Life and Death للكاتبه ستيفاني ماير حصريا مكتمله باللغه الانجليزيه

[السسسيم]

He obviously felt awkward standing in the kitchen doing nothing; he lumbered into the living room to watch TV while I worked. I think we were both more comfortable that way. I made a salad while the steak cooked, and set the table.
I called him in when dinner was ready, and he sniffed appreciatively as he walked into the room.
"Smells good, Beau."
"Thanks."
We ate in silence for a few minutes. It wasn't awkward. Both of us like quiet. In some ways, we were good roommates.
"So, how did you like school? Make any friends?" he asked as he was taking seconds.
"Well, I have a few classes with this guy named Jeremy. I sit with his friends at lunch. And there's this girl, McKayla, who's friendly. Everybody seems pretty nice." With one outstanding exception.
"That must be McKayla Newton. Nice girl—nice family. Her dad owns the sporting goods store just outside of town. He makes a good living off all the backpackers who come through here."
We ate in silence for a minute.
"Do you know the Cullen family?" I asked, trying to sound casual.
"Dr. Cullen's family? Sure. She's a great woman."
"They—the kids—are a little... different. They don't seem to fit in very well at school."
I was surprised to see Charlie's face get red, the way it does when he's angry.
"People in this town," he muttered. "Dr. Cullen is a brilliant surgeon who could probably work in any hospital in the world, make ten times the salary she gets here," he continued, getting louder. "We're lucky to have her—lucky that her husband wanted to live in a small town. She's an asset to the community, and all of those kids are well behaved and polite. I had my doubts, when they first moved in, with all those adopted teenagers. I thought we might have some problems with them. But they're all very mature—I haven't had one speck of trouble from any of them. That's more than I can say for the children of some folks who have lived in this town for generations. And they stick together the way a family should—camping trips every other weekend.... Just because they're newcomers, people have to talk."
It was the longest speech I'd ever heard Charlie make. He must feel strongly about whatever people were saying.
I backpedaled. "They seemed nice enough to me. I just noticed they kept to themselves. They're all very attractive," I added, trying to be more complimentary.
"You should see the doctor," Charlie said, laughing. "It's a good thing she's happily married. A lot of the hospital staff have a hard time concentrating on their work with her around."
We lapsed back into silence as we finished eating. He cleared the table while I started on the dishes. He went back to the TV, and after I finished washing the dishes by hand—no dishwasher—I went upstairs to work on my math homework. I could feel a tradition in the making.
That night it was finally quiet. I fell asleep fast, exhausted.
The rest of the week was uneventful. I got used to the routine of my classes. By Friday I was able to recognize, if not name, almost all the kids at school. In Gym, the people on my team learned not to send the ball my direction. I stayed out of their way.
Edythe Cullen didn't come back to school.
Every day, I watched, pretending I wasn't looking, until the rest of the Cullens entered the cafeteria without her. Then I could relax and join in the conversation. Mostly it centered around a trip to the La Push Ocean Park in two weeks that McKayla was putting together. I was invited, and I agreed to go, more out of politeness than a strong urge to hit the beach. I believed beaches should be hot, and—aside from the ocean—dry.
By Friday I was totally comfortable entering my Biology class, no longer worried that Edythe would show. For all I knew, she'd dropped out of school. I tried not to think about her, but I couldn't totally erase the worry that I was responsible for her continued absence, ridiculous as it seemed.
My first weekend in Forks continued without incident. Charlie worked most of the time. I wrote my mom more fake cheerful e-mails, got ahead on my homework, and cleaned up the house—obviously OCD wasn't a problem for Charlie. I drove to the library Saturday, but I didn't even bother to get a card—there wasn't anything interesting I hadn't read; I would have to visit Olympia or Seattle soon, and find a good bookstore. I wondered idly what kind of gas mileage the truck got... and winced at the thought.
The rain stayed soft over the weekend, quiet, so I was able to sleep.
People greeted me in the parking lot Monday morning. I didn't know all their names, but I smiled at everyone. It was colder this morning, but at least it wasn't raining. In English, McKayla took her now-normal seat by my side. We had a pop quiz on Wuthering Heights. It was straightforward, very easy.
All in all, I was feeling a lot more comfortable than I had thought I would feel by this point. More comfortable than I had ever expected to feel here.
When we walked out of class, the air was full of swirling bits of white. I could hear people shouting excitedly to each other. The wind was freezing against my cheeks, my nose.
"Wow," McKayla said. "It's snowing."
I looked at the little cotton fluffs that were building up along the sidewalk and swirling erratically past my face.
"Ugh." Snow. There went my good day.
She looked surprised. "Don't you like snow?"
"Snow means it's too cold for rain." Obviously. "Besides, I thought it was supposed to come down in flakes—you know, each one unique and all that. These just look like the ends of Q-tips."
"Haven't you ever seen snow fall before?" she asked incredulously.
"Sure I have." I paused. "On TV."
McKayla laughed. And then a big, wet ball of dripping snow smacked into the back of her head. We both turned to see where it came from. I suspected Erica, who was walking away, her back toward us—in the wrong direction for her next class. McKayla had the same idea. She bent over and began scraping together a pile of white mush.
"I'll see you at lunch, okay?" I kept walking as I spoke. The last thing I wanted was a wad of dirty ice melting down my neck the rest of the day.
She just nodded, her eyes on Erica's back.
I kept a sharp lookout on the way to the cafeteria with Jeremy after Spanish. Mush balls were flying everywhere. I had a binder in my hands, ready to use it as a shield. Jeremy thought I was hilarious, but something in my expression kept him from lobbing a snowball at me himself.
McKayla caught up to us as we walked in the doors, laughing, her usually sleek hair turning frizzy from the wet. She and Jeremy were talking animatedly about the snow fight as we got in line to buy food. I glanced toward that table in the corner out of habit. And then I froze where I stood. There were five people at the table.
Jeremy pulled on my arm.
"Hey? Beau? What do you want?"
I looked down; my ears were hot. I had no reason to feel self-conscious, I reminded myself. I hadn't done anything wrong.
"What's with Beau?" McKayla asked Jeremy.
"Nothing," I answered. I grabbed a soda bottle as I caught up to the end of the line.
"Aren't you hungry?" Jeremy asked.
"Actually, I feel a little sick," I said.
He shuffled a few steps away from me.
I waited for them to get their food, and then followed them to the table, my eyes anywhere but the back corner of the cafeteria.
I drank my soda slowly, stomach churning. Twice McKayla asked, with a concerned tone that seemed a little over the top, how I was feeling. I told her it was nothing, but I was wondering if I should play it up and escape to the nurse's office for the next hour.
Ridiculous. I shouldn't have to run away. Why was I being such a coward? Was it so bad to be glared at? It wasn't like she was actually going to stab a knife in me.
I decided to allow myself one glance at the Cullen family's table. Just to read the mood.
I kept my head turned away and glanced out of the side of my eye. None of them were looking this way. I turned my head a little.
They were laughing. Edythe, Jessamine, and Eleanor all had their hair entirely saturated with melting snow. Archie and Royal were leaning away as Eleanor flipped her dripping hair toward them, leaving a wide arc of splatters across the front of their jackets. They were enjoying the snowy day, just like everyone else—only they looked more like a scene from a movie than the rest of us.
But, aside from the laughter and playfulness, there was something different, and I couldn't quite figure out what that difference was. I examined Edythe, comparing her to my memory of last week. Her skin was less pale, I decided—flushed from the snow fight maybe—the circles under her eyes much less noticeable. Her hair was darker, wet and slicked down against her head. But there was something else. I forgot to pretend I wasn't staring as I tried to put my finger on the change.
"What are you staring at, Beau?" Jeremy asked.
At that precise moment, Edythe's eyes flashed over to meet mine.
I turned my head completely toward Jeremy, shifting my shoulders in his direction, too. Jeremy leaned away, surprised by my sudden invasion of his personal space.
I was sure, though, in the instant our eyes had met, that she didn't look angry or disgusted as she had the last time I'd seen her. She just looked curious again, unsatisfied in some way.
"Edythe Cullen is staring at you," Jeremy said, looking over my shoulder.
"She doesn't look angry, does she?" I couldn't help asking.
"No." Jeremy looked confused, then he suddenly smiled. "What did you do, ask her out?"
"No! I've never even talked to her. I just... don't think she likes me very much," I admitted. I kept my body angled toward Jeremy, but the back of my neck had goose bumps, like I could feel her eyes on me.
"The Cullens don't like anybody... well, they don't notice anybody enough to like them. But she's still staring at you."
"Stop looking at her," I insisted.
He snickered, but finally looked away.
McKayla interrupted us then—she was planning an epic battle of the blizzard in the parking lot after school and wanted us to join. Jeremy agreed enthusiastically. The way he looked at McKayla left little doubt that he would be up for anything she suggested. I kept silent. I wondered how many years I would have to live in Forks before I was bored enough to find frozen water exciting. Probably much longer than I planned to be here.

