A/N: So I've decided to try this Twilight 25 thing. It may kill me. (Uh, if you don't know, the Twilight 25 is a challenge to write 25 one-shots or "drabbles" [blurbs of exactly 100 words] based on twenty-five one-word prompts. There are details on LJ.)

Stephenie Meyer owns everything. I have a chocolate starfish, but please don't punch me in it.

The Twilight Twenty-Five

Prompt: Awkward

Pen name: Feisty Y. Beden

Pairing: Edward x Bella

Rating: M (for language)

Awkward

I woke up, feeling as though I had just gone to sleep. Truthfully, it had been only about three hours since I'd gone to bed, and I'd tossed and turned for most of that time. Perhaps I hadn't been sleeping at all, too giddy to let my mind go to black, to let my body go slack, to drop off the edge of consciousness into another world. The dream world used to be the only place my heart would swell like this, beat in my chest, warm my cheeks, make me flush in my belly and … lower.

But last night.

Oh.

I couldn't wait for college. I was ready to leave behind the sheltered upbringing of Renee and Charlie, to leave small town life and spread my wings and fly. I was so painfully shy, and I was convinced I would never be pretty enough for anyone to overlook my flaws. I didn't look like the other girls, and I certainly didn't party like the other girls. I kept to myself, hiding behind the curtain of my hair as if I were constantly in confessional. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." What was my sin? "I have been greedy, wanting passion, love, to be desired, when I should be thankful enough that my body is whole, that I have food and shelter and two protective parents."

And it was true; I mean, what did I have to complain about, in the grand scheme of things? I was healthy. I came from the increasingly rare unbroken home. My parents didn't beat me or put me down or push me to be anything but what I was. But what was that? Who was I? I'd admit, I had some odd habits. I had trouble making conversation. "Small talk" made me panic, get sweaty palms, discover I had a bladder the size of a thimble. During the rare occasion when a boy would actually talk to me, I'd lower my head, whispering behind my confessional screen, addressing my feet. And even then, I'd give monosyllabic answers. No wonder no one ever invited me to parties or asked me to dances. I'm sure my A-cups didn't help. Boys could overlook a lot of flaws if you had nice D-cup jugs. Nope. I had nothing working in my favor.

I heard what the girls would say about me when they didn't realize I was in a bathroom stall while they smoked between periods. "That Bella Swan, she's so weird. She's such a freakshow, so clingy. She always listens into our conversations, standing on the edge, like she's part of it."

"I know. And she laughs at our jokes like she thinks she's our friend or something. As if we'd talk to a loser like that."

I'd wait until the girls cleared out, so they wouldn't know I'd been listening. I'd take out my small memo pad and write down my reported flaws. It was the best way I could understand what I looked like to the outside world. Don't stand on the edges. Don't laugh if you're not part of the group, I'd jot down. If the girls dallied until second bell, I'd be late too, but I'd rather subject myself to the stares of my teachers or get an occasional detention than leave myself open to more of the girls' cruel scrutiny.

College was going to be different. I could be anyone I wanted.

It was wonderfully freeing. No one had a past, a reputation that preceded him or her like a damning phantom. We were all mint condition, new out of the box. Of course the super-confident girls were still the super-confident girls with their cutting edge fashion, their saucy, hip-shaking walks, putting on a full face of makeup even for a 9 AM biology class.

But then there were the rest of us, the confused masses. Everyone was friendly that first month of school. We were all in the same boat. A girl approached me at the end of the advanced literature class I'd placed into after my AP scores.

"Hey," she said, offering me her hand. "You're, like, in two other of my classes. Since we're obviously going to be seeing a lot of each other, we should be friends." She smiled widely. "I'm Jessica. Jessica Stanley."

"Oh, hey," I said, fighting my instinct to let my hair fall into my protective veil. It was pulled back into a ponytail anyway. "I'm Bella Swan."

"Bella Swan? That's a pretty name," she said. "Bella Swan, would you like to eat lunch with me?"

And that's how I made my first real friend.

I don't know how I hadn't noticed she lived in my dorm, even on the same floor. You'd think that seeing someone every day in a towel and spitting toothpaste into a sink would make you recognize people, but my problem was that I never really studied faces. I sort of looked through them. I saw people's vague outlines. "That is a girl shape," I'd think. "That is a jock boy shape."

Jessica and I hung out a lot. We had three classes together, and I started saying the stuff out loud to her that floated around in my head. Sometimes they were weird observations or quirks of mine, like how I watched my feet carefully on the sidewalk because a little part of me still wasn't sure I wouldn't break my mother's back if I stepped on a crack. I couldn't live with that kind of guilt.

