(2)

~ Bella ~

I'd heard that people can actually convince themselves that lies are truth. That there are those that can so firmly believe in a falsehood, either of their own creation or someone else's, that it becomes factual in every facet of their being. That this can happen through a person's own intentional misleading or an inability to, in some situations, discern fact from fiction. So I gave it a try as I left the bathroom on the plane two hours earlier regarding the whole door-to-forehead incident. But, multiple stares and snickers confirmed one thing…

It didn't work.

Now normally the trip from Phoenix to Seattle is fairly straight-forward, but the odds were already stacked against me. Post my door-to-forehead debacle, which I was still vehemently denying, I had to endure the feeling that at every opportunity I needed to play "Spot-the-Mop", a game I created to stalk Mr. Mop-Of-Gorgeous-Hair-Guy. The problem was that I couldn't do so without actually rising slightly out of my seat, so the more I tried the more I looked as if I was having "issues." Basically I couldn't win.

So instead I tried to relax and think about the upcoming week and all the drama of heading back to school Monday morning. I'd just finished a rough week at school with three different exams, as luck would have it. I nailed the English exam, of this I was certain, but the Biology lab was harder because I had to do it solo. My lab partner had been George Atwood, but George had come down with a horrible case of can't-stop-being-a-hoodlum so his parents literally yanked him out of class on Tuesday mid chemical mixing and he was now enrolled in military school on the east coast. Personally I think it's because his parents gave him an old person's first name. Anyone with a name like that has something they need to prove – like they're actually cooler than their namesake indicates, and thanks to George I decided a stereotype was in order: anyone with an old name was out to prove something and was probably trouble. To be fair I applied this theory to two other fellow classmates, Cyrus Moore and Wayne Curtis.

We had been sitting on the tarmac for almost an hour and a half since landing. Apparently something overheated, or made a noise, or maybe a wing fell off, I don't know. When we landed the tarmac was covered with fire trucks and people to save us, although I still wasn't sure from what it was we were to be saved. The flight attendants continued to explain what was going on to keep people calm, but I was gloriously oblivious. So all 187 of us hurried up and waited. It was both complete torture because I couldn't see him and complete bliss because at least we were still breathing the same air. I began wondering what his name was. Something overly sexy, I was sure – not like George. It would be…Rory…or, maybe Damien…or maybe even something slightly edgy like Chase…or Logan…ooh, or maybe like the guy from that romance novel Rosalie had me read during her "we need a book club" phase last summer…Asher!

Eventually I'd had enough of the very nice yet overly annoying old lady next to me. She was, after all, interrupting my internal name-the-Mop dialogue, so I conveniently excused myself to stand with several others in line for my current nemesis – the lavatory. I wasn't particularly thrilled about being noticed again by those close to me as I stood, because as it turns out I continued to deny the earlier incident but no one else did. I figured I'd never see any of these people again so what did I care, and I determined that if I put on the air on nonchalance that it would rub off on the other passengers.

As I stood and set my blanket and pillow into my seat I slowly peeked but quickly panicked. Where was he? I thought about hyperventilating when I suddenly remembered I was trapped on a plane and therefore he was too. I began to wonder why I was so interested, though. He was truly very beautiful and I was…me. I wasn't hideous but I certainly wasn't just an average looking person with average everything. Rosalie helped me see that I could clean up well now and then, but it didn't cure all my insecurities. I decided at least for this plane ride it didn't matter – I could just have fun and imagine that I was appealing. It made for better daydreaming, in any event.

Calm quickly made a re-appearance, and so I smiled down at my ballet flats in spite of everything when I knew he couldn't have gone far. And then it came crashing down again when I ran smack into a body in front of me because I was in fact still staring at said ballet flats while walking down the aisle. The sound of running into this particular body was fierce, because I just completely went full steam ahead.

I looked up and the calm I'd had just seconds prior fell away in a choke hold as I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. I was face-to-face with The Mop. So instead I just internally combusted, then had to take the time to pull myself together.

"Oh, I'm sorry about that, excuse me." And then it seemed like a lot of things happened in just a very short amount of time. The Mop turned slowly, and when we made eye contact I had this harlequin romance version of events going on behind my eyes as he looked at me with a slightly hooded eye and small smirk. I envisioned him turning fully on me, slowly bringing his hands to my face and whispering sweetly, It's you. I've been waiting for you. I've been waiting forever and I'm never letting you go. I was now very happy with Rosalie. The trashy romance novel kick wasn't such a bad idea after all, even though our Book Club only consisted of the two of us and she did most of the talking and book recap.

And then he opened his mouth to respond and I swear I the heavens opened up and the angels began to sing. I was certain he was about to tell me his name was Asher and that he wanted to rip the bodice of my evening gown, or something more fitting to my current state of dress, but the idea was the same. So I waited with baited breath for his words that were sure to be as sexy as his Bella-given name…

"I just assumed you thought I was another door."

(2)

~ Edward ~

I wasn't in the mood to talk to anyone or even be on this plane, but I certainly didn't intend to be a jerk to some girl waiting for the bathroom. My mother would have slapped me up-side the head for saying something like that, and my dad would have given me the death stare and slapped me upside the head had he been within earshot. I did earn a few laughs from people sitting around, and it fueled my already rising anger about my current life situation and the current misery I was confined within. I hate to admit that I kind of didn't care that I'd very clearly offended her, but I hadn't been myself lately. That "Edward" didn't exist anymore.