[السسسيم]

For the rest of the lunch hour I very carefully kept my eyes at my own table. Edythe didn't look like she was planning to murder me anymore, so it was no big thing to go to Biology. My stomach twisted at the thought of sitting next to her again.
I didn't really want to walk to class with McKayla as usual—she seemed to be a popular target for snowballs—but when we got to the door, everyone besides me groaned in unison. It was raining, washing all traces of the snow away in clear, icy ribbons down the side of the walkway. I pulled my hood up, hiding my smile. I would be free to go straight home after Gym.
McKayla kept up a string of complaints on the way to building four.
Once inside the classroom, I was relieved that Edythe's chair was still empty. It gave me a minute to settle myself. Mrs. Banner was walking around the room, distributing one microscope and box of slides to each table. Class still had a few minutes before it started, and the room buzzed with conversation. I kept my eyes away from the door, doodling idly on the cover of my notebook.
I heard very clearly when the chair next to me moved, but I kept my eyes focused on the pattern I was drawing.
"Hello," said a quiet, musical voice.
I looked up, shocked that she was speaking to me. She was sitting as far away from me as the desk allowed, but her chair was angled toward me. Her hair was dripping wet, tangled—even so, she looked like she'd just finished shooting a commercial. Her perfect face was friendly, open, a slight smile on her full, pink lips. But her long eyes were careful.
"My name is Edythe Cullen," she continued. "I didn't have a chance to introduce myself last week. You must be Beau Swan."
My mind was whirling with confusion. Had I made up the whole thing? She was totally polite now. I had to say something; she was waiting. But I couldn't think of anything normal to say.
"H-how do you know my name?" I stammered.
She laughed softly. "Oh, I think everyone knows your name. The whole town's been waiting for you to arrive."
I frowned, though it wasn't as if I hadn't guessed as much.
"No," I persisted like an idiot. "I meant, why did you call me Beau?"
She seemed confused. "Do you prefer Beaufort?"
"Absolutely not," I said. "But I think Charlie—I mean, my dad—must call me that behind my back—that's what everyone here seemed to know me as." The more I tried to explain, the more moronic it sounded.
"Oh." She let it drop. I looked away awkwardly.
Luckily, Mrs. Banner started class at that moment. I tried to concentrate as she explained the lab we would be doing today. The slides in the box were out of order. Working as lab partners, we had to separate the slides of onion root tip cells into the phases of mitosis they represented and label them accordingly. We weren't supposed to use our books. In twenty minutes, she would be coming around to see who had it right.
"Get started," she commanded.
"Ladies first, partner?" Edythe asked. I looked up to see her smiling a dimpled smile so perfect that I could only stare at her like a fool.
She raised her eyebrows.
"Uh, sure, go ahead," I sputtered.
I saw her eyes flash to the splotches blooming across my cheeks. Why couldn't my blood just stay in my veins where it belonged?
She looked away sharply, yanking the microscope to her side of the table.
She studied the first slide for a quarter of a second—maybe less.
"Prophase."
She switched out the slide for the next, then paused and looked up at me.
"Or did you want to check?" she challenged.
"Uh, no, I'm good," I said.
She wrote the word Prophase neatly on the top line of our worksheet. Even her handwriting was perfect, like she'd taken classes in penmanship or something. Did anyone still do that?
She barely glanced through the microscope at the second slide, then wrote Anaphase on the next line, looping her A like it was calligraphy, like she was addressing a wedding invitation. I'd had to do the invitations for my mom's wedding. I'd printed the labels in a fancy script font that didn't look anything as elegant as Edythe's handwriting.
She moved the next slide into place, while I took advantage of her diverted attention to stare. So close up, you'd think I'd be able to see something—a hint of a pimple, a stray eyebrow hair, a pore, something—wrong with her. But there was nothing.
Suddenly her head flipped up, eyes to the front of the class, just before Mrs. Banner called out, "Miss Cullen?"
"Yes, Mrs. Banner?" Edythe slid the microscope toward me as she spoke.
"Perhaps you should let Mr. Swan have an opportunity to learn?"
"Of course, Mrs. Banner."
Edythe turned and gave me a well, go ahead then look.
I bent down to look through the eyepiece. I could sense she was watching—only fair, considering how I'd been ogling her—but it made me feel awkward, like just inclining my head was a clumsy move.
At least the slide wasn't difficult.
"Metaphase," I said.
"Do you mind if I look?" she asked as I started to remove the slide. Her hand caught mine, to stop me, as she was speaking. Her fingers were ice cold, like she'd been holding them in a snowdrift before class. But that wasn't why I jerked my hand away so quickly. When she touched me, it stung my hand like a low-voltage electric shock.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, quickly pulling her hand back, though she continued to reach for the microscope. I watched her, a little dazed, as she examined the slide for another tiny fraction of a second.
"Metaphase," she agreed, then slid the microscope back to me.
I tried to exchange slides, but they were too small or my fingers were too big, and I ended up dropping both. One fell on the table and the other over the edge, but Edythe caught it before it could hit the ground.
"Ugh," I exhaled, mortified. "Sorry."
"Well, the last is no mystery, regardless," she said. Her tone was right on the edge of laughter. Butt of the joke again.
Edythe calligraphied the words Metaphase and Telophase onto the last two lines of the worksheet.
We were finished before anyone else was close. I could see McKayla and her partner comparing two slides again and again, and another pair had their book open under the table.
Which left me with nothing to do but try not to look at her... unsuccessfully. I glanced down, and she was staring at me, that same strange look of frustration in her eyes. Suddenly I identified that elusive difference in her face.
"Did you get contacts?" I blurted out.
She seemed puzzled by my apropos-of-nothing question. "No."
"Oh," I mumbled. "I thought there was something different about your eyes."
She shrugged, and looked away.
In fact, I knew there was something different. I had not forgotten one detail of that first time she'd glared at me like she wanted me dead. I could still see the flat black color of her eyes—so jarring against the background of her pale skin. Today, her eyes were a completely different color: a strange gold, darker than butterscotch, but with the same warm tone. I didn't understand how that was possible, unless she was lying for some reason about the contacts. Or maybe Forks was making me crazy in the literal sense of the word.
I looked down. Her hands were clenched into fists again.

[السسسيم]

