Hey guys! Hope you like this! It's a pretty good chapter, if I do say so myself. Please read and review and I'll love you forever, Rose xxx

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'Bella, wait!' Edward called as I stormed up the hallways. I turned abruptly.

'What?'

'Can we, talk, please? About the item? Come back to mine, and we'll have something to eat. Please?'

'No, than-you.,' I replied curtly.

'Hey, it's not as if you can avoid me, Bella. Whether you like it or not, our future depends on one another now, so you're going to have to sit down and talk to me sometime. And, I have Turkish delight in my fridge.'

Damn, how did he know? 'Fine,' I agree grudgingly.

He grinned, making my face soften into a relaxed smile. We walk back to his dorm – which his parents had paid extra for so he wouldn't have to share – where I sit down on the familiar couch, while he retrieves an ornate silver and purple tin from a cupboard above the kitchen benches. He hands it to me, saying, 'Go ahead. I'll be back in a second.'

Not wanting to be rude and take all of his precious Turkish Delight, I spin the box around in my hand, examining the detail of it. It looks extremely expensive, like something my Grandmother would have had next to her big red sofas. And, fittingly, when I am studying the bottom of the tin, all of the contents drop to the floor.

Hearing paper rustling in the next room where Edward retreated, I jump to the floor, trying to snag up as many bits of the confectionary as I can. A hand places itself on top of mine, and I jump.

'Hey, it's fine. Don't worry about it.'

'I'm sorry…I didn't mean to…' I sound like an idiot.

'It's okay, really. It's only sugar.'

'Good sugar.'

He smiles and stands up when all the chunky pieces are arranged neatly back in the tin. He extends a hand for me, and I take it, then settle next to him on the couch.

'So,' he says.

I grin. 'So,' I say with certainty.

He grins too. 'Well, I came up with a couple things with Angela. Mostly just possible pieces of music, but I don't really like much of it…' He trails, looking at me oddly. 'You sing, right?'

'Ha. No.'

'Yes, you do. You sang with Alice in year nine at the information evening. You were great.'

'I wish. Seriously, I don't sing.'

He looks at me again, carefully this time, speaking in an odd voice. 'But you did yesterday. Twice.'

'What?'

'Well, you sang outside my room before you invited me to the club, and then you were singing along to a song when I arrived.'

I feel defeated and confused. Why had he even been paying attention to this? 'I, um, took lessons as a kid, and for a couple years here. It took me ages to realize I wasn't any good.'

'But you are. Anyway, I can play piano…okay…so I thought that maybe we could record something, and no one would have to know, but it would just add to the, I don't know, subliminal depth of the performance. Like, the lyrics would be what we were trying to get across. In a subliminal, mixed-up way. Anyway, I was just an idea. You can ignore it if you want.'

'No, no. If no one finds out that it's me – us, sorry. Then if we can figure something original out, it would work well. Sure.' Mostly I just don't want to see him looking disappointed.

Instead, he looks ecstatic. 'Great. So, if we want this to work well, I think we need to work out what the dance is about, then work out what we're going to record, record it, then figure out the dance. I don't want to make up a dance, then not be able to use it because the timing's wrong or something.'

'Yep. Cool. We should get onto the music department about booking a studio to record in.'

'Already done,' he sys sheepishly.

'What? When?'

'When I was in my room,' he points to the door leading off this room. It amazes me that he has a private bedroom – Alice and I have to cram the label 'bedroom' in with 'lounge', 'dining room' and 'kitchen' in our dorm, and our bathroom is shared with Angela and Olive who live in the next dorm, meaning we all have to get up excruciatingly early if we want hot water.

'Huh?'

'My room… Anyway, I thought I'd be able to convince you, and they're always tightly scheduled on Saturday afternoons, so… We're booked in for 3.30.'

'3.30?' I must sound incompetent, repeating everything he's saying.

'Yep. That's okay?'

'Ah, yeah, yeah. Sure. Do you have any ideas?'

'Um, a couple, but you probably wouldn't like them…' He looks uncomfortable.

'Spill,' I order.

'Ah, well, there was, um…Romeo and Juliet?'

A small noise escapes my mouth, and all the awkwardness from the headmaster's office comes flooding back in.

'See, I told you you'd hate it,' he murmurs.

