So, anyway, have you guys heard that I hate this franchise? Because I do. I really, truly do. But, the characters are really fuck-with-able and I like that for literary reasons, I guess. I don't know anymore, really.

Enjoy and review, I guess?

Edward

I frowned.

My pulse oximeter – this little device I clipped to my fingertip to measure the percent of oxygen in my bloodstream – made a happy beep boop to let me know it was done calculating and then flashed the number 87% for my results.

That was two percent lower than it was yesterday.

I pulled out my composition book marked on the front with 'CF' and wrote down the results. I allowed a three percent margin of error in my saturation calculations. I mean, there were a lot of factors that went into it – if I just exercised, how the weather was, how humid it was, if I had a good night's sleep, etc.

However, I was frowning because when I flipped through the last week, my sats were slowly declining by one to two percent everyday. That wasn't good. That meant my arteries were working too hard and my lungs were working too hard. Well, my lungs were always working too hard. But when my arteries were working too hard and my lungs were working too hard, it stressed out my heart.

I frowned and then coughed into my fist as I looked through my comp book. My medications I've taken, my bowel habits, heartburn trends, my meals with calories, how my symptoms have been, and then usually some sort of one-liner that summarized the day. Yesterday's one-liner was a Nietzsche quote: "To live is to suffer, to survive is to find some meaning in the suffering."

It was basically my life on paper. My life with cystic fibrosis.

"Edward!" Mom called from the base of the stairs. "Breakfast!"

I unhooked myself from my room's concentrator – this blue contraption that fed me oxygen through a clear cannula in my nose and I hooked myself up to my portable oxygen concentrator - a purse-sized device that sat in a black bag, grabbed my comp book from my desk and shoved it in my backpack, shoved my feet into my shoes and then started down the stairs, coughing into my fist on the way down.

Alice was already at the breakfast bar, the meter to her insulin pump in one hand and her breakfast burrito in the other. She decided over the winter break to chop off all of her hair – a la Miley Cyrus – and dye it black, much to Mom's chagrin. "Nice of you to join us." She said, without even looking up from her well-worn meter.

"'Nice of you to join us.'" I quoted at her in her nasal-y, stuffed up sinus voice as I hooked my concentrator's strap to the back of the chair.

"Stop it." She elbowed me and then shoved her meter back into her bra. "I know I sound stuffed up." She said and rolled her eyes.

She coughed delicately into the crook of her elbow before picking up her cell phone. "My horoscope says that I'll 'get to know someone intriguing.'" She said, her eyes flashing. "I love new friends."

"What does mine say?" I grinned as I downed the enzyme pill that sat on the plate next to my breakfast and picked up my breakfast burrito.

She elbowed me again and I giggled at her.

Alice was my twin. We shared almost everything – our green eyes, our bronze-y, red hair (hers of which was now black), our noses, our freckles, our germs, our bathroom counter space, and the genetic defect that gave us both CF.

"Alice," Our Mom said from the sink – her honey-colored hair tied up into a messy bun on top of her head and her green eyes riled. "Please eat."

"I'm not hungry." She wrinkled as she nibbled on the edge of her burrito. "All night long I get fed and then I wake up and expect to eat more food. I'm not a trash compactor."

I fingered my own G-tube through my shirt in solidarity. We both were underweight. I had done my due diligence - with the help of my meticulous notes - to put back on weight after my last hospitalization in November. I was almost at a point where I could ditch the overnight tube feedings altogether. Alice, on the other hand, was built like a Russian ballet prodigy with an eating disorder, who was always being get after to eat more by our doctors and dieticians.

"Well, if you didn't go to bed so late," Mom scolded. "Then you wouldn't get started late."

Alice sighed out of her nose.

"Will you at least drink your Ensure?"

"Yes, Mom." Alice rolled her eyes and grabbed the bottle from the counter.

"You too, mister." Mom scolded me too, even though I cleared my plate every meal, whether I was hungry or not.

It was my turn to roll my eyes. That was the difference between Alice and I. Alice could skate with her CF. Alice could skip treatments and feedings and do just fine. Alice's CF was nice to her. Mine on the other hand? Mine was finicky and cruel and severe. Mine was a monster. I had to be on my best behavior, or I faced infections, hospitalizations, and exacerbations. I coughed into my fist. No infections. I thought. Not allowed.

Alice's eyes landed on me, full of exasperation. "Are you ready?"