Mrs. Banner came to our table then, looking over our shoulders to glance at the completed lab, and then stared more intently to check the answers.
"So, Edythe...," Mrs. Banner began.
"Beau identified half of the slides," Edythe said before Mrs. Banner could finish.
Mrs. Banner looked at me now; her expression was skeptical.
"Have you done this lab before?" she asked.
I shrugged. "Not with onion root."
"Whitefish blastula?"
"Yeah."
Mrs. Banner nodded. "Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?"
"Yes."
"Well," she said after a moment, "I guess it's good you two are lab partners." She mumbled something else I couldn't hear as she walked away. After she left, I started doodling on my notebook again.
"It's too bad about the snow, isn't it?" Edythe asked. I had the odd feeling that she was forcing herself to make small talk with me. It was like she had heard my conversation with Jeremy at lunch and was trying to prove me wrong. Which was impossible. I was turning paranoid.
"Not really," I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else. I was still trying to shake the stupid feeling of suspicion, and I couldn't concentrate on putting up a socially acceptable front.
"You don't like the cold." It wasn't a question.
"Or the wet."
"Forks must be a difficult place for you to live," she mused.
"You have no idea," I muttered darkly.
She looked riveted by my response, for some reason I couldn't imagine. Her face was such a distraction that I tried not to look at it any more than courtesy absolutely demanded.
"Why did you come here, then?"
No one had asked me that—not straight out like she did, demanding.
"It's... complicated."
"I think I can keep up," she pressed.
I paused for a long moment, and then made the mistake of meeting her gaze. Her long, dark gold eyes confused me, and I answered without thinking.
"My mother got remarried," I said.
"That doesn't sound so complex," she disagreed, but her tone was suddenly softer. "When did that happen?"
"Last September." I couldn't keep the sadness out of my voice.
"And you don't like him," Edythe guessed, her voice still kind.
"No, Phil is fine. A little young, maybe, but he's a good guy."
"Why didn't you stay with them?"
I couldn't understand her interest, but she continued to stare at me with penetrating eyes, as if my dull life's story was somehow vitally important.
"Phil travels most of the time. He plays ball for a living." I half-smiled.
"Have I heard of him?" she asked, smiling in response, just enough for a hint of the dimples to show.
"Probably not. He doesn't play well. Just minor league. He moves around a lot."
"And your mother sent you here so that she could travel with him." She said it as an assumption again, not a question.
My hunched shoulders straightened automatically. "No, she didn't. I sent myself."
Her eyebrows pushed together. "I don't understand," she admitted, and she seemed more frustrated by that fact than she should be.
I sighed. Why was I explaining this to her? She stared at me, waiting.
"She stayed with me at first, but she missed him. It made her unhappy... so I decided it was time to spend some quality time with Charlie." My voice was glum by the time I finished.
"But now you're unhappy," she pointed out.
"And?" I challenged.
"That doesn't seem fair." She shrugged, but her eyes were still intense.
I laughed once. "Haven't you heard? Life isn't fair."
"I believe I have heard that somewhere before," she agreed dryly.
"So that's it," I insisted, wondering why she was still staring at me that way.
Her head tilted to the side, and her gold eyes seemed to laser right through the surface of my skin. "You put on a good show," she said slowly. "But I'd be willing to bet that you're suffering more than you let anyone see."
I shrugged. "I repeat... And?"
"I don't entirely understand you, that's all."
I frowned. "Why would you want to?"
"That's a very good question," she murmured, so quietly that I wondered if she was talking to herself. However, after a few seconds of silence, I decided that was the only answer I was going to get.
It was awkward, just looking at each other, but she didn't look away. I wanted to keep staring at her face, but I was afraid she was wondering what was wrong with me for staring so much, so finally I turned toward the blackboard. She sighed.
I glanced back, and she was still looking at me, but her expression was different... a little frustrated, or irritated.
"I'm sorry," I said quickly. "Did I... Am I annoying you?"
She shook her head and smiled with half her mouth so that one dimple popped out. "No, if anything, I'm annoyed with myself."
"Why?"
She cocked her head to the side. "Reading people... it usually comes very easily to me. But I can't—I guess I don't know quite what to make of you. Is that funny?"
I flattened out my grin. "More... unexpected. My mom always calls me her open book. According to her, you can all but read my thoughts printing out across my forehead."
Her smile vanished and she half-glared into my eyes, not angry like before, just intense. As if she was trying hard to read that printout my mom had seen. Then, switching gears just as abruptly, she was smiling again.
"I suppose I've gotten overconfident."
I didn't know what to say to that. "Um, sorry?"
She laughed, and the sound was like music, though I couldn't think of the instrument to compare it to. Her teeth were perfect—no surprise there—and blinding white.
Mrs. Banner called the class to order then, and I was relieved to give her my attention. It was a little too intense, making small talk with Edythe. I felt dizzy in a strange way. Had I really just detailed my boring life to this bizarre, beautiful girl who might or might not hate me? She'd seemed almost too interested in what I had to say, but now I could see, from the corner of my eye, that she was leaning away from me again, her hands gripping the edge of the table with unmistakable tension.
I tried to focus as Mrs. Banner went through the lab with transparencies on the overhead projector, but my thoughts were far away from the lecture.
When the bell rang, Edythe rushed as swiftly and as gracefully from the room as she had last Monday. And, like last Monday, I stared after her with my jaw hanging open.
McKayla got to my table almost as quickly.
"That was awful," she said. "They all looked exactly the same. You're lucky you had Edythe for a partner."
"Yeah, she seemed to know her way around an onion root."
"She was friendly enough today," McKayla commented as we shrugged into our raincoats. She didn't sound happy about it.
I tried to make my voice casual. "I wonder what was with her last Monday."
I couldn't concentrate on McKayla's chatter as we walked to Gym, and P.E. didn't do much to hold my interest, either. McKayla was on my team today. She helpfully covered my position as well as her own, so I only had to pay attention when it was my turn to serve; my team knew to get out of the way when I was up.
The rain was just a mist as I walked to the parking lot, but I was still pretty damp when I got in the truck. I turned the heat up as high as it could go, for once not caring about the mind-numbing roar of the engine.
As I looked around me to make sure the way was clear, I noticed the still, white figure. Edythe Cullen was leaning against the front door of the Volvo, three cars down from me, and staring intently in my direction. The smile was gone, but at least so was the murder—for now, anyway. I looked away and threw the truck into reverse, almost hitting a rusty Toyota Corolla in my rush. Lucky for the Toyota, I stomped on the brake in time. It was just the sort of car that my truck would make scrap metal of. I took a deep breath, still looking out the other side of my car, and cautiously pulled out again. This time I made it. I stared straight ahead as I passed the Volvo, but I could see enough in my peripheral vision to know that she was laughing.+

[السسسيم]

السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته
انتهى الفصل الثاني من الكتاب المسمى
ب" كتاب مفتوح "

[السسسيم]

Phenomenon
WHEN I OPENED MY EYES IN THE MORNING, SOMETHING WAS DIFFERENT.
It was the light. It was still the gloomy light of a cloudy day in the forest, but it was clearer somehow. I realized there was no fog obscuring my window.
I jumped up to look outside, and then groaned.
A fine layer of snow covered the yard, dusted the top of my truck, and whitened the road. But that wasn't the worst part. All the rain from yesterday had frozen solid—coating the needles on the trees in crazy patterns, and making the driveway a deadly ice slick. I had enough trouble not falling down when the ground was dry; it might be safer for me to go back to bed now.
Charlie had left for work before I got downstairs. In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself enjoying the space rather than feeling lonely.
I threw down a quick bowl of cereal and some orange juice from the carton. I felt excited to go to school, and that worried me. I knew it wasn't the stimulating learning environment I was anticipating, or seeing my new set of friends. If I was being honest with myself, I knew I was eager to get to school because I would see Edythe Cullen. And that was very, very stupid.
Maybe a few of the other girls were intrigued by the novelty of the new kid, but Edythe wasn't a McKayla or an Erica. I was well aware that my league and her league were spheres that did not touch. I was already worried that just looking at her face was giving me unrealistic expectations that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Spending more time looking at her—watching her lips move, marveling at her skin, listening to her voice—was certainly not going to help with that. I didn't exactly trust her anyway—why lie about her eyes? And of course, there was the whole thing where she might have at one point wanted me dead. So I should definitely not be excited to see her again.
It took every ounce of my concentration to make it down the icy brick driveway alive. I almost lost my balance when I finally got to the truck, but I managed to cling on to the side mirror and save myself. The sidewalks at school would be complex today... so much potential for humiliation.
My truck seemed to have no problem with the black ice that covered the roads. I drove very slowly, though, not wanting to carve a path of destruction through Main Street.
When I got out of my truck at school, I discovered why I'd had so little trouble. Something silver caught my eye, and I walked to the back of the truck—carefully holding the side for support—to examine my tires. There were thin chains crisscrossed in diamond shapes around them. Charlie had gotten up who knows how early to put snow chains on my truck.
I frowned, surprised that my throat suddenly felt tight. That wasn't the way it was supposed to work. I probably should have been the one to think about putting chains on his tires, if I could figure out how to do that. Or at least I should have helped him with the chore. It wasn't his job....
Except that, actually, it kind of was. He was the parent. He was taking care of me, his son. That was how it worked in books and on TV shows, but it made me feel upside down in a strange way.
I was standing by the back corner of the truck, struggling to contain the sudden wave of emotion the snow chains had brought on, when I heard a strange sound.
It was a high-pitched screech, and almost as soon as I registered it, the sound was already painfully loud. I looked up, startled.
I saw several things simultaneously. Nothing was moving in slow motion, the way it does in the movies. Instead, the adrenaline rush seemed to make my brain work faster, and I was able to absorb in clear detail a few things all at once