The look on her face during my internal monologue told me that she was a little stunned by my response. I didn't have the option currently to argue with my dad, and I certainly couldn't argue with my little sister. My mom was gone, I was being shipped to a little town named after a kitchen utensil, and now I'd been run into even though it was accidental. Minor in the grand scheme of my last few weeks, mind you, but still just one more thing to add to the list and I was done with all of it. I'm never going to see these people again, and I was fed up.

Bottom line, I was looking for a fight.

Rather than give her a chance to respond or truly react beyond a stunned expression I did something my mother would have been ashamed of. I continued to smirk at her as if she was an idiot, shook my head slowly as if she was pathetic, and turned my back to her as if she wasn't worth my time.

I stared straight ahead completely expecting her to go back to her seat in defeat, because I was winning this argument since I'd lost so many lately, but she never did. We moved slowly in the line toward the bathroom, and even though I didn't actually need to use it I was there just to escape my father and sister. You can't stand at the front of the plane, so I intentionally headed toward the back just to get away and have some time to myself, and in this hunk of metal I didn't have many options. Even during the entire exchange I could still feel eyes on me, and I knew they weren't just hers – I knew the federal agent was somewhere, and likely close by, watching this exchange.

It probably was cruel of me, but I stood there thinking about this girl and targeting my anger toward her. It wasn't fair to use her this way, and I laughed out loud to myself, albeit quietly, when I remembered yet again "life isn't fair." I was certain she believed that I was still laughing at her. Laughing at this girl who was probably on the way back to a normal life in Seattle after a fun sun-soaked weekend of spending mommy and daddy's money, and to a frivolous life that she feels entitled to. She probably had friends that she'd grown up with for years and never had to shift schools and start over, and I could guarantee you that the name she used was really hers!

The longer I stood and thought about all the things she likely had that I didn't the more upset I got. A generalization that had no basis in fact, but a mindset I grasped onto and held with all my might. I was sure that my body language continued to give off a vibe that said "don't mess with me" which is why I continued to be amazed that she stood there, although it might have been because as we moved forward other people gathered behind her and she was essentially trapped. Good – she was trapped. Trapped and forced to stand there and endure my wrath, because I certainly had plenty to dish out and she was the innocent lamb brought to slaughter.

The problem, though, with being raised by good parents with morals and a love for the Golden Rule is that after a few minutes I decided that I had crossed a line, even if this was someone I was never to know or care about. I'd been treated so unfairly in the last month of my life that to lack compassion toward someone else should have been abhorrent to me, and I began to feel ashamed. The worst part was not knowing how to fix the situation, and then panic set in because I felt like I needed to do something quickly or else the memory of my mother and the values she instilled in me would be lost. I wracked my brain for ideas, but was coming up empty.

Besides, how does someone go from being completely aloof to apologizing and saying, Hey, sorry about that whole bad attitude thing. See, my mom was just murdered less than a month ago by someone who feels they were wronged by my dad, who was a prominent surgeon. And, get this – there were clues at the murder scene that pointed to my sister and I being targets because someone's really, really mad at my dad so he uprooted us and we're all being relocated under false identities, but you're not supposed to know that so pretend I didn't just divulge that information to you. I had a feeling I would get in a wee bit of trouble for offering that information out freely, so I remained motionless.

I vacillated between feeling triumphant that I could look back on this moment and think, wow, for one moment I was a total jerk for no reason whatsoever and didn't get busted for it, or look back and think, I can't believe I have to be embarrassed that I acted that way and what if I ever run into her again and haven't apologized? I finally decided there was a first time for everything, and I was not caving on this – I was sticking to my plan to be a total jerk and for once in my life to totally embrace it. My sole reasoning rested on the fact that I would never lay eyes on this girl again – ever. I was becoming one with the bad attitude, air of indifference, and complete jerk persona to its extreme. I was overcome with a feeling of power because I currently held the upper hand.

Out of my peripheral vision I realized that there actually weren't any people standing behind her, but she was still there. Just standing there with a very stoic look on her face, and I decided it was because she didn't want to appear like a frightened little kitten and run away. Good for her – she had nerve, at least. I made to move a little, to make it look like I was just surveying the landscape and was in a general mood of irritation at everything around me, and that's when I saw her coming. My little sister.

"Daddy was wondering what was taking you so long so I told him I would come check. I want you to hurry up because you said you'd play Barbie's with me again and this time I get to be Barbie and you have to be Ken because you're the boy. You have to, Edward!"

I stared down at my sister like she had the plague. Did she have to put emphasis on my new stupid name? I slowly looked up into the eyes of the girl behind me and saw a small shift in her demeanor – it was actually her that was smirking now, and she had a complete lock on eye contact with me. The upper-hand I'd managed a hold on for a few short minutes was actually waving to me from a far distance away – it was long gone.

"Just hurry up, Edward. I'm bored and daddy says we can't get off the plane yet even though I'm hungry." And with that she turned and walked back toward my father.

I had watched my sister walk away just long enough to see her reach my dad, and I could feel the girl's eyes still on me. Some weird force compelled me to look back at her again, even though I tried to fight it, and so I did. And I wished I hadn't.

"Your name is…Edward?" There was a very small pregnant pause while I swallowed very loudly, and then she threw her head back and laughed a maniacal laugh. She turned and walked back to her seat, and in her seat was the very upper-hand that I'd held only moments ago.

As she sat back down the hand was still waving, and she was still laughing.