I ran my hand gently up the scales, testing the pitch. The tuning was still perfect.
Upstairs, Esme paused what she was doing and cocked her head to the side.
I began the first line of the tune that had suggested itself to me in the car today, pleased that it sounded even better than I’d imagined.
Edward is playing again, Esme thought joyously, a smile breaking across her face. She got up from her desk, and flitted silently to the head of the stairs.
I added a harmonizing line, letting the central melody weave through it.
Esme sighed with contentment, sat down on the top step, and leaned her head against the banister. A new song. It’s been so long. What a lovely tune. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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I let the melody lead in a new direction, following it with the bass line.
Edward is composing again? Rosalie thought, and her teeth clenched together in fierce resentment.
In that moment, she slipped, and I could read all her underlying outrage. I saw why she was in such a poor temper with me. Why killing Isabella Swan had not bothered her conscience at all.
With Rosalie, it was always about vanity.
The music came to an abrupt halt, and I laughed before I could help myself, a sharp bark of amusement that broke off quickly as I threw my hand over my mouth.
Rosalie turned to glare at me, her eyes sparking with chagrined fury.
Emmett and Jasper turned to stare, too, and I heard Esme’s confusion. Esme was downstairs in a flash, pausing to glance between Rosalie and me.
“Don’t stop, Edward,” Esme encouraged after a strained moment.
I started playing again, turning my back on Rosalie while trying very hard to control the grin stretching across my face. She got to her feet and stalked out of the room, more angry than embarrassed. But certainly quite embarrassed.
If you say anything I will hunt you like a dog.
I smothered another laugh.
“What’s wrong, Rose?” Emmett called after her. Rosalie didn’t turn. She continued, back ramrod straight, to the garage and then squirmed under her car as if she could bury herself there.
“What’s that about?” Emmett asked me.
“I don’t have the faintest idea,” I lied.
Emmett grumbled, frustrated.
“Keep playing,” Esme urged. My hands had paused again.
I did as she asked, and she came to stand behind me, putting her hands on my shoulders.
The song was compelling, but incomplete. I toyed with a bridge, but it didn’t seem right somehow.
“It’s charming. Does it have a name?” Esme asked.
“Not yet.” （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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“Is there a story to it?” she asked, a smile in her voice. This gave her very great pleasure, and I felt guilty for having neglected my music for so long. It had been selfish.
“It’s…a lullaby, I suppose.” I got the bridge right then. It led easily to the next movement, taking on a life of its own.
“A lullaby,” she repeated to herself.
There was a story to this melody, and once I saw that, the pieces fell into place effortlessly. The story was a sleeping girl in a narrow bed, dark hair thick and wild and twisted like seaweed across the pillow…
Alice left Jasper to his own devices and came to sit next to me on the bench. In her trilling, wind chime voice, she sketched out a wordless descant two octaves above the melody.
“I like it,” I murmured. “But how about this?”
I added her line to the harmony—my hands were flying across the keys now to work all the pieces together—modifying it a bit, taking it in a new direction…
She caught the mood, and sung along.
“Yes. Perfect,” I said.
Esme squeezed my shoulder.
But I could see the end now, with Alice’s voice rising above the tune and taking it to another place. I could see how the song must end, because the sleeping girl was perfect just the way she was, and any change at all would be wrong, a sadness. The song drifted toward that realization, slower and lower now. Alice’s voice lowered, too, and became solemn, a tone that belonged under the echoing arches of a candlelit cathedral.
I played the last note, and then bowed my head over the keys.
Esme stroked my hair. It’s going to be fine, Edward. This is going to work out fo r the best. You deserve happiness, my son. Fate owes you that.
“Thanks,” I whispered, wishing I could believe it.
Love doesn’t always come in convenient packages.
I laughed once without humor.
You, out of everyone on this planet, are perhaps best equipped to deal with such a difficult quandary. You are the best and the brightest of us all.
