blood type

I MADE MY WAY TO ENGLISH IN A DAZE. I DIDN'T EVEN REALIZE WHEN I first walked in that class had already started.

"Thank you for joining us, Miss Swan," Mr. Mason said in a disparaging tone.

I flushed and hurried to my seat.

It wasn't till class ended that I realized Mike wasn't sitting in his usual seat next to me. I felt a twinge of guilt. But he and Eric both met me at the door as usual, so I figured I wasn't totally unforgiven. Mike seemed to become more himself as we walked, gaining enthusiasm as he talked about the weather report for this weekend. The rain was supposed to take a minor break, and so maybe his beach trip would be possible. I tried to sound eager, to make up for disappointing him yesterday. It was hard; rain or no rain, it would still only be in the high forties, if we were lucky.

The rest of the morning passed in a blur. It was hard to believe I wasn't imagining things again—that Edythe really had said those words, and that her eyes had looked that way when she was saying them. Something about her confused my reality. First I'd thought I'd seen her stop a van barehanded, and now this. The original delusion seemed more likely than the second—that I appealed to her on any level. But here I was, walking into this one with eyes wide open, and I didn't even care that the punch line was coming. At the moment, it seemed like a decent trade—her laughter later for that look in her eyes now.

I was both eager and nervous when I finally got to the cafeteria at lunchtime. Would she ignore me like usual? Would there be any sign from her that the conversation this morning had, in fact, happened? 

Jessica babbled on and on about her dance plans—Lauren and Angela had asked the other boys and they were all going together—completely unaware of my inattention.

Disappointment flooded through me as my eyes unerringly focused on her table. The other four were there, but she was absent. Had she gone home? I followed the still-babbling Jessica through the line, crushed. I'd lost my appetite—I bought nothing but a bottle of lemonade. I just wanted to go sit down and sulk.

"Edythe Cullen is staring at you again," Jessica said, finally breaking through my abstraction with her name. "I wonder why she's sitting alone today."

My head snapped up and I quickly followed her line of sight. Edythe was sitting at an empty table across the cafeteria from where she usually sat. Her dimples flashed as soon as she knew I'd seen her. She raised one hand and motioned with her index finger for me to join her. As I stared, not entirely believing my own eyes, she winked.

Does she mean you?" Jessica asked with insulting astonishment in her voice.

"Maybe she needs help with her Biology homework," I muttered for her benefit. "Um, I'd better go see what she wants."

I could feel her staring after me as I walked away.

When I got to her table I just stood there behind the chair across from her, awkward.

"Why don't you sit with me today?" she suggested through a wide smile.

I sat down automatically, watching her expression. Was this how the joke ended? She hadn't stopped smiling. I found that I still didn't care. Whatever got me more time this close to her.

She stared back at me, still smiling. Did she want me to say something?

"This is, uh, different," I finally managed.

"Well," she said, and then paused. I could tell there was more, so I waited. The rest of it followed in a rush, the words blurring together so that it took me a minute to decipher the meaning. "I decided as long as I was going to hell, I might as well do it thoroughly."

I kept waiting, thinking she would explain, but she didn't. The silence got more uncomfortable as the seconds passed.

"You know I don't understand what you mean, right?" I asked.

"I'm counting on it," she said, and then her eyes focused behind me. "I think your friends are upset that I've stolen you."

Suddenly I could feel all their eyes boring into my back. For once, it didn't bother me at all.

"They'll survive."

She grinned. "I may not give you back, though."

I swallowed too loud and she laughed.

"You look worried," she said.

"No." I stopped to swallow again, hearing the edge of a break in my voice. "But surprised, yes. What's this all about?" I gestured toward her and the rest of the empty table.

"I told you—I'm tired of trying to stay away from you. So I'm giving up." The smile was fading, and her eyes were serious by the end.

"Giving up?" I repeated.

"Yes—giving up trying to be good. I'm just going to do what I want now, and let the chips fall where they may." The smile disappeared completely, and a hard edge crept into her silky voice.

"You lost me again."

It looked like she found that funny. "I always say too much when I'm talking to you—that's one of the problems."