I chugged my Ensure, marked down what I ate in my comp book, with the calories – most of which I had memorized in my head – and stuffed everything back in my backpack. "Yep."

"Make sure she eats her lunch and drinks her Ensures." Mom said to me and I nodded. "Group is tonight at the clinic, don't forget."

"We won't." We both said at the same time.

We drove to school together, since we also shared a car. I drove so Alice could trawl Facebook on her cell phone and text her boyfriend, Jasper. I coughed into my fist – hard enough to dislodge something – and Alice automatically handed me a tissue.

"Thanks." I said as I pulled into the school parking lot, wadding the tissue into my fist.

"No problem." She said without even tearing her eyes away from her phone. "I am your cyst-er."

"We've had CF our whole lives and that joke is still not funny." I said, trying to cough out the tickle in my chest. It was my constant companion along with the breathlessness, the constant feeling of being drowned by my own body fluids and my heart - which would palpitate if I tried to work it out too hard.

I pulled to the front. Alice didn't wear oxygen, so it didn't matter to her. But, for me, parking in the handicap spot felt like I was losing somehow, that CF was winning. One point for cystic fibrosis, zero for Edward. And it couldn't win. I wasn't going to let it.

But, that coughing fit had left me wheezing and gasping. I didn't want to overdue it, especially with my sats slowly declining. CF played the immediates, whereas I went for the long game. I forced air through my nose and out of my mouth, listening to my own breaths rattle as I followed an old truck.

Who took the last damn handicap space.

"Goddammit." I cursed loudly, startling Alice.

"What?" She looked up and around for the source of my ire.

"That truck stole the last handicap space." I pointed past her, scowling out the window. They didn't even have a handicap license plate, like we did and the windows were too dark so see if they had a rearview mirror placard.

I looked around the parking lot. Forks High School had four handicap spots. Two of which were occupied by the freshman chemistry teacher with COPD and the administrator with the bad back. Then Jason Halden, a kid with mild cerebral palsy, took the other one.

I watched the door open up. With a truck that old – a model that probably saw the JFK presidency – I expected some old substitute teacher guy. I did not expect a girl, with brown hair and two functioning legs and arms to get out, slam the door shut and then walk herself into the front office.

I felt my face go red with resentment. "That's not cool. She can't take the space like that."

"She could have a reason." Alice said as she watched the girl.

"She seemed to do just fine." I huffed.

"Well, if you can't walk, you can get out here and I can park the car." Alice said innocently, her eyes wide on me.

Don't let it win.

I felt my face blaze brighter. "No." I said between my teeth. "I'll be fine."

We pulled into a free space – three rows back – and I grumbled to myself as Alice and I walked to the front of school, reminding myself to inhale through my nose and out of my mouth to keep my heart from racing. I thought about that girl. Who was she? Or, rather: who did she think she was taking a handicap space like that?

"Hey you." Jasper greeted Alice with kiss when we got to the front of the school. Kids milled around in tight groups, chatting and laughing with their friends and waiting for the warning bell.

"Hey." She giggled and laced her fingers with his.

I rolled my eyes to the cloudy sky. Jasper and Alice got together after meeting at the clinic. His sister was a respiratory therapist and he worked there during the summer as the front desk.

"Gross." I commented.

"Don't mind him." Alice said, her head against Jasper's chest. "He's mad because all the handicap spaces were taken up."

"Aw man," Jasper said, his eyebrows furrowing as he looked at me with his blue eyes that were so dark, they were almost violet. "I'm sorry."

"It's not a big deal." I said and kicked a rock. "She just didn't look-,"

"Neither do you without your oxygen." Alice said, her eyes rolling at me. "Stop being so judgmental."

"I am not-," I jerked with frustration, my concentrator bag slapping against my hip.

"Alright," Jasper said, holding up his hands, a grin sliding up his face. "No Cullen catfights."

Alice stuck her tongue out at me and then turned to Jasper. "Guess what my horoscope said."

They walked away hand-in-hand towards the Lit building. I turned and started for the math and science building for calculus, glaring at the truck that ruined my day.

"Apparently, there's a new girl." Alice's eyes flashed excitedly as she messed with her meter to her insulin pump before jamming it back into her bra.

I scanned around the cafeteria as I took my enzyme pill. Alice and I were the last new kids to Forks High School. We moved to Forks – this little suburb south of Seattle – after Dad took a teaching position at UW. It was small enough that everyone seemed to know everyone, but big enough that you were still able to get lost in the crowd.