Edythe Cullen was standing four cars down from me, mouth open in horror. Her face stood out from a sea of faces, all frozen in the same mask of shock. Also, a dark blue van was skidding, tires locked and squealing against the brakes, spinning wildly across the ice of the parking lot. It was going to hit the back corner of my truck, and I was standing between them. I didn't even have time to close my eyes.
Just before I heard the shattering crunch of the van folding around the truck bed, something hit me, hard, but not from the direction I was expecting. My head cracked against the icy blacktop, and I felt something solid and cold pinning me to the ground. I realized I was lying on the pavement behind the tan car I'd parked next to. But I didn't have a chance to notice anything else, because the van was still coming. It had curled gratingly around the end of the truck and, still spinning and sliding, was about to collide with me again.
"Come on!" She said the words so quickly I almost missed them, but the voice was impossible not to recognize.
Two thin, white hands shot out in front of me, and the van shuddered to a stop a foot from my face, her pale hands fitting exactly into a deep dent in the side of the van's body.
Then her hands moved so fast they blurred. One was suddenly gripping under the body of the van, and something was dragging me, swinging my legs around like a rag doll's, till they hit the tire of the tan car. There was a groaning metallic thud so loud it hurt my ears, and the van settled, glass popping, onto the asphalt—exactly where, a second ago, my legs had been.
It was absolutely silent for one long second. Then the screaming started. In the abrupt chaos, I could hear more than one person shouting my name. But more clearly than all the yelling, I could hear Edythe Cullen's low, frantic voice in my ear.
"Beau? Are you all right?"
"I'm fine." My voice sounded strange. I tried to sit up, and realized she was holding me against the side of her body. I must have been more traumatized than I realized, because I couldn't budge her arm at all. Was I weak with shock?
"Be careful," she warned as I struggled. "I think you hit your head pretty hard."
I became aware of a throbbing ache centered above my left ear.
"Ow," I said, surprised.
"That's what I thought." Nothing seemed funny to me, but it sounded like she was trying not to laugh.
"How in the..." I trailed off, trying to clear my head, get my bearings. "How did you get over here so fast?"
"I was standing right next to you, Beau," she said, her voice suddenly serious again.
I turned to sit up, and this time she helped me, but then she slid as far from me as she could in the limited space. I looked at her concerned, innocent expression, and was disoriented again by her gold-colored eyes. What was I asking her?
And then they found us, a crowd of people with tears streaming down their faces, shouting at each other, shouting at us.
"Don't move," someone instructed.
"Get Taylor out of the van!" someone else shouted. There was a flurry of activity around us. I tried to get up, but Edythe's hand pushed my shoulder down.
"Just stay put for now."
"But it's cold," I complained. It surprised me when she chuckled under her breath. There was an edge to the sound.
"You were over there," I suddenly remembered, and her chuckle stopped short. "You were by your car."
Her expression hardened abruptly. "No, I wasn't."
"I saw you." Everything around us was confusion. I could hear the lower voices of adults arriving on the scene. But I stubbornly held on to the argument; I was right, and she was going to admit it.
"Beau, I was standing with you, and I pulled you out of the way."
She stared at me, and something strange happened. It was like the gold of her eyes turned up, like her eyes were drugging me, hypnotizing me. It was devastating in a weird, exciting way. But her

[السسسيم]

expression was anxious. I thought she was trying to communicate something crucial.
"But that's not what happened," I said weakly.
The gold in her eyes blazed again. "Please, Beau."
"Why?" I asked.
"Trust me?" she pleaded.
I could hear the sirens now. "Will you explain everything to me later?"
"Fine," she snapped, suddenly exasperated.
"Okay," I mumbled, unable to process her mood swings with everything else I was trying to come to terms with. What was I supposed to think, when what I remembered was impossible?
It took six EMTs and two teachers—Ms. Varner and Coach Clapp—to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Edythe insisted she hadn't been touched, and I tried to do the same, but she was quick to contradict me. She told them I'd hit my head, and then made it sound worse than it was, throwing around words like concussion and hemorrhage. I wanted to die when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Edythe got to ride in the front. It was a thousand times more humiliating than I'd imagined today would be, and I hadn't even made it to the sidewalk.
To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely away.
"Beau!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.
"I'm completely fine, Char—Dad," I sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me."
He rounded on the closest EMT for a second opinion. While the EMT tried to talk him down, I tuned them out to consider the jumble of absurd images churning in my head—images that were not possible. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car's bumper—a very distinct dent that fit the slim shape of Edythe's shoulders... as if she had braced herself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame....
And then there was her family, looking on from a distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval (Eleanor) to fury (Royal), but held no hint of concern for their little sister's safety.
I remembered the sensation of almost flying through the air... that hard mass that had pinned me to the ground... Edythe's hand under the frame of the van, like it was holding the van off the ground...
I tried to think of a logical explanation that could make sense of what I had just seen. All I could come up with was that I was having a psychotic episode. I didn't feel crazy, but maybe crazy people always felt sane.
Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Edythe simply glided through the hospital doors on her own.
They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn't obligated to wear the embarrassing neck brace anymore. As soon as the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.
There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Taylor Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around her head. Taylor looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But she was staring anxiously at me.
"Beau, I'm so sorry!"
"I'm fine, Taylor—you look awful, are you all right?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding her bloody bandages, exposing dozens of shallow slices all over her forehead and left cheek.
She ignored me. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong...." She winced as one nurse started dabbing at her face.
"Don't worry about it; you missed me."
"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone...."
"Umm... Edythe shoved me out of the way."
She looked confused. "Who?"
"Edythe Cullen—she was standing next to me." As usual, I didn't sound believable at all.
"Edythe? I didn't see her... wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is she okay?"
"I think so. She's here somewhere, but they didn't make her use a stretcher."
I knew I wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I'd seen.
They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, harassed by Taylor's constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince her I was fine, she continued to beg for forgiveness. Finally, I closed my eyes and tried to ignore her.
"Is he sleeping?" a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.
Edythe was standing at the foot of my bed, her expression more a smirk than a smile. I stared at her, trying to put the pieces together in my head. She didn't look like someone who could stop attacking vehicles with her bare hands. But then, she also didn't look like anyone I'd ever seen before.
"Hey, um, Edythe, I'm really sorry—" Taylor began.
Edythe lifted a hand to stop her.
"No blood, no foul," she said, flashing her bright white teeth. She moved to sit on the edge of Taylor's bed, facing me. She smirked again.
"So, what's the verdict?" she asked me.
"There's nothing wrong with me, but they won't let me go," I said. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"
"It's all about who you know," she answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."
Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. She was young, she was blond... and she was more beautiful than any movie star I'd ever seen. Like someone sliced up Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, and Marilyn Monroe, took the best parts, and glued them together to form one goddess. She was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under her dark eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Edythe's mom.
"So, Mr. Swan," Dr. Cullen asked in a gentle voice, "how are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," I said, for the last time, I hoped.
She walked to the lightboard on the wall over my head, and turned it on.
"Your X-rays look good," she said. "Does your head hurt? Edythe said you hit it pretty hard."
"It's fine," I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick, questioning look Edythe's way. She avoided my eyes.
The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. She noticed when I winced.
"Tender?" she asked.
"Not really." I'd had worse.
I heard a low laugh, and looked over to see Edythe smiling.
"Well, your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."
"Can't I go back to school?" I asked, imagining Charlie trying to play nurse.
"Maybe you should take it easy today."
I glanced at Edythe. "Does she get to go to school?"
"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Edythe said blithely.
"Actually," Dr. Cullen corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."
"Ugh," I moaned.
Dr. Cullen raised her eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?"
"No, no!" I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly—I staggered, and Dr. Cullen caught me. She was sturdier than she looked.
"I'm fine," I assured her again. No need to explain that my balance problems had nothing to do with hitting my head.
"Take some Tylenol for the pain," she suggested as she steadied me.
"It doesn't hurt that bad," I insisted.
"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Cullen said, smiling as she signed my chart with a flourish.
"Lucky Edythe just happened to be standing next to me," I amended, shooting another glance at the subject of my statement.
"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of her. Then she looked away, at Taylor, and walked to the next bed. It made me sure the doctor was in on it.
"I'm afraid that you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer," she said to Taylor, and began checking her cuts.
As soon as the doctor's back was turned, I moved to Edythe's side.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I whispered under my breath. She took a step back from me, her jaw suddenly clenched.
"Your father is waiting for you," she said through her teeth.
I glanced at Dr. Cullen and Taylor.
"I need to speak with you alone," I pressed.
She glared—but it wasn't the same as that first day, not nearly as homicidal, so I just waited. After a second, she turned her back and stalked quickly down the long room. Long as my legs are, I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, she spun around to face me.
"What do you want?" she asked, sounding annoyed. Her eyes were cold.
Her unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out with less certainty than I'd planned. "You owe me an explanation," I reminded her.
"I saved your life—I don't owe you anything."
I flinched back from the resentment in her voice. "Why are you acting like this?"
"Beau, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." Her tone was cutting.
Her anger only made me more sure that I was right, though. "There's nothing wrong with my head."
She turned up the heat of her glare. "What do you want from me, Beau?"
"I want to know the truth," I said. "I want to know why I'm lying for you."
"What do you think happened?" she snapped.

