en
here in this wet place.
Bella never wore makeup, nor should she.  The cosmetics industry made billions
of dollars a year from women who were trying to attain skin like hers.
© 2008 Stephenie Meyer
  
133
"Thanks," she said, smiling at me now.  "It's worth getting sick to miss Gym."
I stared across the campus, wondering how to prolong my time with her.
"Anytime," I said.
"So are you going?  This Saturday, I mean?"  She sounded hopeful.
Ah, her hope was soothing.  She wanted me with her, not Mike Newton.  And I
wanted to say yes.  But there were many things to consider.  For one, the sun would be
shining this Saturday...
"Where are you all going, exactly?" I tried to keep my voice nonchalant, as if it
didn't matter much.  Mike had said
beach
, though.  Not much chance of avoiding
sunlight there.
"Down to La Push, to First Beach."
Damn.
Well, it was impossible, then.
Anyway, Emmett would be irritated if I cancelled our plans.
I glanced down at her, smiling wryly.  "I really don't think I was invited."
She sighed, already resigned.  "I just invited you."
"Let's you and I not push poor Mike any further this week.  We don't want him to
snap."  I thought about snapping
poor Mike
myself, and enjoyed the mental picture
intensely.
"Mike-schmike," she said, dismissive again.  I smiled widely.
And then she started to walk away from me.
Without thinking about my action, I reached out and caught her by the back of her
rain jacket.  She jerked to a stop.
"Where do you think you're going?"  I was almost angry that she was leaving me.
I hadn't had enough time with her.  She couldn't go, not yet.
"I'm going home," she said, baffled as to why this should upset me.
"Didn't you hear me promise to take you safely home?  Do you think I'm going to
let you drive in your condition?"  I knew she wouldn't like
that
-my implication of
weakness on her part.  But I needed to practice for the Seattle trip, anyway.  See if I could
handle her proximity in an enclosed space.  This was a much shorter journey.
© 2008 Stephenie Meyer
  
134
"What condition?" she demanded.  "And what about my truck?"
"I'll have Alice drop it off after school."  I pulled her back to my car carefully, as
I now knew that walking
forward
was challenging enough for her.
"Let go!" she said, twisting sideways and nearly tripping.  I held one hand out to
catch her, but she righted herself before it was necessary.  I shouldn't be looking for
excuses to touch her.  That started me thinking about Ms. Cope's reaction to me, but I
filed it away for later.  There was much to be considered on that front.
I let her go beside the car, and she stumbled into the door.  I would have to be
even more careful, to take into account her poor balance...
"You are so
pushy
!"
"It's open."
I got in on my side and started the car.  She held her body rigidly, still outside,
though the rain had picked up and I knew she didn't like the cold and wet.  Water was
soaking through her thick hair, darkening it to near black.
"I am perfectly capable of driving myself home!"
Of course she was-I just wasn't capable of letting her go.
I rolled her window down and leaned toward her.  "Get in, Bella."
Her eyes narrowed, and I guessed that she was debating whether or not to make a
run for it.
"I'll just drag you back," I promised, enjoying the chagrin on her face when she
realized I meant it.
Her chin stiffly in the air, she opened her door and climbed in.  Her hair dripped
on the leather and her boots squeaked against each other.
"This is completely unnecessary," she said coldly.  I thought she looked
embarrassed under the pique.
I just turned up the heater so she wouldn't be uncomfortable, and set the music to
a nice background level.  I drove out toward the exit, watching her from the corner of my
eye.  Her lower lip was jutting out stubbornly.  I stared at this, examining how it made me
feel... thinking of the secretary's reaction again...
Suddenly she looked at the stereo and smiled, her eyes widening.  "Clair de
Lune?" she asked.
© 2008 Stephenie Meyer
  