I sighed. Every mother thought the same of her son. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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Esme was still full of joy that my heart had finally been touched after all this time, no matter the potential for tragedy. She’d thought I would always be alone…
She’ll have to love you back, she thought suddenly, catching me by surprise with the direction of her thoughts. If she’s a bright girl. She smiled. But I can’t imagine anyone being so slow they wouldn’t see the catch you are.
“Stop it, Mom, you’re making me blush,” I teased. Her words, though improbable, did cheer me.
Alice laughed and picked out the top hand of “Heart and Soul.” I grinned and completed the simple harmony with her. Then I favored her with a performance of “Chopsticks.”
She giggled, then sighed. “So I wish you’d tell me what you were laughing at Rose about,” Alice said. “But I can see that you won’t.”
“Nope.”
She flicked my ear with her finger.
“Be nice, Alice,” Esme chided. “Edward is being a gentleman.”
“But I want to know.”
I laughed at the whining tone she put on. Then I said, “Here, Esme,” and began playing her favorite song, an unnamed tribute to the love I’d watched between her and Carlisle for so many years.
“Thank you, dear.” She squeezed my shoulder again.
I didn’t have to concentrate to play the familiar piece. Instead I thought of Rosalie, still figuratively writhing in mortification in the garage, and I grinned to myself.
Having just discovered the potency of jealousy for myself, I had a small amount of pity for her. It was a wretched way to feel. Of course, her jealously was a thousand times more petty than mine. Quite the fox in the manger scenario.
I wondered how Rosalie’s life and personality would have been different if she had not always been the most beautiful. Would she have been a happier person if beauty hadn’t at all times been her strongest selling point? Less egocentric? More compassionate? Well, I supposed it was useless to wonder, because the past was done, and she always had been the most beautiful. Even when human, she had ever lived in the spotlight of her own loveliness. Not that she’d minded. The opposite—she’d loved （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
147 admiration above almost anything else. That hadn’t changed with the loss of her mortality.
It was no surprise then, taking this need as a given, that she’d been offended when I had not, from the beginning, worshiped her beauty the way she expected all males to worship. Not that she’d wanted me in any way—far from it. But it had aggravated her that I did not want her, despite that. She was used to being wanted.
It was different with Jasper and Carlisle—they were already both in love. I was completely unattached, and yet still remained obstinately unmoved.
I’d thought that old resentment was buried. That she was long passed it.
And she had been…until the day that I finally found someone whose beauty touched me the way hers had not.
Rosalie had relied on the belief that if I did not find her beauty worth worshiping, then certainly there was no beauty on earth that would reach me. She’d been furious since the moment I’d saved Bella’s life, guessing, with her shrewd female intuition, the interest that I was all but unconscious of myself.
Rosalie was mortally offended that I found some insignificant human girl more appealing than her.
I suppressed the urge to laugh again.
It bothered me some, though, the way she saw Bella. Rosalie actually thought the girl wasplain . How could she believe that? It seemed incomprehensible to me. A product of the jealousy, no doubt.
“Oh!” Alice said abruptly. “Jasper, guess what?”
I saw what she’d just seen, and my hands froze on the keys.
“What, Alice?” Jasper asked.
“Peter and Charlotte are coming to visit next week! They’re going to be in the neighborhood, isn’t that nice?”
“What’s wrong, Edward?” Esme asked, feeling the tension in my shoulders.
“Peter and Charlotte are coming to Forks?” I hissed at Alice
She rolled her eyes at me. “Calm down, Edward. It’s not their first visit.”
My teeth clenched together. It was their first visit since Bella had arrived, and her sweet blood didn’t appeal just to me. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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Alice frowned at my expression. “They never hunt here. You know that.”
But Jasper’s brother of sorts and the little vampire he loved were not like us; they hunted the usual way. They could not be trusted around Bella.
“When?” I demanded.
She pursed her lips unhappily, but told me what I needed to know. Monday morning. No one is going to hurt Bella.
“No,” I agreed, and then turned away from her. “You ready, Emmett?”