"Don't worry—I don't understand anything you say."

"Like I said—I'm counting on that."

We stared at each other for a few seconds, but the quiet wasn't awkward this time. It was more… charged. My face started to get hot again.

"So," I said, looking away so that I could catch my breath. "In plain English, are we friends now?"

"Friends…," she murmured. She sounded like it wasn't her favorite word.

"Or not," I offered.

"Well, we can try, I suppose. But I'm warning you again that I'm not a good friend for you to have." Her smile was brittle now, the warning real.

"You say that a lot." Funny how my stomach was rolling. Was it because I was hungry after all? Because she was smiling at me? Or because I suddenly almost believed her? I could tell that she believed what she was saying.

"I do, because you're not listening. I'm still waiting for you to hear me. If you're smart, you'll avoid me."

Then I had to smile, and I watched as her smile automatically got bigger in response. "I thought we'd already come to the conclusion that I'm an idiot. Or absurd, or whatever."

"I did apologize—for the second one, at least. Will you forgive me for the first? I spoke without thinking."

"Yeah, of course. You don't have to apologize to me."

She sighed. "Don't I?"

I didn't know how to answer—it sounded like a rhetorical question anyway. I stared down at my hands wrapped around the lemonade bottle, not sure what to do. It was so strange to sit with her here—like normal people. I was sure only one of us was normal.

"What are you thinking?" she asked.

I looked up. She was staring again, her gold eyes curious and—like the first time I'd seen her—frustrated. Once again, my thoughts refused to pass through the appropriate filter.

"I'm wondering what you are."

Her smile tightened, like her teeth were suddenly clamped together, but she held it carefully in place.

"Are you having much luck with that?" Her voice was casual, like she didn't really care about my answer.

My neck got hot and—I assumed—unattractively blotchy. During the last month I'd given it some thought, but the only solutions I could come up with were completely ridiculous. Like Clark Kent and Peter Parker–level nonsense.

She tilted her head to the side, staring into my eyes as if she was trying to see through them, right into my brain. She smiled—inviting this time, impossible to resist.

"Won't you tell me?"

But I had to try to resist. She already thought I was an idiot. I shook my head. "Too embarrassing."

"That's really frustrating," she complained.

"Really?" I raised my eyebrows. "Like… someone refusing to tell you what she's thinking, even if all the while she's making cryptic little comments designed to keep you up at night wondering what she could possibly mean… Frustrating like that?"

She frowned, her lips pouting out in a attractive way. I worked to hold on to my focus.

"Or is it frustrating like, say, she's done a bunch of other strange things—for example, saving your life under impossible circumstances one day, then treating you like a pariah the next—and she never explained any of that, either, even after she promised? Frustrating like that?"

Her frown twitched, then settled into a deeper scowl. "You're really not over that yet?"

"Not quite yet."

"Would another apology help?"

"An explanation would be better."

She pursed her lips, then glanced past my left arm and laughed once.

"What?"

Your boyfriend seems to think I'm being unpleasant to you—he's debating whether or not to come break up our fight." She snickered again.

"I don't know who you're talking about," I said frostily. "But I'm sure you're wrong, anyway."

"I'm not. I told you, most people are easy to read."

Except me."

"Yes, except for you." Her eyes shifted to me and intensified, drilling into mine. "I wonder why that is."

I had to look away. I concentrated on unscrewing the lid of my lemonade. I took a swig, staring at the table without seeing it.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked.

Her stare was less penetrating now, I saw with relief. "No." I didn't think it was necessary to mention that my stomach wasn't steady enough for food. "You?" I looked at the empty table in front of her.

"No, I'm not hungry." She smiled like I was missing some inside joke.

"Can you do me a favor?" I asked, the words escaping before I could make sure they were allowed.

She got serious quickly. "That depends on what you want."

"It's not much," I promised.

She waited, still guarded but clearly curious.

"Could you warn me beforehand? The next time you decide to ignore me? For my own good, or whatever. Just so I'm prepared." I looked at the lemonade again as I asked, tracing the lip of the opening with one finger.