"You're crazy, Bella," Jessica would laugh, but she said it as if "crazy" were a good thing, a fun thing.

Sometimes I'd give my opinion of what I thought of someone's outfit or hair or choice of arm candy. "That boy's haircut makes him look like the head of a circumcised penis," I once remarked, making Jessica shoot diet Coke out of her nose. "You are wicked, and I love you," she'd said once she'd used a paper napkin to blot away most of the damage. "My fucking sinuses, on the other hand, hate you."

I could breathe around Jessica. It was weird. I'd always thought I'd had to hide these little pieces of myself, suck it all in like a potbelly, in order to disappear or be normal or liked. But Jessica loved me because of those weird flabby bits.

It was at dinner one evening after I'd fashioned my salad bar salad into a pretty good likeness of Henry Kissinger that Jessica slammed her hand into the table and said, "Oh my god, you would be so perfect for my friend back home."

"Oh, really?" I asked, pretending not to be too interested. Inside, I was panting, turning cartwheels, thinking, There's someone out there who might be perfect for meeeeeeee?

"Yeah," she said, spearing a soggy stalk of broccoli with her fork. "He's my neighbor. I've known him forever. He's got a wacky sense of humor too, and he's just adorable."

"What's his name?" I asked, pretending to be extremely focused on my gummy mashed potatoes.

"Edward," Jessica said, sniffing at her fork and deciding the waterlogged broccoli really wasn't worth it. "He's the cutest thing on earth. I've just known him too long to have the urge to jump his bones. Plus he's a year younger, just a baby. I mean, I saw him in his acne and voice-cracking phase. You know," she said, and I laughed as if I did.

After that dinner, whenever I said anything weird or zany, the more I came out of my shell, Jessica would grab my arm and say, "I'm telling you, Edward is so perfect for you." She said it so much I didn't hear it anymore. I tuned it out the way I stopped noticing the industrial-strength bleach cleanser smell in our dorm. It just smelled like home now. "Edward is so perfect for you" was like an aural wallpaper of home. My college home.

"Bella!" Jessica practically tackled me as I left my sociology class. She was waving a letter in front of me. "Edward's coming to visit for the long weekend!"

"Oh, really?" I said. She'd said his name so much that I didn't think he really existed. He was as real as our school mascot, some sort of plush figure that was supposed to represent a ferocious predator but looked more to me like a purple chipmunk as he danced on the sidelines of the football field.

"Yeah, he's taking the bus, and he's, you know, 'looking at colleges,'" Jessica said, jumping up and down and using air quotes. "Oh, Bella, this is so perfect! Finally this will happen! You guys are just going to … fucking collide." She put on a deep, manly voice, growling, "And the world will never be the same."

"Oh, whatever," I laughed, waving her away. I didn't believe it. Jessica had the tendency to exaggerate. Still, it would be nice to meet her childhood friend.

Columbus Day weekend was strange. I was used to Columbus Day being just an excuse to take the Monday off. In college, Columbus Day meant angry sidewalk chalkings and rallies and marches about the brutal colonization of the Americas. I had no idea. I was so clueless, so sheltered.

Jessica bounced in her dorm room desk chair. "Oh my GOD, I can't wait for that bus to get here!"

"He'll get here, don't worry," I soothed, rolling my eyes playfully. She could be like such a hyperactive puppy.

Finally there was a knock at the door, and she squealed, again, in some range that only puppies could probably hear.

"He's here, omigod omigod omigod!"

"Yay?" I said tentatively.

She opened the door, and there he was, this toned, skinny boy, adorably rumpled from the bus trip. His hair was like rust and bronze and autumn leaves, but I couldn't see his face because he was bent over, fiddling with his suitcases. He stood up finally with a smirk. "Jessica, shit, it's good to see you!" he said, rushing forward, picking her up, and swinging her around.

She laughed and punched him repeatedly in the back. "Cullen, you fucker, put me down!" She straightened her shirt and pointed to me. "So, Culls, this is Bella. You know, Bella Swan?" She said it with a little eyebrow wiggle, and I blushed scarlet, knowing she must have talked me up to him as much as she'd been talking him up to me.

"Hey," I whispered, waving at him as stiffly as if I had an oven mitt on.

"Well, it's great to make your acquaintance, finally," he said, grinning and grabbing my hand.

It may have been the first time a boy actually touched my hand not by accident.

My heart thudded against my chest, and I looked up at him through my eyelashes. Oh. He was more than cute. He was all hard angles and elbows and messy hair. I found myself wondering what his neck smelled like. I swallowed thickly. I'm sure people across the quad could hear my comically loud gulp.