[السسسيم]

expression was anxious. I thought she was trying to communicate something crucial.
"But that's not what happened," I said weakly.
The gold in her eyes blazed again. "Please, Beau."
"Why?" I asked.
"Trust me?" she pleaded.
I could hear the sirens now. "Will you explain everything to me later?"
"Fine," she snapped, suddenly exasperated.
"Okay," I mumbled, unable to process her mood swings with everything else I was trying to come to terms with. What was I supposed to think, when what I remembered was impossible?
It took six EMTs and two teachers—Ms. Varner and Coach Clapp—to shift the van far enough away from us to bring the stretchers in. Edythe insisted she hadn't been touched, and I tried to do the same, but she was quick to contradict me. She told them I'd hit my head, and then made it sound worse than it was, throwing around words like concussion and hemorrhage. I wanted to die when they put on the neck brace. It looked like the entire school was there, watching soberly as they loaded me in the back of the ambulance. Edythe got to ride in the front. It was a thousand times more humiliating than I'd imagined today would be, and I hadn't even made it to the sidewalk.
To make matters worse, Chief Swan arrived before they could get me safely away.
"Beau!" he yelled in panic when he recognized me on the stretcher.
"I'm completely fine, Char—Dad," I sighed. "There's nothing wrong with me."
He rounded on the closest EMT for a second opinion. While the EMT tried to talk him down, I tuned them out to consider the jumble of absurd images churning in my head—images that were not possible. When they'd lifted me away from the car, I had seen the deep dent in the tan car's bumper—a very distinct dent that fit the slim shape of Edythe's shoulders... as if she had braced herself against the car with enough force to damage the metal frame....
And then there was her family, looking on from a distance, with expressions that ranged from disapproval (Eleanor) to fury (Royal), but held no hint of concern for their little sister's safety.
I remembered the sensation of almost flying through the air... that hard mass that had pinned me to the ground... Edythe's hand under the frame of the van, like it was holding the van off the ground...
I tried to think of a logical explanation that could make sense of what I had just seen. All I could come up with was that I was having a psychotic episode. I didn't feel crazy, but maybe crazy people always felt sane.
Naturally, the ambulance got a police escort to the county hospital. I felt ridiculous the whole time they were unloading me. What made it worse was that Edythe simply glided through the hospital doors on her own.
They put me in the emergency room, a long room with a line of beds separated by pastel-patterned curtains. A nurse put a pressure cuff on my arm and a thermometer under my tongue. Since no one bothered pulling the curtain around to give me some privacy, I decided I wasn't obligated to wear the embarrassing neck brace anymore. As soon as the nurse walked away, I quickly unfastened the Velcro and threw it under the bed.
There was another flurry of hospital personnel, another stretcher brought to the bed next to me. I recognized Taylor Crowley from my Government class beneath the bloodstained bandages wrapped tightly around her head. Taylor looked a hundred times worse than I felt. But she was staring anxiously at me.
"Beau, I'm so sorry!"
"I'm fine, Taylor—you look awful, are you all right?" As we spoke, nurses began unwinding her bloody bandages, exposing dozens of shallow slices all over her forehead and left cheek.
She ignored me. "I thought I was going to kill you! I was going too fast, and I hit the ice wrong...." She winced as one nurse started dabbing at her face.
"Don't worry about it; you missed me."
"How did you get out of the way so fast? You were there, and then you were gone...."
"Umm... Edythe shoved me out of the way."
She looked confused. "Who?"
"Edythe Cullen—she was standing next to me." As usual, I didn't sound believable at all.
"Edythe? I didn't see her... wow, it was all so fast, I guess. Is she okay?"
"I think so. She's here somewhere, but they didn't make her use a stretcher."
I knew I wasn't crazy. What had happened? There was no way to explain away what I'd seen.
They wheeled me away then, to X-ray my head. I told them there was nothing wrong, and I was right. Not even a concussion. I asked if I could leave, but the nurse said I had to talk to a doctor first. So I was trapped in the ER, harassed by Taylor's constant apologies and promises to make it up to me. No matter how many times I tried to convince her I was fine, she continued to beg for forgiveness. Finally, I closed my eyes and tried to ignore her.
"Is he sleeping?" a musical voice asked. My eyes flew open.
Edythe was standing at the foot of my bed, her expression more a smirk than a smile. I stared at her, trying to put the pieces together in my head. She didn't look like someone who could stop attacking vehicles with her bare hands. But then, she also didn't look like anyone I'd ever seen before.
"Hey, um, Edythe, I'm really sorry—" Taylor began.
Edythe lifted a hand to stop her.
"No blood, no foul," she said, flashing her bright white teeth. She moved to sit on the edge of Taylor's bed, facing me. She smirked again.
"So, what's the verdict?" she asked me.
"There's nothing wrong with me, but they won't let me go," I said. "How come you aren't strapped to a gurney like the rest of us?"
"It's all about who you know," she answered. "But don't worry, I came to spring you."
Then a doctor walked around the corner, and my mouth fell open. She was young, she was blond... and she was more beautiful than any movie star I'd ever seen. Like someone sliced up Audrey Hepburn, Grace Kelly, and Marilyn Monroe, took the best parts, and glued them together to form one goddess. She was pale, though, and tired-looking, with circles under her dark eyes. From Charlie's description, this had to be Edythe's mom.
"So, Mr. Swan," Dr. Cullen asked in a gentle voice, "how are you feeling?"
"I'm fine," I said, for the last time, I hoped.
She walked to the lightboard on the wall over my head, and turned it on.
"Your X-rays look good," she said. "Does your head hurt? Edythe said you hit it pretty hard."
"It's fine," I repeated with a sigh, throwing a quick, questioning look Edythe's way. She avoided my eyes.
The doctor's cool fingers probed lightly along my skull. She noticed when I winced.
"Tender?" she asked.
"Not really." I'd had worse.
I heard a low laugh, and looked over to see Edythe smiling.
"Well, your father is in the waiting room—you can go home with him now. But come back if you feel dizzy or have trouble with your eyesight at all."
"Can't I go back to school?" I asked, imagining Charlie trying to play nurse.
"Maybe you should take it easy today."
I glanced at Edythe. "Does she get to go to school?"
"Someone has to spread the good news that we survived," Edythe said blithely.
"Actually," Dr. Cullen corrected, "most of the school seems to be in the waiting room."
"Ugh," I moaned.
Dr. Cullen raised her eyebrows. "Do you want to stay?"
"No, no!" I insisted, throwing my legs over the side of the bed and hopping down quickly. Too quickly—I staggered, and Dr. Cullen caught me. She was sturdier than she looked.
"I'm fine," I assured her again. No need to explain that my balance problems had nothing to do with hitting my head.
"Take some Tylenol for the pain," she suggested as she steadied me.
"It doesn't hurt that bad," I insisted.
"It sounds like you were extremely lucky," Dr. Cullen said, smiling as she signed my chart with a flourish.
"Lucky Edythe just happened to be standing next to me," I amended, shooting another glance at the subject of my statement.
"Oh, well, yes," Dr. Cullen agreed, suddenly occupied with the papers in front of her. Then she looked away, at Taylor, and walked to the next bed. It made me sure the doctor was in on it.
"I'm afraid that you'll have to stay with us just a little bit longer," she said to Taylor, and began checking her cuts.
As soon as the doctor's back was turned, I moved to Edythe's side.
"Can I talk to you for a minute?" I whispered under my breath. She took a step back from me, her jaw suddenly clenched.
"Your father is waiting for you," she said through her teeth.
I glanced at Dr. Cullen and Taylor.
"I need to speak with you alone," I pressed.
She glared—but it wasn't the same as that first day, not nearly as homicidal, so I just waited. After a second, she turned her back and stalked quickly down the long room. Long as my legs are, I nearly had to run to keep up. As soon as we turned the corner into a short hallway, she spun around to face me.
"What do you want?" she asked, sounding annoyed. Her eyes were cold.
Her unfriendliness intimidated me. My words came out with less certainty than I'd planned. "You owe me an explanation," I reminded her.
"I saved your life—I don't owe you anything."
I flinched back from the resentment in her voice. "Why are you acting like this?"
"Beau, you hit your head, you don't know what you're talking about." Her tone was cutting.
Her anger only made me more sure that I was right, though. "There's nothing wrong with my head."
She turned up the heat of her glare. "What do you want from me, Beau?"
"I want to know the truth," I said. "I want to know why I'm lying for you."
"What do you think happened?" she snapped.