"That sounds fair."

She looked like she was trying not to laugh when I glanced up.

"Thanks."

"Can I have a favor in return?" she asked.

"Sure." It was my turn to be curious. What would she want from me?

Tell me one of your theories."

Whoops. "No way."

"You promised me a favor."

"And you've broken promises before," I reminded her.

"Just one theory—I won't laugh."

"Yes, you will." I had no doubt about that.

She looked down, then glanced up at me through her thick lashes, her long gold eyes scorching underneath.

"Please?" she breathed, leaning toward me. Without permission, my body leaned closer to her, like she was a magnet and I was a paper clip, till her face was less than a foot from mine. My mind went totally blank.

I shook my head, trying to clear it, and forced myself to sit back. "Um… what?"

"One little theory," she purred. "Please?"

"Well, er, bitten by a radioactive spider?" Was she a hypnotist, too? Or was I just a hopeless pushover?

She rolled her eyes. "That's not very creative."

"Sorry, that's all I've got."

"You're not even close."

"No spiders?"

"No spiders."

"No radioactivity?"

"None at all."

"Huh," I mumbled.

She chuckled. "Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either."

"You're not supposed to laugh, remember?"

She pressed her lips together, but her shoulders shook from holding the laughter back.

"I'll figure it out eventually," I muttered.

Her humor vanished like a switch flipped off. "I wish you wouldn't try."

"How can I not wonder? I mean… you're impossible." I didn't say it like a criticism, just a statement. You are not possible. You are more than what is possible.

She understood. "But what if I'm not a superhero? What if I'm the villain?" She smiled as she said this, playfully, but her eyes were heavy with some burden I couldn't imagine.

"Oh," I said, surprised. Her many hints started adding up until they finally made sense. "Oh, okay."

She waited, suddenly rigid with stress. In that second, all of her walls seemed to disappear.

"What exactly does okay mean?" she asked so quietly it was almost a whisper.

I tried to order my thoughts, but her anxiety pushed me to answer faster. I said the words without preparing them first.

"You're dangerous?" It came out like a question, and there was doubt in my voice. She was a few inches taller than I was, no more than my age, and delicately built. Under normal circumstances, I would have laughed at applying the word dangerous to someone like her. But she was not normal, and there was no one like her. I remembered the first time she'd glared at me with hate in her eyes, and I'd felt genuinely afraid, though I hadn't understood that reaction in the moment, and I'd thought it foolish just seconds later. Now I understood. Under the doubt, outside the incongruity of the word dangerous applied to her slim and perfect body, I could feel the truth of the foundation. The danger was real, though my logical mind couldn't make sense of it. And she'd been trying to warn me all along.

Dangerous," I murmured again, trying to fit the word to the person in front of me. Her porcelain face was still vulnerable, without walls or secrets. Her eyes were wide now, anticipating my reaction. She seemed to be bracing herself for some kind of impact. "But not the villain," I whispered. "No, I don't believe that."

"You're wrong." Her voice was almost inaudible. She looked down, reaching out to steal the lid for my lemonade, which she then spun like a top between her fingers. I took advantage of her inattention to stare some more. She meant what she was saying—that was obvious. She wanted me to be afraid of her.

What I felt most was… fascinated. There were some nerves, of course, being so close to her. Fear of making a fool of myself. But all I wanted was to sit here forever, to listen to her voice and watch the expressions fly across her face, so much faster than I could analyze them. So of course that was when I noticed that the cafeteria was almost empty.

I shoved my chair away from the table, and she looked up. She seemed… sad. But resigned. Like this was the reaction she'd been waiting for.

"We're going to be late," I told her, scrambling to my feet.

She was surprised for just a second, and then the now-familiar amusement was back.

"I'm not going to class today." Her fingers twirled the lid so fast that it was just a blur.

"Why not?"

She smiled up at me, but her eyes were not entirely disguised. I could still see the stress behind her façade.

"It's healthy to ditch class now and then," she said.

"Oh. Well, I guess… I should go?" Was there another option? I wasn't much for ditching, but if she asked me to…

She turned her attention back to her makeshift top. "I'll see you later, then."