'No, no. Um, did you think about a possible tune, or something? Any costumes or dance movements?'

'Ah, costumes should be okay. We'll get first priority in the costuming department. Um, dance moves, not so much. But, I've started tinkling around on the piano, and I have a few little things… Tell me what you think.'

I follow him over to the expensive, hi-tech keyboard, shelves and shelves of sheet music and books with spines reading famous pieces and albums on their spines.

He sits down, turns the power on, adjusts the pedal, then asks, 'slow or fast? Or medium?'

'Mm, slow. Romeo and Juliet, right? So it's romantically slow. Emotionally…'

He smiles, to himself, and I think I've said the wrong thing.

He then he lays fingers on the keys and plays the most heart-breaking, heart-felt, warm song I've ever heard, and I feel like crying and laughing and kissing him just at the sound of it. And, worst of all, he wrote it for me.

The song twists and turns through the notes, and somehow Edward knows exactly what I meant, and the song is played as if a man has spent his life dreaming about a girl, and now she's real. I can't shake the fact, though, that that might just be the truth.

The music makes me want to jump and twirl in the allegro and presto and bright bits, and curl up and tremble during the saddening use of diminuendo and ritardando. Instead, I just numbly stand there, watching.

When he finishes, Edward stares at the keys, before looking up at me. 'So, what'd you think?' he asks.

I sit down on the stool next to him, and tears well at my eyes. 'It was beautiful,' I croak, feverishly trying to wipe the saline drops crawling down my face.

'Hey, it's okay,' he says, wiping one that I missed with his thumb. He looked into my eyes.

'How do you do that?' I'm almost inaudible.

'Do what?' he whispers.

'That. Make things like that up.'

'It takes years,' he says, wiping again. 'And it's not hard. I used a couple of basic major and minor chords, and added a melody.'

While he explains this, he's still looking into my eyes, but I notice that his fingers syncing to what he's saying soundlessly.

When the tears refuse to stop, he says, 'come here,' gently, and folds me into his grip. He is strong and warm and magnificently fragrant, and I want to stay here forever.

After who knows how long, we part, and after a moment of comfortable silence, he asks, 'so, any ideas for lyrics?'

'Ummm,' I drawl, 'Yeah. My Pa and Nonna were Italian, so I know a bit of that. I could try it out? Mostly it's just…sounds, and things that don't make much sense. Um, play it again, and I'll try and make something up.'

So he plays it, and for a couple phrases, I improvise, voice still croaky from the hangover, scribbling sentences that sound good with the song on the back of a Mozart photocopy.

We finish harmonized, me a perfect fifth above him.

'Wow,' he says.

'What?' I ask self-consciously.

'You.'

'Me?'

'Of course. Why wouldn't it be you?'My brow furrowed at his comment. Now it was his turn to ask, 'What?'

'You really think I'm okay?'

'No, I think you're brilliant. You have no idea. What you can do, Bella – it's amazing for all of us to witness.'

I have no idea whether he's just sucking up or really believes that, but, either way, he said something that most guys here wouldn't be caught dead doing, so I pull him into a hug this time.

He buries his face in my hair, and when I get sick of that, I lift my face to where the crown of my head used to be, my lips just below his. 'Stuff mistakes,' he whispers, before kissing me.

By six-thirty at night, Edward and I have managed to finish recording. Albeit the momentary make-out session, we stayed to a strict schedule, and just got everything done in time before the attendants (who had to be next door, making sure every once in a while, that we're not attempting to blow up the school with the mix board or something like that) got pissy and accused me of 'mucking around with the distortion' and 'almost breaking the knob off with my manic pulling' (something Edward and I cracked up at) and kicked us out almost before we'd downloaded everything we'd done onto Edward's hard drive and made a couple back up CDs – one for me, one for him, and one to give to Lilith incase we were all having a very bad day.

Now, we walk back through the green grounds, Edward under the pretense that he has to see our English teacher, who is head of the rezzie, about an assignment he handed in last term.

'So, if we ask her really nicely, Lilith'll probably let us use her room to practice in after class. Do you want to?' he asks.

'I doubt we're the first people to think that. Maybe it's best to go see her now?'

'Yeah, but do you know where her room is?'

I remember the time Lilith had found me crying in the girls' toilets during an assembly and took me up to her apartment for green tea. 'Yeah, she has one of the faculty apartments on the floor above the classics section of the library.'