135
A fan of the classics?  "You know Debussy?"
"Not well," she said.  "My mother plays a lot of classical music around the
house-I only know my favorites."
"It's one of my favorites, too."  I stared at the rain, considering that.  I actually
had something in common with the girl.  I'd begun to think that we were opposites in
every way.
She seemed more relaxed now, staring at the rain like me, with unseeing eyes.  I
used her momentary distraction to experiment with breathing.
I inhaled carefully through my nose.
Potent.
I clutched the steering wheel tighter.  The rain made her smell better.  I wouldn't
have thought that was possible.  Stupidly, I was suddenly imaging how she would taste.
I tried to swallow against the burn in my throat, to think of something else.
"What is your mother like?" I asked as a distraction.
Bella smiled.  "She looks a lot like me, but she's prettier."
I doubted that.
"I have too much Charlie in me," she went on.  "She's more outgoing than I am,
and braver."
I doubted that, too.
"She's irresponsible and slightly eccentric, and she's a very unpredictable cook.
She's my best friend."  Her voice had turned melancholy; her forehead creased.
Again, she sounded more like parent than child.
I stopped in front of her house, wondering too late if I was supposed to know
where she lived.  No, this wouldn't be suspicious in such a small town, with her father a
public figure...
"How old are you, Bella?"  She must be older than her peers.  Perhaps she'd been
late to start school, or been held back...that wasn't likely, though.
"I'm seventeen," she answered.
"You don't seem seventeen."
She laughed.
"What?"
© 2008 Stephenie Meyer
  
136
"My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-
aged every year."  She laughed again, and then sighed.  "Well, someone has to be the
adult."
This clarified things for me.  I could see it now...how the irresponsible mother
helped explain Bella's maturity.  She'd had to grow up early, to become the caretaker.
That's why she didn't like being cared for-she felt it was her job.
"You don't seem much like a junior in high school yourself," she said, pulling me
from my reverie.
I grimaced.  For everything I perceived about her, she perceived too much in
return.  I changed the subject.
"So why did your mother marry Phil?"
She hesitated a minute before answering.  "My mother...she's very young for her
age.  I think Phil makes her feel even younger.  At any rate, she's crazy about him."  She
shook her head indulgently.
"Do you approve?" I wondered.
"Does it matter?" she asked.  "I want her to be happy...and he is who she wants."
The unselfishness of her comment would have shocked me, except that it fit in all
too well with what I'd learned of her character.
"That's very generous...I wonder."
"What?"
"Would she extend the same courtesy to you, do you think?  No matter who your
choice was?"
It was a foolish question, and I could not keep my voice casual while I asked it.
How stupid to even consider someone approving of
me
for their daughter.  How stupid to
even think of Bella choosing me.
"I-I think so," she stuttered, reacting in some way to my gaze.  Fear...or
attraction?
"But she's the parent, after all.  It's a little bit different," she finished.
I smiled wryly.  "No one too scary then."
She grinned at me.  "What do you mean by scary?  Multiple facial piercings and
extensive tattoos?"
© 2008 Stephenie Meyer
  
137
"That's one definition, I suppose."  A very nonthreatening definition, to my mind.
"What's your definition?"
She always asked the wrong questions.  Or exactly the right questions, maybe.
The ones I didn't want to answer, at any rate.
"Do you think that
I
could be scary?" I asked her, trying to smile a little.
She thought it through before answering me in a serious voice.  "Hmm...I think
you
could
be, if you wanted to."
I was serious, too.  "Are you frightened of me now?"
She answered at once, not thinking this one through.  "No."
I smiled more easily.  I did not think she was entirely telling the truth, but nor was
she truly lying.  She wasn't frightened enough to want to leave, at least.  I wondered how
she would feel if I told her she was having this discussion with a vampire.  I cringed
internally at her imagined reaction.
"So, now are you going to tell me about your family?  It's got to be a much more
interesting story than mine."
A more frightening one, at least.
"What do you want to know?" I asked cautiously.
"The Cullens adopted you?"
"Yes."
She hesitated, then spoke in a small voice.  "What happened to your parents?"
This wasn't so hard; I wasn't even having to lie to her.  "They died a very long
time ago."
"I'm sorry," she mumbled, clearly worried about having hurt me.
She
was worried about
me
.
"I don't really remember them that clearly," I assured her.  "Carlisle and Esme
have been my parents for a long time now."
"And you love them," she deduced.
I smiled.  "Yes.  I couldn't imagine two better people."
"You're very lucky."
"I know I am."  In that one circumstance, the matter of parents, my luck could not
be denied.
© 2008 Stephenie Meyer
  
138
"And your brother and sisters?"
If I let her push for too many details, I would have to lie.  I glanced at the clock,
disheartened that my time with her was up.
"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."
She didn't move.  She didn't want our time to be up, either.  I liked that very, very
much.
"And you probably want your truck back before Chief Swan gets home, so you
don't have to tell him about the Biology incident."  I grinned at the memory of her
embarrassment in my arms.
"I'm su