[السسسيم]

السلام عليكم ورحمة الله وبركاته
انهى الفصل الثالث من الكتاب و المسمى
ب" الظاهرة"

[السسسيم]

she snapped.
.Invitations
IN MY DREAM IT WAS VERY DARK, AND WHAT DIM LIGHT THERE WAS seemed to be radiating from Edythe's skin. I couldn't see her face, just her back as she walked away from me, leaving me in the blackness. No matter how fast I ran, I couldn't catch up to her; no matter how loud I called, she never turned. I got more and more frantic to get to her, until that anxiety woke me. It was the middle of the night, but I couldn't sleep again for what seemed like a very long time. After that, she was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the edges, never within reach.

The month that followed the accident was uneasy, tense, and, at first, embarrassing.
I found myself the center of attention for the rest of the week, which really sucked. Taylor Crowley was super annoying, following me around, coming up with different hypothetical ways to make it up to me. I tried to convince her that what I wanted more than anything else was for her to forget about it—especially since nothing had actually happened to me—but she wouldn't give up. She found me between classes and sat at our now-crowded lunch table. McKayla and Erica didn't seem to like that; they flashed more side-eye at her than they did at each other, which made me worry that I'd gained another unwelcome fan. Like being into the new kid was the latest fad.
No one was worried about Edythe—no one followed her around or asked for her eyewitness account. I always included her in my version; she was the hero—she had pulled me out of the way and nearly been crushed, too, but all anyone ever said was that they hadn't even realized she was there until the van was pulled away.
I wondered a lot about why no one else had noticed her standing so far away by her car, before she was suddenly and impossibly saving my life. There was only one solution I could think of, and I didn't like it. It had to be because no one else was so aware of Edythe. No one watched her the way I did. It was pathetic, and kind of stalkerish.
People avoided Edythe the same way they usually did. The Cullens and the Hales sat at the same table they always sat at, not eating, talking only to each other. None of them ever glanced my way anymore.
When Edythe sat beside me in class, as far away as possible, like usual, she seemed totally unaware that I was sitting there next to her. Like my seat was empty. Only now and then, when her fists would suddenly ball up—skin stretched even whiter over her knuckles—did I wonder if she wasn't as entirely oblivious as she seemed.
I wanted very much to continue our conversation from the hospital hallway, and the day after the accident I tried. She'd been so furious when we talked before. And, even though I really wanted to know what had actually happened and I thought I deserved the truth, I also knew I had been pretty pushy, considering that she had just saved my life and all. I didn't think I'd thanked her properly.
She was already in her chair when I got to Biology. She didn't turn when I sat down, just kept staring straight ahead. She showed no sign that she knew I was there.
"Hey, Edythe," I said.
She turned her head half an inch toward me, but her eyes stayed focused on the blackboard. She gave me one little half-nod, then turned her face away from me.
And that was the last contact I'd had with her, though she was there, a foot away from me, every day. I watched her sometimes, unable to stop myself—always from a distance, though, in the cafeteria or parking lot. I watched as her golden eyes grew noticeably darker day by day (then abruptly, they were honey-colored again. And the slow progression toward black would start over). But in class I gave no more notice that she existed than she showed toward me. It was miserable. And the dreams continued.
She wished she hadn't pushed me out of the way of Taylor's van. I couldn't think of any other explanation. Since she obviously preferred me dead, she was pretending that I was.
قد يعجبك

Despite my outright lies, the tone of my e-mails got my mom worked up. She called a few times, demanding to know I was okay. I tried to convince her it was just the rain that had me down.
McKayla, at least, was pleased by the obvious coolness between my lab partner and me. I guessed she'd been worried that the shared trauma would have bonded us or something. She got more confident, sitting on the edge of my table to talk before Biology class started, ignoring Edythe as completely as Edythe ignored us.
The snow washed away for good after that one dangerously icy day. McKayla complained that she'd never gotten to stage her big snowball fight, but she was happy that the beach trip would soon be possible. The rain continued heavily, though, and the weeks passed.
I hadn't really been aware of how much time was passing. Most days looked the same—gray, green, and more gray. My stepdad had always complained that Phoenix didn't have seasons, but as far as I could tell, Forks was much worse. I had no idea spring was anywhere near appearing until I was walking to the cafeteria with Jeremy one rainy morning.
"Hey, Beau?" he asked.
I wanted to hurry out of the rain, but Jeremy was barely shuffling forward. I slowed my pace to match his.
"What's up, Jeremy?"
"I was just wondering if anyone's asked you to the spring dance yet. You know, it's girls' choice."
"Oh. Um, no."
"Huh. Do you want... I mean, do you think McKayla will ask you?"
"I hope not," I said, maybe a little too fast.
He looked up at me, surprised. "Why not?"
"I don't do dances."
"Oh."
We shuffled forward for a minute in silence. He was thoughtful. I was impatient to get out of the drizzle.
"Do you mind if I tell her that?" he asked.
"No. That's probably a good idea. I don't want to have to tell anyone no if I don't have to."
"Okay."
"When's the dance again?"
We were close to the cafeteria now. He pointed to a bright yellow poster advertising the dance. I'd never noticed it before, but it was curling around the edges and a little washed out, like it had been up for a while.
"A week from Saturday," he said.
I was pretty sure Jeremy had already said something when, the next morning, McKayla was not her usual bubbly self in English. At lunch she sat away from both Jeremy and me, and she didn't say much to anyone. She stayed quiet as she walked with me to Biology, but she came over like usual to sit on the edge of my lab table. As always, I was too aware of Edythe sitting close enough to touch, but still so far away she might as well have been a product of my imagination.
"So," McKayla said, looking at the floor instead of at me. "Jeremy said that you don't do dances."
"Yeah, that's true."
She looked at me then, her expression hurt and a little angry. I hadn't even told her no yet, and I already felt guilty.
"Oh," she said. "I thought maybe he was making it up."
"Uh, sorry, no. Why would he make up a story like that?"
She frowned. "I think he wants me to ask him."
I forced a smile. "You should. Jeremy's great."
She shrugged. "I guess." Then she took a deep breath and looked me straight in the eye with a quick, nervous smile. "Would this 'I don't dance' thing change if I was the one asking you to go?"
From the corner of my eye, I saw Edythe's head suddenly tilt in my direction. Like she was listening to my answer, too.
It took me a little too long to respond. I still felt guilty, but mostly distracted. Was Edythe listening?
"Um, sorry, again."
McKayla's face fell. "Would it change if someone else asked you?"
Did Edythe see how McKayla's eyes flickered in her direction?
"No. It's a moot point anyway. I'm going to be in Seattle that day." I needed to get out of town—two Saturdays from now was the perfect time to go.
"Does it have to be that weekend?" McKayla asked.
"Yeah. But don't worry about me. You should take Jeremy. He's much more fun than I am."
"Yeah, I guess," she mumbled, and she turned to walk back to her seat. I watched her shoulders slump forward, and I felt horrible. I closed my eyes and pushed my fingers against my temples, trying to force McKayla's dejected posture out of my head. Mrs. Banner started talking. I sighed and opened my eyes.
Edythe was staring straight at me, that familiar expression of frustration even more obvious now in her black eyes.
I stared back, surprised, expecting her to look away. She didn't. Her eyes kept boring into mine, like she was trying to find something really important inside them. I continued to stare also, totally unable to break the connection, even if I wanted to. My hands started to shake.
"Miss Cullen?" the teacher called, looking for the answer to some question I hadn't heard.
"The Krebs Cycle," Edythe answered, seeming reluctant as she turned to look at Mrs. Banner.
I put my head down, pretending to stare at my book, as soon as her eyes released me. It bothered me—the rush of emotion pulsing through me, just because she'd happened to look at me for the first time in six weeks. It wasn't normal. It was actually pretty pathetic, and probably more than that. Unhealthy.
I tried hard not to be aware of her for the rest of the class, or, since that was impossible, at least not to let her know that I was aware of her. When the bell finally rang, I turned away from her to stack up my books, expecting her to rush out as usual.
"Beau?"
Her voice shouldn't sound so familiar, like I'd been hearing it all my life instead of just an hour here and there a few weeks ago.
I turned slowly toward her, not wanting to feel what I knew I would feel when I looked at her too-perfect face. I'm sure my expression was guarded; hers was unreadable. She didn't say anything.
"Yes?" I asked.
She just looked at me.
"So... um, are you... or are you not talking to me again?"
"Not," she said, but her lips curled up into a smile, her dimples flashing.
"Okay..." I looked away—down at my hands, then over toward the chalkboard. It was hard to concentrate when I looked at her, and this conversation wasn't making much sense.
"I'm sorry," she said, and there was no joke in her voice now. "I'm being very rude, I know. But it's better this way, really."
I looked at her again; her expression was totally serious now.
"I don't know what you mean."
"It's better if we're not friends," she explained. "Trust me."
My eyes narrowed. I'd heard that one before.
She seemed surprised by my reaction. "What are you thinking?" she asked.
"I guess... that it's too bad you didn't figure this out earlier, saved yourself the regret."
"Regret?" My answer seemed to have caught her off guard. "Regret for what?"
"For not letting Taylor's van crush me when it had the chance."
She looked completely shocked. She stared at me for a minute, wide-eyed, and when she finally spoke she almost sounded mad.
"You think I regret saving your life?" The words were quiet, just under her breath, but still pretty intense.
I glanced quickly toward the front of the room, where a couple of kids were still lingering. I caught one of them looking at us. He looked away and I turned back to Edythe.
"Yeah," I said, just as quietly. "I mean, what else? Seems kind of obvious."
She made the strangest sound—she exhaled through her teeth and it was like a hiss. She still looked mad.
"You're an idiot," she told me.
Well, that was my limit.
It was bad enough that I was so fixated on this girl, bad enough that I thought about her all the time, dreamed about her every night. I didn't need to sit here like the moron she thought I was and just stare while she insulted me. I grabbed my books and lurched out of my chair, knowing all the while that she was right—I was an idiot, because I wanted to stay, even if all I got to hear was more abuse from her. I needed to get out of the room as fast as possible, so of course, I tripped over the threshold and half-fell through the doorway, my books scattering across the sidewalk. I stood there for a second with my eyes closed, thinking about leaving them. Then I sighed and bent to pick them up.
Edythe was there; she'd already stacked them in a pile, which she offered to me.
I took them without really looking at her.
"Thanks," I mumbled.
"You're welcome," she answered. Still mad, sounded like.
I straightened up, and hurried to Gym without looking back.
Gym didn't make my day any better. We'd moved on to basketball. On the first day, even though all of them had seen me play volleyball, the other kids still seemed to think I should be good. It didn't take them long to figure out the truth. They never passed to me now, which was good, but with all the running I still managed to have a few