That sounded like a dismissal, and I wasn't totally against being dismissed. There was so much to think about, and I didn't do my best thinking with her near. The first bell rang and I hurried to the door. I glanced back once to see that she hadn't moved at all, and the lid was still spinning in a tight circle like it would never stop.

As I half-ran to class, my head was spinning faster than the bottle cap. So few questions had been answered in comparison to how many new questions had been raised. At least the rain had stopped.

I was lucky; Mr. Banner wasn't in the room yet when I arrived. I settled quickly into my seat, aware that both Mike and Angela were staring at me. Mike looked resentful; Angela looked surprised, and slightly awed.

Mr. Banner came in the room then, calling the class to order. He was juggling a few small cardboard boxes in his arms. He put them down on Mike's table, telling him to start passing them around the class.

"Okay, guys, I want you all to take one piece from each box," he said as he produced a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his lab jacket and pulled them on. The sharp sound as the gloves snapped into place against his wrists seemed ominous to me. "The first should be an indicator card," he went on, grabbing a white card with four squares marked on it and displaying it. "The second is a four-pronged applicator—" he held up something that looked like a nearly toothless hair pick "—and the third is a sterile micro-lancet." He held up a small piece of blue plastic and split it open. The barb was invisible from this distance, but my stomach flipped.

"I'll be coming around with a dropper of water to prepare your cards, so please don't start until I get to you." He began at Mike's table again, carefully putting one drop of water in each of the four squares. "Then I want you to carefully prick your finger with the lancet.…" He grabbed Mike's hand and jabbed the spike into the tip of Mike's middle finger. Oh no. Clammy moisture broke out across my forehead.

"Put a small drop of blood on each of the prongs." He demonstrated, squeezing Mike's finger till the blood flowed. I swallowed convulsively, my stomach heaving.

"And then apply it to the card," he finished, holding up the dripping red card for us to see. I closed my eyes, trying to hear through the ringing in my ears.

"The Red Cross is having a blood drive in Port Angeles next weekend, so I thought you should all know your blood type." He sounded proud of himself. "Those of you who aren't eighteen yet will need a parent's permission—I have slips at my desk."

He continued through the room with his water drops. I put my cheek against the cool black tabletop and tried to hold on to my consciousness. All around me I could hear squeals, complaints, and giggles as my classmates skewered their fingers. I breathed slowly in and out through my mouth.

"Bella, are you all right?" Mr. Banner asked. His voice was close to my head, and it sounded alarmed.

"I already know my blood type, Mr. Banner," I said in a weak voice. I was afraid to raise my head.

"Are you feeling faint?"

"Yes, sir," I muttered, internally kicking myself for not ditching when I had the chance.

"Can someone take Bella to the nurse, please?" he called.

I didn't have to look up to know that it would be Mike who volunteered.

"Can you walk?" Mr. Banner asked.

"Yes," I whispered. Just let me get out of here, I thought. I'll crawl.

Mike seemed eager as he put his arm around my waist and pulled my arm over his shoulder. I leaned against him heavily on the way out of the classroom.

Mike towed me slowly across campus. When we were around the edge of the cafeteria, out of sight of building four in case Mr. Banner was watching, I stopped.

"Just let me sit for a minute, please?" I begged.

He helped me sit on the edge of the walk.

"And whatever you do, keep your hand in your pocket," I warned. I was still so dizzy. I slumped over on my side, putting my cheek against the freezing, damp cement of the sidewalk, closing my eyes. That seemed to help a little.

"Wow, you're green, Bella," Mike said nervously.

"Bella?" a different voice called from the distance.

No! Please let me be imagining that horribly familiar voice.

"What's wrong—is she hurt?" Her voice was closer now, and she sounded upset. I wasn't imagining it. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping to die. Or, at the very least, not to throw up.

Mike seemed stressed. "I think she's fainted. I don't know what happened, she didn't even stick her finger."

"Bella." Edythe's voice was right beside me, relieved now. "Can you hear me?"

"No," I groaned. "Go away."

She chuckled.

