March 7, 1996

"You have to apologize." Our mutual friend's voice is sharp and too loud over the line. It's a pretty good punishment since my head is pounding, my stomach roiling after last night's indulgence. Guilt falls heavy as the fog of sleep starts to clear, and I remember everything.

Alice Brandon is commanding and loud on a regular day. On a day like this, when I'm sure she's received firsthand knowledge of the shitty thing I did to you by way of Tanya, she's got a ruthlessness the likes of which the devil himself has never experienced. "She's not like that, Edward. You can't play with her like that."

"Al," I groan, scrubbing a hand over my face as I sit up in bed. "It's not like I knew Tanya would do that. She found the note. I was fucked up. I passed out. I'm sorry. Jesus."

"Don't tell me, asshole. Tell Bella."

"Is that her name? Bella?" I test it out. It rolls off my tongue easily. I like your name. It sounds soft and sweet.

You only signed your letter B. To be honest, I haven't wondered what it could stand for. I was too busy going over and over the contents to worry about the signature.

"Yes, asshat. That's her name."

"Well, mine's not asshole or asshat," I grumble. "I broke up with Tanya."

"You did?"

"I mean I am. I will. I don't remember exactly what I said to her last night."

"Over this?" Alice's tone is full of disbelief.

"Not exactly. It's been over for a while. We just haven't acknowledged it."

"More like your dick hasn't acknowledged it."

"Hey," I say firmly. That's one thing I don't do. I don't kiss and tell. Or fuck and tell. Partly because my dad raised me to respect women. But mostly because there's nothing to talk about. I'm a seventeen-year-old guy with needs that get satisfied, but I've never had actual sex. I keep—kept—Tanya happy, obviously, and she did the same for me. But sex is something different. Maybe it's not typical for me to think so, but typical's something I've never been.

"Whatever. Anyway, you have to make this up to Bella. She's pretty upset."

"Shit," I say again. "I'm sorry."

"Save it. It's not me who needs to hear it."

There's a click, and the line goes silent.

I've got to right this. Like today. This morning.

Fuck.


This is not the way I wanted to meet you for the first time. I can't bear the thought of you being upset over me, so I have no choice. It's my own fault. I stand at the corner of the science building and kick the toe of my Vans against a loose brick, waiting. Alice arranged it. She's bringing you here. I'm about to see you for the first time, and I'm a jumble of emotions. Excited, curious, nervous, remorseful…

I wish I could've waited until Tanya was officially out of my life. I feel a little guilty doing this to her. I guess I've been mentally cheating on her ever since Alice gave me your letter. My thoughts are interrupted when I see Alice working her way through the thinning herd of kids heading toward lockers and classrooms. She's tiny, but her short, blue hair makes it easier to find her in a crowd. She's pulling you by the hand, but you're trailing behind. Alice sees me and waves, jerking you toward her, making you stumble forward. You stand up straight, push wavy brown hair out of your face, and scowl at her. You say something I can't hear, but Alice gestures toward me, and you face me head on.

Jesus Christ.

You're so pretty.

I couldn't have even imagined a face like yours. You've got these big, brown eyes—Bambi eyes—that I think could hypnotize me. A blush creeps over your high cheekbones, and your pink lips are pressed together in a nervous line. You blink and bite your bottom lip, and I think thoughts that I really shouldn't in this situation.

Alice urges you forward but falls back to give us a minute. I'm eternally grateful.

"Bella." Your name matches the rest of you. Sweet and soft, just like I thought before. "I'm so sorry for what happened. I had no idea what was going on."

I pause, but you just blink at me.

"I didn't show her your note. She just—"

"Is she your girlfriend?" you ask, straightforward, just like your written words. They're the first ones you actually say to me. Your voice is sweet, too.

"We're through."

The blush on your cheeks spreads. "Not because of me…"

"No, no. Not…not exactly." I can't stand here and lie to you when you've shown me pieces of yourself that maybe no one else gets to see. "I mean, it's been over for a while now. Just neither one of us wanted to admit it."

"But she felt the need to call me and tell me off?"

"Ah, hell." I run a hand through my untamable hair. I'm suddenly sorry I didn't comb it before meeting you, which is also stupid because I rarely do it, and why am I thinking about it at a time like this? There's no point. My nervous habit of running my hand through it keeps it on end pretty much constantly. But…you probably already know that. You know a lot about me, and somehow, it's not even creepy. "She just found the letter. You, uh, put your number. At the bottom."

"I could hear you in the background." Not once do you look away. Your Bambi eyes hold mine, daring me to break the connection. You're as strong as I thought you might be.

"I was…messed up. I passed out." I'm hyperaware of my voice and the fact that I'm just stating facts over and over again. "She was talking to you when I woke up, and I got pissed and told her to leave. I can't tell you how sorry I am." I take a deep breath and hike my bookbag up higher on my shoulder, then take the folded square of paper from my pocket, holding it up like you won't know what I'm talking about without the visual. "Look. I… Your letter meant—means a lot to me."

As I gather my thoughts, you keep quiet and stare up at me, even though you have every right to be angry and hurl insults. I know in that moment that I'd never be able to deny you anything. It gives me the boost I need.

"It was so… It was like you put a lot of thought into it. No one's ever said those things to me before." I want to tell you that I feel like I get a glimpse of your very soul every time I read it, but that will sound even stupider out loud than it sounds in my head.

Finally, you speak, rescuing me from my self-loathing. "No one's ever said what, exactly?" You're challenging me. You want to know if I really read it. If only you knew that I pretty much have it memorized.

"I just…don't think anybody's ever…figured it out. Figured me out." I've never been tongue-tied when it comes to girls, but I find myself tripping over my words without a clue. "It's like…it's like you see me. The real me. And I didn't—don't even know you."

Your expression doesn't change. Your eyes never leave mine. Instead, you shrug and raise your eyebrows. "I know. That was the point."

Your frank nature is disarming. It's one of the things I love about your letter—the candid, straightforward words. Finding out that you're the same in person makes you all the more attractive. I jump when the warning bell for first period rings, and the corners of your mouth turn up the tiniest bit.

"Look," you say, fidgeting with the straps of your bookbag. "It's stupid. The letter. Just…pretend you never got it, okay?" You snatch it from my hand, and I kick into panic mode.

"No! Don't—"

"Tell your girlfriend I'm sorry."

"She's not—"

"I'm sorry for the trouble I caused. I've got to get to class." You start to move away, walking backward for a few seconds, only breaking eye contact when you turn to go.

When you're gone, I blow out a long breath and sink against the wall. The cold dampness of the brick bleeds through my flannel, but it doesn't bother me as much as the fact that you just walked away from me. With my letter. Forget it? Not likely. There hasn't been a moment when I haven't thought about your words since I first read them. And now they're gone.

I consider just going back to my car and skipping class. Calculus. I have a feeling I won't be able to concentrate. I'll only be thinking about your letter. Your words. The ones I'm glad I have in my head. Because any physical evidence that they exist is now gone.