[السسسيم]

accidents per game. Today was worse than yesterday, because I couldn't concentrate on my feet. All I could think of was Edythe.
It was a relief, as usual, when I was finally free to leave. I couldn't wait to be back inside my truck, alone. The truck was in pretty decent shape, all things considered. I'd had to replace the taillights after the accident, but that was it. If the paint job weren't already hopeless, maybe I would have had to do something about the new scrapes. Taylor's parents had to sell her van for parts.
I rounded the corner and nearly had a heart attack. Someone small and thin was leaning against the side of my truck. I skidded to a stop, then took a deep breath. It was just Erica. I started walking again.
"Hey, Erica," I called.
"Hi, Beau."
"What's up?" I asked as I went to unlock the door. I glanced down at her, and fumbled my keys. She looked really uncomfortable.
"Um, I was wondering if you would go to the spring dance with me?"
I carefully inserted the car key into the lock.
"Sorry, Erica, I'm not going to the dance."
I had to look at her then. Her face was down, her black hair hiding her eyes.
"Oh, okay."
"Because I'm going to be in Seattle," I said quickly, trying to make her feel better. "It's the only day I can go. So, you know, oh well. I hope it's fun and all."
She glanced up from under her hair. "Okay," she repeated, but her voice was slightly more cheerful now. "Maybe next time."
"Sure," I agreed, and then immediately regretted it. Hopefully she wouldn't take that too literally.
"See ya," she said over her shoulder. She was already escaping. I waved, but she didn't see it.
I heard a low laugh.
Edythe was walking past the front of my truck, looking straight forward, her mouth not betraying even the hint of a smile.
I froze for a second. I wasn't prepared to be so close to her. I was used to bracing myself before Biology, but this was unexpected. She kept walking. I jerked the door open and climbed in, slamming it a little too hard behind me. I revved the deafening engine twice and reversed out into the aisle. Edythe was in her car already, two spaces down, sliding out into the lane in front of me, cutting me off. She stopped there—to wait for her family, I assumed. I could see the four of them walking this way, but they were still all the way back by the cafeteria. I looked in my rearview mirror. A line was beginning to form. Right behind me, Taylor Crowley was in her newly acquired used Sentra, waving. I ducked my head and pretended I couldn't see her.
While I was sitting there, focusing all my efforts on not staring at the driver in front of me, I heard a knock on my passenger side window. It was Taylor. I glanced in my mirror again, confused. Her Sentra was still running, the door left open. I leaned across the cab to crank the window down. It was stiff. I got it halfway there, then gave up.
"Sorry, Taylor, I can't move. I'm pinned in." I gestured to the Volvo. Obviously there was nothing I could do.
"Oh, I know—I just wanted to ask you something while we're trapped here." She grinned.
What was with this school? Was this some kind of practical joke? Hazing the new guy?
"Will you go to the spring dance with me?" she continued.
"I'm not going to be in town, Taylor." I realized I sounded too sharp. I had to remember it wasn't Taylor's fault that McKayla and Erica had already used up my patience.
"Yeah, McKayla told me that," she admitted.
"Then why—"
She shrugged. "I was hoping you were just letting her down easy."
Okay, it was totally her fault.
"Sorry, Taylor," I said, not feeling nearly as bad as I had with McKayla and Erica. "I'm not going to the dance."
"That's cool," she said, unfazed. "We still have prom."
Before I could say anything, she was walking back to her car. I could feel the red patches staining my face. Straight ahead, Archie, Royal, Eleanor, and Jessamine were all sliding into the Volvo. In the rearview mirror, I could see Edythe's eyes—staring at me. They were crinkled around the edges, and her shoulders were shaking with laughter. It was like she'd heard everything Taylor had said, and found my splotchy reaction hilarious. I revved my engine, wondering how much damage it would do to the Volvo and the black car beside it if I just muscled my way through and made my escape. I was pretty sure my truck could win that fight.
But they were all in, and Edythe was speeding away with her nearly silent engine.
I tried to concentrate on something else—anything else—as I drove home. Would McKayla ask Jeremy to the dance? Would he blame me if she didn't? Was Taylor serious about the prom? What would be my excuse for that one? Maybe I could work out a visit to my mom, or maybe she could come here. What was I going to make for dinner? We hadn't had chicken in a while.
But each time I finished answering my own question, my mind went right back to Edythe.
By the time I got home, I'd run out of new questions, so I gave up trying to think about something else. I decided to make chicken enchiladas because it would keep me busy for a while and I didn't have that much homework. It also forced me to concentrate on all the dicing—chicken, chilies, onions. All the while, though, I kept running through Biology class again, trying to analyze every word she'd spoken to me. What did she mean, it was better if we weren't friends?
My stomach dropped when I realized the only thing she could have meant. She must know how obsessed I was with her—it wasn't like I was hiding it very well. She didn't want to lead me on... so we couldn't even be friends... because she didn't want to hurt my feelings the way I'd hurt McKayla and Erica today. (Taylor seemed fine.) Edythe didn't want to have to feel that guilt. Because she wasn't interested in me at all.
Which made perfect sense, obviously, because I wasn't interesting.
My eyes were starting to sting and tear from the onions. I grabbed a dish towel, ran it under the faucet, and then rubbed it across my eyes. It didn't really help.
I was boring—I knew this about myself. And Edythe was the opposite of boring. This wasn't about her secret, whatever it was, if I even remembered any of that insane moment clearly. At this point, I almost believed the story I'd told everyone else. It made a lot more sense than what I thought I'd seen.
But she didn't need a secret to be out of my league. She was also brilliant and mysterious and beautiful and completely perfect. If she was, in fact, able to lift a full-sized van with one hand, it really didn't matter. Either way, she was fantasy and I was the very most mundane kind of reality.
And that was fine. I could leave her alone. I would leave her alone. I would get through my self-imposed sentence here in purgatory, and then hopefully some school in the Southwest, or possibly Hawaii, would offer me a scholarship.
I tried to think about palm trees and sun while I finished dinner.
Charlie seemed worried when he came home and smelled the green peppers, but he came around after the first bite. It was kind of a strange feeling, but also a good feeling, watching as he started to trust me in the kitchen.
"Dad?" I asked when he was almost done.
"Yeah, Beau?"
"Um, I just wanted to let you know that I'm going to Seattle a week from Saturday. Just for the day." I didn't want to ask permission—it set a bad precedent—but the statement form sounded rude, so I added, "If that's okay?"
"Why?" He sounded surprised, like he couldn't imagine any reason that would make someone want to leave Forks's town limits.