"I was taking her to the nurse," Mike explained in a defensive tone, "but she wouldn't go any farther."

"I'll take her," Edythe said. I could hear the smile still in her voice. "You can go back to class."

"No," Mike protested. "I'm supposed to do it."

And then a thin, strong arm was under both of mine, and I was on my feet without realizing how I got there. The strong arm, cold like the sidewalk, held me tight against a slim body, almost like a crutch. My eyes flipped open in surprise, but all I could see was her tangled bronze hair on top of my head. She started moving forward, and my feet fumbled trying to catch up. I expected to fall, but she somehow kept me upright. She didn't so much as stagger when my full weight tugged us both forward.

Put me down!" Please, please let me not vomit on her. She was walking before I was finished talking.

"Hey!" Mike called, already ten paces behind us.

Edythe ignored him. "You look awful," she told me, grinning.

Just put me back on the sidewalk," I groaned. "I'll be fine in a few minutes."

She propelled us quickly forward while I tried to make my feet move in the right pattern to match her speed. A few times I could swear that my feet were actually dragging across the ground, but then, I couldn't feel them very well, so I wasn't sure.

"So you faint at the sight of blood?" she asked. Apparently, this was hilarious.

I didn't answer. I closed my eyes again and fought the nausea, lips clamped together. The most important thing was that I not vomit on her. I could survive everything else.

"And not even your own blood!" She laughed. It was like the sound of a bell ringing.

"I have a weak vasovagal system," I muttered. "It's just a neurally mediated syncope."

She laughed again. Apparently, the big words I'd memorized to explain these situations did not impress her the way they were supposed to.

I wasn't sure how she got the door open while dragging me, but suddenly it was warm—everywhere except where her body pressed against me. I wished I felt normal so that I could appreciate that more—her body touching mine. I knew that under normal circumstances I would be enjoying this.

Oh my," I heard a female voice gasp.

"She fainted in Biology," Edythe explained.

I opened my eyes. I was in the office, and Edythe was dragging me past the front counter toward the nurse's door. Ms. Cope, the redheaded front office receptionist, ran ahead of her to hold it open. The grandmotherly nurse looked up from a novel, astonished, as Edythe swung me into the room, half-lifting me into place on the crackly paper that covered the brown vinyl mattress on the one cot. Then she moved to stand against the wall as far across the narrow room as possible. Her eyes were bright, excited.

"She's just a little faint," she reassured the startled nurse. "They're blood typing in Biology."

The nurse nodded sagely. "There's always one."

She muffled a snicker.

"Just lie down for a minute, honey; it'll pass."

"I know," I sighed. The nausea was already fading.

"Does this happen a lot?" she asked.

"Sometimes," I admitted. Edythe coughed to hide another laugh.

"You can go back to class now," she told her.

"I'm supposed to stay with her." She said this with such assured authority that—even though she pursed her lips—the nurse didn't argue it further.

"I'll go get you some ice for your forehead, dear," she said to me, and then bustled out of the room.

"You were right," I moaned, letting my eyes close.

"I usually am—but about what in particular this time?"

"Ditching is healthy." I practiced breathing evenly.

"You scared me for a minute there," she admitted after a pause. Her tone made it sound like she was confessing a humiliating weakness. "I thought Newton was dragging your dead body off to bury it in the woods."

"Ha ha." I still had my eyes closed, but I was feeling more normal every minute.

"Honestly—I've seen corpses with better color. I was concerned that I might have to avenge your murder."

"Poor Mike. I'll bet he's mad."

"He absolutely loathes me," Edythe said cheerfully.

"You can't know that," I argued, but then I wondered suddenly if she could.

"I saw his face—I could tell."

"How did you see me? I thought you were ditching." I was almost fine now, though the queasiness would probably pass faster if I'd eaten something for lunch. On the other hand, maybe it was lucky my stomach was empty.

"I was in my car, listening to a CD." Such a normal response—it surprised me.

I heard the door and opened my eyes to see the nurse with a cold compress in her hand.

"Here you go, dear." She laid it across my forehead. "You're looking better," she added.