“I thought we were leaving in the morning?”
“We’re coming back by midnight Sunday. I guess it’s up to you when you want to leave.”
“Okay, fine. Let me say goodbye to Rose first.”
“Sure.” With the mood Rosalie was in, it would be a short goodbye.
You really have lost it, Edward, he thought as he headed toward the back door.
“I suppose I have.”
“Play the new song for me, one more time,” Esme asked.
“If you’d like that,” I agreed, though I was a little hesitant to follow the tune to its unavoidable end—the end that had set me aching in unfamiliar ways. I thought for a moment, and then pulled the bottle cap from my pocket and set it on the empty music stand. That helped a bit—my little memento of her yes .
I nodded to myself, and started playing.
Esme and Alice exchanged a glance, but neither one asked. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you not to play with your food?” I called to Emmett.
“Oh, hey Edward!” he shouted back, grinning and waving at me. The bear took advantage of his distraction to rake its heavy paw across Emmett’s chest. The sharp claws shredded through his shirt, and squealed across his skin.
The bear bellowed at the highpitched noise.
Aw hell, Rose gave me this shirt!
Emmett roared back at the enraged animal. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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I sighed and sat down on a convenient boulder. This might take awhile.
But Emmett was almost done. He let the bear try to take his head off with another swipe of the paw, laughing as the blow bounced off and sent the bear staggering back. The bear roared and Emmett roared again through his laughter. Then he launched himself at the animal, who stood a head taller than him on its hind legs, and their bodies fell to the ground tangled up together, taking a mature spruce tree down with them. The bear’s growls cut off with a gurgle.
A few minutes later, Emmett jogged over to where I was waiting for him. His shirt was destroyed, torn and bloodied, sticky with sap and covered in fur. His dark curly hair wasn’t in much better shape. He had a huge grin on his face.
“That was a strong one. I could almost feel it when he clawed me.”
“You’re such a child, Emmett.”
He eyed my smooth, clean white buttondown. “Weren’t you able to track down that mountain lion, then?”
“Of course I was. I just don’t eat like a savage.”
Emmett laughed his booming laugh. “I wish they were stronger. It would be more fun.”
“No one said you had to fight your food.”
“Yeah, but who else am I going to fight with? You and Alice cheat, Rose never wants to get her hair messed up, and Esme gets mad if Jasper and I really go at it.”
“Life is hard all around, isn’t it?”
Emmett grinned at me, shifting his weight a bit so that he was suddenly poised to take a charge.
“C’mon Edward. Just turn it off for one minute and fight fair.”
“It doesn’t turn off,” I reminded him.
“Wonder what that human girl does to keep you out?” Emmett mused. “Maybe she could give me some pointers.”
My good humor vanished. “Stay away from her,” I growled through my teeth.
“Touchy, touchy.”
I sighed. Emmett came to sit beside me on the rock. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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“Sorry. I know you’re going through a tough spot. I really am trying to not be too much of an insensitive jerk, but, since that’s sort of my natural state…”
He waited for me to laugh at his joke, and then made a face.
So serious all the time. What’s bugging you now?
“Thinking about her. Well, worrying, really.”
“What’s there to worry about? You are here.” He laughed loudly.
I ignored his joke again, but answered his question. “Have you ever thought about how fragile they all are? How many bad things there are that can happen to a mortal?”
“Not really. I guess I see what you mean, though. I wasn’t much match for a bear that first time around, was I?”
“Bears,” I muttered, adding a new fear to the pile. “That would be just her luck, wouldn’t it? Stray bear in town. Of course it would head straight for Bella.”
Emmett chuckled. “You sound like a crazy person, do you know that?”
“Just imagine for one minute that Rosalie was human, Emmett. And she could run into a bear…or get hit by a car…or lightening…or fall down stairs…or get sick—get a disease!” The words burst from me stormily. It was a relief to let them out—they’d been festering inside me all weekend. “Fires and earthquakes and tornados! Ugh! When’s the last time you watched the news? Have you seen the kinds of things that happen to them? Burglaries and homicides…” My teeth clenched together, and I was abruptly so infuriated by the idea of another human hurting her that I couldn’t breathe.