"Well, I wanted to get a few books—the library here is pretty limited. And maybe some warmer clothes." I had a little extra money, since, thanks to Charlie, I hadn't had to buy a car—though the truck did need a bigger gasoline budget than I'd expected—and the cold-weather clothes I'd picked up in Phoenix seemed to have been designed by people who'd never actually lived in temperatures below seventy but had once had such a climate described to them.
"That truck probably doesn't get very good gas mileage," he said, echoing my thoughts.
"I know, I'll stop in Montessano and Olympia—and Tacoma if I have to."
"Are you going all by yourself?"
"Yeah."
"Seattle is a big city—you could get lost," he warned.
"Dad, Phoenix is five times the size of Seattle—and I can read a map, don't worry about it."
"Do you want me to come with you?"
I wondered if he was really that worried about me, or if he just thought all the Saturdays he left me alone were adding up to neglect. Probably worried. I was sure that, in his head, he still pictured me as a five-year-old most of the time.
"That's okay. It's not going to be very exciting."
"Will you be back in time for the dance?"
I just stared back at him until he got it.
It didn't take him long. "Oh, right."
"Yeah," I said. I didn't get my balance issues from my mom.
The next morning at school, I parked as far as possible from the shiny silver Volvo. I would keep my distance. I wouldn't notice her anymore. She'd have nothing to complain about from here on out.
As I slammed the truck door shut, I lost my hold on the key and it splashed down in a puddle at my feet. As I bent to retrieve it, a pale hand flashed out and grabbed it first. I jerked upright, almost smacking my head into her. Edythe Cullen was right there, leaning casually against my truck.
"How do you do that?" I gasped.
"Do what?" She held out my key while she spoke. As I reached for it, she dropped it in my palm.
"Appear out of thin air?"
"Beau, it's not my fault if you are exceptionally unobservant." Her voice was just a murmur, muted velvet, and her lips were holding back a smile. Like she thought I was hilarious.
How was I supposed to ignore her when she wouldn't ignore me? That was what she wanted, right? Me, out of her long, bronze-y hair? Wasn't that what she'd said to me yesterday? We couldn't be friends. Then why was she talking to me? Was she sadistic? Was this her idea of fun—torture the idiotic kid she could never possibly care about?
I stared at her, frustrated. Her eyes were light again today, a deep, golden honey color. My thoughts got confused, and I had to look down. Her feet were just a half-foot from mine, oriented toward me, unmoving. Like she was waiting for a response.
I looked past her, toward the school, and said the first dumb things that came into my mind. "Why the traffic jam last night? I thought you were supposed to be pretending I don't exist."
"Ah. That was for Taylor's sake. She was figuratively dying for her chance at you."
I blinked. "What?" Irritation from yesterday's memory bled into my voice. I hadn't thought Edythe and Taylor were friends. Did Taylor ask her...? That didn't seem likely.
"And I'm not pretending you don't exist," she continued like I hadn't spoken.
I met her eyes again, trying hard to keep my mind focused, no matter how golden they seemed, or how long her lashes were against her pale violet lids.
"I don't know what you want from me," I told her.
It was annoying how my thoughts seemed to explode straight through my lips when I was near her, like I had no filter at all. I would never have spoken this way to another girl.
The amused half-smile disappeared, and her face was suddenly guarded.
"Nothing," she said too quickly, almost like she was lying.
"Then you probably should have let the van take me out. Easier that way."
She stared for a second, and when she answered, her voice was cold. "Beau, you are utterly absurd."
I must be right about the torture thing. I was just a way for her to pass time in this boring town. An easy mark.
I was past her in one long stride.
"Wait," she said, but I forced myself to keep moving, not to look back.
"I'm sorry, that was rude," she said, somehow right next to me, keeping pace though my legs were probably twice as long as hers. "I'm not saying it wasn't true, but it was rude to say it out loud."
"Why won't you leave me alone?"
"I wanted to ask you something, but you sidetracked me."
I sighed and slowed, though she didn't seem like she was having a hard time keeping up. "Fine." I was such a sucker. "What do you want?"
"I was wondering if, a week from Saturday—you know, the day of the spring dance—"
I stopped, wheeling to look down at her. "Is this funny to you?"
She stared up at me, seeming oblivious to the drizzling rain that was falling. She was apparently wearing no makeup at all—nothing smudged or ran. Of course, her face was just that perfect naturally. For a second, I was actually angry—angry that she had to be so beautiful. Angry that her beauty had made her cruel. Angry that I was the object of her cruelty, and even though I knew it, I still couldn't successfully walk away from her.
Her amused expression was back, the hint of dimples threatening on her cheeks.
"Will you please allow me to finish?" she asked.
Walk away, I told myself.
I didn't move.
"I heard that you were going to Seattle that day, and I wondered if you wanted a ride."
That was not what I was expecting.
"Huh?"
"Do you want a ride to Seattle?"
I wasn't sure where her joke was heading now. "With who?"
"Myself, obviously." She enunciated every syllable, like she thought maybe English wasn't my first language.
"Why?" Where was the punch line?
"Well, I was planning to go to Seattle in the next few weeks, and to be honest, I'm not sure if your truck can make it."
Finally, I was able to start walking again, goaded by the insult to my truck.
"Make fun of me all you want, but leave the truck out of it," I said.
Again, she kept up easily. "Why would you think that I'm making fun of you?" she asked. "The invitation is genuine."
"My truck is great, thanks."
"Can your truck make it to Seattle on one tank of gas?"
Before the truck, I'd never cared one way or another about any car, but I could feel a prejudice against Volvos forming.
"I don't see how that's your problem."
"The wasting of finite resources is everyone's problem," she said primly.
"Seriously, Edythe." I felt a charge go through me as I said her name aloud, and I didn't like it. "I can't keep up with you. I thought you didn't want to be my friend."
"I said it would be better if we weren't friends, not that I didn't want to be."
"Oh, wow, great, so that's all cleared up." Thick sarcasm. I realized I had stopped walking again. I looked down at her rain-washed face, clean and perfect, and my thoughts stuttered to a halt.
"It would be more... prudent for you not to be my friend," she explained. "But I'm tired of trying to stay away from you, Beau."
There was no humor in her face now. Her eyes were intense, narrowed, the long lines of her lashes stark black against her skin. Her voice had a strange heat to it. I couldn't remember how to breathe.
"Will you accept a ride with me to Seattle?" she demanded, voice still burning.
I couldn't speak, so I just nodded.
A quick smile reshaped her face, and then she was serious again.
"You really should stay away from me," she warned. "I'll see you in class."