"I think I'm fine," I said, sitting up. Just a little ringing in my ears, no spinning. The mint green walls stayed where they should.

I could see she was about to make me lie back down, but the door opened just then, and Ms. Cope stuck her head in.

"We've got another one," she warned.

I hopped down to free up the cot for the next invalid.

I handed the compress back to the nurse. "Here, I don't need this."

And then Mike staggered through the door, now supporting a sallow-looking Lee Stephens, another boy in our Biology class. Edythe and I drew back against the wall to give them room.

"Oh no," Edythe muttered. "Go out to the office, Bella."

I looked up at her, bewildered.

"Trust me—go."

I spun and caught the door before it closed, darting out of the infirmary. I could feel Edythe right behind me.

"You actually listened to me." She was stunned.

"I smelled the blood," I said, wrinkling my nose. Lee wasn't sick from watching other people, like me.

"People can't smell blood," she contradicted.

"Well, I can—that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust… and salt."

She was staring at me with an unfathomable expression.

"What?" I asked.

"It's nothing."

Mike came through the door then, glancing from me to Edythe. The look he gave Edythe confirmed what Edythe had said about loathing. He looked back at me, his eyes glum.

"You look better," he accused.

"Just keep your hand in your pocket," I warned him again.

"It's not bleeding anymore," he muttered. "Are you going back to class?"

"Are you kidding? I'd just have to turn around and come back."

"Yeah, I guess.… So are you going this weekend? To the beach?" While he spoke, he flashed another glare toward Edythe, who was standing against the cluttered counter, motionless as a sculpture, staring off into space.

I tried to sound as friendly as possible. "Sure, I said I was in."

"We're meeting at my dad's store, at ten." His eyes flickered to Edythe again, wondering if he was giving out too much information. His body language made it clear that it wasn't an open invitation.

"I'll be there," I promised.

"I'll see you in Gym, then," he said, moving uncertainly toward the door.

"See you," I replied. He looked at me once more, his round face slightly pouting, and then as he walked slowly through the door, his shoulders slumped. A swell of sympathy washed over me. I pondered seeing his disappointed face again… in Gym.

"Gym," I groaned.

"I can take care of that." I hadn't noticed Edythe moving to my side, but she spoke now in my ear. "Go sit down and look pale," she muttered.

That wasn't a challenge; I was always pale, and my recent swoon had left a light sheen of sweat on my face. I sat in one of the creaky folding chairs and rested my head against the wall with my eyes closed. Fainting spells always exhausted me.

I heard Edythe speaking softly at the counter.

"Ms. Cope?"

"Yes?" I hadn't heard her return to her desk.

"Bella has Gym next hour, and I don't think she feels well enough. Actually, I was thinking I should take her home now. Do you think you could excuse her from class?" Her voice was like melting honey. I could imagine how much more overwhelming her eyes would be.

"D-Do you need to be excused, too, Edythe?" Ms. Cope stammered.

"No, I have Mrs. Goff, she won't mind."

"Okay, it's all taken care of. You feel better, Bella," she called to me. I nodded weakly, hamming it up just a bit.

"Can you walk, or do you want me to carry you again?" With her back to the receptionist, her expression became sarcastic.

"I'll walk."

I stood carefully, and I was still fine. She opened the door for me, her smile polite but her eyes mocking. I felt stupid as I walked through the door, out into the cold, fine mist that had just begun to fall. But it felt good—the first time I'd enjoyed the never-ending moisture falling out of the sky—as it washed the sweat off my face.

"Thanks for that," I said when she'd followed me out. "It's almost worth getting sick to miss Gym."

"Anytime," she promised. She stared past me into the rain.

"So are you going? This Saturday—the beach trip?" I was hoping she would, though it seemed unlikely. I couldn't picture her loading up to carpool with the rest of the kids from school; she didn't belong in the same world. But just wishing that she might gave me the first thrill of enthusiasm I'd felt for the outing.

"Where are you all going?" She was still staring ahead, expressionless, but her question made me hope she was considering it.

"Down to La Push, to First Beach."