The three of us were inseparable the whole weekend, going out to eat, having late-night wings, going to the dollar theater and snickering through stilted dialogue and gratuitous boobie shots. It was so easy to talk to Edward. Gosh, I loved just saying "Edward" in my head, even more out loud when I wanted to tell him something. He wore a plaid flannel shirt over his form-fitting t-shirt instead of a sweater, and I was even so bold as to brush my fingers over his homage-to-grunge arm when I wanted to get his attention. I thought I saw his eyes sparkle a little when I did.

It was Sunday night, and Edward was going back home the next morning. "I've got a paper for my psych class," said Jessica. "Why don't you hang out with Bella tonight? I'm going to be so totally boring." She shoved him toward me out in the hallway. "So just go hang out with Bella, and I'll see you on the other side of this paper." She slammed the door in our faces before either of us could protest.

"Well," I said, shrugging.

"Yeah." He coughed, kicking his feet a little.

We hadn't been alone together this whole time, and I felt tiny threads, little strands of spider's silk connecting us. I wanted to touch his arm, but I had no reason. I put my hand in my pocket.

"So you want to go to my room?" I managed to choke out.

"Sure," he nodded, following me.

We sat on my bed, and he looked at the stuff on my walls. "There aren't a lot of photos of you in high school," he remarked.

"Yeah, it kind of wasn't awesome," I said, swinging my legs like a kid.

"I like high school," he said, almost with guilt.

"Sure, it's good for some people. I'm just … I wasn't too comfortable there. No one wanted to see who I was."

"I have trouble believing that," he said, picking up a little ballerina figurine on the shelf.

"Oh, that thing. I'm pretty much the clumsiest thing on earth, but I do have a sick fascination with ballet."

He exhaled on the figurine, carefully rubbing the dust off with his shirttail, never taking his eyes off of me.

"What's high school like for you?" I asked, curious about positive high school experiences.

"Dunno," he shrugged. "Classes, pranks, video games. Books. Friends. Sometimes I bake muffins."

"Are you serious? Muffins?"

"You'd be surprised how a good muffin can make a homeroom teacher overlook your lateness."

"That sounds like a euphemism," I chuckled.

"I'm no season one Pacey," he said, mock-offended.

My cheeks flushed. I wasn't even sure why.

"You have the most amazing blush," he said, which did nothing to alleviate the deep crimson shade I'd turned.

"God, it's totally embarrassing," I giggled nervously.

"You're, like, hypercolor." He reached up tentatively to touch my cheek. I shivered.

"How do you even know what hypercolor is? You weren't even conceived the last time hypercolor was out."

"And you were probably in utero. Anyway, I've seen, like, every 'I Love the 80s' on VH-1. I know shit."

We talked about everything and nothing, and only my dry, droopy eyelids gave me any indication of how much time had gone by. I yawned hugely and glanced at my watch.

"Oh, holy crow, it's after 5 AM!" I shouted.

"Dude. Seriously. Dude," said Edward, snickering. "Did you really just say 'holy crow'? What are you, Amish?"

I blushed more. "I … uh, I don't swear a lot. My parents, you know. They kind of are, you know, sensitive."

"Come on, let it out," he said, taking my hand in his. Oh god. Butterflies somersaulted in my stomach. Butterflies somersaulted in the stomachs of the butterflies somersaulting in my stomach.

"What are you suggesting?" I asked, wide-eyed.

"Come on, say, oh I don't know … how about 'Jesus Tittyfucker Cocksucking Monkeyfucking Buttlicker Chocolate Starfish'?"

"Uhhhh," I said.

"Come on," he said, nudging me with his shoulder.

"Jesus … Tittyfu—oh I just can't," I said, hiding my face in my hands and laughing until I was doubled over in pain.

"I'll write it out for you," he said, taking a Sharpie from the can of pens on my desk and a piece of notebook paper. He wrote the unthinkable words in artistic, block letters, slanting slightly to the left. The room smelled of permanent marker.

"Here, pretend you're reading the news. I'm the teleprompter." He held up the notebook paper.

"Coming up, our top stories," I began in a goofy television anchorman voice, "Jesus Tittyfucker Cocksucking Monkeyfucking Buttlicker Chocolate Starfish in interview with Barbara Walters."

Edward dropped the paper, whooping and raising his arms triumphantly, as if I'd made a touchdown.

"Now, wasn't that freeing?"

"I … I don't know," I said and clapped my hands over my mouth. "I feel so dirty," I said, mumbling behind my hands. "I should probably wash my mouth out with soap or something."

