I'm not an idiot. I like to play things safe. Agreeing to spend time with the new kid is not smart. It's so far from smart, it's moronic.
"Planning to bail on me?"
The voice is so close to my ear, it makes me jump a mile high. My hand slams my locker closed reflexively.
"Woah, sorry," he apologizes.
I glare up at him. "A warning would be nice," I grouse.
Those stupid dimples make an appearance. "Should I launch a flare next time?"
"What makes you think there's going to be a next time?" I ask, not waiting for a reply before I start walking towards the cafeteria.
He doesn't miss a beat. "Well, we do go to the same school."
I don't tell him that I've gone to school with these kids since preschool and I hardly know any of them. To be fair, they've never made an effort to get to know me either.
"So where do you usually sit?" he asks me, searching the room for an empty spot.
I begrudgingly lead him to a back table, located in a corner. I usually eat my lunch in my truck, but I'm not going to give up any information about myself, or my habits. It's better to get lunch period over with as soon as possible, and forget that I ever erred in judgment.
"All the way back here, huh?"
Glancing at him, I see he's grinning. "Is there a problem with this table?"
His grin turns into an amused laugh. "It's just that you might as well be in a whole other room, it's so far back from everyone else."
"I prefer it that way," I say, annoyed.
"Why?"
The question throws me off guard. His sincere interest in my answer confuses me, making me feel defensive. I'm not used to anyone caring enough to try and figure me out. Why does he care? People don't just care about people they don't know. In my experience, people don't even care if they do know you.
I frown at the linoleum floor. "I like being on my own."
"No one likes being on their own," he replies.
I stare at him for what feels like forever. His unwavering confidence amazes me, as much as it annoys me. I feel naked under his scrutiny. He shouldn't be looking at me as if he can see into my soul.
He has no idea what he's saying , I tell myself. He doesn't know me.
"Yeah, well, I do," I retort, grabbing my tray, and making a beeline for the queue.
"Tell me about yourself," he encourages, rushing to keep up with my hurried pace.
Scooping French fries onto my plate, I mumble, "My name's Bella."
His smile doesn't even falter under my sarcasm. "You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?"
"You could always go find someone else to bother," I say, reaching for a bottle of water.
"I don't want to bother anyone else," he informs me.
Surprised by the candid response, I whip my head around to look at him. He's entirely focused on piling as much food onto his plate as he can.
He shrugs at me when he notices my incredulous stare. "You should know, I'm a fan of big meals."
I can't think of a reason why I should know anything about him. Instead of voicing that thought, I say, "How are you not fat?"
"I hit the gym a lot."
We silently make our way back to the table, arranging our food before digging in. For the first five minutes, he concentrates on shoving fish sticks and fries into his mouth.
"I noticed you stuffed a book into your book bag earlier," he comments, once he's swallowed his last fish stick. "Do you like to read?"
"Yeah."
"What about music? Do you like music?"
"Mhm."
"Movies?"
"Yes."
Shaking his head, he chuckles. "I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work."
Feigning innocence, I fight the blush I feel burning my cheeks. "What am I doing?"
"You're trying to get me to go away." He smirks. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm very stubborn."
"So am I."
"I can see that," he teases. "But like I said- I'm not going to give up."
"You're putting a lot of effort into someone you don't know."
"I'm putting a lot of effort into someone I want to know," he replies.
The fear that I was talking about earlier smacks me in the face. I was wrong when I said I was most afraid of being alone. Letting someone in, that scares me even more. And this guy is as forceful as a bulldozer. Something tells me he means business. It could be the way he doesn't break eye contact, or maybe it's the way he told me he wasn't going anywhere.
"If you want to waste your time, that's up to you," I say softly.
"You're not a waste of time," he states with conviction.
Swallowing past the lump in my throat, I pick up my mostly empty tray. "I need to use the bathroom," I mumble.
I don't wait for a response. I practically run out the door, determined to make it to the girl's bathroom before I burst into tears. I can't cry. Crying is stupid and weak, and it doesn't solve anything.
Tumbling into the bathroom, I enter the last stall. The door slams behind me, and I slap a hand over my mouth. I can't believe I'm acting like this. I can't believe I let him get to me; no one has ever told me I was worth anything before. My mom left me when I was a baby because she wanted better things than Forks had to offer. Charlie has immersed himself in work and beer for as long as I can remember. I have no friends. I have no one, and I was okay with that. Until Emmett. I didn't know what I was missing. I could halfway make myself believe it didn't matter, but then he comes along and ruins everything. How dare he? How dare he make me long for someone to talk to? How dare he make me want him to be that person? It's not fair.
Sniffing, I tuck my hair behind my ears. Quickly trying to get a hold of myself, I take a few shaky breaths. I have to get through the rest of the day. I'll wait in my truck until my next class, and then I'll go home. I won't let him break down any of the walls protecting my heart. He's just a stupid guy who likes to play with girl's emotions. To him, it's probably just harmless flirting, which is fine, but he can forget about flirting with me. I'm smarter than the other girls who just want a cute guy to give them meaningless compliments. I always have been, and that's not going to change because of Emmett McCarty.
I won't let it.
