The fog had almost dissolved by the end of the second hour, but the day was still dark with low, oppressing clouds. I smiled up at the sky.
Edward was right, of course. When I walked into Trig Jessica was sitting in the back row, nearly bouncing off her seat in agitation. I reluctantly went to sit by her, trying to convince myself it would be better to get it over with as soon as possible.
"Tell me everything!" she commanded before I was in the seat.
"What do you want to know?" I hedged.
"What happened last night?"
"He bought me dinner, and then he drove me home."
She glared at me, her expression stiff with skepticism. "How did you get home so fast?"
"He drives like a maniac. It was terrifying." I hoped he heard that.
"Was it like a datedid you tell him to meet you there?"
I hadn't thought of that. "NoI was very surprised to see him there."
Her lips puckered in disappointment at the transparent honesty in my voice.
"But he picked you up for school today?" she probed.
"Yesthat was a surprise, too. He noticed I didn't have a jacket last night," I explained.
"So are you going out again?"
"He offered to drive me to Seattle Saturday because he thinks toy truck isn't up to itdoes that count?"
"Yes." She nodded.
"Well, then, yes."
"W-o-w." She exaggerated the word into three syllables. "Edward Cullen."
"I know," I agreed. "Wow" didn't even cover it.
"Wait!" Her hands flew up, palms toward me like she was stopping traffic. "Has he kissed you?"
"No," I mumbled. "It's not like that."
She looked disappointed. I'm sure I did, too.
"Do you think Saturday ?" She raised her eyebrows.
"I really doubt it." The discontent in my voice was poorly disguised.
"What did you talk about?" She pushed for more information in a whisper. Class had started but Mr. Varner wasn't paying close attention and we weren't the only ones still talking.
"I don't know, Jess, lots of stuff," I whispered back. "We talked about the English essay a little." A very, very little. I think he mentioned it in passing.
"Please, Bella," she begged. "Give me some details."
"Well okay, I've got one. You should have seen the waitress flirting with himit was over the top.
But he didn't pay any attention to her at all." Let him make what he could of that.
"That's a good sign," she nodded. "Was she pretty?"
"Veryand probably nineteen or twenty."
"Even better. He must like you."
"I think so, but it's hard to tell. He's always so cryptic," I threw in for his benefit, sighing.
"I don't know how you're brave enough to be alone with him," she breathed.
"Why?" I was shocked, but she didn't understand my reaction.
"He's so intimidating. I wouldn't know what to say to him." She made a face, probably remembering this morning or last night, when he'd turned the overwhelming force of his eyes on her.
"I do have some trouble with incoherency when I'm around him," I admitted.
"Oh well. He is unbelievably gorgeous." Jessica shrugged as if this excused any flaws. Which, in her book, it probably did.
"There's a lot more to him than that."
"Really? Like what?"
I wished I had let it go. Almost as much as I was hoping he'd been kidding about listening in.
"I can't explain it right but he's even more unbelievable behind the face." The vampire who wanted to be goodwho ran around saving people's lives so he wouldn't be a monster I stared toward the front of the room.
"Is that possible?" She giggled.
I ignored her, trying to look like I was paying attention to Mr. Varner.
"So you like him, then?" She wasn't about to give up.
"Yes," I said curtly.
"I mean, do you really like him?" she urged.
"Yes," I said again, blushing. I hoped that detail wouldn't register in her thoughts.
She'd had enough with the single syllable answers. "How much do you like him?"
"Too much," I whispered back. "More than he likes me. But I don't see how I can help that." I sighed, one blush blending into the next.
Then, thankfully, Mr. Varner called on Jessica for an answer.
She didn't get a chance to start on the subject again during class, and as soon as the bell rang, I took evasive action.
"In English, Mike asked me if you said anything about Monday night," I told her.
"You're kidding! What did you say?!" she gasped, completely sidetracked.
"I told him you said you had a lot of funhe looked pleased."
"Tell me exactly what he said, and your exact answer!"