'Oh. Well, lets go.' So we set off to the library – just about the only good thing on the rezzie's side of the campus.

When we find Lilith in the staff kitchen in the middle of faculty areas that we really shouldn't be in but can get away with because we're Year 12, she is carrying a hot mug of chamomile tea.

'Oh, hey. My fave kiddies. What can I do for you?'

She leads us across the hallway into her room, motioning for us to come inside. After five and a half years of frequent visits, I'm completely at home in her three-room apartment, plopping down onto her retro-covered couch and pulling off my leather sandals.

She motions for Edward to join me as she curls into a wicker chair with many cushions and a matching poof. She gives me a 'what is he doing here? Is there something going on between the two…?' look, and so I say, 'Did you hear about Angela and Eric?'

'Oh, yes. But…weren't they your partners? For the duets?'

'Yes. But they're gone, so now we're together,' Edward chips in, and I inwardly cringe at his choice of words: so now we're together. For the incredibly intuitive Lilith, that was sure to have a double meaning.

'Ah, I see,' she says slowly. 'So, you're looking for a place to practice after classes tomorrow, I guess?'

'Yeah,' I say.

'Do you have the music sorted?'

'Yep. We were actually wondering if you'd be able to hold onto a spare for us?' Edward inquires.

'Oh, of course, Edward darling.' He pulls a CD from his messenger bag with all of the sheet music in it, before handing it to Lilith, who, naturally, heads straight to the large sound system in the corner, which is surrounded by even more CDs than in her office.

She puts a pair of thick, padded headphones over her ears, listening, and in three or so minutes time, she pulls them off, mussing up her hair.

'Wow, that's just… perfect, really, for you guys. Where did you find it?'

'Um.' I'm not sure whether we tell Lilith or not.

'It's one of my mum's old CDs,' Edward tells her.

'Oh. Well, you'd better get the name of it. So the programme can introduce it with your dance.'

'Ah. That could be…problematic…' I tell her hesitantly.

She instantly knows something is missing from the equation she formed. 'Why ever so?'

'Because…' I see Edward nod in consent, so I continue. 'Because we made it.'

Lilith grins. 'I knew you guys were special. And as if anyone else could have made that! It just screams the two of you, really, it does.' She seems to have gone into gushing, compliment mode, just like she does whenever we perfect a routine.

'Thanks,' we both mumble, embarrassed and uncomfortable.

'Oh, and the contractors will love it! If you guys can make a dance as good as that song, well, I'll be damned if you don't get in. do you have a title for it?'

'No, Lilith. We weren't actually going to tell anyone. You're a…happy exception. No one is going to find out…' Edward tries to inform her.

She only grins knowingly at us. 'Kids, not likely. Even if we somehow got around putting it into the leaflet, it's so brilliant – people will ask. Especially the contractors. And if it means careers for one – or even the both of you - we can't risk holding back that information. They're very strict about their applicants. If we get something wrong it really could cost you…a lifetime of opportunity.'

'Oh,' Edward says, deflated from our previous high. He turns to me. 'Well, we have two choices: I'm happy to use that song and tell everyone, as long as you are.' I can see the pleading in his eyes he is desperately trying to hide. He knows just as well as I do that this song could very well be our ticket to break into the trade we've been bought up to crack into.

'Or, we can try find something else as good, that isn't… by us.'

I know I'm being incredibly selfish here, even contemplating whether we can use the song, when I know we need to. My personal insecurities hold not only my future, but his too.

Lilith looks me in the eye, and I know she's thinking exactly what I am. I look back into Edward's eyes, and tell him, with contrasting twinges of triumph and regret, 'Yeah, we'll use our song.'

Both of them look relieved. While Edward grins at me, Lilith tells us that we need to come up with a name for it and all the extra information we'd been taught a piece of music entered into a show must have.

'Thank-you so much, Lilith,' I say, out of habit.

'No, now don't be silly. What did I do? Nothing. I'll just hold onto this track for you. But it's up to you guys to get it to Mrs Dantine, 'cause she's in charge of the music and programming, so… Well done, guys. Now get out of here. You're not meant to be up hear and it's almost 7 o'clock. Not a good look for me, guys.' She walks us to the door, and waves as we walk down the hall.