However, even though Alice and I had been attending FHS since the beginning of senior year, we hadn't really made any friends outside of Jasper. It was hard when 1) your extracurriculars were spent inside a CF clinic and 2) you coughed liked you smoked menthols your whole life. We had each other, though, and that was enough.

"Yeah," Jasper said as he gnawed on his pizza. "She was in my English class."

"What's she like?" Alice said, her hand landing on Jasper's arm. "My horoscope said I was going to meet someone 'intriguing' today. Does she seem intriguing?"

"Alice," I said as I continued to scan around. "Eat your food."

She dutifully picked up her strawberry Ensure and drank it down, her eyes never tearing away from Jasper's face.

Jazz shrugged. "She was quiet."

"Hmm," Alice said as she picked up her second Ensure. "Quiet could be intriguing."

I didn't find the new girl. Or well, I don't think I found the new girl.

I did find that girl that stole the handicap spot. She was sitting a couple spaces down from Jessica Stanley – like she was sitting there out of obligation and not because she wanted to. She had a head of wavy, short brown hair that ended at her chin, which was tipped down as she poured over a notebook.

I felt myself blush out of anger at her. She wasn't disabled. At least, not enough to justify taking the last damn handicap space. and I tore my eyes away to my comp book, fighting the tickle in the back of my throat that threatened a coughing fit. I tried clearing it, feeling everything rattle in my chest. Don't let it win.

"Are you going to group tonight?" Jasper asked Alice.

"Ugh," Alice groaned. "Yes. Although I don't know why. Group is so depressing."

"It's not that bad." I said between attempts of clearing my throat.

"It's depressing." Alice insisted, her emerald eyes rolling up. "'I gained three pounds this week!' 'I finished my antibiotics this week!' And I hate wearing a Vogmask." She pouted. "I only go because I know that Mom wouldn't let me do student government otherwise."

"You only go so you could hang out with Jasper." I argued.

She looked at Jazz, her eyes filling with hearts at her boyfriend. "Yeah."

I started to cough. I angled my head and coughed into the crook of my elbow so I didn't get it all over everyone's food. CF cough sounded like we were fighting horrible chest colds, the thick mucus that lined out lungs rattling as it came up. Alice handed me a tissue as I cleared my airways.

"Better?"

I nodded and fished my inhaler out of the front of my backpack, my breaths wheezy from CF's annoying cousin – asthma. "Yeah," I said as I sucked on it. Two points for cystic fibrosis, zero for Edward.

I found the girl again. Her heart-shaped face was tipped up now and chocolate brown eyes wide on me. I felt the heat in my face – the third time today because of this girl – this time out of awkwardness. I tore my eyes away from her, but not before I noticed her blush too – embarrassed being caught staring.

Definitely not disabled. I scowled at my comp book as I opened it to today. People with chronic illnesses didn't stare at other people with chronic illnesses. There was, like, an unspoken rule about it, like when motorcyclists wave to each other on the road.

I took a note of my wheeziness in my comp book. Three points for cystic fibrosis, zero for Edward. I had to win against CF. I had too. My life literally depended on it. I glanced up at the girl, who had gone back to pouring over her notebook and scowled again. And she was messing it up.

"Edward," Alice said. I looked up to my sister and she smirked just slightly. "Eat your food."

We starting a unit on genetics in biology. I surmised this when I saw the picture of a Punnett square on Mr. Molino's PowerPoint that lit up the screen at the front of the class.

The science classroom didn't have desks. Instead there were black countertops that sat two each. I was the only one that had one to myself – everyone paired off with their friends and my only friends were in Spanish this period. Instead, I let my backpack occupy the seat, while the bag that held my portable concentrator hung off the back of my chair.

I was still coughing, which was annoying. Most teachers didn't mind when I got up and excused myself to hack up mucus in the hallway. Mr. Molino was the exception. He regarded me with slight, thinly veiled disdain whenever I had to get up. I couldn't read his thoughts, but his face told me that he thought me obnoxious and disruptive.

So, this period I held out and watched the clock until I could escape. I pulled out a travel-pack of tissues just in case and my afternoon Ensure.

The final bell rang and I watched our teacher leaned against his desk. "We are going to start genetics, today, folks." Mr. Molino said. "Genetics is the study of heredity or how we get the traits that make us us."

The door opened and we all turned to see who was late to class.