“Whoa, whoa! Hold up, there, kid. She lives in Forks, remember? So she gets rained on.” He shrugged.
“I think she has some serious bad luck, Emmett, I really do. Look at the evidence. Of all the places in the world she could go, she ends up in a town where vampires make up a significant portion of the population.”
“Yeah, but we’re vegetarians. So isn’t that good luck, not bad?”
“With the way she smells? Definitely bad. And then, more bad luck, the way she smells to me.” I glowered at my hands, hating them again.
“Except that you have more selfcontrol than just about anyone but Carlisle. Good luck again.” （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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“The van?”
“That was just an accident.”
“You should have seen it coming for her, Em, again and again. I swear, it was like she had some kind of magnetic pull.”
“But you were there. That was good luck.”
“Was it? Isn’t this the worst luck any human could ever possibly have—to have a vampire fall in love with them?”
Emmett considered that quietly for a moment. He pictured the girl in his head, and found the image uninteresting. Honestly, I can’t really see the draw.
“Well, I can’t really see Rosalie’s allure, either,” I said rudely. “Honestly, she seems like more work than any pretty face is worth.”
Emmett chuckled. “I don’t suppose you’d tell me…”
“I don’t know what her problem is, Emmett,” I lied with a sudden, wide grin.
I saw his intent in time to brace myself. He tried to shove me off the rock, and there was a loud cracking sound as a fissure opened in the stone between us.
“Cheater,” he muttered.
I waited for him to try another time, but his thoughts took a different direction. He was picturing Bella’s face again, but imagining it whiter, imagining her eyes bright red…
“No,” I said, my voice strangled.
“It solves your worries about mortality, doesn’t it? And then you wouldn’t want to kill her, either. Isn’t that the best way?”
“For me? Or for her?”
“For you,” he answered easily. His tone added the of course.
I laughed humorlessly. “Wrong answer.”
“I didn’t mind so much,” he reminded me.
“Rosalie did.”
He sighed. We both knew that Rosalie would do anything, give up anything, if it meant she could be human again. Even Emmett.
“Yeah, Rose did,” he acquiesced quietly. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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“I can’t… I shouldn’t… I’m not going to ruin Bella’s life. Wouldn’t you feel the same, if it were Rosalie?”
Emmett thought about that for a moment.
You really…love her?
“I can’t even describe it, Emmett. All of a sudden, this girl’s the whole world to me. I don’t see the point of the rest of the world without her anymore.”
But you won’t change her? She won’t last forever, Edward.
“I know that,” I groaned.
And, as you’ve pointed out, she’s sort of breakable.
“Trust me—that I know, too.”
Emmett was not a tactful person, and delicate discussions were not his forte. He struggled now, wanting very much not to be offensive.
Can you even touch her? I mean, if you love her…wouldn’t you want to, well touch her…？
Emmett and Rosalie shared an intensely physical love. He had a hard time understanding how one could love, without that aspect.
I sighed. “I can’t even think of that, Emmett.”
Wow. So what are your options, then?
“I don’t know,” I whispered. “I’m trying to figure out a way to…to leave her. I just can’t fathom how to make myself stay away…”
With a deep sense of gratification, I suddenly realized that it was right for me to stay—at least for now, with Peter and Charlotte on their way. She was safer with me here, temporarily, than she would be if I were gone. For the moment, I could be her unlikely protector.
The thought made me anxious; I itched to be back so that I could fill that role for as long as possible.
Emmett noticed the change in my expression.
What are you thinking about?
“Right now,” I admitted a bit sheepishly, “I’m dying to run back to Forks and check on her. I don’t know if I’ll make it till Sunday night.”
“Uhuh! You are not going home early. Let Rosalie cool down a little bit. Please! For my sake.”
