that I wanted to laugh with my own relief.
“Then can I have one in return?” I asked hopefully.
“One,” she allowed.
“Tell me one theory.”
She flushed. “Not that one.”
“You didn’t qualify, you just promised one answer,” I argued.
“And you’ve broken promises yourself,” she argued back.
She had me there.
“Just one theory—I won’t laugh.”
“Yes, you will.” She seemed very sure of that, though I couldn’t imagine anything that would be funny about it.
I gave persuasion another try. I stared deep into her eyes—an easy thing to do, with eyes so deep—and whispered, “Please?”
She blinked, and her face went blank.
Well, that wasn’t exactly the reaction I’d been going for.
“Er, what?” she asked. She looked dizzy. What was wrong with her?
But I wasn’t giving up yet.
“Please tell me just one little theory,” I pleaded in my soft, nonscary voice, holding her eyes in mine.
To my surprise and satisfaction, it finally worked.
“Um, well, bitten by a radioactive spider?”
Comic books? No wonder she thought I would laugh.
“That’s not very creative,” I chided her, trying to hide my fresh relief.
“I’m sorry, that’s all I’ve got,” she said, offended.
This relieved me even more. I was able to tease her again.
“You’re not even close.”
“No spiders?” （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
124
“Nope.”
“And no radioactivity?”
“None.”
“Dang,” she sighed.
“Kryptonite doesn’t bother me either,” I said quickly—before she could ask about bites—and then I had to laugh, because she thought I was a superhero.
“You’re not supposed to laugh, remember?”
I pressed my lips together.
“I’ll figure it out eventually,” she promised.
And when she did, she would run.
“I wish you wouldn’t try,” I said, all teasing gone.
“Because…？”
I owed her honesty. Still, I tried to smile, to make my words sound less threatening. “What if I’m not a superhero? What if I’m the bad guy?”
Her eyes widened by a fraction and her lips fell slightly apart. “Oh,” she said. And then, after another second, “I see.”
She’d finally heard me.
“Do you?” I asked, working to conceal my agony.
“You’re dangerous?” she guessed. Her breathing hiked, and her heart raced.
I couldn’t answer her. Was this my last moment with her? Would she run now? Could I be allowed to tell her that I loved her before she left? Or would that frighten her more?
“But not bad,” she whispered, shaking her head, no fear in her clear eyes. “No, I don’t believe that you’re bad.”
“You’re wrong,” I breathed.
Of course I was bad. Wasn’t I rejoicing now, that she thought better of me than I deserved? If I were a good person, I would have stayed away from her.
I stretched my hand across the table, reaching for the lid to her lemonade bottle as an excuse. She did not flinch away from my suddenly closer hand. She really was not afraid of me. Not yet.
I spun the lid like a top, watching it instead of her. My thoughts were in a snarl. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
125
Run, Bella, run. I couldn’t make myself say the words out loud.
She jumped to her feet. “We’re going to be late,” she said, just as I’d started to worry that she’d somehow heard my silent warning.
“I’m not going to class.”
“Why not?”
Because I don’t want to kill you. “It’s healthy to ditch class now and then.”
To be precise, it was healthier for the humans if the vampires ditched on days when human blood would be spilt. Mr. Banner was blood typing today. Alice had already ditched her morning class.
“Well, I’m going,” she said. This didn’t surprise me. She was responsible—she always did the right thing.
She was my opposite.
“I’ll see you later then,” I said, trying for casual again, staring down at the whirling lid. And, by the way, I adore you…in frightening, dangerous ways.
She hesitated, and I hoped for a moment that she would stay with me after all. But the bell rang and she hurried away.
I waited until she was gone, and then I put the lid in my pocket—a souvenir of this most consequential conversation—and walked through the rain to my car.
I put on my favorite calming CD—the same one I’d listened to that first day—but I wasn’t hearing Debussy’s notes for long. Other notes were running through my head, a fragment of a tune that pleased and intrigued me. I turned down the stereo and listened to the music in my head, playing with the fragment until it evolved into a fuller harmony. Instinctively, my fingers moved in the air over imaginary piano keys.
The new composition was really coming along when my attention was caught by a wave of mental anguish.
I looked toward the distress.
Is she going to pass out? What do I do? Mike panicked.
A hundred yards away, Mike Newton was lowering Bella’s limp body to the sidewalk. She slumped unresponsively against the wet concrete, her eyes closed, her skin chalky as a corpse.
I almost took the door off the car. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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“Bella?” I shouted.
There was no change in her lifeless face when I yelled her name.
My whole body went colder than ice.
I was aware of Mike’s aggravated surprise as I sifted furiously through his thoughts. He was only thinking of his anger toward me, so I didn’t know what was wrong with Bella. If he’d done something to harm her, I would annihilate him.
“What’s wrong—is she hurt?” I demanded, trying to focus his thoughts. It was maddening to have to walk at a human pace. I should not have called attention to my approach.
Then I could hear her heart beating and her even breath. As I watched, she squeezed her eyes more tightly shut. That eased some of my panic.
I saw a flicker of memories in Mike’s head, a splash of images from the Biology room. Bella’s head on our table, her fair skin turning green. Drops of red against the white cards…
Blood typing.
I stopped where I was, holding my breath. Her scent was one thing, her flowing blood was another altogether.
“I think she’s fainted,” Mike said, anxious and resentful at the same time. “I don’t know what happened, she didn’t even stick her finger.”
Relief washed through me, and I breathed again, tasting the air. Ah, I could smell the tiny flow of Mike Newton’s puncture wound. Once, that might have appealed to me.
I knelt beside her while Mike hovered next to me, furious at my intervention.
“Bella. Can you hear me?”
“No,” she moaned. “Go away.”
The relief was so exquisite that I laughed. She was fine.
“I was taking her to the nurse,” Mike said. “But she wouldn’t go any farther.”
“I’ll take her. You can go back to class,” I said dismissively.
Mike’s teeth clenched together. “No. I’m supposed to do it.”
I wasn’t going to stand around arguing with the wretch.
Thrilled and terrified, halfgrateful to and halfaggrieved by the predicament which made touching her a necessity, I gently lifted Bella from the sidewalk and held her （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
127 in my arms, touching only her clothes, keeping as much distance between our bodies as possible. I was striding forward in the same movement, in a hurry to have her safe— farther away from me, in other words.
Her eyes popped open, astonished.
“Put me down,” she ordered in a weak voice—embarrassed again, I guessed from her expression. She didn’t like to show weakness.
I barely heard Mike’s shouted protest behind us.
“You look awful,” I told her, grinning because there was nothing wrong with her but a light head and a weak stomach.