The handicap spot girl. The staring girl. The girl that was ruining my score for today. I felt myself blush in resentment at her.

She handed a paper to the teacher. From this distance, I could see she was wearing a pair of black jeans and a hole-y knitted sweater.

"Isabella Swan." Mr. Molino said as he slipped on his glasses to read the paper. "Nice of you to join us."

"Bella," She corrected, her fingers raking nervously through her chin-length brown hair. "And sorry." Her chin tipped down in shame.

"You can take a seat there in the front." He motioned to the only empty seat next to me. "Open your book to page one-eighty-three." He handed the page back to her.

I picked up my backpack and put it on the floor next to my leg and cleared my stuff to my side of the desk. Of course she had to sit next to me. I thought as I rolled my eyes. How could this day get any worse?

She sat down next to me, her brown eyes flashing at me. They were glass clear, so dark they were almost black and swirled with emotions like they were full of galaxies. On any other person, I would think they were pretty.

Instead, I tried to figure out what she had. Besides asshole-itis, obviously. She wasn't physically impaired – she had all of her limbs. She didn't use walking aids or oxygen, like me. She didn't limp or favor either of her sides.

And I suppressed the familiar tickle in my chest.

"Mendel studied trait inheritance – which is the pattern of how parents hand down traits to their children." Mr. Molino lectured.

I tried to drown it with my chalky-chocolate supplement drink, as I watched Bella out of the corner of my eye.

She had a notebook in front of her and her textbook, which she hadn't opened to the page Mr. Molino told her to. Maybe she's deaf? But, that wouldn't justify a handicap space. She didn't take notes, though. She was drawing. I watched her sketch a hand holding a pencil on the top of her page. It was a good drawing, very realistic. With any other person, I would be impressed.

I coughed at that point - unable to suppress it anymore - and startled her.

"Gross." Someone snickered behind me.

I blushed, but not because of the comment behind me. I blushed because I made Bella's hand jerk, causing her to slice through her drawing with a black, graphite comet. She looked up at me, not with anger for ruining her drawing, like I was expecting, but with concern. Her eyebrows furrowed as she regarded me for a brief second, her eyes swirling with emotions.

I got myself under control and put my eyes on my desk, feeling bad. My annoyance and frustration against her was misplaced. I balled the tissue I had pulled out in my fist. And I was being unnecessarily petty and – I winced, when I realized that Alice was right - judgmental. She could've totally had something. Struggles didn't have to be apparent to be real. I was very conscious of that.

I think I was frustrated with myself, mostly. Frustrated with my sat score, despite my best efforts to keep myself healthy. Frustrated that I was having coughing fits all day. Frustrated for never catching a break, no matter how hard I tried. Four for cystic fibrosis. I tallied in my head. Zero for Edward.

I caught something in the corner of my eye and I glanced over. Bella's hand was trembling. I only caught it for a second, as she dropped her pencil and banished it underneath the table. I felt myself bite my lip. One for whatever that is, zero for Bella.

"I didn't have any classes with the new girl." Alice pouted as she slipped on her Vogmask – a reusable facemask that was tasked with filtering the air around us. Hers had pandas over it. I did the same, placing the elastic loops over my ears. Mine was plain black.

Our home away from home was the UWMC Cystic Fibrosis Clinic, affectionately referred to as just 'the clinic' since it was the only one of its kind in the area. It was where we met with our teams – a litany of different medical staff including doctors, nurses, physical therapists, respiratory therapists, and dieticians - went to therapy, outpatient antibiotic treatments if necessary, did our check-ups and met with other CF-ers to share victories and support in defeats. Or something like that.

However, CF-ers couldn't be in close proximity to each other. We could potentially catch each other's infections. Hence the protective gear.

"I had one." I volunteered as I slipped on a pair of latex gloves. The masks were required, but the gloves were optional – unless you were on the lung transplant list, like I was.

"Is she intriguing?" Alice demanded, her green eyes flashing over the edge of her mask. "Edward, I need to know."

"What does it matter?" I rolled my eyes at her as I opened the door that led into the lobby of the clinic. "You're not going to meet her today."

Bella was intriguing. Especially after banishing her trembling hand to where it couldn't be seen anymore. She didn't draw for the rest of the period, instead focusing her eyes straight ahead, a line in-between them like she was deep in thought.

Alice made an exasperated noise. "It didn't say 'meet,' it said 'get to know.'"