“I’ll try to stay,” I said doubtfully. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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Emmett tapped the phone in my pocket.
“Alice would call if there were any basis for your panic attack. She’s as weird about this girl as you are.”
I grimaced at that. “Fine. But I’m not staying past Sunday.”
“There’s no point in hurrying back—it’s going to be sunny, anyway. Alice said we were free from school until Wednesday.”
I shook my head rigidly.
“Peter and Charlotte know how to behave themselves.”
“I really don’t care, Emmett. With Bella’s luck, she’ll go wandering off into the woods at exactly the wrong moment and—” I flinched. “Peter isn’t known for his self control. I’m going back Sunday.”
Emmett sighed. Exactly like a crazy person. Bella was sleeping peacefully when I climbed up to her bedroom window early Monday morning. I’d remembered oil this time, and the window now moved silently out of my way.
I could tell by the way her hair lay smooth across the pillow that she’d had a less restless night than the last time I was here. She had her hands folded under her cheek like a small child, and her mouth was slightly open. I could hear her breath moving slowly in and out between her lips.
It was an amazing relief to be here, to be able to see her again. I realized that I wasn’t truly at ease unless that was the case. Nothing was right when I was away from her.
Not that all was right when I was with her, either, though. I sighed, letting the thirst fire rake through my throat. I’d been away from it too long. The time spent without pain and temptation made it all the more forceful now. It was bad enough that I was afraid to go kneel beside her bed so that I could read the titles of her books. I wanted to know the stories in her head, but I was afraid of more than my thirst, afraid that if I let myself get that close to her, I would want to be closer still… （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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Her lips looked very soft and warm. I could imagine touching them with the tip of my finger. Just lightly…
That was exactly the kind of mistake that I had to avoid.
My eyes ran over her face again and again, examining it for changes. Mortals changed all the time—I was sad at the thought of missing anything…
I thought she looked…tired. Like she hadn’t gotten enough sleep this weekend. Had she gone out?
I laughed silently and wryly at how much that upset me. So what if she had? I didn’t own her. She wasn’t mine.
No, she wasn’t mine—and I was sad again.
One of her hands twitched, and I noticed that there were shallow, barely healed scrapes across the heel of her palm. She’d been hurt? Even though it was obviously not a serious injury, it still disturbed me. I considered the location, and decided she must have tripped. That seemed a reasonable explanation, all things considered.
It was comforting to think that I wouldn’t have to puzzle over either of these small mysteries forever. We werefriends now—or, at least, trying to be friends. I could ask her about her weekend—about the beach, and whatever late night activity had made her look so weary. I could ask what had happened to her hands. And I could laugh a little when she confirmed my theory about them.
I smiled gently as I wondered whether or not she had fallen in the ocean. I wondered if she’d had a pleasant time on the outing. I wondered if she’d thought about me at all. If she’d missed me even the tiniest portion of the amount that I’d missed her.
I tried to picture her in the sun on the beach. The picture was incomplete, though, because I’d never been to First Beach myself. I only knew how it looked in pictures…
I felt a tiny qualm of unease as I thought about the reason why I’d never once been to the pretty beach located just a few minutes run from my home. Bella had spent the day at La Push—a place where I was forbidden, by treaty, to go. A place where a few old men still remembered the stories about the Cullens, remembered and believed them. A place where our secret was known…
I shook my head. I had nothing to worry about there. The Quileutes were bound by treaty, too. Even had Bella run into one of those aging sages, they could reveal （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
155 nothing. And why would the subject ever be broached? Why would Bella think to voice her curiosity there? No—the Quileutes were perhaps the one thing I did not have to worry about.
I was angry with the sun when it began to rise. It reminded me that I could not satisfy my curiosity for days to come. Why did it choose to shine now?
With a sigh, I ducked out her window before it was light enough for anyone to see me here. I meant to stay in the thick forest by her house and see her off to school, but when I got into the trees, I was surprised to find the trace of her scent lingering on the trail there.