We spent the rest of the walk dissecting sentence structures and most of Spanish on a minute description of Mike's facial expressions. I wouldn't have helped draw it out for as long as I did if I wasn't worried about the subject returning to me.
And then the bell rang for lunch. As I jumped up out of my seat, shoving my books roughly in my bag, my uplifted expression must have tipped Jessica off.
"You're not sitting with us today, are you?" she guessed.
"I don't think so." I couldn't be sure that he wouldn't disappear inconveniently again.
But outside the door to our Spanish class, leaning against the walllooking more like a Greek god than anyone had a right toEdward was waiting for me. Jessica took one look, rolled her eyes, and departed.
"See you later, Bella." Her voice was thick with implications. I might have to turn off the ringer on the phone.
"Hello." His voice was amused and irritated at the same time. He had been listening, it was obvious.
"Hi."
I couldn't think of anything else to say, and he didn't speakbiding his time, I presumedso it was a quiet walk to the cafeteria. Walking with Edward through the crowded lunchtime rush was a lot like my first day here; everyone stared.
He led the way into the line, still not speaking, though his eyes returned to my face every few seconds, their expression speculative. It seemed to me that irritation was winning out over amusement as the dominant emotion in his face. I fidgeted nervously with the zipper on my jacket.
He stepped up to the counter and filled a tray with food.
"What are you doing?" I objected. "You're not getting all that for me?"
He shook his head, stepping forward to buy the food.
"Half is for me, of course."
I raised one eyebrow.
He led the way to the same place we'd sat that one time before. From the other end of the long table, a group of seniors gazed at us in amazement as we sat across from each other. Edward seemed oblivious.
"Take whatever you want," he said, pushing the tray toward me.
"I'm curious," I said as I picked up an apple, turning it around in my hands, "what would you do if someone dared you to eat food?"
"You're always curious." He grimaced, shaking his head. He glared at me, holding my eyes as he lifted the slice of pizza off the tray, and deliberately bit off a mouthful, chewed quickly, and then swallowed. I watched, eyes wide.
"If someone dared you to eat dirt, you could, couldn't you?" he asked condescendingly.
I wrinkled my nose. "I did once on a dare," I admitted. "It wasn't so bad."
He laughed. "I suppose I'm not surprised." Something over my shoulder seemed to catch his attention.
"Jessica's analyzing everything I doshe'll break it down for you later." He pushed the rest of the pizza toward me. The mention of Jessica brought a hint of his former irritation back to his features.
I put down the apple and took a bite of the pizza, looking away, knowing he was about to start.
"So the waitress was pretty, was she?" he asked casually.
"You really didn't notice?"
"No. I wasn't paying attention. I had a lot on my mind."
"Poor girl." I could afford to be generous now.
"Something you said to Jessica well, it bothers me." He refused to be distracted. His voice was husky, and he glanced up from under his lashes with troubled eyes.
"I'm not surprised you heard something you didn't like. You know what they say about eavesdropners," I reminded him.
"I warned you I would be listening."
"And I warned you that you didn't want to know everything I was thinking."
"You did," he agreed, but his voice was still rough. "You aren't precisely right, though. I do want to know what you're thinkingeverything. I just wish that you wouldn't be thinking some things."
I scowled. "That's quite a distinction."
"But that's not really the point at the moment."
"Then what is?" We were inclined toward each other across the table now. He had his large white hands folded under his chin; I leaned forward, my right hand cupped around my neck. I had to remind myself that we were in a crowded lunchroom, with probably many curious eyes on us. It was too easy to get wrapped up in our own private, tense little bubble.
"Do you truly believe that you care more for me than I do for you?" he murmured, leaning closer to me as he spoke, his dark golden eyes piercing.
I tried to remember how to exhale. I had to look away before it came back to me.
"You're doing it again," I muttered.
His eyes opened wide with surprise. "What?"
"Dazzling me," I admitted, trying to concentrate as I looked back at him.
"Oh." He frowned.
"It's not your fault," I sighed. "You can't help it."
"Are you going to answer the question?"
I looked down. "Yes."