I watched her face, trying to read it. I thought I saw her eyes narrow just slightly.

She finally looked down at me and smiled. "I really don't think I was invited."

"I just invited you."

Let's you and I not push poor Mike any further this week. We don't want him to snap." Her eyes danced; she was enjoying the idea more than she should.

"Mike-schmike," I muttered, preoccupied by the way she'd said "you and I." I liked it more than I should.

We were at the parking lot now, so I angled toward my truck. Something caught my jacket and yanked me back half a step.

"Where are you going?" she asked, surprised. Her little hand had a fistful of my jacket. She didn't look like she'd even planted her feet. For a second I couldn't answer. She denied being a superhero, but my mind couldn't seem to frame it another way. It was like Supergirl had left her cape at home.

I wondered if it was supposed to bother me that she was so much stronger than I was even tho she looked built the same way I was, but I hadn't been insecure about things like that for a long time. Ever since I'd outgrown my bullies, I'd been fairly well satisfied. Sure, I'd like to be coordinated, but it didn't bother me that I wasn't good at sports. I didn't have time for them anyway, and they'd always seemed a little childish. Why get so worked up about a bunch of people chasing a ball around? I was strong enough that I could make people leave me alone, and that was all I wanted.

So, this girl was stronger than I was. A lot. But I was willing to bet she was stronger than everyone else I knew, kids and adults alike. She could take Schwarzenegger in his prime. I couldn't compete with that, and I didn't need to. She was special.

"Bella?" she asked, and I realized I hadn't answered her question.

"Uh, what?"

"I asked where you were going."

"Home. Or am I not?" Her expression confused me.

She smiled. "Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home? Do you think I'm going to let you drive in your condition?"

"What condition?"

"I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but you have a weak vasovagal system."

"I think I'll survive," I said. I tried to take another step toward my truck, but her hand didn't free my jacket.

I stopped and looked up at her again. "Okay, why don't you tell me what you want me to do?"

Her smile got wider. "Very sensible. You're going to get into my car, and I am going to drive you home."

"I have two issues with that. One, it's not necessary, and two, what about my truck?"

"One, necessary is a subjective word, and two, I'll have Alice drop it off after school."

I was distracted by the casual reminder that she had siblings—strange, pale, beautiful siblings. Special siblings? Special like her?

"Are you going to put up a fuss?" she asked when I didn't speak.

"Is there any point in resisting?"

I tried to decipher all the layers to her smile, but I didn't get very far. "It warms my cold heart to see you learning so quickly. This way."

She dropped her fistful of jacket and turned. I followed her willingly. The smooth roll of her hips was just as hypnotic as her eyes. And there wasn't a downside to getting more time with her.

The inside of the Volvo was just as pristine as the outside. Instead of the smell of gasoline and tobacco, there was just a faint perfume. It was almost familiar, but I couldn't put my finger on it. Whatever it was, it smelled amazing.

As the engine purred quietly to life, she played with a few dials, turning the heat on and the music down.

"Is that 'Clair de Lune'?" I asked.

She glanced at me, surprised. "You're a fan of Debussy?"

I shrugged. "My mom plays a lot of classical stuff around the house. I only know my favorites."

"It's one of my favorites, too."

"Well, imagine that," I said. "We have something in common."

I expected her to laugh, but she only stared out through the rain.

I relaxed against the light gray seat, responding automatically to the familiar melody. Because I was mostly watching her from the corner of my eye, the rain blurred everything outside the window into gray and green smudges. It took me a minute to realize we were driving very fast; the car moved so smoothly I didn't feel the speed. Only the town flashing by gave it away.

"What's your mother like?" she asked suddenly.

Her butterscotch eyes studied me curiously while I answered.

She looks a lot like me, but she's prettier," I said. She raised her eyebrows. "I have too much Charlie in me. She's more outgoing than I am, and braver. She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook. She's my best friend." I stopped. Talking about her was making me depressed.

"How old are you, Bella?

Her voice sounded frustrated for some reason I couldn't imagine.

The car stopped, and I realized we were at Charlie's house already. The rain had really picked up, so heavy now that I could barely see the house. It was like the car was submerged in a vertical river.