I followed it quickly, curiously, becoming more and more worried as it led deeper into the darkness. What had Bella been doing out here?
The trail stopped abruptly, in the middle of nowhere in particular. She’d gone just a few steps off the trail, into the ferns, where she’d touched the trunk of a fallen tree. Perhaps sat there…
I sat where she had, and looked around. All she would have been able to see was ferns and forest. It had probably been raining—the scent was washed out, having never set deeply into the tree.
Why would Bella have come to sit here alone—and she had been alone, no doubt about that—in the middle of the wet, murky forest?
It made no sense, and, unlike those other points of curiosity, I could hardly bring this up in casual conversation.
So, Bella, I was following your scent through the woods after I left your room where I’d been watching you sleep… Yes, that would be quite the ice breaker.
I would never know what she’d been thinking and doing here, and that had my teeth grinding together in frustration. Worse, this was far too much like the scenario I’d imagined for Emmett—Bella wandering alone in the woods, where her scent would call to anyone who had the senses to track it…
I groaned. Not only did she have bad luck, but she courted it.
Well, for this moment she had a protector. I would watch over her, keep her from harm, for as long as I could justify it. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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I suddenly found myself wishing that Peter and Charlotte would make an extended stay. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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8. Ghost I did not see much of Jasper’s guests for the two sunny days that they were in Forks. I only went home at all so that Esme wouldn’t worry. Otherwise, my existence seemed more like that of a specter than a vampire. I hovered, invisible in the shadows, where I could follow the object of my love and obsession—where I could see her and hear her in the minds of the lucky humans who could walk through the sunlight beside her, sometimes accidentally brushing the back of her hand with their own. She never reacted to such contact; their hands were just as warm as hers.
The enforced absence from school had never been a trial like this before. But the sun seemed to make her happy, so I could not resent it too much. Anything that pleased her was in my good graces.
Monday morning, I eavesdropped on a conversation that had the potential to destroy my confidence and make the time spent away from her a torture. As it ended up, though, it rather made my day.
I had to feel some little respect for Mike Newton; he had not simply given up and slunk away to nurse his wounds. He had more bravery than I’d given him credit for. He was going to try again.
Bella got to school quite early and, seeming intent on enjoying the sun while it lasted, sat at one of the seldom used picnic benches while she waited for the first bell to ring. Her hair caught the sun in unexpected ways, giving off a reddish shine that I had not anticipated.
Mike found her there, doodling again, and was thrilled at his good luck.
It was agonizing to only be able to watch, powerless, bound to the forest’s shadows by the bright sunlight.
She greeted him with enough enthusiasm to make him ecstatic, and me the opposite.
See, she likes me. She wouldn’t smile like that if she didn’t. I bet she wanted to go to the dance with me. Wonder what’s so important in Seattle… （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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He perceived the change in her hair. “I never noticed before—your hair has red in it.”
I accidentally uprooted the young spruce tree my hand was resting on when he pinched a strand of her hair between his fingers.
“Only in the sun,” she said. To my deep satisfaction, she cringed away from him slightly when he tucked the strand behind her ear.
It took Mike a minute to build up his courage, wasting some time on small talk.
She reminded him of the essay we all had due on Wednesday. From the faintly smug expression on her face, hers was already done. He’d forgotten altogether, and that severely diminished his free time.
Dang—stupid essay.
Finally he got to the point—my teeth were clenched so hard they could have pulverized granite—and even then, he couldn’t make himself ask the question outright.
“I was going to ask if you wanted to go out.”
“Oh,” she said.
There was a brief silence.
Oh? What does that mean? Is she going to yes? Wait—I guess I didn’t really ask.
He swallowed hard.
“Well, we could go to dinner or something…and I could work on it later.”
Stupid—that wasn’t a question either.
“Mike…”
The agony and fury of my jealousy was every whit as powerful as it had been last week. I broke another tree trying to hold myself here. I wanted so badly to race across the campus, too fast for human eyes, and snatch her up—to steal her away from the boy that I hated so much in this moment I could have kill him and enjoyed it.