"Or not," Edward said, as he leaned closer, grabbing my face and kissing me hard. Oh. Oh my gosh. I was frozen. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. My lips were like stone. He laid a few gentle kisses on my lips until I turned to jelly, and my mouth opened just so I could breathe. He dragged his tongue across my lower lip, then grabbed my lip between his teeth and raked them across slowly. I moaned both in fear and holy crow my insides are combusting.

He pulled away. "I'm sorry—was that too bold?"

"Monkeyfucking Buttlicker?" was all I could say out loud. I clapped my hands over my mouth again.

He laughed. "You, Bella Swan, are the most motherfucking adorable thing ever." And he kissed me again, softly.

"What are we supposed to do now?" I asked.

"Look out your window—the sun is rising. Isn't it beautiful?" We both turned and looked, but the pinks and purples of the fall sunrise did nothing to calm my fluttering heart.

He turned me so I was leaning against him, and we just gazed out the window in silence as the sun rose, ruby red, the skies perfectly clear in that way it is only in the fall, before winter's bite returns.

"I'd better get back," he finally said. "Jessica will wonder where I am."

"No, she won't," I laughed, and he stood up, straightening his flannel shirt.

"What time is your bus?" I asked.

"A little before noon."

"Okay," I said, yawning again, "I'll come by to say goodbye." He gave me a bone-crushing hug, kissed my forehead, and slipped out the door.

So here I was lying in bed, barely rested. No, not rested at all. I looked at my watch in panic. It was 10 AM. He probably hadn't left yet.

I brushed my hair, changed my clothes, and tried to wipe the sleep from my eyes. I didn't even bother putting on my shoes. I bolted out the door barefoot and banged on Jessica's door.

Jessica opened the door so quickly that I nearly knocked on her forehead. "Hey, you!" she said brightly.

"How did your paper go?" I looked past her shoulder to see Edward. His back was to me as he crammed the last of his belongings into his suitcases.

"Eh, it's done. Freud had issues," she said, rolling her eyes.

I wasn't sure if Edward's kisses were somehow visible on my face, but Jessica didn't seem to notice. Edward finally turned toward me, and I smiled hugely, nearly hurting my cheeks. He gave an almost imperceptible shake of his head, and his eyes looked scared.

I realized he was afraid I was going to say something to Jessica about last night. I … I would have been okay, I think, if he didn't want to try anything long-distance—after all, we'd known each other only for about three days. But there was something, something about that fear and shame in his eyes that deadened my heart. I was reminded of the beginning of Howard's End, when Helen explains to her sister why she quickly got engaged to Paul Wilcox, and as quickly broke off the engagement, all within about twenty-four hours' time. She says to her sister of the morning after the engagement: "I was still happy while I dressed, but as I came downstairs I got nervous, and when I went into the dining-room I knew it was no good…. Charles was talking to [Paul] about Stocks and Shares, and he looked frightened….

"Somehow, when that kind of man looks frightened it is too awful. It is all right for us to be frightened, or for men of another sort—Father, for instance; but for men like that! When I saw all the others so placid, and Paul mad with terror in case I said the wrong thing, I felt for a moment that the whole Wilcox family was a fraud, just a wall of newspapers and motor-cars and golf-clubs, and that if it fell I should find nothing behind it but panic and emptiness." [1]

I saw that same terror in Edward's eyes, and I knew that maybe what we'd done a few hours ago was something that he never wanted Jessica to know, for whatever reason.

"Hey," I said, trying to show it was no big thing. "So, are you going to come back to visit us?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I have to check with my schedule and my dad and all."

"Well, it was very nice to meet you," I said, spreading my arms wide for a goodbye hug. He walked to me and shook my hand, clapping his other hand on my back as if I were some dude friend of his. My heart crumpled like tissue paper in his fist, but I kept a smile on my face.

Jessica helped Edward take his suitcases down to the entrance where the cab waited to take him back to the bus station. In a few moments she was back at her room. We both stood looking out the window, leaning our hands on the windowsill, our foreheads pressed against the cold glass. Our breath fogged the panes slightly, but we still could make out the cab taking Edward back home.

"You know," she said, "I think I changed my mind. I think I want Edward again."

"It happens," I said noncommittally, thinking to myself another line from Howard's End:

"To Helen, at all events, her life was to bring nothing more intense than the embrace of this boy who played no part in it." [2]

"See ya," I said to Jessica as I crept back to my room, looking for the sheet of notebook paper to make sure I hadn't dreamed it. The paper was there, and I touched my fingertip tentatively to my ballerina figurine, realizing that the statuette probably knew better than I what Edward Cullen smelled like.

[1] E.M. Forster, Howard's End (New York: Signet Classic, 1986), 21.

[2] Ibid, 20.

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