When Edward and I are almost at my dorm door, he asks, 'would you like to go out, next weekend? It's one of the town trips, so we could go out for tea, or to the movies, or something.'

I turn into his side and put my hand on his shoulder. 'I'd love to.' We have now stopped outside my door.

'Great,' he whispers reverently, before leaning down and kissing me. Soft and slowly at first, but deeper as the seconds, then minutes pass. Then a sudden gust of cold air startles me, and we jump apart.

Alice is standing in our open doorway, staring. She mumbles a quick 'sorry,' then pulls the door shut again.

'Sorry about that,' I say softly.

'It's fine,' he says, grinning mischievously. 'We might have been getting a bit carried away. I'll pick you up here at six thirty Friday night?'

'Yeah. Awesome.' I wave, and then turn to open the unlocked door, turning once to find him staring. I blush, then head inside.

Alice is waiting for me, curious even more than usual.

'Edward Cullen… whoa,' she says, looking up from a magazine. 'Who would have thought?'

'Mmph,' I respond, pulling of my bag and flats.

'Oh come on, Bella! We used to get so excited over this stuff! You could at least tell me a little bit of the goss!'

'Fine,' I say, grabbing a glass of water then sitting on the end of Alice's bed. 'So, did you hear about Angela and Eric?'

'No. You're meant to be telling me,' she replies, frustrated.

'It's part of the story! Anyway, they tried to get away from the club to… yeah, and I think they got quite a way away to do that, so afterwards they were walking alongside the road, pretty wasted, and Angela started puking and stuff. Then the weird chef – the one who always gives you the evils after you threw the cake – drove past, and saw them. But, yeah, whats-his-face seemed pretty reluctant to admit that's what they were doing, but it's obvious, so… I mean, why else would Angela go that far away from the club? But they didn't have any phones on them so Eric couldn't call an Ambulance when Angela passed out, and the drama continues, and so now Angela's back in Washington and Eric's in Texas, and they're flying in to do their exams and are only allowed to do solos in front of the marking board, and so now Edward and I are partners.'

Alice looks shocked. 'I fail to see why Angela and Eric's fuck-up means you and Edward hook up.'

'Alice! Angela was Edward's partner for the dances. And I had Eric, so Edward and I are dancing together. But, yes, some of that also happened today…' I grinned.

'So you finally got what you wanted,' Alice muses.

'What? No! I mean, maybe ages ago, but I haven't liked him for age-'

'Then why are you grinning, Bella? I can see you've liked him forever.' I'm about to launch into some you-can't-talk-you've-been-clinging-onto-the-guy-you-like-and-don't-have-the-courage-to-ask-him-and-have-only-really-kissed-a-guy-twice-and-it-was-him-and-you've-never-even-been-out-with-him spiel, when I realize she said it in a soft friendly tone. She smiles and jumps off the bed, to rummage through our mini kitchenette freezer. She pulls out two frozen meals. We're not meant to have these, but being Year 12 once again has its advantages. 'Creamy tortellini or veggie lasagne?' she asks, holding up two packages.

'Ummm,'I ponder.

'I'm having the lasagne,' she says, making the decision for me.

'So what was with all the… kissy stuff outside?' she asks while stabbing plastic with a fork.

'Well, after we finished recording, he may have asked me out.'

'Recording?'

'Oh, yeah. Well, we kind of recorded our own song for the duets.'

'When do I get to hear it?' Being Alice, she is obviously entitled to hear it almost straight after I do.

'Here,' I say, handing her my bag from the counter next to me.

'What, is there a stain?' She frantically searches her backside, until I realize what she interpreted that as, and stop her.

'No, you douche. The song is on a CD in there.'

'Oh,' she says, trying to keep as much dignity as possible. I crack up, while she pulls out the CD and pops it into the stereo on her desk.

Our song plays, and for the fiftieth time today I try to restrain myself from crying at his playing. 'Wow, this is great,' she says from her bed.

I try to reply with a stable voice, while pulling my dish from the microwave and putting hers in. I grab a fork and sit cross-legged at our coffee/dining table.

'I'm really jealous,' she tells me after it has finished, pulling the disk from the player and storing it in my underwear drawer.

I nod, because I would be too.

Reviews are better than fluff covered Turkish Delight – leave me one!

Rose xxx