I technically didn't even meet her today. I thought I'd introduce myself on the premise that we were going to be lab partners for the rest of the semester, but she got up and sped out of class as soon as the bell rang.

"Hello, Alice! Edward!" Mary sang from behind the front desk.

"Mary," Alice sang back as she put her bony elbows on the counter. "I need pictures of that baby of yours."

Alice squealed over baby photos on Mary's phone and caught up for a second on how she was doing. She commented that Alice seemed to put on a few pounds and then turned to me.

"And what about you, Edward? Keeping healthy for those new lungs?"

"Doing my best." I said and adjusted my concentrator strap. "Is Emmett free at the moment?"

Mary glanced at her computer. "He is."

"Cool. Thanks." I started down the hallway – towards the physical therapy wing of the clinic.

I found Emmett – all two hundred eighty pounds of him – in the small gym, balancing on an exercise ball, a clipboard in his hand. He looked up when I entered. "Edward." He greeted. "How's it going?"

I shook my head. "Not good. My sats are dropping."

"Uh-oh." He said, his blue eyes widening in his face. "Have you done a PFT lately?"

I shook my head and sat on the table that dominated one side of the room. The other side was a treadmill and a bicycle machine and a bunch of mats for doing different exercises. "Not since my hospitalization last month. I'm hoping you would be free to do some CPT? I think it's just mucus."

"'course." He threw the clipboard onto his desk that sat in the corner and stood up.

I pulled off my strap and my mask. There were two physical therapists that work in the clinic, but I preferred Emmett. He was always in an infectiously good mood and his hands were big - making the pounding that I had to be subject to effective. I always felt good after physical therapy with him.

He handed me a basin to spit into and went to work, first grabbing my shoulder and vibrating me in an attempt to dislodge some of the sticky gunk that plagued my existence.

"It's been a moment since you've come and seen me." He laughed. "Deep breath in."

I sucked in as much air as I could, feeling my diaphragm contract. He started to pound on my back, with his hands that were slightly bent into cup-shapes. I started to cough as things were shaken loose inside of me.

"M-m-mom's been doing it, mostly." I said between coughs and spitting and breathing.

He laughed again. "Your mom's a gentle lady, though." He said as he increased intensity. "That may work on Alice, but your CF needs you to get mean."

I laughed as I imagined Emmett chasing the monster that was CF, Rambo-style. The blob monster running away from Emmett, who went in guns blazing, a scary, angry look on his face.

"Alright, lay down."

I laid on my back and he started doing the rhythmic pounding on my chest. "How's school."

"G-g-good." I said. "All As."

"How about girls?" He rolled me over and pounded on my side.

I was coughing too hard to answer him, unable to power my voice. I sat up to hack, watching a bunch of shit come up into the basin I was given.

"You can do better than that." Emmett said. "I've seen ketchup bottles with more movement."

"No girls." I managed as I laid back down after catching my breath. "Don't have time."

And the pool of girls who understand and accept something like CF was…shallow. I winced. I couldn't even make friends, really. Everyone looked at me with an unnamed emotion that was part pity over the coughing kid with oxygen, part gratitude that it was me suffering and not them, and a teensy bit of disgust because CF wasn't a pretty disease. I glanced at the basin that was filled with what looked to be a tiny swamp monster. No, not pretty.

Emmett made a clicking noise as he rolled me over onto my other side. "There's always time for girls."

"What about you and Rosalie?" I asked, eager to get the attention off of my non-existent love life. "How's that going?"

Emmett rolled his eyes. "I love her, I do. But, she's going through this keto thing and I want to die."

I laughed, dislodging some more stuff. "Jasper was complaining about that too."

"She's subjecting everyone to it." He shook his head as he pounded on me. "At least she isn't a vegetarian."

I coughed again and more stuff came up. I breathed in my airways, finally feeling cleared of the irritation that afflicted me. At least, temporarily. One for Edward, finally.

"There we go." He cheered with an enthusiastic smile. "That's some movement."

"Only you would be happy about mucus." I joked and sat up.

He clapped me on the back, his blue eyes dancing. "It's a thing worth celebrating." He pulled a pulse oximeter and clipped it to my finger. "Let's take a look, shall we?"

I watched it read, sucking in a deep breath and then it flashed. 92%.

"What was it this morning?"

"Eighty-seven."

"Hey, that's some improvement."

"Yeah," I said, smiling wide. Another score for me.