Would she say yes to him?
“I don’t think that would be the best idea.”
I breathed again. My rigid body relaxed.
Seattle was just an excuse, after all. Shouldn’t have asked. What was I thinking? Bet it’s that freak, Cullen… （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
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“Why?” he asked sullenly.
“I think…” she hesitated. “And if you ever repeat what I’m saying right now I will cheerfully beat you to death—”
I laughed out loud at the sound of a death threat coming through her lips. A jay shrieked, startled, and launched itself away from me.
“But I think that would hurt Jessica’s feelings.”
“Jessica?” What? But… Oh. Okay. I guess… So… Huh.
His thoughts were no longer coherent.
“Really, Mike, are you blind?”
I echoed her sentiment. She shouldn’t expect everyone to be as perceptive as she was, but really this instance was beyond obvious. With as much trouble as Mike had had working himself up to ask Bella out, did he imagine it wasn’t just as difficult for Jessica? It must be selfishness that made him blind to others. And Bella was so unselfish, she saw everything.
Jessica. Huh. Wow. Huh. “Oh,” he managed to say.
Bella used his confusion to make her exit.
“It’s time for class, and I can’t be late again.”
Mike became an unreliable viewpoint from then on. He found, as he turned the idea of Jessica around and around in his head, that he rather liked the thought of her finding him attractive. It was second place, not as good as if Bella had felt that way.
She’s cute, though, I guess. Decent body. A bird in the hand…
He was off then, on to new fantasies that were just as vulgar as the ones about Bella, but now they only irritated rather than infuriated. How little he deserved either girl; they were almost interchangeable to him. I stayed clear of his head after that.
When she was out of sight, I curled up against the cool trunk of an enormous madrone tree and I danced from mind to mind, keeping her in sight, always glad when Angela Weber was available to look through. I wished there was someway to thank the Weber girl for simply being a nice person. It made me feel better to think that Bella had one friend worth having.
I watched Bella’s face from whichever angle I was given, and I could see that she was sad again. This surprised me—I thought the sun would be enough to keep her （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
160 smiling. At lunch, I saw her glance time and time again toward the empty Cullen table, and that thrilled me. It gave me hope. Perhaps she missed me, too.
She had plans to go out with the other girls—I automatically planned my own surveillance—but these plans were postponed when Mike invited Jessica out on the date he’d planned for Bella.
So I went straight to her home instead, doing a quick sweep of the woods to make sure no one dangerous had wandered too close. I knew Jasper had warned his onetime brother to avoid the town—citing my insanity as both explanation and warning—but I wasn’t taking any chances. Peter and Charlotte had no intention of causing animosity with my family, but intentions were changeable things…
All right, I was overdoing it. I knew that.
As if she knew I was watching, as if she took pity on the agony I felt when I couldn’t see her, Bella came out to the backyard after a long hour indoors. She had a book in her hand and a blanket under her arm.
Silently, I climbed into the higher branches of the closest tree overlooking the yard.
She spread the blanket on the damp grass and then lay on her stomach and started flipping through the worn book, as if trying to find her place. I read over her shoulder.
Ah—more classics. She was an Austen fan.
She read quickly, crossing and recrossing her ankles in the air. I was watching the sunlight and wind play in her hair when her body suddenly stiffened, and her hand froze on the page. All I saw was that she’d reached chapter three when she roughly grabbed a thick section of pages and shoved them over.
I caught a glance of a title page, Mansfield Park. She was starting a new story— the book was a compilation of novels. I wondered why she’d switched stories so abruptly.
Just a few moments later, she slammed the book angrily shut. With a fierce scowl on her face, she pushed the book aside and flipped over onto her back. She took a deep breath, as if to calm herself, pushed her sleeves up and closed her eyes. I remembered the novel, but I couldn’t think of anything offensive in it to upset her. Another mystery. I sighed. （C） 2008 Stephenie Meyer