"I'm seventeen," I said, a little confused by her tone.

"You don't seem seventeen," she said—it was like an accusation.

I laughed.

"What?" she demanded.

"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year." I laughed again, and then sighed. "Well, someone has to be the adult." I paused for a second. "You don't seem much like a junior in high school, either."

She made a face and changed the subject.

"Why did your mother marry Phil?"

I was surprised that she remembered Phil's name; I was sure I'd only said it once, almost two months ago. It took me a second to answer.

"My mom… she's very young for her age. I think Phil makes her feel even younger. Anyway, she's crazy about him." 

 I shook my head. The attraction was a mystery to me.

"Do you approve?" she asked.

"Does it matter?" I countered. "I want her to be happy… and he is who she wants."

"That's very generous.… I wonder," she mused.

"What?"

"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think? No matter who your choice was?" She was suddenly intent, her eyes searching mine.

"Do you mean… uh, she's… accepting," I said delicately, though I wasn't sure why I was skirting around the topic.

Edythe's serious expression broke. "That's good. I was speaking more generally, though."

"Oh. I-I think so," I stuttered, my face flushing. "But she's the parent, after all. It's a little bit different."

"No one too scary then," she teased.

I grinned in response. "What do you mean by scary? Multiple facial piercings and extensive tattoos?"

"That's one definition, I suppose."

"What's your definition?"

She ignored me and asked another question. "Do you think I could be scary?" She raised one eyebrow.

I pretended to examine her face for a minute, just as an excuse to stare at her, my favorite thing to do.

Her features were so delicate, so symmetrical. Her face would stop anyone in their tracks, but it wouldn't make them run in the other direction. The opposite.

"It's kind of hard to imagine that," I admitted.

She frowned to herself.

"But, I mean, I'm sure you could be, if you wanted to."

She tilted her head and gave me an exasperated smile, but didn't say anything else.

"So are you going to tell me about your family?" I asked. "It's got to be a much more interesting story than mine."

She was instantly cautious. "What do you want to know?"

"The Cullens adopted you?"

"Yes."

I hesitated for a minute. "What happened to your parents?"

"They died many years ago." Her tone was matter-of-fact.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't really remember them clearly. Carlisle and Esme have been my parents for a long time now."

"And you love them." It wasn't a question. It was obvious in the way she said their names.

"Yes." She smiled. "I can't imagine two better people."

"Then you're very lucky."

"I know it."

"And your brother and sister?"

She glanced at the clock on the dashboard.

"My brother and sister, and Jasper and Rosalie for that matter, are going to be quite upset if they have to stand in the rain waiting for me."

"Oh, sorry, I guess you have to go."

It was stupid, but I didn't want to get out of the car.

"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home and you have to explain about the syncopal episode."

She was good with the medical jargon, but then, her father was a doctor.

"I'm sure he's already heard. There are no secrets in Forks," I grumbled.

Apparently I'd said something funny, but I couldn't guess what it was, or why there was an edge to her laughter.

"Have fun at the beach," she said when she was finished. "Good weather for sunbathing." She gestured to the sheeting rain.

"Won't I see you tomorrow?"

"No. Emmett and I are starting the weekend early."

"What are you going to do?" A friend could ask that, right? I hoped she couldn't hear the disappointment in my voice.

"We'll be hiking the Goat Rocks Wilderness, just south of Rainier."

"Oh, sounds fun."

She smiled. "Will you do something for me this weekend?" She turned to look me straight in the eyes, her own burning in their hypnotic way.

I nodded, helpless. Anything, I could have said, and it would have been true.

"Don't be offended, but you seem to be one of those people who just attract accidents like a magnet. Try not to fall into the ocean or get run over by anything, all right?"

She flashed her dimples at me, which took away some of the sting of being called incompetent.

"I'll see what I can do," I promised.

I jumped out into the vertical river and ran for the porch. By the time I turned around, the Volvo had disappeared.

"Oh!" I clutched at my jacket pocket, remembering that I'd forgotten to give her my key.

The pocket was empty.