"Yes, you are going to answer, or yes, you really think that?" He was irritated again.
"Yes, I really think that." I kept my eyes down on the table, my eyes tracing the pattern of the faux wood grains printed on the laminate. The silence dragged on. I stubbornly refused to be the first to break it this time, fighting hard against the temptation to peek at his expression.
Finally he spoke, voice velvet soft. "You're wrong."
I glanced up to see that his eyes were gentle.
"You can't know that," I disagreed in a whisper. I shook my head in doubt, though my heart throbbed at his words and I wanted so badly to believe them.
"What makes you think so?" His liquid topaz eyes were penetratingtrying futilely, I assumed, to lift the truth straight from my mind. I stared back, struggling to think clearly in spite of his face, to find some way to explain. As I searched for the words, I could see him getting impatient; frustrated by my silence, he started to scowl. I lifted my hand from my neck, and held up one finger.
"Let me think," I insisted. His expression cleared, now that he was satisfied that I was planning to answer. I dropped my hand to the table, moving my left hand so that my palms were pressed together. I stared at my hands, twisting and untwisting my fingers, as I finally spoke.
"Well, aside from the obvious, sometimes" I hesitated. "I can't be sureI don't know how to read mindsbut sometimes it seems like you're trying to say goodbye when you're saying something else." That was the best I could sum up the sensation of anguish that his words triggered in me at times.
"Perceptive," he whispered. And there was the anguish again, surfacing as he confirmed my fear. "That's exactly why you're wrong, though," he began to explain, but then his eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, 'the obvious'?"
"Well, look at me," I said, unnecessarily as he was already staring. "I'm absolutely ordinarywell, except for bad things like all the near-death experiences and being so clumsy that I'm almost disabled. And look at you." I waved my hand toward him and all his bewildering perfection.
His brow creased angrily for a moment, then smoothed as his eyes took on a knowing look. "You don't see yourself very clearly, you know. I'll admit you're dead-on about the bad things," he chuckled blackly, "but you didn't hear what every human male in this school was thinking on your first day."
I blinked, astonished. "I don't believe it" I mumbled to myself.
"Trust me just this onceyou are the opposite of ordinary."
My embarrassment was much stronger than my pleasure at the look that came into his eyes when he said this. I quickly reminded him of my original argument.
"But I'm not saying goodbye," I pointed out.
"Don't you see? That's what proves me right. I care the most, because if I can do it"he shook his head, seeming to struggle with the thought"if leaving is the right thing to do, then I'll hurt myself to keep from hurting you, to keep you safe."
I glared. "And you don't think I would do the same?"
"You'd never have to make the choice."
Abruptly, his unpredictable mood shifted again; a mischievous, devastating smile rearranged his features.
"Of course, keeping you safe is beginning to feel like a full-time occupation that requires my constant presence."
"No one has tried to do away with me today," I reminded him, grateful for the lighter subject. I didn't want him to talk about goodbyes anymore. If I had to, I supposed I could purposefully put myself in danger to keep him close I banished that thought before his quick eyes read it on my face. That idea would definitely get me in trouble.
"Yet," he added.
"Yet," I agreed; I would have argued, but now I wanted him to be expecting disasters.
"I have another question for you." His face was still casual.
"Shoot."
"Do you really need to go to Seattle this Saturday, or was that just an excuse to get out of saying no to all your admirers?"
I made a face at the memory. "You know, I haven't forgiven you for the Tyler thing yet," I warned him.
"It's your fault that he's deluded himself into thinking I'm going to prom with him."
"Oh, he would have found a chance to ask you without meI just really wanted to watch your face," he chuckled, I would have been angrier if his laughter wasn't so fascinating. "If I'd asked you, would you have turned me down?" he asked, still laughing to himself.
"Probably not," I admitted. "But I would have canceled laterfaked an illness or a sprained ankle."
He was puzzled. "Why would you do that?"
I shook my head sadly. "You've never seen me in Gym, I guess, but I would have thought you would understand."
"Are you referring to the fact that you can't walk across a flat, stable surface without finding something to trip over?"